Love Will Come Through by dupton

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 20/08/2004
Last Updated: 22/09/2007
Status: Completed

Voldemort's final revenge was wiping Harry's memory of the one he loves- Hermione. As
everyone tries to recover his memories, fractured relationships in the mighty sextet prove more
dangerous than expected. AU post-book 5. H/Hr, one-sided R/Hr & H/G, with eventual R/LL and
N/G.




1. Chapter 1: Gone
------------------

**Disclaimer:** I own none of these characters. And I highly doubt I’ll invent any, because I
have no reason for doing that… so you can safely say that none of these characters, settings or
things belong to me. They are property of a certain J.K. Rowling, and whomever she decides can
share them. Which is, unfortunately, not me.

**Spoilers:** Books 1-5.

**Pairings:** H/Hr, with one-sided R/Hr (on the part of Ron, of course), and eventual R/L and
N/G. Unless something in my plans changes, which I highly doubt, since I actually have it pretty
much planned out for once. First time for everything…

**Summary:** The final battle leaves Voldemort destroyed, Hermione comatose- and Harry with
no memory of her whatsoever. As she lies unconscious, conflicting stories from every side make a
confused Harry unsure about whom to trust- and will Hermione be able to deal with things when she
finally awakes? H/Hr, one-sided R/Hr, with eventual R/L and N/G.

**A/N:** Well, lookie here, I finally came up with a new idea. And it’s a series this time!
Whoopie. Thanks to the nice reaction to my first fic- it made me blush somewhat. Anyway, this idea
might be a bit… off the wall, but things like this will never leave me head until I’ve tried them
out and seen a reaction… so here it is. I guess you could call the plot a cross between Harry
Potter, and the movies Memento and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (both of which are big
favourites of mine, so watch ‘em). I steal things. I even stole the title, which comes from a
Travis song. The lyrics don’t really fit, but the title does. Anyway, I’m rambling… read and
review, and depending on a reaction, I’ll continue or not. Flames are welcome, because it often
gets quite cold in this house. Oh, and this hasn’t been proofed besides by me… so sorry for any
mistakes I missed.

**Love Will Come Through** Chapter 1: Gone

His hand rested on the cold stone of the windowsill, staring out at the dark woods, which glowed
under the blue moonlight. The moon was perfectly round, and he heard a faint howl from the woods,
making birds fly up from the branches toward the gleaming lake. He frowned to himself, pulled the
thinly paned window closed, and turned back to watch over this girl- woman- that he apparently knew
so well.

He pale hands, not matching the skin on her rosy cheeks, lay above the sheets, her arms hidden
by thick black school robes, which looked the same as his own. Her eyes were tightly shut, but her
face was soft and smooth, a delicate creamy skin glowing in the light making ghostly shadows across
the room. Her face was framed by sleekly shined hair, which, he noticed with interest, was starting
to become frizzy in places, as though reverting to it’s normal state.

She laid silently, unmoving- not even her eyelashes flickered. He ran a hand through his messy
black hair in frustration, wishing someone would explain to him what was going on.

His last memory, before being here, was of a flash of violent orange light, directed at the
heart of a tall, white-skinned man who’s eyes were red slits. Bodies of people seemed to lie all
around them, but he remembered hearing someone fall to the floor behind him. A second before his
own wand had set the jet of light, Voldemort- for he recalled this… person as being he- had flicked
his own wand, although it had seemed to have no effect. And then the man had fallen himself, and
Harry, exhausted, had fainted himself, only to wake up in the school hospital wing with a woman he
barely recognised talking to him as though he’d been there twenty times this year already, lying in
a bed next to this girl, who he was apparently supposed to know.

He had told Ron- for he remembered this fiery red head as being his best friend, although he
suddenly found memories to back this up lacking- that he had no idea who the girl was, and Ron,
eyes wide, had rushed from the room, and had been gone ever since. Leaving Harry utterly
bewildered, being given the charge of looking over the girl, who was no lying comatose, while Madam
Pomfrey- for this was her name, he had finally remembered- searched for any sort of cure. Every now
and then she would return, mutter words over the girl while waving her wand, then sigh and return
to her office.

Harry, still bewildered over the girl in the bed, had watched the sun set slowly as he waited
for Ron to come back, every now and then glancing at the girl in the bed, who hadn’t moved an inch.
No one would tell him what was going on- there was no one to tell him.

As he looked away from the girl again and his gaze moved back to the window, he heard the door
at the other end of the room click open, and he swivelled around, seeing Ron trailing behind three
adults- the first he vaguely remembered to be Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher; the
second, a greasy, sallow-skinned man he knew as Snape, who glared at him, though Harry had little
idea of why; and the third, the auror Tonks, who today wore dark black hair and dark blue robes,
looking surprisingly normal.

“How are you, Harry?” asked Tonks, as McGonagall conjured four chairs out of mid-air, and they
all sat down; Ron looking extremely worried, and avoiding Harry’s gaze.

Harry shrugged. “Fine. Can you tell me what’s going on?” he asked pointedly, deciding it was
best to get straight to it.

They all looked around at one another, with the exception of Ron who just stared at Hermione’s
frozen hand. Tonks grimaced, Snape looked merely bored, and McGonagall straightened up in her chair
even more than Harry thought was possible and stared at him.

“Do you remember where you are?” she finally asked, surprising Harry.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” he snapped, immediately regretting his rudeness as she
stared even more forcefully at him.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Just answer the question, Potter, we don’t have all night.”

Harry glared at him; it was obvious this man loathed him, and he was starting to tell the
feeling was mutual. “Hogwarts,” he replied, looking away from Snape.

McGonagall didn’t make any movement. “Do you know who we are?”

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. “You are Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher;
Professor Snape, Potions teacher; Tonks, metamorph; and Ron, Weasley, my best friend.”

“*Ex* best friend,” Ron muttered, and Harry frowned. McGonagall ignored Ron and looked back
to Harry.

“Who is the headmaster of Hogwarts?” she asked.

“Dumbledore,” Harry answered immediately. He frowned as they all looked between each other
again. “What?”

“Dumbledore died a year ago, Harry,” replied Tonks, looking worried. “Don’t you remember, you
and Her-”

“Thank you, Nymphadora,” McGonagall said quickly, cutting her off and making her growl quietly
in annoyance. “Harry, I am the headmistress of Hogwarts now. Voldemort killed Dumbledore a year
ago. You were there,” she added, looking immensely worried.

Harry stared at her. “Well, why don’t I remember then?” he said, panic rising in his voice. “Why
do I barely remember any of you? Why do I know Ron is my best friend, yet I have barely any
memories of him? Why can I hardly remember anything that’s happened over the last two years?”

Snape rolled his eyes again, and McGonagall sighed. Harry closed his mouth, glancing at Ron- who
was still staring intently at the bed sheets.

“Harry, do you know who this is?” McGonagall asked quietly, gesturing at the girl in the bed.
Harry shook his head, frowning.

“Should I?” he asked in bewilderment. Ron had stopped playing with the bed sheet and was looking
at him incredulously. “*What?*” he asked again.

Even Snape was looking disconcerted now. McGonagall looked as though she was trying to speak,
but Tonks got there before her.

“Harry, don’t you even know her name?” she pressed, looking oddly desperate.

Harry sighed. “No. Anyone going to tell me, or do I have to guess?” he said sarcastically.

Tonks stared at him. “Harry, I… I…”

Ron cut her off, surprising everyone. “Harry, her name is Hermione. She’s been your best friend
since first year, and your girlfriend for the last year. You’re desperately in love with her, she
with you, and you’ve been practically ignoring me because you spent every bloody second with her.
She was with you when you fought Voldemort- she’s been by your side for so much of your time here
that most of your memories here are gone because she was in so many of them.”

Harry gaped at him. Snape was looking like he’d never seen Ron in his life before, and even
McGonagall was looking shocked.

“You mean… I *love* her? But I don’t even know who she is! I think I’d remember her if I
loved her, don’t you?” he said, looking up at McGonagall.

She shuffled uncomfortably. “Harry… just before you cast the spell to destroy Voldemort, did he…
did he do anything?”

Harry shrugged. “Well, I heard a thump behind me- I suppose that was her?- then he sent a jet of
white light at me, but it didn’t do anything…” he trailed off, staring at her.

“Harry… that was a memory charm. Voldemort focused on all your memories of Hermione, the woman
you love… and took them all away. It was probably the worst thing he could have done to you.
Besides killing you, of course, but you were in control. He knew he was gone… so wanted to ensure
he didn’t leave you… unscathed.”

Ron was staring determinedly at the floor, and Harry gaped at McGonagall. “So… I knew her? I
loved her? And I… I don’t remember? Any of it?”

McGonagall brushed a tear from her eye. “Apparently not,” she whispered.

“I thought you could break memory charms,” Harry said quietly, staring down at the girl on the
bed, who he had known so well. He couldn’t believe that this girl had been his best friend for
seven years, his girlfriend- and he couldn’t remember her at all.

McGonagall sighed again. “You can- but Voldemort was one of the most powerful wizards ever, and
it’s practically impossible to break his spells. Besides, breaking them can cause severe damage to
your brain- don’t you remember Bertha Jorkins?”

Harry nodded, remembering being questioned by Dumbledore after he had returned from the maze,
remembering Cedric’s limp body, remembering Crouch… “So… what? If she ever wakes up, she’ll
remember, won’t she? She’ll know everything, but I won’t. What I supposed to do? I can’t go on like
I remember, because I can’t. I don’t even know what her voice sounds like…” His brow furrowed. “How
do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know that we were together?” he said in an accusing
tone.

Snape rolled his eyes and began to speak, but was cut off by Ron. “Look in your inside pocket,”
he said quietly.

Everyone watched as Harry reached inside the inside pocket of his robes, and pulled out a
circular golden picture frame. He looked at the picture in amazement.

It was him, standing in the snow with a wide grin on his face- and next to him, it was her…
Hermione, with an equally wide grin, snowflakes smattered over her hair, and a hand around his
waist. He watched, transfixed, as in the picture, he turned and kissed her lightly on the lips, and
she closed her eyes as she returned it happily.

Harry’s eyes were wide with tears as he lowered the picture and stared at Ron. “It’s true,” he
whispered. “But… why can’t I remember? Why don’t I remember her at all? Why did this have to happen
to me?” he shouted, making Snape roll his eyes again.

Tonks stood up. “Harry, calm down. We’ll… we’ll work through this. But… please, trust me when I
say that you did love her, very, very much.”

Snape stood up. “I have to go,” he said suddenly, and without another word swept from the room.
Harry swore he heard him mutter something about ‘stupid lovesick teenagers’ before the door closed
behind him.

Harry looked back at Tonks. “So… every memory of her is gone?” he asked.

McGonagall nodded. “Even the ones where she wasn’t important- if she was there, the memory has
gone. And because so much of your time was spent in her presence… quite a lot of your memories
appear to be gone,” she said sadly. Tonks looked at Harry in sorrow, and Ron kept his staring
contest with the sheets up valiantly.

“So what am I supposed to do?” Harry asked. “If I can’t remember-”

McGonagall cut him off swiftly. “Harry, we can’t break the memory charm. But we might be able to
rebuild some of the memories- the ones you shared with someone else. Ronald, Ginny and Neville have
all offered to help you remember- we can use a Pensieve occasionally, so you can view those
thoughts- and they’ll talk to you, about what you can’t remember. But obviously, the best person to
help you remember is Hermione herself- but until she wakes up, you’ll work with Ronald, Ginny and
Neville, and… well, we’ll see what happens.” She stood up, but turned back before she reached the
door. “I’m sorry this had to happen to you, Harry. I saw what you two had… and that’s a horrible
thing to lose.”



2. Chapter 2: Ain
-----------------

**A/N:** Thanks for the fantastic reaction! It’s one of the best reactions to a first chapter
I’ve ever got, so I was extremely pleased. I hope this chapter doesn’t disappoint- I’ve been
working on it for a week, at almost every chance I’ve got, which wasn’t much. First, to respond to
a few points: Snape’s eye rolling was overly focused on, but that’s because Harry doesn’t remember
much of the hate between them and he was picking up on it more often- he’s learned to tune it out.
And Snape’s seen more than enough of H/Hr to last him a lifetime- you’ll see what I mean later on
in the fic. And to the reviewer who offered to beta- that’d be great, but I haven’t had time to
email you- if you could do so, then that’d get the ball rolling. Thanks either way.

And other questions are either answered in here, or not allowed to be answered yet because I’m
trying to be secretive, so read on! I really hope it’s not a disappointment… and apologies for the
lack of Hermione, but being comatose, she’s not very active.

Love Will Come Through

**Chapter Two: Ain’t No Sunshine**

Harry sat in stunned silence as the door swung shut behind Tonks’ retreating back. He felt a
single tear run slowly down his cheek, hitting a crevice in his skin and sliding sideward, before
continuing toward his chin, where it fell and hit the sheet. He watched it, his gaze moving onto
Hermione, who looked exactly as she had half an hour ago. Her eyes still closed, her hands still
lying on the sheet, smooth as before.

Ron watched him from the corner of his eye, strangely compelled to see what Harry was doing. He
remembered watching him just twelve hours ago; the difference in him was so different. You could
see it in Harry’s eyes, in his very movements. As he ran a hand over Hermione’s cheek, it was not
the loving caress Ron had studied so well, as he had felt the jealously coursing through him; it
was the confused touch of someone who was almost a complete stranger. Ron had yearned to be the one
who touched Hermione like this, but as he watched Harry sit slowly down again, he felt the
unmistakable feeling of sadness. After a year of watching Harry’s loving gaze, this stark change
brought on feelings in Ron that he did not understand.

He stood abruptly, but Harry did not look up. For a moment Ron regarded Harry, but still there
was no movement; and Ron pulled his robes up from the floor and ran to the door, looking back one
last time; but Harry had still not moved, and Ron closed the door with a quiet click.

*~*~*

“Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter.”

Harry’s eyes creaked open, and he saw the outline of a blurred woman. He rubbed his eyes, but
things were still out of focus. Faintly, he saw the woman before him smile, and felt her hand him
his glasses. He slid them on, and Madam Pomfrey came into view.

“Ah, Mr. Potter, awake finally, are we?” she smiled, as Harry straightened up in the chair. He
looked around; Hermione was still lying still in her bed, rays on sunlight streaked across her
face.

“What time is it?” he groaned, shuffling uncomfortably in his seat.

Madam Pomfrey looked up at the wall. “Ten minutes past ten,” she answered. “Lessons have begun.
The headmistress said that you were not to be disturbed, however; and she said that Ginevra would
be coming to see you at quarter past, which is why I woke you now. Would you like any breakfast?”
she asked, smiling gently.

Harry blinked. “Er… no, no thank you,” he stuttered, and she nodded and walked into her
office.

Harry’s thoughts immediately turned to Ginny. He seemed to remember her quite well, he thought-
did he see her more when Hermione wasn’t around? His most vivid memory of her was a dark one. Her
bright red hair stood out in the stone cold, dank room, where snakes were carved into the walls
with strangely lifelike eyes, and water fell into the silence. He saw her face, marble white, as he
turned her over in his arms; and the voice, the voice dripped with evil, behind him.

“Harry!”

His world came back in a flash of brilliant colour; and there she was, her face slightly
flushed, her hairs still the violent red, and a small smile on her face, though her eyes were dark
and troubled.

“Hi, Ginny,” he said, slightly muffled as she engulfed him in a hug.

“Oh, Harry, you have no idea how worried we were!” she cried, still with her arms tightly around
him. “When Ron came back saying you’d all vanished, we thought it was the end… we thought you’d
gone…”

Harry patted her back gently, still trying to recover from his memory. He felt sure he hadn’t
thought about that time in years. “Shh, I’m okay,” he whispered, and she leaned back, an enormous
frown on her face.

“No, you’re not,” she said quietly. “Ron told me. He told me- he told me you can’t… can’t
remember…” she whispered, trailing off and glancing at Hermione. “Oh, Harry, you must remember,”
she said, the passion evident in her whisper.

Harry sighed. “I don’t. I can’t. I know it’s true… but I can’t.”

Ginny, kneeling on the floor before him, sighed as well. “I just… you two were so…” she tried to
finish, but kept breaking off with a slight sob. “I can’t believe it.”

Harry shrugged slightly, looking away and to the window uncomfortably.

He heard her stand up. “Well, that’s why I’m here; to help you remember. So come on.” He looked
around sharply as she grabbed his hand, fingers curling around his palm.

“Wh- Where are we going?” he stammered, as she dragged him towards the door.

She turned, stopping in the doorway. “McGonagall gave us half an hour with the Pensieve. So we
better use it, because we won’t get it often. Come on.” She turned on her heel and led him through
the door, and he let her pull him towards the headmistress’ office.

Harry looked around at the corridors as they walked, hearing distant chatter from classrooms,
birds chirping outside, as brilliant sun streamed in through the windows. Wind rattled the panes of
glass, and he pulled his robes tighter to protect himself from the chilling breeze. As Ginny
stopped to re-tie her shoelace, he gazed out of the window; the ground was still frosty, and he saw
Hagrid stomping along toward the castle, a giant fir tree hanging behind him. It was Christmas
time.

“Is it Christmas?” he asked, as Ginny straightened up. She stared at him, then sighed sadly.

“God, you don’t even remember that…” she murmured to herself. “Come on,” she said again, taking
his hand again and walking quicker down the corridor.

“So… wait,” Harry said, as she marched him along. “What’s the date?”

“3rd December,” she replied quietly.

“And how long was I in the hospital wing for?”

“You fought Voldemort on November 31st… and you woke up yesterday, as I’m sure you
remember,” she said, still dragging him along. “So that’s…. two days, you were in there for. And
they wouldn’t let us in at all. Damn McGonagall,” she grumbled, as they turned the corner and the
giant griffin came into view.

Ginny let Harry’s hand go and walked up to the griffin. “Canary Cream,” she said clearly, and
the griffin moved upwards as the staircase came into view.

“I wouldn’t have thought McGonagall would have kept up having sweets as the password,” Harry
commented, remembering standing by the Griffin saying every sweet he’d been able to think of.

Ginny smiled. “She said she keeps it up as some sort of honour to Dumbledore. I think she’s a
secret sweet addict, but I’ve never found any evidence,” she winked, as the staircase circled
upward, so that the stone floor of the corridor below was soon out of sight.

They rose to the top in silence, and the office door came quickly into sight. Ginny looked
around at him and smiled, before pushing down on the handle and opening the door.

Harry glanced around, taking in all the portraits on the walls, all the whirring instruments on
the tables, all the books piled neatly on the shelves. It was tidier than it had been in the day of
Dumbledore, as Harry would have expected, but most of the belongings were still present, and all
the portraits smiled down at him.

“Harry,” said a soft, deep voice from behind him. He whirled around, and immediately saw the man
who had helped him so much over the years- and who’s death he couldn’t remember.

“Professor Dumbledore!”

