Thanks for all the reviews last chapter. I appreciate it tremendously.
And without further ado, chapter two.
* * *
It should have been a tradition long ago, for there was something beautiful and familiar about a simple stroll around the lake. Hermione had never realized this yearning until Harry guided her smoothly through the mass of seventh years and out into the warm June evening. As soon as her feet touched the mossy cobblestone of the pathway Hermione had no doubt in her mind that was where she needed to be. There was almost a maternal feel to it, an instinct that Harry alone seemed to understand. Or else he played the part very well indeed, as there was never a waver in his geniality and tact. But Hermione didn't like to think it was merely acting.
How he ever came to knowing exactly the remedy for her sadness she would never know. But it went unquestioned. She was getting to know a new side of Harry that she never realized existed, and in that she felt safe. Her mind drew a blank as to why she felt this way so suddenly, until it was clear that what she saw in Harry was no different from what she had seen in her father. This confused her, and as she was rarely confused, she dealt no more with the matter.
Hermione had to laugh at the sight they must have made, walking aimlessly around a dark, rippling lake with nothing but marmalade toast to sustain them. She and Harry both knew they were missing the feast, knew that they were bound to be tracked down soon, and knew that later that night, they would be starving under their bedsheets - but it didn't seem to matter. If there was one thing Hermione could deal with right now, it would be hunger.
She listened as Harry's footsteps slowed.
'What are you thinking about?'
Hermione took a long time to answer. 'Us, I suppose.'
She realized what an embarassing statement that could have turned out to be, and she flushed considerably; but either Harry was a gentlemen and did not comment, or it was too dark to see much at all. She supposed it was the latter.
'We must look so stupid,' she said affectionately, smiling up at him, 'walking around this lake like a couple of loonies.'
'Aren't we?' said Harry teasingly. Hermione was startled to notice how closely he had gotten to her. Her breathing quickened before she gave herself a chance to react to the situation rationally. She felt sweat on her forehead despite the cool of the fading evening, and wondered briefly why she hadn't moved further away.
'Yes,' said Hermione, continuing the small banter, 'but just because we're out here while everyone else is inside inhaling a feast. Lamb chops, pork roast, mashed potatoes, salad, vegetables ...' Hermione paused and looked amusedly at Harry. 'Treacle tart ...'
'Yeah, we're definitely crazy, missing out on the treacle tart,' said Harry, sighing. But Hermione noticed he didn't look back at the castle. A shiver ran through her, unanticipated.
'Cold?' he asked.
Hermione shook her head and declined any means for warmth he had devised. She had noticed he too had left his cloak; it was tempting to contemplate what exactly he had planned to do. She tried not to focus on the thought, despite her blinding desire to do so.
If it were not for this, Hermione would have said Harry looked slightly disappointed. He took a deep breath before talking.
'I was wondering where you were going to stay. After term is over, I mean.' Harry looked shyly her way and Hermione found herself flushing for the second time that night.
'Why?' she asked. She didn't want to admit that she knew why. Her refusal to acknowledge the end of her Hogwarts life had smacked her facedown on reality. While her fellow peers had spent hours and hours looking over their favorite styled flats and houses, she had been curled up in the library, pretending they didn't exist. She supposed, in the deep, dark regions of her mind, she had subconsciously chosen her parent's house as where to live. But that didn't seem so comforting now, and she realized with sudden passion that she never wanted to see that old place again. Not alone, at least. She glanced at Harry.
'You don't exactly have your life figured out right now,' he said softly, prompting her.
Hermione wished she had been wise enough to bring a shawl at least. She wanted something to distract her fingers with. She settled for the flower on her shoulder strap.
Harry looked at her face, then her fingers. His eyes strayed dangerously close to her chest and body and Hermione had an urge to cross her arms and move away. She had never felt so nervous around him, so out of control. She told herself she was being paranoid and walked along silently.
'If you don't want to talk about it, I understand,' said Harry kindly. 'But Hermione, we're leaving soon, and I know that you don't have a place to live.'
She didn't know how he knew that. She had told no one.
'I can find someplace,' she said unhopefully.
