Disclaimer: First, I do not own Harry Potter (obviously). That credit belongs to the loffly and talented J.K. Rowling. Got that all cleared up? Good.
Author's Notes: Finally! I'm back with a new story. It's the first of many to come, actually. I'm projecting this at a 2-3 chapter story, so it's fairly short. One of these days, I'll write a novel length. Anyway, thanks to the wonderful Jennifer for beta-ing this story. And to Nitya and Jack who have shown so much enthusiasm when it comes to my writing :P
Summary: But the truth was crystal clear, no matter how much she refused to believe it. No matter how much she refused to let it all sink in. The truth being that Harry Potter, her best friend-and something more-was missing. Not your typical "Missing Harry" fic. No languishing for 10+ chapters. 7th year.
Return to Me: Chapter One
Weak with anxiety and fear clutching at her insides, Hermione Granger began searching frantically around the castle of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for a sign, any sign leading to Harry Potter whereabouts. But the truth was crystal clear, no matter how much she refused to believe it. No matter how much she refused to let it all sink in. The truth being that Harry, her best friend and-something more, was missing.
She thought back to a rather odd conversation that the two had exchanged just the night before. His somewhat paranoid behavior was strange enough without his words almost waxing poetic, which was unusually unlike Harry. Thinking back on it, Hermione marveled at the fact that Harry had gotten away with it this time and how she never realized then what he was going to do. Ever since the death of his beloved godfather, Sirius Black, Harry dwelled on enacting revenge on Voldemort, almost to the point where it had become and obsession with him. Numerous times he tried to go out looking for the Dark Lord himself, but was always stopped somehow, mostly by Hermione. Then again, he had actually told them what he was going to do before he planned to leave. This time was a different. He left with no words, no goodbye, and not one good look at his two best friends before he left.
That night, Hermione had found him sitting alone in the common room, staring at the fire blankly. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. It reminded him of the dozens of times Sirius' head had popped into the fire with a grin, wanting a talk with his godson, who was more than happy to oblige. He was curled up in an armchair, clutching his knees to his chest and resting his chin upon them. Knowing that he was, yet again, in one of his sullen moods, Hermione approached him cautiously. Harry hardly noticed that she was in the room until she sat herself down in an empty armchair by his side and looked directly at him. He turned around sharply to look at her better. A rather small, grim smile appeared on his face.
"Hi," Harry said, his voice more hoarse than usual. He knew what was coming. Hermione would ask him about his well-being, which would result in the oh-so-casual, "Nothing." The conversation will escalate into an endless cycle of Voldemort references, pains in his scar, and when it was all done, she would kiss him goodnight, leaving him to stare into the fireplace, looking for any sign of his godfather. It was always the same. He loved Hermione more than any girl he had known, but sometimes it all got to be too much for him. Harry had tried to work up an amount of anger towards Hermione, even the smallest amount, saying that if it wasn't for her, he would have already faced off against Voldemort. In the end, it was no use. How could you feel angry at someone who had proven herself to save his arse multiple times. He might have been dead already if it hadn't been for her loyalty and her determination in their complex relationship.
"How are you?" Hermione asked him calmly, unaware that Harry's mind was saying, I knew you'd say that.
Harry gently braced himself for the inevitable. "I'm fine, Hermione."
"Are you?" She looked at him skeptically, curiousness etched into her face. "Don't lie, Harry. You know very well that whenever you say that, it ends up being completely untrue."
"Tell me something, Hermione," Harry said in a strange higher-pitched tone. "Are you scared? Of me, I mean."
Hermione's brow furrowed as she continued to stare at him in concentration. Just where was he going with this conversation? "I'm scared of many things, Harry. Just not you." She looked at him curiously once more. "What's this all about?"
"It's nothing," he said in a casual voice. "Just forget about it. I was just thinking."
"Of what?" she pressed on.
Harry quickly fumbled for a response, not wanting to tell Hermione what he was really thinking of. "I guess I was just scared of the end of term, that's all. It's our last year, you know. We might not ever see each other again."
Her eyes snapped wide. She had not been expecting to hear that at all. Of course, they never talked about their plans after Hogwarts. Harry, Hermione, and the other piece of the trio, Ron Weasley, had all reached a mutual consensus that they might not live to be a part of the Leaving Feast. It was certainly a depressing thought, but one that was always in the backs of their minds, whether they wanted it or not.
"I know," she said, not daring to dream what would become of them if they were never to see each other again. "Why bring up all of this now?"
Harry lifted up a hand and forcefully combed it through his unruly jet black hair in frustration. "Pressure, Hermione," he said in a tone remarkably reminiscent of that of two years prior. "I feel like the weight of the world is on my back and I can't move one bloody step in the right direction. Everyone is always expecting me to do great things, but how am I supposed to do that, when people continuously feel the need to protect me and shelter me from all the evil in the world? I've already been touched by evil, so how can anyone protect me from it? In the end it's 'killed or be killed' for me, and forgive me if I'm not jumping for joy at the end of this term, because, to be brutally honest, I'm running out of time."
