A/N: And here we come to the end. It's the last time I'll be saying thank you to any and all of you who reviewed, and even those who didn't review but have enjoyed this story; it's great to know that people gain enjoyment out of my work. It's been a long journey with this fic- and I am happy that it's finally done and dusted.
But, for now, I hope this proves a satisfactory ending, and I will stop you no longer.
Love Will Come Through
Chapter Thirteen: Trust
"I, um… I wanted to talk to Hermione."
Ron cringed at his stumbling words, but Harry looked at him kindly and gestured for him to sit down; to Ron's surprise, a plain wooden chair was suddenly kicking at the back of his knees (Ron saw Harry's wand surreptitiously retreating up his sleeve). He sat, trying to calm the nerves that were only being exacerbated by Hermione's rather suspicious and mistrustful glare. She whispered anxiously to Harry- Ron could only hear random words, but he had a good idea of what she was saying. Harry whispered back rather emphatically- Hermione relented, but she did not look very happy as she turned back to face Ron. Harry's arm snaked around her shoulders again.
"Go ahead, Ron," Harry instructed, face impassive.
Ron stumbled again. "Oh, I… can't I talk to her alone?"
This was clearly the wrong thing to say. Hermione's eyes flashed.
"If you want to talk to me, you have to talk to Harry at the same time," she replied icily. "I'd have thought you'd know by now that's the way things are."
Ron flushed. "I… yes, of course," he conceded, looking awkwardly at the floor. "Sorry."
Hermione did not look impressed when he looked back up. "You'd better get to the point, Ron, or you won't be talking to anyone at all," she said rather nastily.
Ron gulped. "Okay," he garbled. "I guess what I wanted to say… what I need to say… is that I'm sorry."
There was a rather tense pause.
"Is that all?" Hermione broke the silence, her voice not losing its caustic quality.
Harry made a soothing noise. Hermione pursed her lips. "Sorry, Ronald," she said. The use of his full name hurt. "Go on."
Ron wished his breathing wasn't so loud. It was distracting.
"I've already talked to Harry," he continued cautiously. "I know that the things I've done, and the things I've said- they're all inexcusable. And I don't expect you to forgive me for them quickly. But I need you to consider it. I am so, so sorry for everything, and I miss you- both of you- so much, and I hope that I haven't ruined our friendship forever." He paused. "Just think about it. All the things we… I know that it was me who put it all in jeopardy," he said, looking again to the floor, "but if you could just find it… if you could just think about it…"
"Duly noted," said Hermione coldly. "Now if that's all…"
This time Ron could hear Harry's rather chastising whisper. "Hermione, for god's sake, give him a chance. He's trying, can't you see?"
Hermione gave Ron a look that made him shiver and turned to look at Harry. "You don't know, Harry," she said fiercely. "You don't remember- all those things that he said, the things that he called us… they were so vile, so horrible. How do you expect me to just forgive someone who can even think those things about me? You'll remember, soon, and you'll see… you won't want anything to do with him."
Ron would have interrupted were he not so fearful of what Hermione would do, or so uncomfortable at hearing things he clearly shouldn't be. He couldn't help thinking that was her intention, however- her way of telling him exactly what she thought without having to look him in the face. This, strangely, gave him hope- he knew Hermione, and knew that she certainly did not lack the gumption to spit those words at him without any trace of regret… there had to be a reason she was doing it this way.
Harry flicked a quick, inscrutable glance towards Ron before whispering urgently back at Hermione. His words, most likely on purpose, were harder to hear, but Ron leant forward as inconspicuously as he could, missing only the first few.
"… don't remember, and if you're going to keep throwing that in my face as an argument, we'll be right back at square one. Ron is trying his hardest to even gain the consideration of your forgiveness, and it's bloody obvious that it was incredibly hard for him to even come and look you in the face. He knows what he said was vile, and horrible, and indefensible. Listen to him, for Merlin's sake, he doesn't expect miracles, he doesn't expect you to forgive and forget; but he needs us, Hermione, just like you need me and I need you… all the things he's done, you can't forget that, all that I put him through. We neglected him, Hermione."
