It was the nightmare that drove the point home.
It was his first night back in his dorm room since Hermione had first been attacked and he'd fallen dead asleep the second he hit the pillow. The nightmare started like most of the other ones. Harry watched, in slow motion, as Sirius teetered on the brink of the Veil. He reached out to save him, because he could, because he was close enough, because one more step and Sirius would be safe and they would all go back to Grimmauld place and have a good laugh over it. Then Voldemort cackled, showing Harry that it had all been an illusion, that Sirius was already dead…
Dumbledore was explaining the prophecy to him. It was Harry's destiny to kill Voldemort, or be killed by him. Harry tried to explain that he couldn't kill anyone, that he didn't have that kind of power or darkness in him. Dumbledore remained unflinching, even though Harry was sure that he was mistaken.
He was by the Veil again, Sirius was toppling towards it and Harry knew that this time, he would stop him, that this time he could save him. His eyes widened when he saw that it wasn't Sirius after all, but Hermione. She was reaching out for him, and he felt his heart pounding because he knew that no matter what… he had to save her. Nothing else mattered.
Dumbledore was telling him that he mustn't because it was a trap, that Voldemort was his real goal. Harry didn't care because it was Hermione, and he couldn't lose Hermione. Harry tried to explain to Dumbledore that it was different this time, he was prepared, he knew what was going to happen, he could stop it.
Only, when he turned to reach out and save her, she was gone. Harry heard a cold laugh inside his head, and he broke out into a chilled sweat. Voldemort had Hermione. Dumbledore was trying to make him understand that Voldemort was using Hermione to get to him. Harry didn't care. It only mattered that he could save her. His head was throbbing so hard that he was afraid that it would burst apart. He begged Dumbledore for help, worried that Voldemort had already killed. Dumbledore said he hadn't, but he was using the cruciatus curse. Harry panicked because he knew what that was like and Hermione didn't deserve it and….
Harry gasped awake, clutching his forehead and moaning. The complete stillness of the dorm room rushed up to meet him. He glanced around, still clutching his aching head, and feeling a coldness sweep over him. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back and it made him shiver. He lay back down in bed, closing his eyes and breathing heavily.
It had just been a dream. But Harry knew… a dream like that… it was only a time before it came true.
***
Harry waited until she was better.
He had a vague hope that his Daily Prophet article would do the job for him, but that failed miserably. Much like Madam Snow had predicted, it seemed to make women everywhere just that much more insane. Professor Trewlaney got all weepy and told him he'd have a long and prosperous life. Professor McGonagall actually smiled at him warmly before beginning her daily lesson. Even Hermione, who Harry had generally thought of as level-headed, completely lost it when she read the article. She cried and kissed him and got tearful repeatedly throughout the day every time she saw him.
It was mortifying.
Ron stopped speaking to him, Neville stopped looking at him, and Malfoy was reading clips from it in the middle of the halls. Snape had taken to berating him even more.
Despite the embarrassment, Harry felt a nervous kind of fluttering in his stomach every time he thought about the article. He knew what he had to do, now, and the article felt like some kind of a sham in the wake of it all. But he found he could deal with that. Ron would get over it, Malfoy would grow tired of reading the article, and Snape had always been cruel to him. Hermione was another thing. It tortured him to be near her.
What was worse, it didn't take her long to figure out that there was something wrong. She shot him worried looks in class and asked him repeatedly about what was bothering him. Harry could barely look at her. Every time he did he could feel how much he loved her welling up inside him. So he stopped touching her and barely spoke to her. He only did enough to keep up appearances, something that was hurting both of them tremendously.
The nightmares kept happening. He began dreading going to bed every night. As soon as he closed his eyes, he could feel the tendrils of nightmares drawing him in. Sweating profusely, scar throbbing, he'd wake up, Hermione's name on his lips. He heard the laugh again, in the far back of his mind, and that chilled him more than the remnants of the nightmare. Despite Occlumency, Voldemort was getting in. Harry was more sure now than ever before, Voldemort knew. Voldemort knew what Hermione meant to him, and Harry was terrified about the power that gave him.
Two weeks after Hermione left the hospital wing, Harry knew that it was time. She was as healthy as ever, completely caught up in classes, and had even been asking for extra work. Harry noticed that she'd been spending much of her time in the library, and he realized that it was because it was becoming harder for her to be around him. Ron had grudgingly began talking to him again that morning, something that, Harry realized, would help things somewhat.