Dumbledore smiled, and looked calmly at Harry over the top of his half moon glasses. “How are
you, Harry?” he said kindly. Ginny shuffled slightly as she looked over, stroking the plumes of
Fawkes the Phoenix as she waited silently.

Harry shrugged his shoulders slightly. “I feel okay,” he said. “But my memory feels like a piece
of that cheese with holes in,” he said, trying to laugh, but Dumbledore’s expression was quite
serious.

“I feared that Voldemort would do something as his final revenge… if only I had known what. I
saw you and Miss. Granger in this office many times, Harry, when you thought no one was watching
you… I’m sure this has been said, Harry, but that is an awful thing for you to forget.” Dumbledore
pushed his glasses up his crooked nose and sighed. “I only wish there was something I could
do.”

Harry looked down. “I can’t even remember you… dying,” he whispered. “They said I was there, but
I…”

Dumbledore smiled gently. “I’m sure, dear boy, that there are more important memories that you
have lost than that.”

Harry regarded him silently. Dumbledore’s gaze never left Harry, and Harry felt as though such a
piercing look had never been put upon him before. He felt in going through his very soul, seeing
every inch of his thoughts and feelings; as though, somehow, the portrait was searching him. After
a minute, Dumbledore sighed again.

“Well, Harry, I must let you get on… and I need to go to one of my other portraits; I hope to
speak again with you soon.” Harry nodded politely, and Dumbledore sailed serenely from the
frame.

Harry turned around slowly to face Ginny again; she looked up and smiled, her hand trailing off
Fawkes’ golden feathers as she walked over.

“Okay… you ready for this?” she asked with a slight grimace as she took the Pensieve from the
desk and placed it on the table before Harry.

Harry nodded. “It’ll be a bit weird, you know, watching myself… but yeah, I’m, ready. Are you
coming in too?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” smiled Ginny. “I think I’ll start with a simple memory… don’t
want to get you into the deeper ones straight away,” she said, and took her wand out from inside
her robes.

Harry watched her as she held it to her head, eyes screwed up in concentration, and he knew she
was focusing on the memory she needed, the memory he would see, the memory he would be in… He
heard, through the total silence of the office, chatter below, doors banging open, teachers yelling
out instructions…

“Ready.” Ginny’s voice, unwavering, cut through his thoughts, and he looked at her. Her eyes
were burning, defiance and hope clearly etched into them… and he hoped that he wouldn’t make that
burn out.

Harry took a deep breath, and Ginny took his hand. “Ready?” she said again, and he nodded.
Together, they bent their heads towards the surface; and were both whirled head-first into the
swirling white liquid, which, a moment before, had turned clear, and Harry had glanced a sight of a
quiet, burning fire in a room full of people, all chattering and laughing.

Harry felt his feet hit the ground, and felt a tug on his hand. Looking down, he saw Ginny
sitting on the floor. She smiled quirkily up at him, and he sat down next to her.

“Just watch from here,” she said, pointing over to the fire; and Harry saw the weirdest sight
he’d ever laid eyes on.

It was him, sitting on the soft armchair he remembered to be his favourite. It was red and gold,
like most of the chairs in the room, with a seat that he found not too saggy but not too hard.
Being the famous Harry Potter, everyone always seemed to leave that seat to him; and he had to
admit, he secretly liked that. But he wasn’t the only one sitting in the chair.

His legs were curled up onto the seat too, and Hermione, her legs hanging over the arm of the
chair, was sitting on his lap, her head resting against his shoulder. Ron sat in the chair opposite
him, leaning forward to move a chess piece, and Ginny was sitting with her legs curled under her on
the floor, looking up at them.

“That’s… that’s me,” whispered Harry, and Ginny, who had been gazing at herself with wonderment,
smiled and nodded.

“Just watch,” she whispered, her gaze moving to Harry and Hermione, as did the Ginny in the
memory.

Hermione’s eyes closed for a moment, and Harry watched her taking a deep breath; a smile broke
out on her face, and her eyes opened, staring up at the Harry in the memory. As Harry’s brow
furrowed in concentration, staring at the chessboard, Hermione’s hand starting to run through his
hair. No one else could see it; she ran it through the locks cascading down the back of his head,
so Ginny and Ron, both focused on Harry’s hand as he moved his remaining castle, were oblivious.
Harry and Ginny, staring up at themselves, could see, and Harry was transfixed, wondering how his
counterpart wasn’t noticing.

As the Harry in the memory leant back, Hermione, her hand still running through his messy black
hair, reached up and kissed his cheek softly. Ginny looked up from the chessboard, but Ron was
staring at the pieces and noticed nothing.

Harry looked at her. “What was that for?” he asked, with a lopsided smile.

Hermione shrugged. “Just because,” she said, resting her head back on his shoulder. Harry
smiled, kissed her hair softly, then turned back to look at the chessboard.

Harry looked sideward at Ginny. “Is that it?”

Ginny blinked. “You still don’t remember anything? Well, it was kind of a futile hope on my part
after only one memory, I guess,” she sighed, standing up. “And yes, that’s it. Well, it’s not, but
unless you want to see Ron do his celebratory winning dance, I suggest we get out of here,” she
added, and he smiled.

“Okay, let’s go, then,” he answered. Ginny waved her wand, and they floated upwards. Before they
knew it, they were back in McGonagall’s office.

“Anything, Miss. Weasley?” said a voice, and both Ginny and Harry jumped.

Ginny whirled around. “Professor McGonagall!” she said breathlessly.

The headmistress smiled. “Sorry, Ginevra,” she said, making Ginny cringe. McGonagall sat down
behind her desk. “Well?”

Ginny shook her head. “I wasn’t really expecting anything yet, though, Professor,” she said,
sighing.

McGonagall nodded. “Neither was I,” she said. “How are you feeling today, Harry?” she asked,
turning to Harry with a kinder expression on her face than Harry was used to seeing there.

He shuffled slightly, and shrugged. “Fine, I guess,” he said, his mind still on the memory he
had just witnessed.

She nodded. “I understand,” she said, as though responding to an unsaid statement. “Now, the
Pensieve is not suitable for overuse, but you may have it again at this time next week. Oh, and Mr.
Potter?” she called, as they started to move towards the door. “I know this is a difficult time for
you, but this is your NEWT year, and I’m sure Miss. Granger would be rather upset if she found out
you were ignoring your studies. I’ll expect you back in normal classes on Monday,” she said, and
looked down at the parchment on her desk.

Harry stared at her, but Ginny pushed him out the door. “Don’t,” she said out of the corner of
the mouth. “Besides, she’s right. You might not remember Hermione, but trust me, she’d go insane if
she found out you weren’t studying because of her.”

*~*~*

They made their way down the staircase again in silence, and both knew that the other’s mind was
reliving the memory they had just witnessed. To Ginny, it was almost surreal watching herself,
seeing the memory that had somehow latched onto her brain and been frequently revisited, even
though it was such a simple, quiet time. There were many times totally similar, but that was the
only one that Ginny remembered clearly; and now she was puzzled, confused as to why that memory had
stayed with her while others had not.

Harry, on the other hand, had a mind whirring in complete confusion. Seeing himself sitting
there, with her, hearing her voice for the first time, watching himself in such a comfortable, easy
position with her, as though they’d been doing it for years. Adjusting to seeing himself like that
was hard enough; seeing himself with this girl, this girl who he apparently… loved, was even more
difficult.

He had a fleeting thought of giving up altogether, of saying it wasn’t worth it; but his
thoughts were cut off when he walked into Ginny’s arm, which was outstretched before him.

“What?” he said. Wind was rattling through the windows, and the chatter he had heard from the
office was magnified.

She turned around. “Malfoy’s down here; we shouldn’t go this way.”

Harry looked at her. “Malfoy? Draco Malfoy? Why should we stay away from him?”

Ginny looked at him incredulously. “You hate him? Have done for years? He’s the spawn of a Death
Eater? Your mortal enemy? The epitome of evil? Any of this striking a cord?” she said, waving a
hand in front of Harry’s face.

Harry shrugged. “I remember him, kind of… but what’s he done wrong?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother. Come on,” she said, seizing his arm and pulling him
away.

“Well, well, well,” said a drawling voice, and Ginny whirled around.

“Shove off, Malfoy,” she said viciously, spitting at him.

Malfoy’s eyes gleamed. “Finally traded in the Mudblood for the flaming fire-head, Potter?” he
smirked, looking Ginny up and down. “Well, I’d say good one, but…” he snorted. Ginny glared at him,
but his eyes were fixed on Harry, who hadn’t flinched. “Are you alright, Potter?” he said,
frowning. Evidently the lack of a reaction was rather disconcerting for Malfoy.

Harry shrugged. “Fine,” he answered flatly. “And I haven’t traded anyone in,” he said with a
frown. “What’s a Mudblood?” he added to Ginny in a whisper, but Malfoy heard, and gave a high
laugh.

“Oh, my father told me this might happen, but I didn’t actually believe it could be true!” he
said with glee, grinning.

“Malfoy…” said Ginny, gritting her teeth. “I’m warning you…”

Malfoy looked down at her. “And you’ll do what?” he said with a snort. “Hex me?”

“I know some good ones,” she snapped, hand still tightly gripping Harry’s arm.

Malfoy regarded her silently, but her look of furious defiance was obviously warning enough, and
he turned away. “Oh, Potter,” he called over his shoulder, “I’d get back to the Mudblood if I were
you. Weasley’s probably salivating over her right now…”

Ginny watched him leave with a glare, then turned to Harry, who was staring bewildered after
Malfoy.

“What’s a Mudblood?” he asked immediately, as she pulled him into the nearest room, which was
thankfully deserted. “Who was he talking about? And what’s his problem?”

Ginny sighed deeply. “This is gonna take some time. I don’t think I stopped to consider just how
much you’d’ve forgotten! Harry, he was talking about Hermione. A Mudblood’s a really foul name for
a muggle-born wizard or witch- which Hermione is, before you ask,” she said quickly, as Harry
opened his mouth. “And you and Malfoy have hated each other since pretty much the day you met… he’s
a Slytherin and you’re a Gryffindor, for one. Bottom line, Harry, he’s a bastard who does whatever
he can to provoke you, and unfortunately, you usually rise to it. Probably because it’s usually
Hermione he insults, or sometimes me or Ron. But Harry, whatever he says is just to annoy you,
provoke you, and… well, just ignore him,” she said pleadingly.

Harry stared at her. “Right. Anyone else I hate and don’t know about?”

Ginny smiled. “Well, now that you mention it…”

*~*~*

As the rest of the school streamed down to the Great Hall for lunch, Ginny spotted a group of
her friends, and, after several minutes of being torn between them and Harry, he had insisted she
go, and that he could make it to the hospital wing himself. She nodded with a smile, kissed his
cheek quickly, and ran off with a yell to the sixth years.

Harry sighed, ignoring the stares from the few students who were still making their way to where
the rest of the school was congregated, and silently made his way back up to the hospital wing.
After a while, he was wandering the corridors alone, looking up at the carvings in the snow, the
cobwebs at the top of the delicately paned windows, the candles silent in their brackets.

He turned the corner and saw the door to the hospital wing slightly open. He could hear no noise
inside, and immediately gathered that Madam Pomfrey had gone to lunch. He put his hand on the door,
ready to push it open… but then the sound of a faint voice reached his ears, and he froze,
straining his ear to listen.

“… And I know you don’t, Hermione, but I do, I do…”

The voice faded, but Harry had recognised it- it was unmistakably Ron’s whisper, and, well,
obviously, he was talking to Hermione. He inched closer, trying to slide in through the gap
silently. Slowly, he made it through, and breathed quietly, resting against the wall for a minute,
before moving closer, Hermione’s bed hidden from view by a screen.

“… am I supposed to do, huh? I can’t let go, I tried, I really did, but it’s just too strong,
Hermione. And painful. Do you realise how painful it is for me? Seeing you with… with him? Well, he
doesn’t know you now, you know that? He doesn’t remember. And I’m supposed to help him. And I…”

Ron’s voice faded again, and no matter how much Harry leaned closer, he couldn’t hear anything
more. Slowly, as slow as he could, Harry moved his head to peek around the screen.

Ron’s head was laid upon Hermione’s sheet, buried in his hand. His red hair was splayed out
before him, and strands of it were brushing Hermione’s soft white hand as Ron moved slightly.

Harry, almost stunned, turned quietly on his heel and retraced his steps out of the hospital
wing, turning the corner of the corridor just as Ron started to sob silently, his hand linked with
Hermione’s frozen one.



3. Chapter Three: Progression and Regression
--------------------------------------------

**A/N:** I’m sure you’ve all forgotten who I am. That’s okay, even people who’ve known me for
years have trouble remembering my name. Anyway, some of you might remember that I began writing
this story like… years ago, and, after two chapters, apparently forgot all about it. Well… that’s
all true. But, a few weeks ago I found the urge to write again, and so picked up a quill- sorry,
keyboard- and wrote this. Of course, then my life became hectic again and publishing got shelved.
But, it’s here now, so I suppose I should be quiet and let those who are still interested read.
Thanks to **Nissi** for her opinion, **Frances** for her brilliant proofing abilities, and to
all of **you** who have or will review. Reviews are… well, every writer wants them, so I guess
you’ve heard this all before.

Now that you’ve heard my life story, read on if you will. And I swear, the next chapter will not
take… 5 and a half months. Good god.

Love Will Come Through

**Chapter Three: Progression and Regression**

Harry, lost in thoughts of what he'd just witnessed, wandered mindlessly around the castle,
somehow avoiding the cold stone walls, and not hearing the calls of all the paintings on the wall.
Once he almost fell off a set of stairs, but the moving staircase worked like clockwork and he
stepped onto it without a blink. The castle seemed pretty much deserted now that everyone was at
lunch, and, apart from the few stragglers who ran hungrily past him, Harry met no one.

When his foot inadvertently hit a suit of armor and made a reverberating clanging noise, Harry
was jolted out of his dazed mind and looked down at the ground, ignoring the griping, wheezing
moans of the metal shell before him.

He desperately tried to identify the feelings within him. He still couldn't remember
Hermione, remember what she'd meant to him, remember who she'd been... and yet, seeing Ron
crying over her silent body had left him with a incomparable feeling of devastation.

He stood, solitary, alone in the halls, for more than fifteen minutes, a diluted sound of
chatter floating up the halls from below. When the chimes rang out for the next lesson, and pupils
began to clatter up the staircases, his legs still made no movement, his eyes fixated on the
opposite wall. Students reached his floor and some started to congregate around him, wishing quiet
congratulations, adulations, and thanks, but most giving up because, as one whispered to her
friends, "I think he just wants to be left alone".

Harry still didn't move, and, eventually, even Colin Creevy gave up, and the hallways were
deserted again. His face was immobile, flat, silent... his eyes had no sparkle, his figure had no
life.

From above, a silent Ginny looked down at him, waiting for anything to happen. After five
minutes had passed and the final warning bell rang, she sighed, turned, and walked down the dark
hallway behind her.

*~*~*

The next day was a Tuesday, and Ginny woke up with a plan. As her friends chattered around her,
not really noticing her indifferent "hmms" and "ahs", she could almost hear the
cogs in her head working as hard as they could. She quickly dressed, had a shower, and left the
others to their lazy chat as she literally raced down to the hospital wing. As she neared it, her
legs instinctively slowed, and she pushed the door open, slipping inside. The hum of life in the
castle was immediately dulled, and replaced by the melancholic silence in the cold, starkly light
room.

Ginny slowly moved down the ward, seeing the shadow of Madam Pomfrey in her office as she
approached Harry's bed. He was still in slumber, so she quietly sat down, glancing sadly
towards the still figure of Hermione.

Hermione's skin was almost piano-ivory white, and Ginny flinched at the touch of her cold
skin. Madam Pomfrey had explained how the hex upon Hermione would make her seem so, but it still
disturbed Ginny to see Hermione like this.

She looked back at Harry, who was curled up under his sheets, clutched in his hands over his
chin. His mouth was turned downward in a sad, desperate way, and his eyes were red with tears.
Ginny frowned slightly. A sobbing Harry seemed a far cry from the immobile one she'd seem
yesterday afternoon, and this worried her. Bottling up emotions was something she'd seen Harry
do before, perfect evidence that it was unhealthy behavior.

She was impatient to start her plan, but, although Harry didn't look like he was enjoying
his sleep very much, she knew it was best to let him slumber. She rose, quietly walked to Madam
Pomfrey's office, and asked the matron to call her when Harry awoke. A tired looking Pomfrey
nodded, smiled briefly, and looked back at her work. Unsatisfied but resigned, Ginny looked back at
Harry's sleeping form, and the look of sheer sadness on his face made a tear form in her
eye.

She brushed it away, cursed herself for being so silly, and headed down to breakfast.

*~*~*

It was ten o'clock when Harry woke up. Sans glasses, he saw a blurry, redheaded form in
front of his face. He grappled for his glasses and saw that it was Ron, who looked conflicted.

"Er... hi, Ron," said Harry cautiously, not knowing exactly what Ron's face might
mean.

"Hi," said Ron quietly, studying Harry. Harry, wary, sat up, pushing his pillow
between him and the cold, hard bed head.

"What... what are you doing here so early?" asked Harry, with a fleeting glance at
Hermione.

Ron shrugged. "I just thought I might as well support my best friend," he said, voice
strangely high-pitched. Harry tried not to look surprised at this statement, and, not being able to
think of a response, didn't say anything. "I mean, you've just defeated the greatest
wizard of all time... gotta take something out of you, hasn't it?" Ron added, trying to
smile.

Harry sighed. "I'm okay, Ron. Just because I can't remember... doesn't mean
I'm not okay."

Ron frowned. "Okay, Harry. Forgive me for being concerned. But Dumbledore said that I
should help you remember her, so let's get that over with." Ron had gone slightly pink,
and his voice was rising. Not noticing these symptoms for what they were, Harry simply heard
Ron's annoyed tone and became slightly incensed.

“Okay,” said Harry tightly.

Ron avoided his eyes. “Well, I guess we should… should start at the beginning,” he said,
glancing quickly at Hermione, as if he thought Harry was blind.

Harry took in a breath. “That’d be good,” he said, unable to prevent the sarcasm.

Ron frowned. “No need to get snappy, Harry,” he said. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Fine,” snapped Harry. He looked down, but, still, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron give
another flashing glance at Hermione.

Harry sighed. The image of Ron sobbing over Hermione’s immobile body just wouldn’t leave his
head, but the way Ron was behaving, Harry was wondering just what had gone on between the three of
them before. Ron seemed to be bordering on obsessive with Hermione, and the jealously Ron
apparently held for him radiated from his eyes every time he looked at Harry. Harry wished he could
feel sympathy for the guy, but he was making it very difficult.

Ron growled slightly. “Harry, I know that tone better than anyone, and do you have any idea how
annoying it is? Now just let me do what I’ve been told to.”

Harry glared at him. "Well, Ron, if this is all a task to you, why do you even bother? You
said it yourself; you're my ex-best friend. I'd obviously done something very, very wrong,
so why are you even here?” He finished very calmly, but Ron looked incensed.