"That doesn't give him the right to-"
"I know that," Harry hissed. "But it makes it easier to understand. All he's asking is for you to think about it- properly, clearly, and fairly. If you still feel the same, he'll understand. But you know you won't."
Hermione gave him a rather weak glare. "How the hell can you make this judgment? You can't-"
"Square one, Hermione," he warned. "I know what you've shown me, and what Gi- what other people have shown me. So don't."
And thus the exchanged ended. Ron tried to look as if he had not heard their heated words, but his face had betrayed him- he could feel it almost radiating heat, and Hermione's tinge of pinkness upon looking back at him acted like a rather pale mirror.
"Alright," she said in a rather flat voice, "I will think about it. Properly." Ron nodded, looking distinctly gratified.
He stood up. "I'll… go, then, shall I?" he garbled, walking backwards. As he began to pull the curtain across, Hermione spoke up again.
"Ron? Don't expect miracles."
He nodded again, tried his best to smile, and pulled the red velvet across him, blocking them from sight and leaving Ron to the raucous mess of the common room around him, amongst which he had never felt more lost.
*~*~*
Days passed. School began again, and, despite Hermione's best efforts, her unexpected reconciliation with Harry was immediately forced to take a back seat to studying, for practically every teacher had decided that there was no time to be wasted, and threw as much work as they could at the poor seventh years. This was one rare occasion when Hermione wished she didn't have to study- there was too much to think about, but she could not. She studied with Harry with something approaching their former closeness- though Harry was still slightly guarded, trusting only on the one returned memory and the Pensieve-witnessed ones he could affix to it.
Lunch was about the only time Hermione had to mull over everything- at first Harry, or Ginny if she happened to appear in Hermione's eyeline (Hermione noted that Ginny and Neville had temporarily detached themselves from Harry, and did not seem to be too unhappy about this), but then, at Harry's perceptive prodding, Ron.
On a basic, almost unconscious level, she had to feel for the man- alone, and (at his own admission) not particularly brainy, he was being forced to shoulder all the work alone, without Hermione's familiar assistance at his beck and call. Thus he slowly descended into dishevelment, ordinary practices like combing his hair and sleeping sliding into unimportance. Only Ron remained later than Harry and Hermione in the common room, frantically talking to himself and scribbling nosily on the other side of the room, occasionally shooting sad glances towards them. Hermione almost cracked when Snape had a particularly vicious go at Ron for a poor essay- but his words still rang in her head, and she did nothing.
But neither did she have time to actually do as promised, and consider Ron's request. The weekend lay ahead like a beacon of light, a time when she had sworn she would give herself a break- of course, she knew thinking about all these problems would hardly constitute a break, but she owed it to Harry, if no one else.
Her spirits took a considerable boost when Harry's second memory returned- as with the first, it was discovered purely by accident. Working on a piece of Care of Magical Creatures work, the topic had touched upon trolls, and Hermione had been unable to resist sieging into a reminiscence of the birth of her friendship with Harry (and Ron)- only to discover that Harry could finish it for her. Lavender and Parvati, working next to them with fervour uncharacteristic of their usual giggling personae, were rather alarmed when Hermione subsequently flung herself at Harry, sobbing happily into his neck.
"Ye gods, Hermione," Harry had said with a deep blush, as she settled back into her chair, "if you do that every time I remember something, you'll dry up."
Hermione almost burst into tears again.
Busy as Hermione was, she nevertheless managed a word with Professor McGonagall, who, after expressing delight that Harry was beginning to do exactly as she had predicted, said she could make no guesses as to why this particular memory had returned- "though, as I said, the circumstances concerning the first time were an entirely unique incident".
By the time Saturday arrived, Harry seemed considerably more relaxed in her presence- while he could not describe any more memories, she felt a distinct change within him, and wondered if more memories had returned- after all, she doubted whether they were going to arrive with accompanying brass band and fireworks. Thus, she started trying to prompt memories out of him, launching into fond reminiscences at entirely unexpected moments.
This didn't seem to be working, and, as they studied with the other Gryffindor seventh years (except Ron) in the library, she had actually driven an irritated Harry to go over to Neville and work with him instead (with a more relaxed Ginny quietly soothing Neville's panicked outbursts, which included accidentally exploding his quill and setting fire to the parchment he'd been working on for the past half hour). She threw down her own quill in frustration and decided that now would be an ideal time to take her break.