'I know you can,' said Harry. 'It's not that. I know you have the skill, the knowledge, and the money to get a perfectly good place.'
Hermione watched him quietly.
He stopped walking and turned to face her. His face was serious, earnest. 'I know what you're capable of, Hermione. I don't want to limit you to anything. But maybe now isn't the best time to go out into the world alone.'
'I won't be alone,' Hermione assured him.
Harry looked at her. 'I can't know that. And I won't be able to sleep at night, knowing what kind of loneliness you're trying to overcome. Believe me, I know. You'll be wondering why you were ever born. You'll hate yourself every time you look in the mirror. You'll be living your life half-awake, wondering why you couldn't have saved them ...' He trailed off, looking desperate. 'But you don't have to. It's a choice.'
Hermione felt the tears well up. The look on his face almost tore her apart.
'Remember when I was going through the same thing?' he asked her. His voice was fiery, passionate, his eyes glittering like fireflies.
'Of course I do, Harry,' she said.
'I chose to lock myself away, don't you understand? I believed that through self-pity I would gain something. You don't gain anything. Your friends can help you, but it's barely enough. After a while, you're addicted. You start to fade.' He moved so close it was almost unheard of. Hermione noticed that he didn't cross her boundaries. But she had to realize that she wasn't sure where her boundaries were anymore.
'Don't do that to me,' said Harry. 'Don't turn into me. I was almost overwhelmed. If it hadn't been for you ...'
He cut himself off, swallowing, and said, 'Hermione, listen, I'm not very sloppy. I can do housework and do the dishes. I don't wear that nasty cologne that Ron does. I don't eat that much, really. I'll do everything in my power to keep everything away from the press. They won't even know where I am. And I can do schedules - you know, one night, I order takeout and the next, you cook. Something like that.' He sounded flustered and rambled on, 'And I can cook too, if you'd like. I'm handy with a spatula - pancakes and eggs and such -'
Hermione felt a hand take hold of her heart and squeeze.
'I bought a house,' he said, eyes bright. 'It's beautiful, out in the countryside. The villagers there were so nice ... they're Muggles, you know, so they'll be restful company. There are gardens and flowers and a river ...' He paused and continued excitedly, 'There's even a small bakery on the corner. It's positively brilliant, Hermione, you have to believe me -'
She stared at him. 'Harry -'
'Live with me,' said Harry breathlessly.
In any other circumstance, she would have instantly agreed.
'Harry, I don't know if that's such a good idea,' she said quietly. For herself or him she didn't know. Perhaps she didn't trust herself as much as she used to. There was something about his gleaming eyes that made her whole body flush.
And suddenly it was gone. As she tried to examine his eyes the gleam dulled and he stared at her in what she realized to be dumb shock. He was suddenly eleven again, cringing as an onslaught of abuse was hurled his way.
Hermione knew that this was not only for herself but for him as well. Somehow, through his words and body language, she had gotten a clear picture. Desperately, he wanted to be near her. Perhaps he was as afraid of losing her as she was afraid of facing reality.
Harry looked like he had been shot down, burned alive, hanged, and beheaded. She felt guilt beyond her wildest imagination - here he was, offering her a home, and she was selfish enough to refuse. What was she afraid of, anyway?
She wished that her parents were alive. She wished that she could use them as a scapegoat; to rant and rave that they were being unreasonable and she really did want to live with him, but they wouldn't let her. She wished she had that option instead of having to project her real fear. But how else would she explain to him their subtly changing relationship? How would she explain that urge, that desire, to run her hands over his body? She wouldn't. Simply wouldn't.
Awkwardly, Hermione looked into his eyes.
'Is it because you're afraid of me?' Harry asked quietly.
Hermione was startled. 'No! Harry, I could never be afraid of you.'
And it was true. She should do it for him, as it was what he obviously needed. She opened her mouth, trying to say what was so uncomfortable to acknowledge, but all she could emit were choking sounds.
Harry watched her in concern. 'Is it something I did?'
'No,' Hermione breathed. 'No.'
This was Harry, she told herself. He, of all people, she could trust.