Ron glared back. His eyes darted around the room rather nervously, but his face was angered.
"Fine. You did do something. You ignored me. Your... Hermione was so precious to you that you
ignored me, your best friend, the one who sacrificed himself to a giant chess set for you! The one
you left to those stupid brains! The one you forgot! But I'm still here; I'm still willing
to help. So bloody let me!" he yelled, his ears literally steaming.

"Will you please watch your volume!" bellowed Madam Pomfrey.

Harry swallowed. Ron, redness fading, twitched nervously, but looked up with fiery eyes.

"So, do you want me to help you, or not?" Ron asked simply.

Harry's head was telling him that Ron was his best friend, and if he couldn't trust him,
whom could he trust; but his heart was beating furiously against it, warning him off. But Harry was
scared of his emotions right now; they had kept him up all night, crying for his lost memories,
crying for the girl who lay next to him, who he didn't even know. So he ignored his heart, and
listened to his head. He nodded.

"Okay," said Ron. "I guess I should start from the beginning," he repeated,
eyes strangely avoidant of Harry's. In a strained, monotone voice, he began. "We met
Hermione on the train, in our first year. She came into out compartment looking for Neville's
toad, and told me I hate dirt..."

Harry stared blankly at Ron for almost three hours of story, hearing Ron's dull tones but
never really listening. Ron was presenting the facts, but even Harry knew that behind memories were
not figures, but emotions. Ron seemed almost indifferent to everything that had happened, even when
he tried to describe his discovery of Harry and Hermione's romantic attachment. Ron didn't
seem to care at all, an idea that dulled Harry's heart. He had no idea what he had done to Ron
to cause this rift, and, conveniently, Ron had omitted this event from his story. Upon finishing,
Ron's voice fell silent and he simply stared out of the window.

"Thanks, Ron," said Harry, voice as flat as Ron's. "Is that
everything?"

Ron swallowed nervously, and closed his eyes, fidgeting, before he answered. "No."

Harry didn't say anything.

Ron sighed, almost apprehensively. "Something... something happened between you and
Hermione before you went off to fight Voldemort," he said, nervously.

Harry frowned. "Yes?"

Ron inhaled. "I heard... I wasn't supposed to, but I did... she... she told you-"
Ron swallowed again- "she told you that she didn't love you, because you'd always
have... the specter of Voldemort hanging over you both, and she couldn't live with
that."

"So she..." Harry whispered.

"She broke up with you," finished Ron, eyes piercing.

Harry breathed. "So she doesn't want to know me," he realized. Ron didn't
move. "I'm trying to remember how I loved someone who didn't even want to know me
anymore."

"I guess," Ron said avoidantly. "Look, it's lunchtime, I gotta go eat,
Harry... I'll see you later," he said, already at the door.

"Bye," said Harry vaguely, still thinking about what Ron had said. How could Ron not
have told him this before? He's spent hours trying to remember someone who wanted to forget all
about him. The fact that all this had been for nothing filled him with more emotion than he'd
been able to feel before, and he quickly got dressed and left to find Ginny.

*~*~*

Unable to find Ginny anywhere, Harry spent the afternoon outside in the snow- away from the
courtyard, where the rest of school was engaging in snowball fights. He kicked half-heartedly at
the snow, his hair becoming dusted with snow that fell from the sky, and sat sadly on the pile of
logs by the pumpkin patch. The remnants of pumpkins were shriveled and black, and slugs, kept at
bay by Hagrid's powerful repellent before, crawled over them, leaving trails in the white.

As the sun began to set, he heard the noise of the students digressing, but he couldn't face
the cold harshness of the hospital wing yet. He shivered slightly, pulled his coat further around
him, and closed his eyes. He screwed them up, trying to remember her- but all that came into his
head was her white, immobile body lying in the cold, hard hospital bed. He shook his head in
frustration and opened his eyes.

He yelped. In front of him stood a rather dazed-looking girl, with a long head of blonde hair
and a vague smile.

"Hello, Harry," she said serenely. If Harry hadn't remembered before, the voice
did it- it was Luna Lovegood. She sat down next to him. "Are you alright?" she asked,
with uncharacteristic concern.

"Hi, Luna," Harry said, heart calming down again. "Aren't you a little
cold?" he asked, looking at her short-sleeved t-shirt and frowning.

"I'm fine, Harry, but how sweet of you to notice," she smiled, putting a hand on
his shoulder. "Have you been out here long?" she asked.

Harry deliberated between a lie and the truth, but Luna was someone he knew he could trust,
having spent hours with her, just talking. He remembered her being surprisingly tender and
understanding during their talks, never being nosy, insensitive or uncaring. He knew Luna cared,
and he knew she could help.

"All afternoon," he finally said. "I've just been thinking."

"About Hermione," said Luna. It was not a question; it was a statement.

Harry looked at her. That was another good thing about Luna- she always went straight to the
point.

"Yes," he said. "Luna... what do you remember about me and her?"

Luna mused. "You were always close to each other. Even when you fought, you were always
right next to each other. I remember seeing you in The Three Broomsticks, snuggled up against each
other... I always saw the other couples around, but they were never as... comfortable as you two
seemed. You were never secretive about your relationship... it was like you wanted everyone to
know, even though you knew *everyone* would want to know. You were so... happy, all the time.
You were always smiling. It was like you were so proud of her, and you wanted to show the
world."

Harry looked taken aback. Luna brushed her hair back and smiled gently.

"Look, Harry, I'm sorry for what happened," she said, sincerely, and all trace of
weirdness had momentarily vanished. "I can't image forgetting about... well, you
know," she flushed, "and I'm sorry you're going through this. I hope Ginevra is
helping you to remember well," she said. She took an already shocked Harry by surprise as she
gave him a tight hug.

"Let me know if you need anything, Harry," finished Luna softly, and she rose, gliding
away across the snow towards the castle.

*~*~*

Harry approached the hospital wing with resignation in his steps, hearing nothing but silence
around him. Still not comfortable with being stared at by the entire school, he hadn't eaten
all day, and he was quite ravenous. He slipped into the hospital wing, quickly noting that all the
beds were empty, bar Hermione's. Looking towards his own, he saw that Ginny sat facing the
window, and made a small noise of surprise.

She immediately flashed around. "Harry!" she shouted, running toward him. "Where
have you been all day? I had something we could have done, to help you... where were you?" she
demanded, steering him towards his bed. Harry heard Madam Pomfrey rustling inside her office,
humming lightly.

"I was..." he began, slightly intimidated, "...outside. Thinking."

Ginny immediately realized what "thinking" signified and softened. "Oh, Harry,
I'm sorry I yelled just now. I just... I had this idea this morning and have wanted to try it
out all day, but I could never find you." She reached down to the ground and retrieved a
thick, bound book.

"What's that?" asked Harry.

Ginny smiled. "A photo album. Hermione's. And she was always showing it off, I
didn't steal it," she added, cracking it open to the first page. "I thought looking
at some photos might stir some memories..." Ginny said, looking up at Harry, who was running a
finger over his scar.

Harry sighed. "I suppose it's worth a shot," he said.

Ginny nodded. "Okay," she said, pointing to the first picture. Harry watched it. He
only saw a figure he remembered vaguely as being a Professor Lockhart, who was smiling smarmily and
trying to pull what looked like Harry's arm into the picture.

Harry frowned. "But Hermione's not even in this picture," he said, pointing.

Ginny smiled. "Hermione was infatuated with Lockhart in second year. So this picture
combines her first two loves- him and you," she laughed. "She said she got over him,
though, especially when he got that jail sentence for drunk-flying."

Harry raised an eyebrow, and looked at the next page. Ron was in this one, along with him and
Hermione, all smiling as they stood outside Hagrid's hut, Fang the dog barking at Ron's
heels, and getting drool over them. Harry smiled at this, which made Ginny momentarily put a hand
on his.

Harry studied Hermione. She looked young- they all did, it was obviously first year- and she was
leaning against Harry's shoulder, her bushy hair draped across his lapel. Ron stood slightly
apart on Harry's other side, distracted by Fang.

Ginny turned the page. "Ah, here's one of you as a couple," she smiled, pointing
towards the bottom of the page.

Harry looked. They were sat together by the glistening blue lake; sheets of parchment were
lazily scattered before them, and were kissing gently, with butterflies fluttering on the flowers
around them. Something in Harry's heart jolted as he watched Hermione run a hand down
picture-Harry's back, and he winced. Ginny's head snapped up.

"What's wrong, Harry?" she said, with a tiny sliver of hope in her voice.

"Nothing, I..." Harry said, confused. "I just had a little jolt, is all," he
said, shaking his head.

He felt Ginny's piercing eyes looking at him, but she didn't say anything. She turned
the page and he looked down. The photo at the top of the page showed what Luna had described- he
and Hermione snuggled comfortably in a corner of the Three Broomsticks, both with eyes closed, as
people chattered around them.

"I took this picture," said Ginny quietly. Harry looked up at her and was surprised to
see a glistening of tears in her eyes. "I'd just come in, and you just looked so...
natural, and comfortable... I had to take a photo," she sniffed, wiping her eyes. Harry
watched her, her eyes filling with yet more tears. She sniffled, and, when he put a hand on her
arm, she flung herself around him and started sobbing. "Oh, Harry!" she wailed. He
uncomfortably patted her back, waving Madam Pomfrey away when she came to see what was going
on.

But when the door of the hospital wing opened and Ron's face peeked in, Harry did nothing as
Ron's face turned to shock, and the door was soon closed, leaving a sobbing Ginny in
Harry's arms, the wind tauntingly whispering names that Harry had forgotten.



4. Chapter Four: Confusion
--------------------------

**A/N:** “*And I swear, the next chapter will not take… 5 and a half months.*”

Well, technically, it didn’t. It took two and a half years. But who’s counting, eh?

I have no idea if anyone’s interested in this story. I have no idea if the readers who read it
before are still around on the site, or if this is interesting to new readers. But all I know is,
having read the final book (which I enjoyed, despite the wrong couplings and the crapilogue), I’ve
gotten back into fanfiction and had a desire to continue this story. It’s been so long that I
couldn’t really remember writing it- and I’d deleted all my plans, so had to come up with new ones.
But I do have them, and I’m already working on the next chapter(s), and I will try my hardest to
finish it this time (it’s summer holidays, at least). But if no one reviews, clearly no one is
interested, so, if you do want me to carry on this charade (ha!), then you have to review. Reviews
are no longer things I wish to have; they are things I require.

Anyway. Enough. Read on, if you wish, and then review if your interest is peaked. Oh, and sorry
for all the Ginny- but with Hermione in a coma and Harry being in a repetitive loop of confusion,
she’s the easiest way into the story. But- and this is a promise- Hermione awakens very soon.

Love Will Come Through

**Chapter Four: Confusion**

“Ginny,” Harry said suddenly, making the flame-haired girl sat at his bedside jump in surprise,
“can I ask you something?”

Ginny carefully closed the photo album she had once again been flicking through, immersed
silently in memories while Harry, at his own bequest, had simply sat there thinking soundlessly.
She looked up at him, the look of confusion on his face still sending a sad jolt to her heart, and
smiled as best she could. “Sure.”

Harry played absently with his bed sheets as he spoke, his words echoing eerily off the stone
walls of the hospital wing- there was no one, besides the immobile figure of Hermione, to hear
their words. Only the distant sounds of pupils enjoying their weekend with snowball fights mingled
in Ginny’s ears along with Harry’s tentative speech. “It’s… about Ron.”

Ginny’s eyebrow rose slightly, but she said nothing, drawing her chair closer as she waited for
Harry to continue.

“Can I… can I trust him?” asked Harry slowly.

Asked that question a month ago, Ginny knew she would have laughed it off, but in these new set
of circumstances the words held more weight than she ever would have expected them to. She sighed.
“Why are you asking?” she said, stalling.

Harry’s eyes were uncharacteristically fierce, and Ginny felt almost scorched as he stared at
her. He breathed deliberately before answering. “He told me that Hermione broke up with me before
we went after Voldemort, that she didn’t love me anymore,” he said calmly.

Ginny started. “He *what*?”

Harry just looked at her. Ginny felt slightly dizzy- it was absurd, surely, she knew that… and
yet still, something in the back of her mind niggled irritatingly. She ignored it.

She bit her lip. “Harry, I… I don’t think Hermione would ever have done that. She loved you,
Harry. Ron’s just…” She waved her arms hopelessly.

“Just what?” Harry prompted.

Ginny sighed, looking down at the floor. “Harry, I know you’ve lost an enormous chunk of your
memory, but you’re not stupid. Surely you’ve noticed?” she said simply.

“Ron is in love with Hermione,” Harry said in an emotionless voice.

Ginny nodded curtly. “Exactly.” She sighed again. “Harry, Ron is my brother, and I love him, but
he’s a dolt, and I think that Hermione made him… well, she made him go a bit nuts. And before you
left… something happened. Between all three of you. I don’t know what, none of you would tell me,”
Ginny said, a sudden trace of bitterness in her voice. “But Ron didn’t talk to you after that…
until you woke up in here, of course. And Hermione… she was odd. Things weren’t the same. With any
of you. I mean,” she said, fiddling with the cuffs of her jacket, “it’s not like you and Hermione
didn’t talk to each other, but there was… there was definitely something up.” She brushed a stray
hair back from her eyelid and looked back at Harry. “And then we heard that You-Know-Who was
advancing and you both left.”

Harry stared into nothing, trying to get his brain around this information. A crystalline
silence fell over the two of them, occasionally broken by the distant shouts of the joyful students
outside.

Eventually, Harry looked up again. “So…” he trailed off. Ginny just looked plaintively at him.
“Hermione *could* have broken up with me,” he said quietly.

Ginny leant forward quickly, her hands automatically grabbing Harry’s. She looked up at him
fiercely. “Harry… I can’t say for sure that she didn’t. But even if she did, Harry… I know, I
*know*, it wasn’t because she didn’t love you,” she said beseechingly. “If that’s what Ron
said, Harry, you… you can’t believe that.”

“But I thought Ron was supposed to be my friend,” Harry said, almost in a whisper, and Ginny
felt sadness washing over her again. She gripped Harry’s hands harder and stared at him.

“He was. But this whole thing with Hermione… he couldn’t handle it,” she said. “He could barely
manage to speak to you; he was making a complete prat out of himself whenever you and Hermione were
around.” Ginny paused, running a hand through her shiny red hair in frustration. “Oh, Harry, he’s
not a bad person, he’s just stupid sometimes! But you… you can’t trust what he says about you and
Hermione. I think he still thinks he has a chance with her, you know, so he’s trying to take it…
never mind the fact that she’s unconscious,” she added with a weak curl of her lips. Harry sighed,
rubbing his nose, and Ginny sensed he wanted to be left alone. “I’d better go, now, Harry,” she
said, smiling as she rubbed his hands comfortingly. She stood and walked around his bed, stopping
to look back at him. “I can come back later if you want…?”

Harry smiled. “Yeah,” he replied. Ginny grinned, leaned in to kiss his cheek, and left, smiling
back at Harry before clicking the door shut.

Harry took off his glasses, placed them carefully on the bedside table, and closed his eyes,
head lolling back against the headboard.

*~*~*

“Ron, you are a complete bastard!”

Ginny flew at her brother, whose look of utter depression morphed into one of alarm with
startling rapidity, and he tried to grab hold of his sister’s arms as they tried to make harsh
impact with his face. She’d landed several stinging glances before he managed to stop her, or
before she relented, and she fell back into the chair next to him, breathing heavily. She glared at
him; her fierce eyes made him feel distinctly on edge.

“What the hell, Gin?” he said, throwing his hands up in puzzlement.

She was holding back some nasty words, he could tell- he’d seen that look before, the one where
her lips were curled so far inwards they seemed to stop existing altogether, though it was usually
seen directed at Fred or George. More deep breaths were heard before she finally spoke, her tone a
foreboding calm. “You talked to Harry,” she stated. “You *lied* to Harry.”

Ron snorted. “Gin, the man’s lost half his brain, are you really going to believe what he
says?”

Ginny leapt up again, her wand appearing from nowhere to impress the tip of her brother’s nose.
“Ronald Weasley, you are an insensitive arsehole,” she said menacingly, pressing the shining piece
of hawthorn harder at his face. “Harry may have lost some of his memory, but he hasn’t lost the
ability to listen. How could you exploit him like that? You’re supposed to be his *friend*.”
She backed off slightly, ignoring the sizeable audience they seemed to have gathered around
them.

Ron mumbled something, but Ginny cut over him. “Yes, yes, I know that was before Harry
*stole* Hermione from you, or whatever the hell you think he did! But do you not remember
anything? All the things Harry did for you?”

“What about all the things he did for me?” Ron shot back angrily. “No, he flounces off to live
happily ever after with someone who is supposed to be with me! What are *you* looking at?” he
yelled, glancing at a first year in the watching crowd, who squealed and disappeared behind two
older students.

Ginny looked around at the crowd as if seeing them for the first time. “Guys, please, this is a
private conversation,” she said pointedly, and the crowd quietly dispersed, though some positioned
themselves nearby, ears clearly pointed in the direction of the siblings. “Ron,” Ginny said,
leaning forward, now conscious of speaking more quietly, “Hermione isn’t *supposed* to be with
anyone. Surely she should get to choose who she’s with?” she asked, looking pleadingly at her
brother.

But Ron was barely listening. “Please, Ginny, stop pretending,” he said venomously. “You might
act like you care, but you want the same as me. Do you think no one notices how you throw yourself
at Harry? It’s embarrassing,” he smirked.

Everyone in the room looked round at the loud crack that suddenly rang out in the air, the room
suddenly deadly silent. Ginny had hit Ron square across the face, which flushed a deep red with
alarming immediacy, and a trickle of blood started to run down his cheek. His eyes bulged, but
Ginny had already got up, striding furiously out of the portrait hole.

*~*~*

The glowing morning sun appeared over the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest, making the
carpet of snow over the grounds glisten beautifully. The imposing figure of Hagrid trudged
cheerfully through the thicket to the castle, Fang padding briskly alongside him. Harry smiled
sadly, and turned back to the hospital room, which, he had come to feel, was decidedly gloomy.

He wanted to go outside, to enjoy the snow with all the other students- even if he couldn’t
remember a lot of them- but Professor McGonagall had advised him against it- the students would be
all over him, she warned. Sighing, he had had to agree. It was bad enough in his classes- not yet,
after nearly a week of his being present again, had his classmates become used to his presence,
although Malfoy seemed to take delight in laughing at Harry’s befuddled expressions.

He may have supposedly loved this Hermione, but it was decidedly irritating the amount of things
he couldn’t remember simply because she’d apparently always been there. Catching him up on years of
forgotten education was now a bigger priority than his recollection of Hermione- after experiencing
Harry’s cluelessness for herself, Professor McGonagall had ordered emergency lessons in every
subject, taken whenever the teachers were available. Snape seemed to take this rather badly, but
grudgingly went through things with Harry anyway.