Hermione's mouth was slightly open in disbelief. In one of those rare moments, Harry was speaking to her with raw emotion, no withdrawal, and no façade to hide behind. This was the real Harry Potter. No one really knew how Harry truly felt. Not Ron, not Dumbledore, and certainly not Hermione, though she continued to try on many occasions. No matter if you were his closest friend or his mentor, you still cannot slip into his mind (or his shoes) one day and walk around being Harry Potter. It just couldn't be done. However, it was times like these when all Hermione wanted to do was lift that weight off of his back and carry it herself. She had seen the extent of the pain it had caused him and it caused her pain to see him in such a state.
"I-I don't know what to say," she said plainly, finally looking away from Harry. She could vaguely register the corners of her eyes twitching. Oh, not now! she thought frustratingly. If there was a time not meant for weakness, this was one of those times. "Harry, if I could lift that weight off of your back, I would do it in a heartbeat, but I can't. The reason why people protect you is because they love you too much to see you in pain again. It's the same story and year-after-year, things get worse, no matter what we try to do to stop it. You can stop it, Harry. I know it's your responsibility to do so, but don't think of it in that way. Think of it as a way of protecting the people that you love. You won't feel quite as much pressure then."
"But that's just it," Harry said suddenly, turning around in his armchair to get a better look at Hermione. "It's knowing that that, if I fail, then those people would be gone forever and I can't live with that. Then again, if that should happen, I would already be dead. Honestly, I'd rather be dead along with countless of faceless and nameless witches and wizards than alive and watch you suffer."
Hermione wasn't completely sure that "you" was simply referring exclusively to her or his loved ones in general. Always needing a correct answer for everything, she had to have this statement confirmed. Ignoring the voices in her head, she turned around to look back at Harry, only to see his eyes extremely bloodshot and his face a deep shade of red.
"Did you-" she began, but Harry cut her off.
"You know what I meant, Hermione," he said surely.
She nodded, knowing indeed what it was. He was referring to her, and her alone. An odd statement to make, considering that they were never on the subject of their relationship. But, boy, they were toeing the line right then and there. Their relationship wasn't always as defined as "boyfriend and girlfriend" though, technically, they were. They never shared public displays of affection for one another in front of the student body, least of all Ron, who was initially put off when he heard the news. After awhile, he finally came to accept it and move on with his life. Quite a mature move for someone who wanted nothing more than to kick Draco Malfoy's arse and humiliate him in Quidditch. No, they're relationship was more complex than that. At that point, those infamous three words had never been uttered. It was more of a mutual thing, rather than a few over-blown declarations of love, like Witch Weekly would have you believe. Frankly, they were both surprised that they had lasted nearly seven years without straying way off track of their titles as "Perfectly Platonic Pals." However, both were thankful when the time really came.
"I'm going to bed," Hermione declared suddenly, clearly having her fill of angst for the evening. She stood up and straightened herself out, looking anywhere but Harry. "What about you?" she asked, gesturing towards the large grandfather clock in the common room. "It's late and we have classes in the morning."
Harry's attention was now focusing on the flames of the fire once more. "In a moment," he said, his voice so low she could hardly hear him. "I just-need to think a bit more."
"Okay," Hermione said softly, bending down to give him a small kiss on the cheek. She felt him suck in a breath and smiled, heading off towards the spiral staircase that lead to the girls and boys dormitories. Lying in bed, she couldn't help but dwell on Harry. Something more was eating away at him, but she couldn't quite pinpoint it tonight. Whatever it was, she could ask him in the morning...
...except, that was the last she saw of him. Sitting in classes that morning, she couldn't shake off this feeling of worry that somewhere, Harry was in danger. Of course he was in danger, you daft git, she said to herself. Hermione continued to replay their conversation in her head so many times, that the words were beginning to run together. Everything made sense. He left to face Voldemort head-on. It was the only logical explanation. "Weight of the world...'kill or be killed'...running out of time?" It made perfect sense to Hermione.
Hermione skived off the rest of her lessons that afternoon, leading others to believe that there was a serious situation at hand. Since when did Hermione Granger skip lessons? Never...until now, that is. She refused to let Ron out of sight, for fear of him running off into the oblivion. She knew she was just over-reacting, but she couldn't help it. Hermione wanted to protect both of her friends from arm, but when you can't do both, one will have to do, regardless of how insufficient that was to her.
"Hermione, I'm not going to run off and leave!" he exclaimed, trying to pull away from Hermione clutching his arm. "Look," he said more softly this time, "I'm scared for Harry too. He's off fighting his own battles, possibly to his death, and there is nothing we can really do about it. The only thing we can do is wait for him to show up. Now, can you please let me go?"
She hesitantly let Ron go and watched him walk off towards the Quidditch pitch. If anything could keep Ron's mind from lingering on the fate of Harry, Quidditch was most definitely not one of those things. "Boys," she muttered to herself irritably, huffing in response. Hermione began pacing madly around the edge of the lake, her mind bringing her back to the time when she and Harry shared a sullen walk around this very lake, pondering the Goblet of Fire, and silently cursing Ron for his jealous behavior. My, how times were different now.
Her thoughts dwelled so much on Harry that she thought she saw him near the edge of the forest, sprawled on the ground, not moving a muscle. She had seen this sight so many times in her nightmares, that she thought nothing of it. Yet surprisingly, the figure was solid. Nothing magical, nothing fancy, just...normal. Hermione's insides filled with ice cold dread. It couldn't be Harry, she though to herself. She moved towards the figure with ever increasing speed, not daring to believe what she was seeing. However, there was no mistaking the crumpled form of her best friend.