She closed her eyes and tried to shut off the noise around her, consisting mostly of loud shushes from Madam Pince when anyone uttered a word. Her mind whirred, and she did not know how much time had passed when she heard a poorly-concealed cough and an uncomfortable shuffling nearby.
She opened her eyes, which promptly widened. "Ron!" she said rather loudly. Seamus Finnigan's quill slipped off the table and he glared at her; she mouthed an apology, blushed, and leant forward so she could whisper. "What do you want?" She was so surprised she forgot to deliver this with the iciness she knew he would expect; it came out rather soft, and even concerned, and Ron was clearly perturbed.
"I, um…" Ron's bumbling persisted. He gave a sigh. "I wondered if you'd… you know, thought yet."
Hermione echoed his sigh. So now was the time, was it? So be it.
"Actually," she said as coolly as she could, "I've just been doing exactly that."
Ron, yet again, looked surprised, but he nodded. "So can we… talk?"
Hermione looked around at her hard-working peers. "Okay," she assented, "but we best go somewhere else."
Ron nodded eagerly in agreement, and Hermione wound her way to the library's exit, hearing his footsteps behind her. She went a short way down the hall, peeked inside a door, and, finding a small, unused classroom, walked in, hearing Ron click the door shut.
She did not sit down; he looked rather pointedly at a chair, but was evidently not going to do anything without her say so. She just looked at him, hoping her face was impassive.
After about a minute, he started to look nervously around, and swung his arms awkwardly as he spoke. "So… did you decide anything?"
Hermione did not answer immediately; her fingers drummed quietly on the desk she was leaning her hand upon. Eventually, she looked right at Ron, she said, in as measured a voice as she could. "I can't."
These words were hardly ones of doom usually, but their meaning was obvious to Ron, who looked like he'd been walloped in the stomach by a Bludger; he crumpled to the floor, eyes brimming with tears that he could not control.
Instinct took over Hermione's senses. She rushed to him, kneeling at his side, and said his name with feverish concern before she realized what she was doing. As she recoiled, Ron looked at her with the widest eyes she'd ever seen.
"You… you…" he gasped.
Hermione stood up, her face scarlet, and straightened her robes, resolutely staring out the window. "I can't forgive you," she embellished. "I thought about it, and I… I just can't."
Ron made several sounds of a horrible wheeziness. "But you… you just… I don't believe you."
Hermione looked down at him. Her eyes glinted dangerously. "I don't care what you believe," she hissed, "that's what I feel and it's not going to change."
Ron stared at her; slowly, he struggled to his feet, his hand pushing against the nearby desk for leverage. He shook as he stood before her, but his voice was resolute. "You still care," he levelled at her. "You can't deny it. I saw. You contradict yourself."
Hermione's nostrils flared. She spoke as if she had not heard him. "Do you remember all the things you said to me?"
Ron looked panicked. "I didn't… I was crazy, mad, jealous," he said wildly.
Hermione glared at him. "And yet, I'm supposed to forgive you," she snorted derisively. "You have no idea how much it hurt to hear those things, Ron, especially from you."
Ron's jaw was slack. "You're right," he said quietly. "I don't deserve any forgiveness. There's no excuse." He pointed to his cheek. "Slap me, like you should have done a long time ago."
Hermione looked disgusted. "I'm not going to slap you, Ron, how crude do you think I am? That'd be lowering myself to your level, and I have no desire to go there."
Ron flushed but scrambled. "Is there anything I can do?" Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Please, anything at all?"
"This isn't a negotiation, Ron," Hermione said flatly. "I told you my decision and you'll have to accept it. Harry can do what he feels is right, but as far I'm concerned-"
"You can spend the rest of the year apologising."
Both Ron and Hermione jumped. Quietly, Harry closed the door, a sceptical look on his face as regarded the scene before him.
Hermione ran to him. "Harry! Please," she whispered fervently, "it's done, I told him what I think and I don't want-"
Harry put a finger to her lips. "Hermione," he said lowly, so that Ron couldn't hear, and he moved so their lips were not visible, "what was the second thing I remembered?"