Once Harry saw or heard things, though, he remembered it instantly, and so the lessons were
progressing more quickly than anyone could have imagined, Harry only needing to read through the
old schoolbooks once.

Things were, however, not progressing nearly as well with trying to remember Hermione, though
Harry was now so confused over how he was supposed to feel towards her that he felt strangely
apathetic. Still, they kept trying, with Ginny an almost constant source at his bedside, though
he’d quickly learnt to avoid mention of Ron. His supposed best friend had not visited him since his
apparent lies about Hermione, and Harry only saw him across the classroom, where Ron was decidedly
ignoring him.

Harry, in place of Ron, had struck up a closer friendship with Neville, who seemed only too
pleased to sit next to and chat with Harry. He even took shifts at trying to prod Harry’s memories
of Hermione, though he’d had as little success as Ginny. Still, he was good company, and he made
Harry laugh, something Harry was only too glad of.

And Hermione was still lying there, eyes closed serenely, white skin pale in the frosty air of
the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey checked her every so often, but she softly informed a questioning
Harry that there was nothing to do but wait.

And so it was that Harry sat up in his hospital bed as the sun set over the flawlessly smooth
snow of the horizon, Neville lounging in the chair next to the window, Ginny perched on the edge of
the bed, yet again flicking through the photo album. She no longer gave any explanations; they had
gone through the pictures so many times that even though he still remembered nothing, he knew the
stories behind them by heart. This one was Harry and Hermione with their respective dates at the
Yule Ball; that one was Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys at the Quidditch World Cup; this one was
he and Hermione celebrating their two month anniversary. Harry knew the facts, the ideas; but
still, escaping him, hidden or gone forever, were the feelings. Harry felt entirely separate from
the lookalike he saw in the photos, smiling and waving up at him, arm around Hermione. Harry was
not that person, not any more, and he didn’t think that he ever could be.

“Stop,” he said suddenly, forcefully, making Ginny start and Neville look up from his magazine.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he explained, snapping the book shut on Ginny’s fingers.

Neville leant forward; Ginny sighed. “Harry, I know it’s frustrating, but this is the only thing
we can do, at least until Hermione wakes up,” she said plaintively.

Harry shook his head violently. “No,” he said loudly. “No, Ginny, you don’t understand. I can’t
look at these photos anymore, I can’t look at this… this person I’m supposed to be,” he intoned,
gesturing at the photo album Ginny had placed at the end of the bed. “I can’t be the person you
expect me to be, it’s just not there anymore,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

Ginny placed a hand soothingly on his; he flinched slightly, but did not remove it. “Harry… we
don’t expect you to be anything,” she said softly, looking at Neville for support.

He nodded. “We know you’re bored, Harry, but we have to keep trying…”

Harry took a deep breath. “You don’t understand,” he repeated in a harsher tone. “I’m not bored,
I’m exhausted. It’s not working, and I’m not sure I even want it to,” he said, avoiding Ginny’s
eyes. He could still see, though, out of the corner of his eye, that she had leant closer.

“Harry,” she said, voice almost right next to his ear. “Don’t think like that. You can’t. Once
you have it back, Harry,” she said, voice cracking, “you’ll understand why it’s so important. And
Hermione… she needs you, Harry. I can’t imagine what she’ll do when she finds out that this… that
you…” Ginny broke off, audibly swallowing.

Harry closed his eyes in frustration. “I want to be alone,” he said finally, not looking at
either of them.

He heard Ginny start to say something, but evidently Neville quieted her, for he said, “Okay,
Harry. We’ll be back later.” There was a clear strand of sadness in Neville’s voice, and Harry felt
slightly guilty that there was also clear disappointment beneath it. But he stuck to staunchly
examining his bed sheets, and he heard his friends walking quietly to the door, which clicked shut
behind them.

*~*~*

Ginny was unusually subdued as they trekked back to the common room, Neville observed silently,
and she seemed to be walking differently- gone was the light, bouncy step she usually took,
replaced instead by a heavy, downbeat trudge. Her shoulders were hunched, too, he noticed, and if
he hadn’t been so afraid of her reaction he would have put a hand on them to try and comfort her.
But, instead, she moodily trudged on, and he just followed her, saying nothing.

They had almost reached the Gryffindor common room when the staircase they were walking up
suddenly took it upon itself to move, swinging around and throwing Neville to the side. Ginny had
stumbled too, and Neville heard her curse under her breath.

The staircase settled itself in its new position, and, since both Neville and Ginny knew only
too well that waiting for it to move back was a pointless idea- it could be hours- they wordlessly
continued up the staircase, both trying to figure out which path they could take now. Ginny stopped
once off the staircase, and Neville, looking pensively at one of the portraits (which was looking
suspiciously back at him), walked into her.

“Ow!” Ginny yelped, falling onto her knees. Neville wobbled but managed to stay upright. “Shit,
Neville!” Ginny said angrily, though when she looked up at him she simply looked sad.

“Sorry,” Neville replied, flushing, holding out a hand to help her up. Ginny gave a weak smile,
and brushed herself off, freezing momentarily when a serene, lilting voice sounded from behind
her.

“Are you alright, Ginny?” asked Luna, peering at her classmate in concern. Ginny gave a smile,
which quickly faded back into gloom.

“Fine, Luna, thank you,” she said briskly, hitting at her trousers to remove the last of the
dirt. “Staircase surprised us, is all,” she explained, sniffing slightly as she looked back at
Luna.

Luna smiled warmly. “Hello, Neville,” she smiled over Ginny’s shoulder. “How are you?”

Neville smiled back. “I’m okay, Luna, thanks for asking,” he replied. He jumped slightly when
Ginny suddenly grabbed Luna by the arm; Luna, however, took this in her stride, and allowed Ginny
to drag her through the archway behind her and down the corridor. Neville was left standing alone
for a good few seconds before he realized he’d been left behind, and he ran after them, yelling,
“Ginny! Wait for me!”

To his surprise, Ginny slowed, though her grip on Luna’s arm did not loosen. Neville caught up
with them; from the look Luna gave him, she did not appear to be bothered by Ginny’s strong hold on
her; in fact, she barely seemed to have noticed it at all. Neville smiled at her, getting that
familiar lucid smile back.

Quickly they were moving again, and Ginny’s voice struck up: “Neville, I can’t believe I didn’t
think of this before! Luna can help us; she always has the best ideas.”

Neville frowned. Going in search of Crumple Headed Snorkacks didn’t exactly seem like a great
idea to him, but Ginny was already marching Luna off up the stairs, and Neville was forced to jog
to keep up. He heard Luna remark, “The grounds are really pretty in the snow, aren’t they?”, but
Ginny said nothing until they reached the portrait hole, where for the first time Luna’s face
registered surprise.

“You’re going to take me in there?” she asked, a bemused smile appearing on her face.

Ginny waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, Luna, no one’ll care, you’re practically a Gryffindor
anyway the number of times you’ve helped us out,” she said, then turned to the Fat Lady, who was
dropping grapes ponderously into her open mouth. “Victory,” she said, and the Fat Lady waved them
in- Neville heard her choke on a grape as he followed Ginny and Luna into the common room.

It was still light enough outside that most of the Gryffindors were still enjoying their
snowball fights or whatever they were doing outside, and so it was easy to commandeer three plush
armchairs near to the fire; Neville sank into one, kicked off his shoes and dangled his feet in
front of the blissfully warm fire, which crackled in response.

“Oh, hello, Ronald!” Luna suddenly called. Neville looked around. Luna was smiling across the
room to Ron, who jumped, gave a weak wave, and then, seeing Ginny glaring fiercely at him, abruptly
leapt up from his slumped position and vanished up the stairs to the dormitories.

Luna looked concerned. “Is your brother alright, Ginny?” she asked lightly.

Ginny glowered. “No, he’s a bastard,” she mumbled, and Luna blinked. Neville jumped in.

“Um, Luna, Ginny and Ron aren’t really… well, they’re not speaking right now,” he said, blushing
at his bumbling words. Luna blinked again.

“Oh, dear,” she said quietly. “Is it something to do with Harry?” she asked innocently.

Ginny, who had been examining her wand closely, dropped it and blushed. Neville frowned, but
turned back to Luna.

“I think it’s best we leave it, Luna,” he said quietly. Luna nodded sagely.

“Of course,” she said graciously. She said nothing more; if it were anyone else, Neville would
have wondered why she hadn’t asked why she’d been whisked off to an unfamiliar common room for no
apparent reason.

As if reading his mind, Ginny, shoving her wand back into her pocket and looked up, gaze steady.
“Luna, I’d like to ask you if you’ll help us with Harry,” she said evenly. Luna smiled.

“Of course,” she replied again. “My dad gave me this marvellous ointment, he made it from the
saliva of the Wiggling Dingbat,” she said eagerly, leaning forward.

Neville laughed, but Ginny shook her head. “I don’t think that’ll help, Luna,” she smiled. Luna
sat back, unflustered. “We need to help Harry remember Hermione,” she explained.

Luna, if Neville wasn’t imagining things, looked momentarily sad, an emotion he’d never known to
appear on her face before. Even when she had discussed things like death, her face had maintained
its smooth, unbothered gaze. “But, Ginny,” she said in confusion, “how can I help?”

Ginny smiled, and Neville was glad to see it seemed to be a genuine one this time. “Oh, I’m sure
we’ll think of a way,” she said mysteriously.



5. Chapter Five: The Third One, Between
---------------------------------------

**A/N:** *Well, here is the next chapter, sooner than I expected (and sooner than you
expected, too, I’m guessing). I’m not going to lie and say I was delighted by the amount of
reviews- but those I did receive were encouraging and thank you to those who gave them. I hope you
enjoy this chapter- and please, review! I feed on them.*

*Oh, and the chapter title is taken from Vienna Teng’s gorgeous song ‘*Between*’- a
perfect song for love triangles, which, you may have noticed, are all over this story.*

Love Will Come Through

**Chapter Five: The Third One, Between**

“This,” whispered Neville, leaning down as inconspicuously as he could to Ginny’s ear, “is the
stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”

Ginny’s head snapped round and she glared at him so fiercely that he gulped and stood straight
again, flushing at he refocused on the scene before them.

Harry, looking thoroughly perplexed, was sat up in his hospital bed wearing a furry red jumper
Neville had immediately recognised to be one of Mrs Weasley’s. Neville also knew that the only
thing that would cause Harry to wear the oversized, rather ugly piece of clothing was extreme cold,
and, indeed, a cold wind was raging outside, battering the windowpanes and making the others in the
room shiver.

On Harry’s bed, her eyes closed in concentration, was Luna, who, if Neville had ever known her
to have one, was in her element. She was rolling her thumb over Harry’s left hand, which was making
Harry flush and glance around in embarrassment, along with a fair amount of hopelessness.

The most unexpected of the room’s current occupants was Ron, sitting in the chair next to
Harry’s bedside, where he was defiantly staring out of the window at the dark storm clouds that had
gathered. Ron looked like he was trying to teach himself apparition, so disgusted and disinterested
was his expression.

Ginny had already left Neville’s side to stand quietly watching Luna work. Neville sighed. When
Ginny had smiled so confidently at him as she mysteriously hinted at Luna’s apparently wondrous
methods, Neville had felt decidedly hopeful about everything, as if Ginny had suddenly stumbled
upon the miracle cure. But when he’d finally been privy to hearing said miracle cure, his heart had
sunk.

Meditation was the answer. Neville had laughed, sure it was a joke- but when Luna had looked at
him curiously, and Ginny’s eyes had flared warningly, he knew otherwise. Of course, that didn’t
stop him feeling sceptical about it. For all Ginny’s protests that this wasn’t just meditation-
Luna’d seen it done, she said, a magical meeting of minds, a true test and proving of trust between
loved ones- Neville didn’t believe a word of it. Neville didn’t like to think of himself as a weak
person, but when it came to Ginny he couldn’t seem to do a single thing, and so he’d wordlessly
gone along with their plans.

They needed five people, Luna had dreamiy informed them, and Ginny had nodded acceptingly,
chewing her nails pensively. Neville had done the mental arithmetic- Harry, of course, Ginny, Luna,
himself…

That was where Ron came in. Neville had finally tried to intervene at this point, sure that this
could only make things worst between the two Gryffindor boys; and anyway, he’d protested, if this
was about trust, how could you possibly involve Ron? But Ginny was defiant. Ron cared, she
insisted, and this technique was on the subconscious, not the surface. He’d just need some
persuading, she insisted.

Her version of persuasion involved threatening her brother with her infamous Bat-Bogey Hex,
which was how Ron had come to be commandeered into his current position. He’d said nothing to Harry
in the ten minutes he’d been sitting there, though he had looked round curiously at Luna’s frequent
effervescent noises, which had only made Harry look even more uncomfortable and twitch nervously,
meaning Luna had had to restart whatever it was she’d been doing.

Neville walked over to stand awkwardly at the end of the bed, watching Luna’s strange movements
before Ginny quietly instructed him to get another chair. As Neville dragged one over from the
other side of the echoing hospital wing, Luna’s voice suddenly rang out. “Ready.”

Ron’s eye twitched but he did not look around until Ginny pointedly said his name, when he
moodily swung his legs off the arm of the chair and sat properly, staring at the floor. Neville put
the chair down next to Ginny, which she accepted with a brief smile, and he went around the bed to
sit across from Luna. She smiled luminously at him. Harry looked at Neville in desperation. Neville
could only offer a smile and a shrug in reply.

Ginny, sat forward purposefully, looked to Luna.

“Okay, everyone, if you get out your wands and make a circle, each holding the end of a wand
with each hand,” Luna instructed, seeming uncharacteristically focused. “They need to point in the
direction of Harry.” Neville drew his wand out and held it with his right hand, sticking it out
towards Ron; Ron rolled his eyes and fished out his own wand from his pocket, ignoring Harry even
as he stuck his wand out to the boy sitting in the bed.

Luna smiled at the circle and looked to Harry. “Harry, this depends on you. If you’re not
focused, nothing will happen,” she said kindly. Neville couldn’t help thinking that nothing was
going to happen anyway, and he could tell both Ron and Harry were thinking along similar lines. He
felt Ginny’s eyes on him, though, and said nothing.

Luna’s soothing voice sounded again. “Close your eyes, everyone,” she told them, and they did
so, Ron giving a low snort of derision. “No pig noises please, Ronald,” Luna added lightly, making
Neville chuckle to himself. “Now,” continued Luna smoothly, “what we all have to do is focus on
Harry. Picture his mind. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle, but there are pieces missing. Can you all see
that?” Ginny murmured an affirmative. “Good,” whispered Luna. “Now picture the pieces next to the
puzzle. They’re all there, all ready to slot into place. Now, you’re standing over the puzzle with
your wands. Lift up a piece with your wand. Put it into its place.” She paused. “And again.”

An eerie calm had settled over the group; even Ron, so defiantly derisory, seemed focused, his
eyes closed tightly and his body rigid. Neville felt the currents of magic running through them
all; even if he’d wanted to break the circle, he knew he couldn’t have released either wand he was
holding. He focused as hard as he could on Luna’s words, on picturing what she said.

Not a sound was made around the circle; only the sounds of rain starting to patter at the
windows, the storm slowly moving overhead, could have been heard to anyone else in the hospital
wing- the circle of the five friends, however, could hear nothing but their own slow breathing.

“Good,” said Luna suddenly, cutting through Neville’s lucid consciousness and making him shake
his head. He felt his grip loosen on the wands, though he did not drop them- whether still held by
their power, or simply by fear of reprimand, he couldn’t tell, but all the same he kept his eyes
clamped shut, the images of the strange puzzle still in his mind.

A sudden sound of ragged breathing broke through the calm, and Neville blinked his eyes open
worriedly, immediately seeing that the source of the noise was Harry. Ginny had moved forward
concernedly, but Luna’s voice, harsher than he had ever heard it before, made them both freeze:
“No! Keep holding on,” she ordered them, her eyes wide as she gazed at Harry.

Harry’s eyes were still closed, screwed up as if he were trying to keep out every last particle
of light, his body shivering slightly. Neville could see multicoloured sparks bouncing off the
inside of Harry’s curled, sweaty hands- the power within both Ron and Harry’s wands was flowing
into Harry, and he juddered more violently, his lips emitting a kind of hollow rasping noise.

Ginny was as far forward as she could get without breaking the hold on the wands she was
holding, and she seemed to be having difficulty holding onto the one joining her to Harry- as
sparks flew more wildly from Harry’s hands, Ginny’s arm was shaking from the sheer effort of
holding on. Clearly panicking, her eyes flicked to Ron- who, looking horrified, was shaking almost
as much as Harry, and Neville looked around just in time to see the wand slide out of Ron’s grasp
and flash blindingly at Harry.

Luna, seeing the connection break, immediately dropped the wands she was holding- which Ginny
and Neville kept hold of- and slid forward to Harry, who had slumped into an unconscious position.
Ginny leant close at Luna’s inspection of Harry; Neville looked at Ron, who looked thoroughly
shaken.

“Harry? Harry?” came Ginny’s insistent voice, watching helplessly as Luna held onto Harry’s
face, her thumbs rubbing his cheeks firmly. Slowly, Harry awoke, blinking his eyes in confusion,
pupils tiny as he looked back at Luna.

Luna sat back, fears allayed, and took a deep breath. “Can you remember anything, Harry?” she
asked, voice returned to her usual soft, lilting tones.

Harry let out a sigh and shook his head. “I was… I saw things, but they’re all a blur… I felt
myself getting a hold of something but then it slipped away. What was happening to me?”

Luna smiled gently. “The wands were flowing through you Harry, you were shaking quite a bit… but
that’s normal, it’s supposed to happen,” she explained. “But Ron… he couldn’t hold onto the wand,
Harry, it was too strong, he dropped it before it could finish… and now whatever you could see is
probably gone,” she said, her soothing voice calming the other three.

Harry, however, looked incensed, and he glared at Ron, who was now staring at the floor again.
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Harry said quietly, menace seeping through his voice.

“Harry, no!” said Neville in a whisper, as Ron looked up, eyes flashing. He said nothing but
looked defiantly back at Harry.

“What did I do to you?” asked Harry in a whisper. Ron’s nostrils flared.

“Get him out of here, Neville,” said Ginny quietly but forcefully, and Neville sprang up,
grabbed Ron and pulled him upwards, shepherding him out of the room as quickly as he could.

Once Neville had securely shut the door to the hospital wing, he turned to Ron. Ron was
breathing heavily, his face a rather ugly mask of bitterness, and Neville, immediately regretting
his words, asked, “Did you do it on purpose, Ron?”

Ron looked at him, fury etched on his face. “I bloody wish I had,” he spat viciously, stalking
heavily off before Neville could say anything else.

*~*~*

Neville awoke the next morning feeling strangely drained- his body felt heavier, his forehead
was clammy, and his head was pounding with a fierce headache. And yet somehow, after realizing that
he’d have to get up at some point, he didn’t seem to feel the effects of these ailments in his
movements- his legs didn’t drag as he expected them to, he didn’t wince at the frosty sunlight’s
glare, and, as the droplets of water drained down from the showerhead, he barely felt them at all.
He hurt, and yet this seemed to have no effect whatsoever on his physical self- which left him
thinking pensively, as he lounged by the fire waiting for Ginny to appear in the common room, that
he was imagining things.