Hermione looked into his eyes. She wouldn't need to tell him. She would go through with everything - for his sake. She needn't worry any longer. Living with Harry would make everything much easier, it would seem. It was her fault that she was acting so childishly, that she hadn't even been able to confirm what her feelings actually were. He was so hurt. Hermione was ashamed of the pain she caused him.
The house that he had bought sounded wonderful. Much too wonderful for her, she supposed. Nevertheless, Hermione gazed at Harry and managed a small smile.
'Would it have a library?' asked Hermione slowly.
* * *
It could have gone worse. Molly Weasley could have burst into tears, flinging china and chucking porcelain. Fred and George could have stormed out, while Arthur pulled Harry aside for a word. Ginny could have disclaimed her as her friend, while Ron sat, glaring, in a corner of the room. Hermione supposed she should have been thankful, but it had taken her by surprise the reaction of the Weasley family. She wasn't sure if she was annoyed or mortified by it.
Harry and Hermione had come back to the castle soon after they rounded the lake ten times. They found that the whole of Gryffindor tower was looking for them, along with the Weasleys, who acted as though they had been apart from them for five years. It was a one-sided joyous reunion, and when Harry and Hermione finally disentangled themselves from Molly's embrace, they were immediately questioned.
Harry had taken charge, to Hermione's great relief. He had assured everyone that they were fine, they just went on a walk. A few Gryffindors were a bit disappointed, she noticed, to hear that there were no dragons or man-eating spiders involved.
She had not known why it was so hard to tell everyone that she had made her final decision. She tried to sound it out in her head. Hermione living with Harry. Harry living with Hermione. It sounded odd, but perfect, she had to admit begrudgingly. What bothered her most about the arrangement was not actually living with Harry, but rather what everyone would think. There would be, of course, the automatic assumption. They didn't know the half of it, and Hermione was not bothered enough to explain her internal troubles.
Molly had exchanged a look with Arthur. Fred had nudged George so fiercely they had nearly started a fistfight. Ginny had grinned while Ron gaped stupidly beside her. The amusement of the situation, however good-natured, was unmatched by Hermione's feeling of suddenly being dragged into the spotlight. Her cheeks were still red from blushing.
Afterwards, Hermione had felt a passionate desire to prove them wrong. She knew what they were thinking and she was not going to succumb to feral instincts. She was in charge of her life and sharing a house was not the equivalent to romantic involvement, despite what they all thought. Hermione had found herself thinking this angrily as she excused herself and found an empty loo. Alone at last, she had tried to sort through her thoughts and feelings.
She knew that they were just trying to be supportive, but she couldn't help thinking that if she had moved in with Ron they wouldn't have been so assuming.
A half hour later, Hermione paced in front of an "out-of-order" stall, wondering where her bravery had gone. What had happened to the Rita Skeeter days, when jabs at her and Harry's relationship had earned only a cool look in return?
Hermione sighed - she was being stupid. She had always been the one with sense, the one that could take a problem and solve it. She was doing nothing but wasting her time, exactly what Harry had warned her not to do. Repulsed at herself, Hermione kicked viciously at a stall door. She jumped as it was knocked off its hinges and clattered noisily to the floor.
'Oy! Who's in there?'
Hermione was reminded suddenly of her first year. She remembered hating Harry and Ron for dragging her along on a scandalous mission to beat down Malfoy's ego. She had known that Malfoy wasn't going to show up for any duel, and when the two boys hadn't paid her any heed, it had only made her angrier. And when they never even managed to acknowledge the fact that she was right and they were wrong, she was mutinous. But it had been quite a thrill, she had to admit; and still she thought back and wondered what would have happened if she had never broken the rules. She would have led a dull life, that much was certain.
Hermione had to thank her friends for that. The adventure was terrifying, dangerous, and sometimes even suicidal, but somewhere deep inside her she fed on it. This, she realized, was what their friendship was about. Benefit. Knowing what exactly each individual needed. It seemed so simple. It made complete sense - why would she trade Harry's friendship for anything? It was perfect, absolutely perfect, without the imperfections of romance.