"Well, that's not hard, Harry, it was-" She stopped as she realized what he meant. "Harry, that doesn't change what he did," she insisted.
Harry just looked at her. "No," he conceded, "but it does change the emotion behind what he's trying to do now." He held her face in his hands. "Just think, Hermione. Think of all the things we've been through. Think of all the things he's done, for both of us. Think what unrequited love can do to a person, and think about how Ron acts before he speaks. Think about what seeing us… together, would do to him. Think of all the terrible things in the world, and whether this is one of them. Think of me. Think that I can remember, and that I understand, but think that that wasn't Ron, not really. Think. You owe it to yourself."
Hermione stared at him. "You really remember?" she whispered, feeling tears pricking at her eyes.
Harry nodded. "I don't know how… I saw you go with Ron and I thought about what you'd told me… and then I remembered." He grinned briefly. "We'll talk about the first part later."
Hermione almost laughed. "Shush, Harry," she admonished, blushing. Then her face went sober again. "But how can you… if you remember, what he said…"
Harry looked steadily at her. "I don't expect you to forgive him, not now. I know what he said and I know it was horrible. But I also know he didn't mean it, and that he's deeply sorry… and I know that if, in five years, you've done this, you'll regret it. You'll regret losing a good friend over something that was a mistake. Because that's all it was, Hermione. A mistake. He didn't mean it. He's not perfect. But he knows that, and he's trying to make amends." He took in a breath. "No one expects you to become best buddies with him right away," he added. "But just… let things heal."
Hermione could not fight back any longer. She bit her lip. "Okay," she finally said. "I'll try. But Harry," she added, "I can't promise anything. And this is just as much for you as it is for him."
Harry nodded mutely, and, carefully, turned back to Ron.
Ron had sunk back to the floor and was staring at a tiny spider crawling across it, something between blankness and fear across his face. Then he saw movement in his vision, and leapt up, rather dizzy as he faced his former- and hopefully future- friends.
Hermione took a deep breath. "Ron," she said, rather tightly, "I will try to move past what happened. One day, maybe, we can be friends again. Until then, I will treat you civilly and properly- and we will not speak of the things you said ever again."
Ron nodded gravely at her strained words; and suddenly it was like a release for them all, with a sigh of relief coming in unison. Had they been friends, they would have laughed. As it was, Hermione gave Ron a curt nod and looked to Harry, who, silently, slipped his hand in hers and led her lead him out of the room, giving Ron one last, and typically unreadable, look before his head disappeared.
Ron fell to the floor again, exhausted and relieved, hopeful, and, above all, sorry. He did not notice as the spider crawled onto his shoe, for his eyes were misted over with unshed tears. She had done as he had hoped- but still he would be alone, solitary, with no one.
As if on cue, the door opened again. Ron did not look up; he did not care who he was, for it did not matter. It was only when he felt a figure sit next to him and lay a hand on his arm that he wiped his eyes and looked to his left.
"Ronald? Are you alright?"
Luna, for once in her life, was astonished; as the gangly red-head fell sobbing into her arms, she held him- for how long she did not know- until he had cried all the tears he could, and fell asleep to her soothing song.
*~*~*
"I really don't know if I'll ever be able to forget it, Harry."
They were barely out of the room before Hermione spoke, her face drawn and pale, her eyes drooping. She looked exhausted, beaten, and, while Harry suspected it was mostly because of all the work they had been doing, it also had something to do with the emotional trial she had just been through.
"Sit down," he instructed, guiding her to a bench at the end of the corridor. He took her hands firmly in his, and looked at her, careful to look her straight in the eye.
"Thank you," he said, and she looked startled. "For doing that. I know it was difficult for you, and I know you didn't want to do it. But I hope, with all my heart, that it will be for the best in the end, and I hope that you come to understand." Her eyes shined with tears, but he did not pause. "I love you, Hermione, and I know that you love me, because you would not have done what you just did if you didn't."
And then he kissed her. It was the first time since before they had gone to defeat Voldemort, since he had lost all memory of her, that he felt he was really kissing her- softly, sweetly, tenderly, passionately, lovingly. It was not lustful, as it had been in the Room of Requirement; nor was it nervous, as they had been in the previous week. Finally he felt he truly knew her again, and that all he needed to know was in her kiss- open, unguarded, trusting.