He was dozing off lazily when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Blinking, he looked around to see
Ginny, who, he was unsurprised to see, still held that same sadness in her eyes; though, right now,
she looked more confused than anything else. He lifted his eyebrows as he looked at her.

“Are you alright, Ginny?” he said in concern. She sighed, and flopped herself down awkwardly in
a chair next to his. He shifted in his seat to show he was giving her his full attention.

“I’m not sure,” said Ginny, scratching her ear absently. “I feel like someone’s dropped a trunk
on me, but there doesn’t actually seem to be anything wrong with me,” she said, poking her arm
pointedly.

Neville’s eyes widened. “That’s how I feel,” he said with strange eagerness, sitting up. Ginny
started.

“What do you think it is?” she said, almost in a whisper.

Neville thought for a second, then almost cursed himself for being so dense. “The wand circle
must’ve taken more out of us than we expected,” he said. Ginny mirrored his feelings by hitting the
side of her head with an audible impact.

“Of course! Luna did say it might have adverse effects,” she said, biting her lip.

Neville frowned. “Did she say how long they’ll last? I might be able to move properly, but I
feel terrible,” he said, rubbing his head.

Ginny nodded absently. “She said they’d go away within the day.”

Neville sighed. “So we have to suffer this all day?” he moaned. “McGonagall’s testing us today,
I have to turn someone into a door or something,” he groaned. “It’ll be difficult enough as it
is.”

Ginny glared at him. “Stop whining, Neville… it’s a small price to pay for Harry’s memory,” she
said harshly.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like it made any difference, is it?” Neville shot back in an unusual show
of defiance.

Ginny’s eyes flashed dangerously. “It would have done,” she said in a whisper, “if it weren’t
for my darling brother.”

Neville sighed. “Ginny, I don’t think-”

Ginny held up her hand. “Neville, don’t you dare try and defend him,” she commanded fiercely.
“God knows I thought Ron wasn’t really the person he’s been lately, I thought he was just being
stupid… but he proved last night that he really doesn’t care about Harry anymore.”

“But Gi-”

Ginny brandished her wand. “Neville, do you want me to hex you? Shut up.” Neville looked back
unwaveringly but said nothing, and she nodded, tucked her wand back into her robes, and smiled
falsely. “Now, it’s time for breakfast, and then we can go and check on Harry before class,” she
said, standing and walking to the portrait hole before Neville had even realized she’d moved.

*~*~*

Breakfast was eaten between stilted, awkward conversation, both Ginny and Neville preoccupied
with their continuing non-physical aches and the failure of last night’s events. They waved to
Luna, who smiled warmly back, seemingly unaffected by the problems plaguing the two Gryffindors.
Neville noticed Ron sitting alone down the long table, eating his porridge moodily, ignoring anyone
who tried to wish him a good morning. The gloomy skies visible via the bewitched ceiling seemed to
mirror Ron’s mood- enormous black rolls of cloud bared down upon the hall, rain falling outside,
dark fog masking the grounds. Snow had quickly become sludge, and those who had enjoyed the
weekend’s sparkling snow drifts were muttering in annoyance, forced to stay inside the hollow,
chilly corridors and sit shivering in lessons.

Harry was asleep when Neville and Ginny hurriedly popped into the hospital wing, and they had no
complaints when Madam Pomfrey ushered them out, assuring them he was fine, and repeating the same
old story about Hermione: no change yet. Neville gave Ginny a comforting pat on the back as they
parted ways, agreeing to meet up again at lunch.

But Neville saw Ginny before that.

He and Harry had just finished their exhausting double-Transfiguration, where both had had to
try and ignore the slowly dulling but still prevalent aches and focus on the gruelling test.
McGonagall had taken the class two at a time- one to cast the spell, one to be transformed, then
switch around- and so Harry and Neville had taken the time while they waited to practice on each
other. Neville had almost gone to face Megan Jones with his nose still in the form of a
doorknob.

Neville was as surprised as Professor McGonagall when Megan had, at one flick of Neville’s wand,
immediately turned into an antique dressing table, and had let Neville, after Megan had changed him
rather painfully back from a heavy stone chair, go with hearty congratulations. He had waited to
watch Harry, though, who had more trouble turning Zacharias Smith into tatty desk than Smith did
turning Harry into a four-poster bed.

As Harry, chuckling from having witnessed Ron’s bundled attempt at making Blaise Zabini into a
trophy cabinet, gave Neville his own congratulations, they heard an all-too-familiar catcall.

“Oh, Potter! Don’t go forgetting that flame-ball too; she’ll hex you worse than You-Know-Who if
you’re not careful…”

Harry spun round to see the slick, greasy white hair of Draco Malfoy floating above the crowd,
eventually emerging to stand opposite him and lean casually against the wall, sneering at Harry and
Neville, who had frozen in the corridor. Malfoy was flanked by his usual cronies, Crabbe and Goyle,
who seemed to be trying to sneer with their ringleader, though they instead looked simply
gormless.

The hallway had suddenly quieted- confrontations between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had
become legend- and students had stopped promptly where they were, a few noises of scuffling at the
back as particularly nosy students struggled through to the front of the crowds.

“What are you talking about?” said Harry distantly, still unsure why he apparently hated this
sneering boy so much, and perplexed as to who Malfoy was talking about.

Malfoy laughed scornfully. “Oh, that’s right, boys, Potter can’t remember me either!” he
exclaimed with a smirk. “Shall we see if he can remember how to do a Shield Charm?” he asked,
flicking his wand casually at Harry.

Harry, who had not taken out his wand in his confusion, flinched, but Malfoy’s silent jinx
bounced off Neville’s quickly emplaced shield, and Malfoy laughed. “Oh, look, Potter’s got a new
protector! Magical orphans stick together…” he sang, sneering at Neville.

“Shove off, Malfoy,” came a voice, and Neville jumped suddenly as Ginny appeared at his elbow,
her wand already pointed menacingly at Malfoy. Malfoy, however, merely smirked wider.

“Ah, here she is, Potter’s upgrade,” he laughed. Ginny fumed. Harry frowned. “Oh, sorry,
fire-head, doesn’t he know?” He looked at Harry. “Fire-head here’s in love with you, didn’t you
know? Glad Granger’s out cold, aren’t we Weasley?”

Ginny was blushing furiously, but flicked her wand at Malfoy, her lips murmuring a spell
quietly, and a jet of vivid purple shot out of her wand and hit Malfoy square in the chest. Malfoy,
taken aback, fell to the floor, his face suddenly covered with enormous boils. His sneer evaporated
as he felt his face, glaring at Ginny, who held her wand out warningly.

“It’s not me you should be hexing,” he spat at her disdainfully. “It seems the Weasleys can’t
even trust their own,” he announced to the crowd, grimacing as he touched his face. Ginny paled,
her wand falling to her side.

“What’s goin’ on ‘ere?” said a low, growling voice, and Neville almost fell over as Mrs. Norris
walked through his legs, and Filch appeared around the corner.

“Weasley’s hexed me, Mr. Filch,” said Malfoy quickly, putting on his best innocent voice. Filch
raised an eyebrow at Malfoy, then looked at Ginny.

“Run along,” he growled at her, and she nodded, shepherding Harry and Neville along before her.
As they turned the corner, they heard Filch say, “whatever you did, boy, I’m sure you bloody
deserved it,” but none of them laughed. As soon as they were out of sight, Ginny let out an angry
growl, her eyes avoiding Harry.

“I am going to kill Ron,” she pledged in a violent whisper, before sticking her wand in her
pocket and marching off without a goodbye to either Neville or Harry.

Neville looked at Harry. “He wouldn’t...” he breathed. But Harry just looked even more confused
than before, staring after Ginny’s rapidly disappearing figure with a deep frown on his face.

*~*~*

When they got to Potions, Harry seemed to settle into his usual slumped yet attentive position-
listening but staunchly putting up a front of disinterest against Snape- but Neville couldn’t
concentrate at all. He absently dumped his ingredients randomly into his cauldron- causing a rather
rank odour and an unappetising grey smog to rise out it, and Snape to instruct him to start over
(*“And pay attention this time, Longbottom!”*)- as he thought about Ginny and Ron.

Would Ron really do what Malfoy had said he had? After all, Malfoy had been teasing Harry and
Ginny about the same subject for years- but then why would he now throw in the remark about family?
Had Ron’s jealousy over Hermione really stretched to the extent where he’d start to tar and feather
his own sister?

And Ginny. Neville sighed. He knew she tried her best in front of Harry, smiling at him with
encouragement as he looked hopelessly through the pictures again, cheerfully diving into the
Pensieve and emerging with an upbeat “Don’t worry, Harry, next time!”, but all Neville ever saw on
Ginny’s face otherwise was a haunting sadness, a hollow look in her eyes. He had the thought that
perhaps she threw herself so violently into confrontation- with Ron, with Malfoy, with whomever-
because it was the only time she felt she was having any effect. Ginny was the main person trying
to help Harry- and she was failing.

Harry nudged Neville out his reveries and they walked silently down the cold stone dungeon
corridor, ignoring the repetitive remarks of Malfoy behind them. They ran across the entrance hall,
escaping the thrall of a cold wind as some fourth-years trudged in, drenched, from the greenhouses,
and walked into the warmer air of the Great Hall, stomachs lurching in anticipation at the plates
of food already laid out on the tables.

At the opposite end of the Gryffindor table, however, was a less enticing sight. Ron and Ginny
were standing on opposing sides of the table, plates of food lying in a mess on the floor around
them, wands pointed at one another. Ron’s robes were torn, and Ginny’s hand was bleeding. She was
shouting.

“… to Malfoy?! That snivelling, snarling rat? How could you?! You’re a pathetic waste of
space!”

Neville was already running down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables towards
Ginny, pushing aside the few present students who were standing nervously but transfixed to the
scene unfolding before them. Tellingly, there were no teachers present at the raised table at the
back of the hall- the Weasleys’ rage was free to fly at one another.

“I was only telling the truth, Ginny!” Ron was snarling back, face contorted into an ugly smirk.
“But he can’t remember her, Gin, he’s all yours! Yours to love, yours to hold…”

Ginny’s wand flashed suddenly, but Ron deflected her hex with a reflex flick of his own wand,
and it bounced off, shattering a windowpane. The room was suddenly filled with a fierce, deafening
howl, wind flying in through the window, violently angled rain smashing down and impacting on some
young Ravenclaws sitting innocently by the window. They yelped and fled in fear, and even Ginny and
Ron looked round at the sound.

Neville was at Ginny’s side now, quietly trying to move her way, but she shrugged him off, head
flicking back round- but not in time for her to shield herself from the jet of red light from Ron’s
wand, which sent her flying back onto the Ravenclaw table, where she landed awkwardly on a roast
chicken, and sent a plate of potatoes ricocheting into a disgruntled Terry Boot.

Ron grinned triumphantly at no one in particular, but Neville, suddenly gripped by a fierce
mixture of anger and a protective impulse, grabbed his wand from his pocket and yelled “Petrificus
totalus!”

Ron’s arms and legs snapped together and he toppled to the floor, his eyes wide with surprise.
Nearby Hufflepuffs looked over but did not move. Neville, however, rushed over to help Ginny stand
up again. There were gashes of blood down her face but she didn’t look particularly injured, and
she looked up at Neville with surprise, a small smile on her lips.

“Um…” she stammered, cheeks red. “Thanks, Neville.” He smiled back and let her arm go, looking
over at Ron.

“I guess we shouldn’t leave him like that,” he said quietly, ignoring the increasing chatter of
the gathering crowd.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “He bloody deserves it,” she whispered back.

Teachers had started to arrive now, the tiny figure of Professor Flitwick pushing through the
barrier the crowd had made and standing over Ron, flicking his wand to release Ron.

“Mr. Weasley,” he squeaked in concern, “what on earth…”

Ron chewed fiercely on his lip but said nothing, avoiding Ginny and Neville’s gazes. Neville
suddenly realized that Harry, who he had left behind at the entrance to the Great Hall, had not
appeared, and he was now nowhere to be seen. He let himself be commandeered by Flitwick, who Ginny
was imploring that it was all Ron’s fault, but, all the while, Neville was wondering where Harry
had vanished to- and, more importantly, *why*.

*~*~*

Ron sat in the courtyard, kicking at his torn robes, ignoring the heavy rain pelting down on his
head. He deserved it really, he thought, and, almost comforted by this, he let himself become
covered in the water, feeling every inch of his body slowed become covered in its harsh beads.

“Ronald?” came a voice, and he jumped, immediately knowing who it was. Only one person, apart
from his mother, ever called him Ronald.

“Hi, Luna,” he said croakily, without looking up. He jumped again when he felt her sit down
beside him, and he looked up at her in surprise. She was wearing her familiar dreamy smile,
seemingly unaware of the rain, which was quickly making her hair go a thin and straggly grey,
instead of its usual creamy, soft blonde.

“Aren’t you bothered by the rain, Luna?” he asked curiously, almost grinning himself when she
stared at him with a bemused smile.

“Oh, rainwater’s good for you,” she said in her soothing lilt, “it makes you more attuned to the
lunar cycles,” she explained, nodding wisely.

Ron chuckled despite himself. “Oh, that’s good,” he said uselessly, flushing slightly. Luna put
a hand gently on his arm.

“Are you alright, Ronald?” she asked with concern. “I saw you with Ginevra earlier… it does no
good to fight,” she advised kindly.

Ron sighed, smile fading. He felt strangely comforted by Luna’s hand- where it lay he felt warm,
as the rest of his body became colder and colder. He coughed, and Luna turned his head towards him,
her finger gently touching his cheek.

“You’ll catch cold, Ronald,” she said softly, a slight frown apparent on her face. He avoided
her eyes. Luna seemed to pause, the air pregnant with a sudden anticipation. “You can’t stay out
here forever, you know,” she whispered, and Ron felt a jolt run through his body, tears pricking at
his eyes. They mingled with the rainwater, and, though he knew she couldn’t have possibly seen any
distinction between the two, Ron knew that Luna sensed he was letting his tears run free for the
first time in months.

*~*~*

Harry had fled from the Great Hall, unable to watch the fierce battle unfurl between two
siblings over something he could not remember, something that was his fault, his problem too. As
Neville had run to Ginny, Harry had run away, taking refuge in the only place he knew he could be
alone- the hospital wing.

The wind and rain battered loudly against the windows, the glass juddering nervously in
response. Harry shivered, trying and failing to gather his robes closer around him. There was no
one else there- Madam Pomfrey’s door proffered a note saying she’d be back in six minutes (it had
said ten when Harry had arrived)- and so Harry, feeling more distant from the world than he could
ever remember feeling before, stood over Hermione’s still body, hands awkwardly stuck in his
pockets.

So this was her. The girl he supposedly loved. The girl Ron loved. The girl who seemed to be
causing as much unhappiness as the happiness he was told she had once brought. This girl. This
girl, pale as a sheet, skin cold to the touch, eyes closed unwaveringly, her right hand curled,
still believing it held a wand.

This girl, who was spluttering, whose eyes were flickering open, whose fingers were twitching,
who was looking up at him with a faint, warm smile.

“Harry?”

-#-#-#-#-

**A/N:** *Hermione would want you to review. So why don’t you do so? It’ll only take you a
minute.*



6. Chapter Six: Awake
---------------------

**A/N:** Well, thank you very much for all the lovely reviews I got on the last chapter (and
keep it up! Constructive criticism also greatly encouraged…), and here is the next chapter, rather
later than intended, but here it is. Work is already well in motion on the next two chapters (yes,
that’s **two**- long story), and I should be able to get the next one up on Saturday at the
latest. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please, review!

Love Will Come Through

**Chapter Six: Awake**

“Harry?”

Her voice came raspingly at him as he stared, unmoving, down at her- suddenly the doll had
become real, the stone had leapt to life, the dead had risen again. For all that he had seen her in
the memories and the pictures, to be confronted with the actual reality sent a juddering shock
through his heart, a creeping sense of familiarity rising and then, just as quickly, vanishing.

He stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet, still looking wide-eyed at the figure, slowly
moving, on the bed below. She was looking at him, hope and confusion and, dear god, *love*
filling her eyes, and it petrified him. He moved back further and hit the neighbouring bed,
unconsciously falling onto it and sitting there, almost frozen in his alarmed state.

Her head had turned to face him, eyes blinking at him, and he watched as she pushed herself up
awkwardly to rest against the cold metal bars of the headboard. She shivered as her body made
contact with the thick iron through her thin cotton pyjamas, but her gaze did not break.

“Harry?” she said again, more nervously. He swallowed. “Are you alright?”

He felt sweaty, panicked. What was he supposed to say? ‘*Sorry, I know we were like, in love
and stuff, but I can’t remember a thing about you’*? His throat constricted; even if he had had
words to say, he couldn’t have said them.

“Harry? Say something,” she said, a trace of desperation seeping into her voice, the realization
that something was seriously wrong slowly dawning on her. It showed in her face; her faint smile
changed to a tiny ‘oh’ shape and her brow furrowed. “Please, Harry, what is it?”

She was struggling against the constricting bed sheets, but they had been wrapped so tightly
under the mattress that her legs were stranded beneath them, and she broke her gaze for the first
time as she pulled at them more desperately, her breath slowly escalating in speed, her eyes
panicked.

“… was just a stunner, I think, Miss Weasley; you’ll be fine…”

Hermione froze at the sudden sound of approaching voices, audible even through the thick
hospital wing door, and both she and Harry looked around to the door, where shadows danced in the
sliver of light shining dully beneath it. A hand was scraping at the doorknob. It opened with a
creak, the bustling figure of Madam Pomfrey appearing before the scarred face of Ginny, holding her
bloody hand in a plush white towel, and followed by a seemingly ambivalent Neville.

“But what about the blood, Madam Pomfrey, it just won’t sto-”

They all froze, seemingly seeing the scene before them in unison, and Ginny let out a shrill
scream of surprise, bashing Madam Pomfrey’s elbow as she ran over in a dazzling flash, almost
leaping on Hermione. The towel had dropped to the floor as she ran, and her path was immediately
marked with a trail of blood.

“Hermione!” Ginny exclaimed in delight, arms flying around the stunned figure who had been
struggling with her bed sheets. As her arm hit Hermione’s back, Ginny seemed to realize she was
still injured and flinched, withdrawing her damaged arm quickly, though she clung on with her good
limb, pressing her face into Hermione’s shoulder.

“Merlin’s wand- Miss Granger!” said Madam Pomfrey breathlessly, hand flying to her chest.
Neville looked startled, but calmly walked over, glancing nervously at Harry as he sat down on the
end of Hermione’s bed, receiving a mutual smile from her over Ginny’s shoulder.