He was sitting with Hermione in the common room by the fire. He hadn't quite been able to help himself and he held her tightly against him, playing with her hair and concentrating on how she felt in his arms. She leaned back against him, reading a book, and Harry allowed himself the simple pleasure of how comfortable and relaxing the position felt. He closed his eyes, holding her tighter, feeling an empty feeling work its way into the pit of his stomach. This was the last time he'd ever get a chance to hold her like this.
Hermione shut her book with a snap, tilting her head back. "Harry…" she whispered, slowly. "Can I ask you something?"
He kept his eyes closed and felt slightly sick to his stomach. "Of course," he said with difficulty, sure that he knew what her question would be about.
Hermione swallowed before saying in a tearful voice, "Why won't you kiss me anymore?"
Her hurt was radiating off her in waves. Harry ached for her, for himself. Nothing about this was fair. With great reluctance, he released her, saying a mental good-bye as he did so. He stood, holding a hand out. He wasn't quite ready to let go completely.
"Let's go for a walk," he said, his voice shaking.
Hermione's eyes met his and filled with tears. She nodded, and accepted his hand. He led her outside, by the lake and they walked along, hands joined, a heavy silence between them. Harry watched a mother duck swim by, her ducklings trailing in a long line behind her. The image caused a lump to form in his throat.
Hermione glanced down at their joined hands. "You're breaking up with me, aren't you?"
Harry let go of her, the loss of contact one more painful blow. He turned away so that she couldn't see the tears that gathered in his eyes. He watched the lake. He wanted so desperately to lie to her, to tell her that everything was fine and he'd just been distracted recently and that he loved her… and…
"Yes," he whispered.
He heard a sob and he knew he couldn't turn around because the sight of her hurting (because of him) would make him take it all back. She sobbed again, and Harry gritted his teeth, staring at the lake, feeling his own tears graze against his cheeks.
"Why?" she gasped out, behind him. "I thought that you… Oh… I must have been so wrong…"
"You weren't wrong," Harry said hoarsely. "You weren't wrong." He turned around because she was in pain and he couldn't ignore it. She was on the ground, clutching her knees to her chest.
She looked up at him, eyes shinning. "I don't understand…"
Harry crouched down next to her, resisting the urge to reach out. "Yes, you do." He tried to smile. "I love you, Hermione."
She stared at him for a second, her face registering complete shock. Finally, she shook her head empathetically. "No. No you don't," she said, her voice shaking. "No. Because if you did… you wouldn't do this to me…"
"It's because I love you that I'm doing this…" Harry said, but the explanation sounded ridiculous even to his own ears.
It only made Hermione cry harder. "You could at least be honest!" she managed, between sobs. "Don't you think you at least owe me that?"
"I am being honest," he said, between clenched teeth. "I'm so sorry Hermione. This is… this is the hardest thing I've ever done." His voice cracked and he stared down at his hands, speaking quickly. "I can't… I can't think straight when you're around. I couldn't function when you were in the hospital." Harry swallowed. "Ask Ron… he'll tell you. And last year, in the Department of Mysteries… when you were attacked… I couldn't think straight. I couldn't take your pulse, I couldn't defend you, I couldn't do anything. Even then…"
Hermione looked up at him, her cheeks pale in the moonlight. "Stop," she whispered. "Just… stop." She took a long, shaky breath. "Why are you doing this to me?"
The heartbreak in her voice nearly made Harry take all of it back. "Hermione," he whispered, throat raw. "I'm doing this to protect you."
She let out a hollow laugh. "Oh, that's rich. That's right. You're doing this to protect me. Do you really expect me to believe that?"
"It's true," he said softly. "Hermione, there is no one in my life who I care about more! Don't you understand how dangerous that is? Don't you understand what kind of position that puts you in? People I love die!"
She backed furiously away from him. "Don't you think I know that?" she yelled. "I'm not stupid, Harry!"
"Of course you're not stupid," Harry snapped. "This isn't about that-"
"Yes, it IS!" Hermione bellowed. "You don't think I'm smart enough to make my own decisions! You don't think I'm smart enough to know what I'm getting into! Don't you think it's a little bit late to be reading me the warning label? You kissed me!"
Harry felt himself growing desperate. "You don't understand," he said quietly. "It's… Voldemort is connected to me in ways I have no comprehension of. He knows, Hermione. He knows. And he'll use it… he'll use you… he'll use what I feel for you."
"Stop," she said again, burying her face in her hands. Her voice muffled, she continued. "You have no idea how much this hurts."