She let out a sigh as they broke apart; he touched her cheek tenderly and smiled at her, which she returned.
Then a voice sounded.
"Harry? Hermione?"
It was Luna. She looked typically serene, yet her protuberant eyes betrayed an uncharacteristic panic- something which bothered Harry, for Luna was one person he felt he could always count on to be calm.
"Are you alright, Luna?" he asked in concern.
Luna smiled. "I'm fine, Harry, but have you seen Ronald? I think something may be wrong with him… I feel that I must find him."
Hermione was looking utterly baffled and rather wary; Harry, however, pointed to the door of the classroom they had just been in and said, "He's in there. And Luna?"- (for she had already turned and started to walk away)- "He's probably not in the best of states."
Luna nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Harry," she said, and promptly opened the door of the classroom- from which they could hear no noise- and closed it behind her.
Hermione sighed. "I hope Luna knows what she's getting herself into."
Harry frowned. "He doesn't deserve to be alone, Hermione, whatever he did. And he will be, you know, at least for now. So if Luna wants to be there for him, we should let her."
Hermione's shoulders sagged. "I suppose you're right," she said quietly. "How did she know that something's wrong with him, anyway?" she added pensively.
Harry gave a little smile. "I always thought there was a lot we don't know about Luna," he said. "And there's a lot we don't know about the world."
Hermione sighed. "If you say so," she said vaguely. She twisted her fingers in Harry's as she thought. "So…" she said finally, making him start; she looked round at him with a shy little smile on her face, "… you really remember?"
Harry's face broke into a mirror image of her embarrassed yet hopeful expression. "Yeah, I do," he said softly, delicately cupping her cheek with his hand. "Every single moment of it," he breathed.
She gazed into his eyes. Their sharp emerald centres seemed amplified, somehow, by the sunlight streaming in through the nearby window, its beams clouded by the opaque glass; to Hermione, they were incontrovertible proof that her Harry was back; that he loved her, that he knew that, and that he would never leave her again.
She became so lost just in staring at him, in taking in that her suffering was over, that she barely heard him when he spoke again.
"… told me what happened afterwards," he finished, looking beseechingly at her.
She blinked, blushed, and bit her lip. Slowly, she answered. "Well… neither of us spoke to… obviously," she stammered, avoiding bringing up the sore subject again, "but I was angry with you too, you know, because you didn't listen to me. Ginny was pretty suspicious, she caught us fighting once, but we never told her what had happened."
Harry looked guilty. "Well, she knows now," he admitted sheepishly. Hermione frowned. "I told her and Neville."
Hermione almost laughed, and she rubbed his hand reassuringly. "I don't care, Harry, it's all in the past," she said kindly, kissing him quickly on the lips to confirm her words. He smiled, still looking slightly embarrassed. "Really," she said, "it's best not to have secrets."
Harry nodded. "I guess so," he said. "So… then what happened?"
Hermione sighed, face tightening as she remembered. "Then we got word that Voldemort was on the move," she said. "You tried to stop me coming-"
"Damn right," Harry interrupted in a dark murmur. "You should never have been there."
Hermione laughed and cocked her head. "You're definitely Harry," she smiled. "But I was never going to let you go alone, no way. I wanted to be by your side, because that's where I belong." She squeezed his hand. "And that's where I'll always be."
Harry returned the squeeze, but still had a dark expression clouding his face. "I remember the last part," he said, screwing up his face in concentration. "I remember… killing him. I remember him falling, and then… I fell too. How can I remember that? Weren't you there?"
Hermione frowned. "I must've been unconscious," she said, avoiding his eyes. "The last thing I remember… is you."
As the painful memories rushed around her brain, she didn't notice as a tear escaped her eye, sliding wetly down her cheek; only did she realize when Harry brushed it away as it fell between her lips, his gentle touch making her look at him again. But he did ask anything more; instead, he just ran his finger over her lips, and his thumb over her cheek, and she closed her eyes, revelling in his loving touch, delighting in the fact that she'd never have to be without it again.
*~*~*
A/N: Go on to the epilogue…