It sounded suspiciously like Ginny was sobbing into Hermione’s shoulder, and it took the prying
fingers of Madam Pomfrey to remove her from Hermione’s shivering form, giving the forgotten towel
back to Ginny and instructing the misty-eyed Weasley child to sit down next to Harry.

Harry watched absently as Madam Pomfrey thoroughly examined Hermione, eyes avoiding Hermione’s
at the frequent intervals when she looked over at him, worry still prevalent in her gaze. Ginny was
glancing between them as she held the towel firmly around her wrist, her other hand wiping at her
eyes as she sniffed. Harry rested a hand comfortingly on her forearm, but she pushed it away
quickly without looking at him.

There was silence as Madam Pomfrey poked, prodded and waved her wand over Hermione, pushing her
patient back down into her lying position and forcefully folding the covers back over her,
finishing her examinations with an insistent “You need to lie **down**, Miss Granger”. Hermione
looked annoyed but said nothing, and Madam Pomfrey turned, gesturing Ginny into her office and
leaving Hermione, Neville and Harry alone.

Hermione looked meaningfully at Harry, who quickly shifted his gaze to the floor, and so
Hermione turned to Neville.

“Neville,” she said in a threatening tone, “since Harry won’t tell me what’s going on, would you
be so kind?” She finished with a forced, awkward smile, and Neville sighed heavily, resigned to the
worst.

“Um,” he started with a bite of his lip, trying to ignore Hermione’s dagger-like stares and
Harry’s off-putting shoe scuffs, “well, you see, Hermione, I don’t know if I should…”

Hermione, constricted by her bed sheets, nevertheless managed quite a sharp kick to Neville’s
hip. He yelped. “Neville,” she said warningly, arching an eyebrow.

He protested. “It’s not that simple! How would like to tell someone that the person they love
has-” he broke off suddenly, seeming to realizing he’d been about to blurt it out in one go.

Hermione almost swallowed her tongue as she pushed mightily against her blankets. “Has
*what*?” she said insistently. “Tell me!”

Neville closed his eyes, and the momentary quiet was filled by the sounds of Ginny yelping “Ow!
No, that hurts!” Harry looked at Hermione, eyes wide as she stared forcefully at Neville; and at
Neville, face distraught as he tried to make a decision. Harry made it for him.

“I can’t remember you,” he said hollowly, making the air suddenly pregnant with nervous
apprehension. Hermione’s head snapped to look at him, and Neville’s eyes popped open, surprise and
embarrassment showing on his face.

Hermione frowned. “What do you mean, you can’t *remember* me?”

Harry sighed, head hanging low. “Voldemort’s final spell was a memory charm, of sorts,” he said,
words heavy with an empty weight. “I killed him, but he obliterated every memory I have of
you.”

Hermione’s eyes bulged in shock. “You… I… every memory?” she spluttered, pushing valiantly
against her cotton shackles. They did not budge, and she was left looking distressingly hopeless, a
lost girl losing everything at once.

Harry looked away, chewing fiercely on his lip. “Yes.”

Hermione looked desperately at Neville, who looked back sadly: a confirmation for Hermione,
whose eyes beamed with sudden tears. She looked back at Harry, who couldn’t face her distraught
expression. “Come here, Harry,” she said forcefully, voice thick with emotion.

Harry glassily complied, standing awkwardly next to Hermione’s bed- her hands were trapped
beneath the bed-sheets, so she could not touch him. Her eyes still brimmed with tears, but she
defied them, ordering Harry to look at her.

He did so, eyes dull and lifeless, and she almost gasped, astonished at the lack of recognition
she saw there; fighting it, she took a deep breath, and kept her gaze firmly unbroken.

“You aren’t gone, Harry,” she said loudly, her words strong and rebellious. “You know me, you
do,” she insisted. “Look,” she said, softening her voice, a soothing, gentle tone, “you know me,”
she whispered.

He felt her eyes almost burning into his, but there was no return of the spark he had felt
initially- this was just a girl, just a person, just a stranger. This was not even the person he
had seen in Ginny’s memories- that girl had been slightly aloof, obsessively book-smart, warm but
rather distant- but the girl he could see before him, the girl staring desperately at him, was
different. She seemed to see directly into him, see things he did not even know were there. She had
no barriers, no secrets, and even he, who could not remember it, could see the love in her eyes,
the frantic searching of himself for something she recognised.

He shook his head, simply to clear his head of these thoughts, but he heard her gasp and
immediately knew she had taken his movement as denial of her words. He dared not look back, and he
heard her make a guttural cry of hopelessness, of unnerving loss, and he knew that she knew. She
had not found what she had expected.

He stumbled away again, feet headed to the door almost without him realizing it, running as fast
as he could from Hermione’s pained sobs, something within him deeply, deeply afraid of them- and,
before Neville had even moved, Harry had vanished down the corridor, Hermione’s wrenching cries
echoing in the hospital wing behind him.

*~*~*

The rain kept raging overhead, but Ron, almost in defiance of some unknown force, stayed firmly
put, shivering from the rain but ignoring it. He and Luna sat there silently for almost half an
hour, the rain slackening slightly, each feeling strangely comfortable next to each other. When an
owl suddenly taking off from a decrepit tree nearby made a branch fall nosily to the ground, Ron
seemed to emerge from his reverie, and he looked at Luna, who had laid her head on his shoulder and
was staring dreamily at the dark sky.

“Luna, you’ll freeze,” he said, softer than he had intended, and she smiled without moving her
gaze.

“So will you, Ronald,” she whispered back, and Ron couldn’t stop a small smile playing on his
lips. But, despite the warmth her body was giving him, he was still shivering, and he could feel
Luna twitching slightly too, so he put his arms around her and lifted her up to stand.

“We have to go inside,” he insisted, and she gazed up at him, eyes sparkling. Now that he was
coming with her, she seemed to accept his insistence, and he led her under the archway to the
walkway, where students, free of classes for another day, were milling lazily about. No one looked
at the bedraggled pair as they wound their way back into the castle.

They were walking down an empty corridor, Ron absently wondering where the Ravenclaw common room
was, when suddenly the door they were walking towards burst open, the tall, cloaked figures of
Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout and Nymphadora Tonks strode quickly through it, heads
crouched close in conversation even as they almost hit Ron and Luna, who fell flat against the
wall.

“… so suddenly, Minerva? But surely there has to be reason?” Flitwick squeaked as they passed
the young pair without seeming to notice them.

Ron looked after them and saw Professor McGonagall shake her head. “Apparently Harry was just
standing there and she suddenly awoke,” she said breathlessly, and Ron felt his heart jolt, eyes
wide as the door clanked shut behind the three figures.

He immediately dropped his hands from Luna, who looked at him, a faintly confused expression on
her face. Ron was already running after the adults, and, without looking back, yelled, “Sorry,
Luna, I have to go!”

Luna watched him vanish through the door and smiled softly, her whispered, “Goodbye, Ronald,”
hanging in the air as she walked off in the opposite direction, a shiver running down her
spine.

*~*~*

There was simply nothing to be done with Hermione, concluded a disheartened Ginny as she sat
beside Neville, both silently looking over at the muffled sobs of the recently awakened. They had
tried as best they could, but no words had seemed to get through to Hermione, who had turned as
best she could in her tight blankets to face away from her two friends, her crying seeming
unceasing. They could see, on the space of pillow she had moved away from, an enormous wet patch
where Hermione’s tears had soaked the cotton.

Madam Pomfrey had sent a note to Professor McGonagall to inform her of the situation, but Ginny
doubted there was much that the headmistress could do that they hadn’t tried already. Sadly, Ginny
wondered whether Hermione would ever emerge from her self-imposed cocoon of tears; she also thought
vaguely of Harry, who she had seen rapidly retreating from the scene. She knew she couldn’t blame
him; and yet it was hard not to. Voldemort may be gone, but his power to destroy lives seemed to be
unstoppable, Ginny thought angrily.

A bizarre calm had settled over the hospital wing; Madam Pomfrey had quickly given up trying to
sooth Hermione, pursing her lips and shutting herself into her office, where vague sounds of
shuffling papers and clattering bottles were occasionally heard, and Hermione’s crying had quieted
to almost nothing in the fifteen minutes since Ginny and Neville had given up. They did not talk to
each other- it seemed disrespectful to chat away while your friend was suffering enormous heartache
a few metres away- and so they simply sat in silence, Neville awkwardly fiddling with his fingers;
but Ginny just sat there, thinking. Why had everything become so difficult? Ginny knew she wasn’t
even directly involved with all of these painful complications- well, at least, she hadn’t been
before Ron had dragged her into it, she thought bitterly- but all the same, her head was a murky
mess.

Her brother was an idiot. She knew Ron had feelings for Hermione, but there was no doubting that
his reaction to her relationship with Harry was utterly ridiculous. Ginny admitted a small amount
of jealousy on her own part- the lingering hope that Harry would eventually feel something back for
her had never really left- but she’d been happy for the pair all the same, especially when she’d
seen them together. So sweet, so happy, so *right*- they just seemed to fit together
perfectly, adjusting to the sudden admittance of feelings as if they’d known of them all along.

It had been a terrible summer for Ginny, though- Ron had stomped moodily about pretty much
non-stop before Harry had arrived for his usual spell at the Burrow, aware of Ron’s dissatisfaction
but quickly realizing that there was little to be done about it. To his credit, Ron had been
perfectly civil to Harry, engaging in the usual games of Quidditch and chess and Exploding Snap
with his usual fervour, though Ginny saw a little too much glee in Ron’s eyes whenever the pile of
cards had blown up in Harry’s face.

But, as everything about this situation seemed to, it all came back to that secretive final week
before Voldemort’s downfall at Harry’s hands. Ginny had not been present- and indeed, she could
find no one else who had been either- at the event that finally seemed to break Ron, and all she
knew was that, one morning, Ron had not been on speaking terms with either Harry or Hermione. He
had staunchly ignored them, and even clicked his tongue in disgust at the sight of either of them-
and, stranger still, thought Ginny, neither Harry or Hermione seemed to be anxious to reconcile the
situation. Ron started spending all his time with Ginny, a fact which she was not particularly glad
of since Ron’s temper seemed to be unusually hot, even for him- he constantly blew up at her for
the smallest things, and when she yelled back he cruelly spat some choice words at her and stomped
off.

But even this was not what had worried Ginny most. No, what had worried Ginny most was how Harry
and Hermione seemed to be acting towards each other. They hadn’t stopped talking to each other, but
their interactions looked distinctly forced to Ginny’s trained eye- something had definitely
happened between the two, not just with Ron. Ginny had caught them looking red-faced and irate
behind a dark corner the day before they had left.

*“Are you arguing?” Ginny said, frowning in concern.*

*“No,” they chorused, rather too quickly for Ginny’s liking. She raised an eyebrow.*

*“Don’t lie to me,” she implored, eyes flashing dangerously.*

*Hermione bit her lip and Harry looked anywhere but at Ginny as he said flatly, “Ginny, we
weren’t fighting. Look,” he added, and planted a firm, chaste kiss on Hermione’s lips. “See? We’re
fine.”*

*Hermione nodded fervently. “Yes,” she said, flush disappearing slowly. “Now I’m late for
Arithmancy,” she said, looking quickly at her watch. “I’ve got to run; I’ll see you both later,”
she said, already running away down the corridor.*

*Ginny looked archly at Harry. “Well?” she prompted.*

*“Well* what*?” he snapped back, turning on his heel and striding off in the other
direction.*

Yes, thought Ginny, there had definitely been something going on. She wondered absently if she’d
ever find out what it was- Harry couldn’t remember, of course, and both Hermione and Ron were so
reclusive at the moment that she knew she couldn’t have got it out of any of them, at least right
now. Ginny sighed. It was not a good time to be a Gryffindor.

She and Neville both jumped when the door behind them flew open, and they both swung around to
see Professors McGonagall and Flitwick march in, followed closely by a concerned Tonks, hair a deep
red. Ginny stood up in a rush, almost falling over before Neville put out a hand to steady her. She
smiled quickly at him, not seeing his embarrassed flush as she turned round to face the adults,
already gathered by Hermione’s bed.

“Miss Granger?” Professor McGonagall said softly, leaning down to where Hermione’s head lay
curled away. “Miss Granger, are you alright?”

Ginny stepped forward. “She knows, professor,” she said, biting her lip anxiously, and Professor
McGonagall closed her eyes sadly, immediately realizing the reason for Hermione’s current
state.

“Oh,” was all the headmistress could say in response, standing there pensively while Tonks
rushed around her to bend down and put her face by Hermione’s, whispering words that no one else
could hear. Hermione gave some muffled noises, but Ginny couldn’t tell whether they were words or
simply more sobs.

Professor Flitwick gestured Ginny and Neville over to the window, where Professor McGonagall
quickly joined them, face inscrutable.

“And where is Mr. Potter? I was told he was here when she awoke,” she said with a raised
eyebrow, and Ginny bit her lip more fervently, leaving Neville to answer the question.

“He, um, left,” stumbled Neville, and Professor McGonagall sighed.

“That, Mr. Longbottom, is obvious,” she said condescendingly, making Neville flush. “Do you know
where he has gone?” she asked deliberately.

“No,” answered Neville with a surprisingly defiant stare. “We were here with Hermione.”

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrow again at Neville’s strong tone, but said nothing about
it, instead seeming to think before she spoke her next words. “Well,” she said eventually, “could
you and Miss Weasley please go and find him? I need to speak with him.”

Neville nodded and grabbed Ginny’s arm roughly, pulling her towards the door before she could
think to protest. “Neville, there’s no need to be so violent,” she hissed in annoyance, glancing
back at Hermione’s bed, where Tonks was still whispering to the curled figure under the sheets.
“Neville, let g-”

Her words stopped sharply when she turned back around to see the wide-eyed figure of Ron
standing in the doorway, his feet frozen in a running position, his cheeks flushed and his breath
heavy.

Ginny’s expression hardened. “You’ve heard, have you?” she said archly, almost biting her tongue
in her anger. Neville’s hold on her was still tight, and she knew he was preparing to pull her away
from the impended scene of ugliness.

Ginny, however, was having none of it. “You’re not seeing her,” she warned forcefully, trying to
throw off Neville’s hand. Ron, still breathless, blinked at her.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked eventually, cheeks slowing loosing their
colour.

Ginny crossed her arms, eyes fiery. “Hermione,” she said patronisingly, “is upset. The last
thing she needs to see is you.”

Ron chewed angrily on his bottom lip, staring back at his sister. “You going to try and stop me,
are you?” he said with a short laugh.

Ginny plucked her wand from her pocket and poked it menacingly at his chest. “You bloody bet I
am,” she snarled, shrugging off Neville’s attempts to calm her down.

Ron looked momentarily startled, but quickly pulled out his own wand and waved it in the air. “I
won last time, Gin,” he said with a smirk, making Ginny’s eyes flash.

“Ron, no!” said Neville in a low voice, seeing the adults look over from the corner of his eye.
Suddenly, as if she’d flown there, Professor McGonagall was at his side, grabbing the siblings’
wands from their grasps before they’d even realized she was there.

She looked disparagingly at both of them. “I heard about your…” she paused, searching for the
appropriate word, “ah, disagreement in the Great Hall earlier,” she informed them, and they both
looked rather abashed, though Ginny’s eyes still flashed dangerously. “Please keep your personal
business out of other student’s noses,” she instructed them, “and please keep your conflicts
verbal,” she said, smartly waving their wands before their faces.

“Professor,” interrupted Ron, still rather breathless, “I need to see Hermione!”

Professor McGonagall did not smile. “Mr. Weasley,” she said calmly, “Miss Granger is not in a
fit state to receive any visitors at the moment, so I will kindly ask you to go back to Gryffindor
Tower and wait until Miss Granger *herself* requests to see you,” she finished smoothly, and,
ignoring Ron’s rather loud protests, ushered all three of them out of the hospital wing, handed
back their wands, and closed the door behind them.

Ginny looked at Ron with a smirk of satisfaction. He looked incensed, but, to Ginny’s surprise,
tucked his wand away and ran out of sight down the corridor.

She felt Neville’s hand on her back, rubbing it comfortingly. “Come on,” he whispered, “let’s go
and find Harry.” She paused, nodded slowly, and let Neville lead her back to the common room,
silence surrounding them as they walked.

*~*~*

Hermione felt like her heart had broken in two.

She tried, desperately, to stop crying, to stop herself from looking so pathetic, but, each time
she told herself forcefully to stop, the tears seemed to multiply. The pillow beneath her head was
horribly, uncomfortably damp, sticking to her cheek, but she could no more bear to turn back to
where she knew Neville and Ginny were sitting than she could continue lying there. She heard
silence for what seemed like an age, then the sudden proliferation of voices behind her; and then,
just as suddenly, a whisper so close her blood froze.

“Hermione?”

It wasn’t an unkind, demanding voice, but a soft, gentle one, though she did not immediately
recognize it. She sniffed, blinked her eyes open and free of tears, and slowly the blurry image her
eyes saw came into focus.

Smiling warmly and sympathetically before her was Tonks, a shock of red hair shining atop her
flushed head- she looked like she’d been running. Hermione tried her best to smile in recognition,
but her mouth seemed set in its downward curl and all she could manage was a choked murmur.

Tonks, noticing Hermione’s constricted hands, pulled at the blankets carefully to loosen them,
and Hermione whispered a broken thanks as she wiped her eyes, vaguely thinking that she probably
looked like hell. Tonks handed her a tissue and brushed a strand of Hermione’s hair from her eyes,
waiting for Hermione to clear her face before she continued. Hermione could hear the faint voices
of Professor McGonagall and Neville somewhere behind Tonks, but the Metamorphmagus was blocking
everything else from Hermione’s vision.

“Hermione,” Tonks said quietly once Hermione’s hand had fallen back from her face, “I know
you’re ups- devastated,” she corrected herself quickly, “and I understand, but this isn’t good for
you,” she advised kindly, hands resting in front of Hermione’s cheeks, which were perilously close
to the edge of the mattress.

Hermione coughed slightly. “But,” she croaked, voice breaking through a combination of distress
and lack of use, “what am I supposed to do?”

Tonks let out a small sigh, smile fading slightly. “I know it’s difficult,” she said honestly.
“We’ve tried, we really have, Ginny especially-”

“How long have I been in here?” Hermione said suddenly, cutting off Tonks’ words. Tonks seemed
to consider this before responding.

“A few days under two weeks,” she estimated, and Hermione’s eyes, still misty from her tears,
widened.

“Two weeks,” she echoed in surprise. “But what… Harry…” she stumbled.

Tonks laid a hand gently on hers. “It hasn’t been easy for him either,” she said quietly, eyes
flicking quickly to her left as Hermione heard footsteps going by the end of her bed. “But now that
you’re awake…” she said, the hope burning in her eyes, “maybe things will change.”

Something within Hermione was deeply sceptical of this statement, but she did her best to ignore
its taunting whispers of doom and smiled as well as she could. It clearly worked; Tonks’ smile
widened again and she patted Hermione’s hand comfortingly, gently guiding Hermione into a sitting
position, kindly arranging the pillows behind Hermione so she did not hit the cold iron of the
bars.