'Peeves, you ruddy old bastard! If you're clogging up that toilet again -'
Hermione slipped quietly from the loo, managing to escape undetected as Argus Filch's angry yells echoed behind her.
* * *
She didn't come back to Harry and the Weasleys after that; she made a beeline directly for her four-poster. Under the covers at last, she told herself firmly that everything would work itself out in the morning. She just needed to give it time to settle in.
Hermione tried not to notice that, even with her logical take on friendship versus romance, her mind was yet to be rid of the fanciful desires that infested her thoughts. It was almost insulting to think that her own logic was ignored and thrown away like rubbish. And by her own will! It had never been that way. In a mutual agreement, her head and heart had always worked together; now, it seemed as if they had split into different paths. She was mystified and desperate for answers, but her questions were left unsolved. She was positively furious with herself.
And, she was starving.
Hermione rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face into the pillow.
The train would leave tomorrow and then it would be all over. No coming back. She would never be able to sleep in this bed again. Even with that realization it was hard to believe.
Despite everything, the idea of staying with Harry was far more comforting than any thought she had encountered so far. He was just a friend looking out for a friend. She supposed that she knew that now.
Drifting off to sleep, Hermione realized her mistake.
* * *
Hermione awoke the next morning to the sound of rain. It was highly sarcastic of the weather, she thought as she pulled on her clothes, to make this day as dreary as possible. The morning had done nothing to lighten her mood, and she found herself growing angry at the slightest things as she gathered her belongings together. Her temper had been tested when she found her favorite book left under an open window. Soggy and visibly unreadable, the book was shoved into her suitcase with such malice it was unclear what Hermione was more angry towards: the rain, or the book for getting wet.
She went to breakfast ten minutes before Harry and Ron usually met her in the common room to leave together. It was her feeble attempt to remain calm over sausages and hash browns, and for it to work, she needed privacy. Gulping down the last of her pumpkin juice, Hermione pushed her plate to the side, laid her beloved copy of A New Theory of Numerology on the table, and began to read.
'Haven't you memorized that already?' said a voice by her ear. Hermione jumped, startled.
'Harry!' she gasped, as he and Ron chuckled. They took seats to each side of her.
She felt herself blushing furiously. 'Don't do that. I nearly fell off my chair!'
Harry laughed and grabbed a biscuit. 'Good morning to you too.'
Ron craned his head around to look at her book. He grinned. 'Ah, yes. Now I remember. Fifth year.'
Hermione laughed. 'Your memory's doing well today, Ron.'
'I should've listened to Harry,' said Ron, shaking his head. 'Perfume? What was I thinking? He told me to get you a book or a collecting tin for spew.'
'S.P.E.W., he means,' Harry told Hermione. She muffled her laughter with her napkin.
'I guess a guy gets the hint when the perfume he buys molds at the bottom of a suitcase.' He grinned at Hermione.
'I don't think it molded, exactly,' said Hermione, feeling rather embarassed.
Ron winked. 'Don't worry about it. I'm way over that.'
Harry smiled at her, turned away, and took the platter that Dean was offering him. He forked some half-burnt bacon onto his plate with a vengeance. Hermione watched him carefully. She had noticed his eating patterns ever since she had met him - take, protect, eat. It was almost as though he was hovering over his kill. Hermione supposed, living with his aunt and uncle, he had had to scavenge for food. But it wasn't impolite the way he ate, just different. It was very subtle, so that even after years and years of watching him covertly, she still didn't see it perfectly clear.
'Hermione,' said Ron.
Jerked out of her reverie rather quickly, Hermione turned to face him, feeling flustered. She hoped against hope that her cheeks weren't pink.
Ron gave her a look. 'Could you pass the gravy?'
She did so. Ron immediately dumped the tureen over a mound of biscuits.
For being just a few hours until the train arrived - and not to mention the last breakfast - Hermione didn't feel very hungry. Her stomach didn't feel settled at all. It was more queasy and unstable than anything.