Harry looked away from her. He could feel her pain as if it were his own. And dealing with his own pain was difficult enough. "Please," he whispered. "Just… listen to what I have to say. I couldn't live with myself if I thought you hated me."
"I don't hate you," she said, her voice breaking. "I could never hate you."
Harry reached out, resting his hand on the top of her knee. She flinched and pulled away from him. The emptiness inside him increased. He spoke with more urgency. "Remember the prophecy, Hermione? The one that was destroyed?"
She peered up at him, her eyes red and swollen. Comprehension dawned in her eyes. "You know what it said."
Harry bowed his head and nodded. "It was only a replication. It was one of Trelawney's… the reason Dumbledore hired her. He… he told me what was in it last year."
"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she breathed, sounding worried.
Harry shrugged, still avoiding her eyes. "It's difficult, Hermione. I wanted so badly to believe that it wasn't true. Admitting it aloud… it would have made it real." Harry sighed and looked up, slightly encouraged by the sympathy he saw on her face. "It says that I was marked, that Voldemort and I are connected. We can't… we can't both be alive at the same time." Harry paused, the lump in his throat growing larger. "One of us has to kill the other."
She shifted closer to him, her obvious worry for him momentarily out-shadowing the pain that he caused her. It made Harry's heart ache. "Oh, Harry," she gasped, reaching blindly for his hand. "I'm so sorry."
Their hands met and Harry stared down at them, feeling tears threatening his vision. "The only thing Voldemort knows is that I have the power to destroy him. That's why he's spent so long trying to kill me."
"That's why he came after you when you were a baby," Hermione said softly. "That's why… that's why your parents are…" she stopped, her grip on his hand becoming painfully tight. "That wasn't your fault, Harry. You were a baby…"
"It doesn't matter," he said sharply. "It was still because of me. Say what you want, you know that's true."
Her breath was coming out in quick gasps. "I refuse to leave you alone. I refuse to just… abandon you to Voldemort. I refuse."
"Listen to me, Hermione," Harry said sharply. "I'd do anything to protect you. Remember how Voldemort used me when he found out about my link with Sirius? I can't let that happen again. You're the one thing I can't lose, Hermione. I won't give Voldemort that kind of power. Not again. Never again."
She was crying again. "But… if we know that…"
"No," Harry said firmly.
"Harry, you listen to me!" she said shrilly. She wiped at her tears, her face set into a stubborn glare. "I won't-I can't-let you fight Voldemort alone."
"I know!" he cried, feeling desperation claw up inside him. Why was she making this so difficult? Why didn't she understand? "When it comes to Voldemort, I'm ultimately alone. He's my fight, my responsibility, and he would do anything to destroy me. And I would do anything to protect you."
She wrenched her hand out of his grip and Harry felt it as a blow to his heart. He stared at her, feeling the heavy weight of their combined misery descending upon them.
"I'm not completely useless, you know!" she said, voice high-pitched. "I can protect myself!"
"But I would do anything to protect you, anyway," Harry said, feeling a calm resignation descend upon him. "How can we be together when the cost is your life, my life or the lives of others?"
Hermione looked stricken. Eyes wide and miserable she said, with horror, "We can't."
The words hit him like a hammer. For a moment he was afraid he couldn't breathe. "I'm so sorry. I wish…" he shook his head, feeling his chest constrict. "No, it doesn't matter what I wish. But I didn't want you to think… I didn't want to let you go without knowing how I felt about you."
Her eyes widened, tears spilling out of it. "Damn it," she whispered. "Damn it! How are we supposed to stay away from each other?"
Harry pressed his fists to his eyes. Watching her hurt him. "I don't know."
She stood up and let out a shaky breath. "This isn't fair… this isn't fair at all…"
"Hermione," he said, his voice cracking. "Maybe one day in the future… if I win…"
"Don't," she said sharply. "We can't think that far ahead. It'll only make things worse."
He nodded miserably. "You better go, then. I don't know how much longer I can take…"
She was already leaving.
Harry opened his eyes to watch her walk away from him. She was trembling from head to foot, but appeared to be holding herself together. He didn't know that anything could hurt as much as it did at that moment.
In the back of his mind he heard a low, sinister laugh…
***
References: It has suddenly occurred to me that I stole quite a few lines from the episode I Will Remember You of Angel, although it was unintentional. Possibly the most heartbreaking hour of television. Ever. Specifically, I have noticed:
Angel: How can we be together if the cost is your life, or the lives of others?
But I'd say most of the episode provided a good amount of inspiration for this chapter.