Movement jarred in the corner of Hermione’s eyes, as she looked over the door to see Professor
McGonagall almost pushing Ron, Neville and Ginny out of the door, thrusting their wands back at
them before closing the door behind their timid figures and turning back to the room with a deep
sigh. She seemed to collect herself quickly, though, and strode back to Hermione purposefully.

Hermione took the few moments between to gather herself: at the end of the bed stood Professor
Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey, both looking at her sympathetically. She looked meekly back, playing
absently with the sheets, which now came up to her midriff.

“Miss Granger,” said Professor McGonagall, now standing to Hermione’s right, Tonks moving to her
side, “I understand that you have been informed of the situation.”

Hermione frowned. “Please, Professor, can’t you call me Hermione?”

Professor McGonagall looked piercingly back at her, but nodded curtly. “Of course, Hermione, I’m
sorry,” she said, tone softening. “But you are aware that-”

“That Harry’s forgotten me?” said Hermione toughly. “Yes, I’m quite aware,” she said, fighting
tears back, with success that surprised her.

The headmistress looked taken aback by Hermione’s directness, but continued as if her student’s
words had been said as softly as her own. “Hermione, we’ve been doing the best we can to recover
Harry’s memories… of course, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was a very powerful wizard, and his charm is
not going to be the easiest to break through,” she said, slightly bitterly. “But prospects are
considerably brighter now that you are awake,” she continued, smiling briefly. “Madam Pomfrey tells
me that you need to rest for a while longer… but I see no reason why you cannot see Harry
tomorrow,” she said, looking to Madam Pomfrey, who nodded. “Ginevra tells me that, though they have
not been able to recover any memories, there have been moments… although they did attempt an
outlandishly dangerous idea,” she added darkly, frowning, “which I must speak with Miss Lovegood
about.” She looked down at Hermione over her thin spectacles, lips tight, eyes bright. “I am sorry
that this has happened to you, Hermione. You and Harry… well, I wish you the best of luck,” she
said, clearing her throat and straightening up, collecting her robes purposefully. “I will,
naturally, be charting the situation closely.”

Hermione smiled weakly in thanks, and Professor McGonagall, giving her one last piercing glance,
strode out of the room, Professor Flitwick at her heels and Madam Pomfrey whispering rapidly at her
side. Hermione looked back at Tonks, who gave a quick grin and settled herself on the end of
Hermione’s bed. Hermione shifted awkwardly against her pillows, realizing suddenly that she no
longer felt the need to cry.

“So,” said Tonks brightly, “what’s it like being in a coma?”

Hermione giggled despite herself, unable to resist Tonks’ unique sense of humour. “Quite the
experience,” she answered dryly, a thin smile playing on her lips. Tonks winked, and, for a moment,
Hermione forgot her overwhelming problems and laughed.



7. Chapter Seven: Knots
-----------------------

**A/N:** So Saturday didn’t happen. I rather think I should stop making promises, because
they never work out. But here is the next chapter, which I worked hard on, and really quite like. I
hope you do too. Thank you to all those who have reviewed so far, and I hope you continue to do so.
It means a lot to know that people are enjoying this story. And the next chapter is well under way
as well, so it shouldn’t be too long before you see that too.

Love Will Come Through

**Chapter Seven: Knots**

Harry ran. In the periphery of his vision he saw people, but they were just flashes, blurs to
him as he ran, heart beating fast, stopping him from thinking about her. He was desperate not to
think of her, of all the guilt, of all the hurt and shock and distress deep within her eyes. All
those memories he had watched, all the sights of her- but only now did he understand, did he
believe that she loved him, and that he had loved her. Her eyes had told him that something in him
was missing- a part of him was gone. He had been told this, of course, many times over- but it was
not until then he had truly felt it.

In his blind run, he barely noticed where he was going, and, coming to a sudden halt beside a
portrait of a particularly decrepit-looking wizard holding a plate of fruit, he wandered where he
could go. He did not hear the portrait’s creaky, wheezy voice droning on, nor a third-year’s
gracious thanks.

His stomach was growling obtrusively, but he could not go to the Great Hall- it would be full of
questioning eyes, nosy whispers, cruel rumours. Who would give him safe haven? Hagrid, he thought-
but the rain was still attacking the castle and it was dangerous even stepping outside for a
second. But in Harry’s confused, breathless state, he could think of no one else.

The portrait’s voice wheezed on. “… now I don’t like oranges, too sweet for my tooth- but pears,
now *those* are a delicious fruit…”

Something in Harry’s brain clicked. Suddenly the image of a tickled pear swam before his eyes.
Dobby! He could go to the kitchens- food, and sanctuary, and someone who wouldn’t stare at him
sadly all the time.

“Thanks!” he said brightly to the portrait, which abruptly stopped speaking and looked at him in
amazement, as if no one had ever said anything to it in its entire period of existence. Harry did
not stay to hear any words the portrait might have said in response- he raced straight for the
staircase, running down the flights of stairs to the ground floor, desperately trying to ignore the
pointing students and loud whispers he produced as he passed through the entrance hall towards the
thin passage to the kitchens.

A few curious Hufflepuffs raised eyebrows at the presence of one Harry Potter so near to their
common room, but Harry quickly ran his finger over the pear in the portrait and impatiently waited
for the door to open- slipping inside, he was met by a surprising sight.

He had never visited the kitchens during in a mealtime before, and thus had never really
considered exactly what it would entail. What seemed to Harry’s ambushed eyes like a thousand house
elves, all wearing light-brown sacks over their wrinkled bodies, were buzzing around the kitchen,
platters and bowls and deep dishes of all kinds of food hovering in the air as an elf levitated
them across to the tables in the centre of the room, an exact replica of the layout from the Great
Hall above. Every so often, a dish reappeared from above, empty, and an elf seemed to immediately
refill it and snap it back to the room above. Around the walls, cookers steamed nosily; a barrage
of dozens of delicious aromas wafted into Harry’s nose, overwhelming him.

“Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby was at his side before he had even started to think about him again,
hand tugging on Harry’s robes, a wide grin on his face. He was clearly utterly delighted to see
Harry.

“Hi, Dobby,” smiled Harry. “How’re you?” he asked kindly.

Dobby looked affronted. “So kind, so gracious, so powerful a wizard is Harry Potter, that he
should think to ask after Dobby’s health when it was he who defeated the darkest, most evil wizard
Dobby has ever heard tell of!” squealed Dobby, snapping his fingers so a chair appeared, which he,
wide-eyed, insisted Harry sit in. “Dobby is so thankful to Harry Potter, as are all the elves,” he
continued, bowing deeply. “They would thank you themselves, Harry Potter sir, but they are very
busy,” he said, looking pointedly at a passing elf, who was levitating an enormous platter of
potatoes over Dobby’s head.

Harry looked sheepish. He pulled at his collar. “Er… no problem, Dobby,” he said eventually, and
Dobby smiled again.

“But why is Harry Potter here, sir?” he asked with a deep frown. “Dobby hears tell of the dark
wizard’s final revenge over Harry Potter, sir- Dobby has been deeply concerned for Harry Potter,
Dobby is so grateful-”

“Yes, okay, Dobby,” said Harry, flushing as he cut across the elf’s words. “I just needed to get
away from people,” he added lowly.

Dobby nodded wisely. “Dobby understands, sir. Sometimes Dobby cannot stand the taunts of his
fellow elves, they still do not consider clothes fit for an elf,” he said sadly, round eyes looking
at the kitchen. His face quickly brightened again. “But is there anything Dobby can do for Harry
Potter, sir?”

Harry cleared his throat, pulling at the top of his robes again. “Well, I am a bit hungry,” he
admitted.

Dobby grinned. “Say no more, Harry Potter sir,” he said firmly, and Harry had barely blinked
before a platoon of dishes was flying towards them; a group of potatoes fell sharply off their
platter as the dishes careered to a stop in mid-air. “What would Harry Potter like, sir?” said
Dobby. Harry stared in astonishment at the various foods surrounding his head.

“Um…” was all he managed to say. Dobby thrust a plate into his hands and Harry gratefully
scooped some food onto his plate, and he nodded to Dobby when he’d finished, and the plates all
zoomed back to where they’d come from. Harry heard a low muttering from the other elves, but they
all got on with their work without another word. Dobby glared at them.

“They is unappreciative of Harry Potter; I shall tell them again, sir-” he said angrily, but
Harry put a hand on his shoulder.

“Dobby, it’s okay, I’m disrupting their work, they have a right to be annoyed,” he assured the
elf. Dobby did not look convinced, but said nothing else. He looked up at Harry as he ate, eyes
brimming with tears.

“It is an honour, Harry Potter sir, to see you enjoying our work,” he breathed. “Dobby must-” he
broke off chokily- “must go back to work, sir; unless Harry Potter wants him to-”

Harry smiled. “Go, Dobby,” he nodded, and Dobby, giving Harry one last gaze of wondrous rapture,
ran away across the room into a cloud of elves, and Harry was left sitting alone in the corner of
the room, watching the elves work their magic as he munched pensively on his warming meal, tucked
away where no one would ever think to look.

*~*~*

Ron breathed heavily as he stuffed himself behind a wheezing suit of armour, eyes peeking over
the metal shoulder to see the fleeting sight of Neville and Ginny passing by. They walked by in
silence, not seeming to notice Ron, who smiled to himself at his apparent stealth skills. He noted
with surprise that Neville’s hand was resting unchallenged on the small of Ginny’s back, but now
was not the time to become fixated on his sister’s love life.

It was a good few- and very uncomfortable- minutes before Professor McGonagall appeared, walking
stridently past with Madam Pomfrey, face ashen, talking earnestly at her side, Professor Flitwick
wide-eyed behind them. Ron did not listen to their words, but their footsteps, and, as soon as they
faded from his ears, he awkwardly slipped out from behind the suit of armour, which moaned in
annoyance as Ron hit its arm, and ran lightly back to the hospital wing.

He paused outside the door, swallowing nervously over and over- the saliva seemed never ending,
and he suddenly felt incredibly apprehensive, the more sensible side of his brain suddenly
screaming that this was a very bad idea. What if she didn’t want to see him? What if she was still
mad? What if he just upset her even more?

But all of these completely logical reasonings for not opening the door were overwhelmed by one
overriding argument against them, and, before he could stop himself, he turned the knob and stepped
back into the chilly medical ward.

Immediately two pairs of eyes swung round and bored into him. The sensible side of his brain was
berating him. He ignored it. He strode as confidently as he could towards the two figures, barely
recognising the presence of Tonks, whose hair changed from its fiery red to a disconcertingly pale
yellow in the time it took him to walk over to her.

“Ron, I don’t think-” Tonks said awkwardly, but Hermione’s forceful voice cut over her.

“Get out.”

Ron’s face paled in a second, confidence collapsing beneath Hermione’s deathly stare. “I…
Hermione…”

Her face seemed set into a fierce glare; her eyes were daggers. “I mean it, Ron. Get out. I have
nothing to say to you.”

Ron felt his knees wobbling and he stumbled onto the neighbouring bed, which only seemed to
intensify the power of Hermione’s gaze. “Please, Hermione, I…”

“Tonks, I don’t want to see him,” Hermione said, though her stare was still directed at Ron.

Tonks stood up. “Come on, Ron, I don’t want to have to report you,” she said quietly, clearly
rather confused by the tension she was suddenly caught up in. She walked over to Ron and tried to
get him to stand up, but he gripped the sheets, refusing to move.

“Hermione, I’m sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it,” he said in a rush, afraid she would cut
him off again.

Hermione didn’t blink. “Tonks, tell *Ronald*-” her enunciation was cutting- “that I have
more important things to deal with right now than his idiotic mouth,” she ordered smoothly.

Tonks frowned. “Hermione, for god’s sake, I’m not an owl, tell him yourself,” she replied,
annoyance seeping into her voice.

Ron stood suddenly up, making Tonks jump. “It’s okay Tonks, I heard her loud and clear,” he
said, voice suddenly full and bitter again. “I’ll go, Hermione, but I wouldn’t bother with Harry,”
he said, walking in thick strides to the door. “Ginny’s been taking *goooood* care of him,” he
added with a victorious smirk, his slam of the door making Hermione’s glare crumble.

*~*~*

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know, do I?!”

“He can’t have just disappeared!”

“Well, in that case he’s a very good hider.”

Ginny whacked Neville in the arm- rather harder than she’d meant to, for he let out a yelp in
response and she looked up at him apologetically. “Sorry.”

He rubbed his arm. “S’okay,” he mumbled.

Ginny’s face returned to its resolute determination. “Right,” she said, rubbing her hands
together and picking up the curling piece of parchment to look at it even closer. “He’s not on the
top floor,” she said, eyes quickly roaming the top of the parchment again.

Neville sighed. “Obviously not, or he’d probably be being harassed by Peeves,” he commented,
watching the emblazoned name of the school’s poltergeist zooming around the Astronomy classroom
beneath the tower.

Ginny rolled her eyes and hit out lightly at the map. “God, I wish we understood how to use this
stupid thing… I can’t believe Fred and George never told me, I’m their only sister!” she grumbled,
glaring at the parchment as if her brothers lay inside it.

Neville grabbed the map. “Well, they didn’t,” he said tersely, eyes searching the map. “He must
be here somewhere,” he murmured. They both went quiet as the searched the map, ignoring the
multitude of dots roaming around the castle as they looked desperately for Harry’s name.

Ginny’s finger traced the hallways. “He’s not in the library…” she said to herself, pausing when
she saw Luna’s name, alone among the bookshelves.

“Or the Charms classroom,” Neville murmured guiltily, seeing the names of his classmates sitting
in Professor Flitwick’s room- Harry, Ron and Hermione’s names were not among them.

Ginny glanced at Neville. “You can go, you know, if you want; I mean, I can look…”

Neville’s head shot up. “No,” he said forcefully, face so close to Ginny’s that she went
slightly pink. Neville went an even deeper red in response. He stared back at the map. “I’m
staying,” he said, more quietly, but the decisiveness in his voice still held, so Ginny looked
intently back at the map.

“Right, we have to think logically about this,” she decided, running her finger absently over
the map. “If you were Harry right now, where would you go?”

Neville cleared his throat. “Hagrid’s?” he suggested, gesturing towards the grounds.

Ginny peered at the map. “Nope,” she said in disappointment. “Though in this weather, it’d
hardly be a good idea,” she said, glancing darkly towards the windows, which were rattling against
the unstoppably violent winds still raging outside the castle.

She jumped as Neville’s hand slapped the map. “There he is!” he said excitedly, pointing. Ginny
squinted beneath Neville’s fingers and her eyes widened.

“The kitchens!” she exclaimed. “Of course! Dobby!”

Ginny almost fell into Neville’s cross-legged lap when there was an ear-splitting crack and
Dobby himself appeared before them, his eyes wide.

“Miss Weasley!” he said in his high pitch. “Mr Longbottom, sir! It is an honour,” he said
reverently, bowing. “But what can Dobby do for you?” he asked when he’d straightened up.

Neville looked rather uncomfortable being treated so graciously, and Ginny, flushing from her
intimate contact with Neville, spoke up.

“Hi, Dobby,” she smiled, and Dobby bowed again. “We, er… didn’t meant to call you,” she said
sheepishly; Dobby’s ears drooped. “Not that we’re not glad to see you, of course,” she added
quickly, looking pointedly at Neville, who nodded fervently. “But now that you *are* here, you
can help us,” she said brightly, making Dobby’s face return to its beaming happiness again. “Is
Harry in the kitchens with you, Dobby?”

Dobby nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes, Miss, Dobby is giving Harry Potter much food, and safety from
prying eyes, Miss,” he said, protuberant eyes sparkling, as if Harry’s requests were some kind of a
sacred mission.

Ginny’s lips twitched in amusement. “Good,” she said, and Dobby looked incredibly pleased. “But
we need to see him, Dobby; can you ask him to meet us outside the headmistress’ office?”

Dobby nodded enthusiastically again and said, “Dobby will do so immediately, Miss!” He vanished
with a crack.

Ginny looked at Neville. “Well, that saves us from-”

She almost fell over again at another deafening crack, and Dobby was suddenly standing before
them again. He looked rather panicked.

“Dobby went to do as Miss asked, Miss, but Harry Potter was gone, Miss!” he said in a rush,
looking incredibly guilty.

Ginny sighed, face falling rapidly. She looked kindly at Dobby, who looked ready to start
hitting himself with a frying pan. “Don’t worry, Dobby, it’s not your fault; we’ll find him, you go
back to work,” she said, smiling vaguely. Dobby nodded unconvincingly. “And Dobby,” Ginny added
quickly, “we order you not to hurt yourself because of this!” Dobby looked chastised and nodded,
vanishing again with a final crack.

Ginny looked back down at the map, which Neville was already examining. “He’s going up the
stairs,” pointed Neville, and they both watched the dot labelled ‘Harry Potter’ walking alone down
the corridors and up the staircases. Both let out a gasp of surprise when they realized where he
was going.

“The hospital wing!”

*~*~*

The knot in the wood was not quite a circle. It was like the moon when it was only a day away
from being full- a perfect orb that had been shaved of the tiniest sliver, but that tiny sliver
made it irrevocably imperfect, always inferior.

There was another knot in the wood to the first knot’s left; this one was not a circle in the
slightest, but a malformed blob, curling upwards and outwards in no discernible shape, cutting over
the sleek lines of the aged chestnut, its dark centre almost black.

To Harry, who had been staring at the door for uncountable silent minutes, it was the second
knot that he felt most fascinated by, for he felt, in some abstract way, that this knot represented
himself. Like the knot, his consciousness was unwieldy, malformed; like the knot, he was cutting
across the clean, ordered lines of other people’s lives with his own misshapen feelings.

Of course, Harry was only pondering these strange thoughts because he could not seem to open the
door; his hand had ventured to the knob repeatedly, but each time it retracted almost of its own
accord, something within him recoiling from the distressing scene it knew would result from the
door opening.

Sometimes he could hear faint voices on the other side of the door, indistinguishable murmurs,
but no one came to the door, and no one seemed to pass behind him either; this area of the castle
was deserted. Somewhere behind him, he heard the howls of the wind, and, at one point, the laugh of
someone he didn’t know- or couldn’t remember.

He took a deep breath. Now or never, he told himself, forcing his hand out to the doorknob
again. His hand gripped it, shaking. It was cold and hard, and his sweaty palm almost slid off the
brass. Before his brain could convulse and stop him again, he pressed his other hand over his first
and turned the knob.

The door creaked open with a painful slowness, and so it was with an almost staccato visual that
she swam into view; for the first few seconds she wasn’t even facing him, her body turned away to
where Tonks, her hair a vivid electric blue, was sitting tightly in a chair, leaning towards
Hermione and whispering intently at her. Her lips suddenly snapped shut and her eyes widened when
she saw Harry, and Hermione’s head swung around in a blur.