Throughout the span of breakfast time, Hermione noticed that Harry was trying to catch her eye. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to talk with him - surely that was what he wanted? She wasn't feeling uncomfortable with him at the moment (in fact, that morning had been quite pleasant and carefree); she just didn't want to discuss what had been on her mind since four o'clock that morning.
Both Harry and Ron had acted completely normal, and it suprised her. She expected a alteration in Ron's character at the very least. Harry ... well, she didn't exactly know what to think of Harry now. He was still her wonderful, caring, imperfect friend. He still had a raging temper. He was still rather clueless about girls (Hermione shuddered whenever she thought of Cho). He was still a comfort to her. He was still brooding and heroic and stupid.
Hermione felt a callous hand cup her chin and raise her head gently. The touch sent shivers throughout her body.
'Alright?' Harry asked her quietly.
She nodded.
'Why don't we go sneak around, for old time's sake?' said Harry. His voice was tinged with that recklessness she could only find in him. The recklessness that stradled the line between bravery and stupidity.
Ron grinned. 'I'm in.'
They both turned to look at Hermione.
'What do you think?' she said, smiling mischieviously.
Ron whooped.
Harry grinned.
* * *
As Harry's Invisibility Cloak only covered two people, they decided unanimously that someone would have to be a lookout. Ron instantly volunteered. He made good points: he was the tallest of the three, while Harry and Hermione were nearly the same height. He was fast (though, of course, not as fast as Harry) so he could run to safety if the need presented itself.
They got themselves ready in a dark hallway of a narrow corridor. Ron went up ahead. Harry pulled the cloak out from his robes and threw it over himself and Hermione.
'I'll go in front,' Harry breathed. Hermione saw by Ron's expression that he could see their ankles, at least.
Hermione situated herself behind Harry, awkwardly trying to keep her distance. She could hear her ragged breathing like it was magnified ten times.
'Closer,' whispered Harry. 'We need to get under the cloak.'
She seriously considered backing out of this expedition altogether.
Trying to wipe her mind clear of any thought, she moved closer and stood directly behind him. Her legs were touching his. She grasped his shoulders with her hands, unsure of where they should go. She heard a sharp intake of breath and wondered if she had trodden on his foot.
'Hermione,' said Harry. He sounded like he had gritted his teeth. 'Come closer. The back of your feet are still showing.'
Closer. The word rang in her mind. Screwing her eyes tight, Hermione moved as closely as possible.
It worked, as she knew it would. But pressed up against Harry in the middle of a deserted corridor was not what Hermione wanted to do right now, so soon after agreeing to live with him.
Ron looked back and Harry whispered, 'Ready.'
It was just like old times, Hermione thought fondly. They snuck through the castle, reliving memories, every once in a while stopping to chat about some funny story or another (most of which involving Fred and George). They got a hearty surprise visiting the old out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor, finding Fluffy alive and well, but thankfully sleeping soundly. It seemed as if Hagrid had been more accommodable - Fluffy no longer had an empty room, he had a palace. Chew toys were littered everywhere. Slabs of raw meat as large as cows were stacked inside a swimming pool sized bowl. Instruments of all kinds were lined up neatly by the door. They marveled at the sight.
They passed through Moaning Myrtle's loo, staring into the stall in which they brewed the Polyjuice Potion. A ring of blackened cement showed where Hermione's cauldron had been.
Together, they walked out onto the grounds and in the direction of Hagrid's hut.
The grounds were muddy and disgusting from the morning rain, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione tramped along miserably. They stopped only to glare at the Whomping Willow. Then they moved on, looking out across the Quidditch pitch and remembering their fourth year. For Harry it must have been difficult. Hermione herself recalled the blind terror of seeing Harry return, one hand clutching Cedric Diggory's body, the other grasping the Triwizard Cup.
It was funny, really, how time seemed to pass them by. Hermione remembered their adventures like they had happened yesterday. As melancholy as it seemed to be, every step they took seemed to help her feel, slowly, less afraid. She found herself thinking that if she had survived through Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she could survive through anything.
And somehow, Harry had known this.
* * *
Thanks again. I'll update soon (or so I hope ...)
Cheers,
-Lauren
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