It was in that moment that Harry understood how he had loved Hermione: she was beautiful. Her
shining, bushy hair framed her smooth cheekbones, which glistened in the bare, harsh lights of the
hospital wing; her eyes, a liquidy chocolate brown, sparkled bewitchingly. She was, he noticed with
a slight flush, still wearing only her thin cotton pyjamas, which clung closely to her curved form.
Harry realized he was gaping, and shut his mouth quickly, desperately hoping she hadn’t
noticed.

She was staring back at him, though; her mouth was shut but her eyes looked frightened, unmoving
from his frozen form. His immediate thought was to run away again, but he knew that, apart from his
legs seemingly being glued to the floor, she did not want him to. The fright in her eyes mingled
with undeniable love- she had not, could not give up on him.

So he moved, suddenly unglued again, and sat awkwardly down on the neighbouring bed, looking
briefly at Tonks, who smiled warmly at him, before his eyes returned to Hermione.

The silence that followed was almost unbearable for all three; Tonks looked nervously between
the young couple before her. Hermione’s face was turned away from her but Harry’s seemed to almost
be shaking; a vein in his cheek twitched and his fingers were drumming soundlessly on the sheets,
but his eyes were gazing intently at Hermione.

“Are you okay?”

Hermione’s soft whisper broke the tension; Tonks immediately looked away, as if the whisper had
been too intimate for her to be witnessing. Harry could tell she was itching to leave, but having
her there felt to him like a safety net- situations would remain calm as long as she was there.

“Yeah,” he said quietly back, voice rather flat. Her eyes seemed to pierce him, lovingly but
fiercely set on his own.

“Good,” she replied. She blinked slowly, carefully.

“Are you?” he asked, almost perfunctorily.

She gave a small, ironic smile. “Yeah,” she said, echoing him.

Silence fell again; both were considering what to say, whether they could manage to say what
they knew they needed to. Tonks brushed her hair nervously over her shoulder and suddenly stood up,
making both Harry and Hermione jump.

Tonks bit her lip. “I’ll leave you two-”

“No!” They shouted in unison, making Tonks sit down again in alarm; they looked at each other,
and, despite the tension and nervousness, laughed.

Harry’s fell away rather quickly, and Hermione’s followed soon after; once again the
uncomfortable silence settled over them, an invisible mist dividing them.

Hermione picked nervously at a hole she had made in her sheets as she spoke, but her eyes burned
deeply into Harry, amplifying his oxymoronical feelings of distance and closeness. “So you… don’t
remember anything?” she asked, voice limp with hopelessness.

He sniffed slightly. “Well, I saw Ginny’s memories, but they-”

“Are just images, not feelings,” Hermione finished. Harry’s lips cracked into a smile despite
himself. Hermione, however, remained drawn and depleted. “But what about this thing Luna did?
McGonagall said it was dangerous, but…”

Harry frowned in surprise. “It was?” he said, almost rhetorically. “Luna obviously didn’t know
that.”

Hermione snorted. “Obviously, Harry- Luna may be weird, but she’s not reckless… well, not
always,” she said, a strange kind of thin wry smile playing on her lips. Her eyes glinted. “But
what happened?”

Harry paused. “It was… we made a circle, and all the-”

“Who’s we?” Hermione broke in.

Harry smiled briefly again. “Me, Ginny, Luna, Neville, and Ron.”

Hermione started. “*Ron*?”

“Ginny threatened him.”

Hermione sighed but said nothing. Harry took this as a sign to continue.

“Anyway, we made this circle and all the wands had to be pointed towards me, and we each held
the end of two wands, so it was an unbroken current of magic…”

Hermione almost jumped off the bed. “Merlin, Harry, that *is* dangerous! All that magic
flowing straight into you…” Hermione bit her lip and looked away, blushing slightly. “Carry on,”
she mumbled.

“Well, it seemed to be working; I was shaking and I felt like it was all coming back… and then
Ron dropped his wand and the circle broke.”

Hermione suddenly looked incensed. “Ron did *what*?”

“He dropped the wand,” repeated Harry tonelessly. He understood Hermione’s reaction, even
sympathized with it, but the part of him that cared for Ron seemed to be gone, or at least
hibernating- he had no interest in the man.

Hermione, however, seemed livid with anger, and her hand was streaming vividly through her hair,
her eyes flashing as she looked round at Tonks.

“Good god,” Harry heard her mutter to herself; he noticed Tonks’ alarmed expression as she heard
Hermione’s next words. “He really is a bastard. He really hates us, he really doesn’t care…”

Tonks seemed to be trying to protest, but Hermione held up a hand to silence her, and Tonks fell
back wordlessly, looking strangely humbled. Hermione chewed her bottom lip fiercely, and Harry saw
tiny droplets of blood running along their delicate pinkness as she looked up at him, eyes
beseeching.

“Ron isn’t important right now,” she said firmly, rather more to herself than to Harry. “Don’t
worry, Harry, we’ll get your memory back; I can show you all the memories, the important ones, the
ones no one else got to see,” she nodded, flushing slightly as she said these last words.

She looked deeply at him once more through the silence, a silence which was no longer tense, but
almost hopeful- Hermione’s words hung over them as the last vestige of possibility; the final, yet
the strongest, chance. Harry looked back, still feeling hollow and empty, still missing the thing
she so needed.

She stood, pyjamas suddenly making her seem small and pale, her face still white in the grey
light of the hospital wing. She walked over to him, sat herself beside him- he heard her slow, deep
breaths blowing onto his neck, and he shivered. The entire world around them seemed to dissolve
suddenly as she put her hands on his cheeks; her eyes burned into his, their rich, perfectly
circular orbs piercing every part of him.

“You’re still the same person, Harry,” she whispered, so softly he could barely hear her; so
gently, so delicately. “You’re still the person who defeated Voldemort. You’re still the person who
loved me.” She paused. “You **are** the person that loves me.”

His mouth cracked open, he felt words, unidentifiable words bubbling up through his throat; in
that moment all he wanted was to hold her, this woman he couldn’t remember knowing, to tell her
that everything would be alright- but it was not alright, and that was his fault, he was causing
her all this pain-

And then the door flew open loudly, and Hermione jolted backwards from Harry, and the world
appeared to him again; Madam Pomfrey strolled busily towards them, a haughty expression on her
face.

“Miss Granger, you are supposed to be resting,” she said disapprovingly, and Hermione, blushing,
scurried back to her bed and slipped under the blankets, sitting up but looking embarrassed. Tonks
immediately scraped her chair to the head of the bed. Madam Pomfrey nodded curtly. “That’s better.”
She turned to Harry. “Mr Potter, I think that you are more than well enough to return to your
dormitories,” she said pointedly. Harry glanced at Hermione, whose eyes flitted away, and he
nodded, walked over to his bed by the window, scooped up his belongings, and walked to the door,
where, as he looked back over his shoulder at Hermione, he collided with someone.

“Ow!” the someone cried.

Harry turned his head back. “Oh, I’m sorry, Ginny,” he said, as Ginny rubbed at her reddened
forehead. Neville stood behind her, looking slightly breathless.

Ginny smiled warmly. “That’s okay, Harry- did Madam Pomfrey kick you out?” she asked, gesturing
at Harry’s bag.

Harry looked sheepish. “Yeah,” he replied.

Ginny glanced behind Harry and leant forward. “Is she okay?”

Harry sighed. “We talked… I told her about what we tried, and she said it’d be better now she
can show me all the… private memories,” he said carefully, and Ginny flushed slightly. “But she
still thinks I’m someone I’m not any more,” he said sadly.

Ginny shook her head. Instinctively, it seemed, her hand went to Harry’s cheek, caressing it
softly in comfort, reassurance. “Harry, no!” she said in a fierce whisper. “You are the same
person,” she said firmly. “I knew you too, you know, and you haven’t changed from who I knew,” she
said, eyes twinkling as she smiled.

Harry smiled back, feeling the warmth spread from Ginny’s fingertips onto his cold cheeks.
“Thanks, Gin,” he said. “I’m going back to the common room now,” he said, and Ginny’s hand fell
from his face, immediately replaced by wind chill. “I’ll see you both later?” he said, not really
asking a question, but they both nodded, and he let them pass, closing the door softly behind him,
looking once again at the knots in the wood; the unwieldy one seemed slightly less black.



8. Chapter Eight: The Right Thing To Do
---------------------------------------

**A/N:** Big thanks to you if you reviewed; to the other four hundred and something people
who read the last chapter, what gives?

I jest. But it would be very nice of you to review. I hope that the reader who bemoaned the lack
of plot last chapter is more satisfied this time around; and if not, the next chapter should
definitely do it. Major happenings coming up (including the truth about the mysterious ‘week
before’). But, for now, I hope you all enjoy this.

P.S. Upped the rating for a touch of language. (Wash that mouth out, Ginny.)

Love Will Come Through

**Chapter Eight: The Right Thing To Do**

“What did she say?”

It was half an hour later, and crowds of students were milling about: the school day was over,
and snatches of loud discussions overheard included subjects such as homework, Quidditch, the
weather- rain was still battering fiercely against the castle- and dinner. Ginny felt shades of
guilt as she had sat beside Neville watching her classmates go by, responding weakly to their
cheerful, inquisitive greetings and feeling relieved when they had been swept off by the History of
Magic class who emerged nearby with the requisite yawns and grumbles of people who had just been
rudely awoken.

As Ginny had heard Harry click the door shut behind her, she had suddenly remembered why she and
Neville had been so desperate to find him in the first place, and so she yanked the door open and
ran after him, though he had barely taken a dozen steps in the moments since leaving the hospital
wing. He had been perplexed by Professor McGonagall’s request to see him, but listlessly let Ginny
lead him to the headmistress’ office, let her give the password- “Exploding Gumballs”- and had
disappeared up the stone staircase. Dutifully, Ginny had sat herself down on a bench just down the
corridor, waiting out the uneventful half hour in silence, comforted just by the presence of
Neville beside her.

And now he had emerged, only seconds before a large herd of chattering girls had come surging
down the corridor- and of course, their wagging tongues had immediately started working overtime on
seeing Harry Potter walking towards a plaintive Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom. Ginny, as
usual, tried her best to ignore them, and shepherded Harry into an alcove, which, she quickly
concluded, was about as private as they were going to get.

Harry scratched his face nonchalantly as he looked at her. “She told me to be careful,” he said
vaguely, which Ginny found infuriatingly cryptic.

“About what?”

He shrugged. “Hermione… the memories,” he said. “She said what Luna did was very dangerous,” he
added, raising an eyebrow.

Ginny bit her lip. “Luna didn’t know that Harry, she can’t have,” she said imploringly.

“I know that,” Harry replied rather flatly. “But she still said it.”

Ginny frowned. “And that took half an hour?” she pressed.

Harry shrugged. “Well, she span it out a bit more than I did,” he said calmly, meeting her eyes,
but Ginny couldn’t help feeling he was not telling her something.

She decided it was probably best to let it drop for now, especially since people kept jostling
against her shoulder. She glared at Ernie Macmillan’s back and said, “Okay. So now what?”

Harry sighed. “I should go and see Professor Flitwick for the work I missed,” he said
resignedly, and Neville nodded in agreement.

“Okay,” said Ginny again, “I have work to do too; shall we go to the library? Not so many people
staring there,” she added, staring pointedly at the passing Dennis Creevy, who quickly stuffed his
camera back into his bag and ran off. Neville and Harry both nodded silently in agreement and the
three of them slid into the thinning crowds, all too aware of the reasons behind the hushed
whispers that seemed to follow them all the way to the Charms classroom and onto the library.

*~*~*

The hours in the library merged into days, and before any of them knew it the weekend had
arrived. The fact of Hermione’s sudden awakening from her coma quickly became talk of the school.
Hermione herself was retained in the hospital wing, though, true to form, she ordered Neville to
bring her all the work she had and was missing, and whenever Ginny visited her, she had been
scribbling anxiously with a quill or reading a book at what seemed like the speed of light.

Harry also submerged himself in his work, and seemed to spend every hour except his classes in
the library, occasionally venturing down to the kitchens when he felt the need for food. Ginny knew
this rather hermit-like attitude was born less out of dedication to succeeding in his NEWTs than
the need to escape prying eyes. Still, she couldn’t blame it- still the whispers and pointing
continued, and it seemed that she was of as much interest to Hogwarts’ gossip circles as Harry and
Hermione. Lavender Brown seemed to be stalking her, her beady eyes appearing around every corner
Ginny walked by. Ginny resisted the impulse to Bat Bogey Hex her into the next century.

Ron, strangely enough, was barely seen at all- Neville told her that he appeared with his usual
surly attitude in every lesson, but he talked to no one except the teachers, and had exploded an
ink bottle right in Seamus’s face when Seamus had dared to use the word “Hermione” in front of
him.

The horrendous weather continued into Saturday morning, the now expected sight of billowing
black clouds greeting Ginny as she entered the Great Hall for a late breakfast. It was a Hogsmeade
day, a chance to buy Christmas presents before the holidays began the following weekend, and Ginny
knew she was late. The hall was deserted, but remnants of food still lay in dishes, and she plucked
the last few pieces of toast from their racks, and spooned some scrambled eggs onto her plate,
alone at the Gryffindor table, shivering as cold winds blew in from the open doors of the Entrance
Hall, where Filch was signing students out to the village below the castle.

She looked around. There was a small gathering of young Hufflepuffs animatedly discussing
Quidditch at their table, a few lonely Slytherins spotted along down their benches, and one fifth
year Ravenclaw intently reading a fat book while chewing absently on a piece of bacon. Faintly,
through the window, she could see a trickle of students walking towards Hogsmeade, umbrellas bowed
over their heads as the rain battered down upon them. Christmas, it seemed, made it worth venturing
out even in this dreadful weather.

Neville had been lounging in the common room waiting for her when she had finally emerged from
the dormitories, battered by a restless night’s sleep- Harry’s face circulated in her dreams- and
would be coming down soon, promising to round up some umbrellas for the pair of them. Harry had
already vanished to the library, apparently- he’d owl-order presents, he’d protested, he just
wanted to work. Nothing either of them had said could persuade him otherwise, and Ginny knew better
than to push him too hard.

Satisfied with her rapidly consumed breakfast, Ginny went out to linger by Filch, waiting for
Neville to appear. She shivered against the cold, but students were still being checked out, so the
door was kept lodged open. They were all wrapped in warm, impervious clothes, most looking like an
enlarged version of Ginny’s beloved Pygmy Puff, rather round and bouncy.

It was as she impatiently watched the marble staircase for Neville that she saw a startling
sight. Ron- and it was a strange enough sight just to see him, given that no one seemed to have
seen him for several days outside of his dormitory or the classrooms- was stood just along from the
top of the staircase, and he was smiling- an even stranger occurrence. A thick supporting arch
blocked Ginny’s view of his companion, so she edged sideways, away from Filch.

She almost laughed. Luna! The blonde oddball was, like the rest of the student body, trussed up
in protective clothing, but it was of Luna’s distinct styling- her clear plastic anorak was
reminiscent of a shower curtain with its goldfish pattern (Ginny wouldn’t have been shocked if it
actually *was* a shower curtain), and she wore knee-length boots that seemed to be made,
somehow, out of cork.

Ron didn’t seem bothered by Luna’s get-up; indeed, he laughed again, and the luminous smile that
lit up Luna’s face made for a fascinating scene.

Of course, it was at this moment that Neville decided to appear, umbrellas held aloft as he
yelled Ginny’s name from the top of the staircase, making Ron’s smile vanish in a flash and his
neck to snap round to stare, rather viciously, at Ginny. She went slightly pink but stuck her
tongue out in reply, gesturing Neville to get down the stairs quickly, turning away from Ron’s
glare and hurriedly getting Filch to sign them out, and they set off into the treacherous storm,
gripping their umbrellas firmly as the wind tried its best to get them out of their hands.

The streets of Hogsmeade were surprisingly busy, though it was generally hunched figures running
from one shop to another, an increasing number of bags clutched in their hands as they progressed
down the street. Ginny had the bright idea of shrinking all her purchases to make them manageable,
and so it was with surprisingly free hands that she and Neville entered what was formerly Zonko’s
Joke Shop- and what was now the second branch of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

The shop was packed to the brim, and Ginny was barely able to breathe as she squeezed past
various dripping figures, all chattering excitedly over Fred and George’s hilarious creations, to
the back of the shop, where she noticed a pretty blonde witch who looked like she’d been awake for
several days at the counter, till ringing continuously. Neville, who Ginny suddenly realized was no
longer behind her, must have either become distracted or stranded, for he was nowhere to be seen
amongst the enormous crowds. Ginny rapped on the door marked ‘PRIVATE’ and waited.

“Who the hell is that?”

“Oh, Matilda’s probably confused again; I swear, someone’s putting Confundus Charms on that
girl.”

“George, don’t be cruel, she’s been working triple overtime for Merlin’s sake!”

“Just answer the door.”

The door opened and Ginny grinned up at her brother, whom she assumed from their banter must be
Fred- it was hard, even for her, to tell the difference on first glance. His eyes widened and his
face lit up, and he pulled her into an enormous hug.

“George, it’s the bane of our existence!”

“Ron’s here?”

Ginny laughed; Fred shepherded her inside and closed the door on the noisy crowds. The back of
their shop was much smaller than its equivalent in their Diagon Alley shop, but Ginny knew that was
because most of their work was done there; they were only here today to take full advantage of the
Hogwarts crowd.

George grinned at his sister and bounded off his chair to pull her into an identical hug. “Gosh,
Gin, how nice of you to visit us!”

Fred lounged back on his stool lazily and winked at her. “Yeah, better than that grouch we call
Ronald,” he said archly. “How is the idiot lately?”

Ginny grimaced. “Idiotic.”

Fred gave his brother a mock gasp. “George, I think Gin’s making a joke!”

“Never! That’s our business, Gin, stay well away.”

Ginny laughed. It was good, in the face of Ron’s unstable cruelty, to remind herself of how fun
her family could actually be.

George’s face softened. “But seriously, Gin, how is he? He hasn’t been replying to our
owls.”

“Yeah, we thought of sending him a howler, but we were afraid he might internally combust from
the embarrassment,” Fred chipped in.

Ginny perched herself on a table and shrugged. “I’ve barely seen him,” she said. “No one has.
Ever since Harry and Hermione went off to fight You-Know-Who, he’s been a moody arse.”

Fred laughed. “Sounds like our Ronniekins.”

George leant forward, the strange contraption in his hands forgotten. “And how are the famous
dark-wizard-busting couple?” he asked. “The wizarding world is abuzz with rumour.”

Ginny frowned. “What do you mean?”

Fred waved a newspaper airily. “Don’t you read the *Prophet*, Gin? Herms is front page
news,” he said, holding up the headline for Ginny to read: ‘*Heroine Hermione Healthy
Again’*.

Ginny sighed. “Don’t they have anything better to write about?” she said vaguely, rolling her
eyes tiresomely.

“Gin, she did just help defeat the darkest- and ugliest- wizard ever known to magical kind,”
George reminded her.

Fred grinned. “And she is the romantic interest of the Boy Who Lived,” he added helpfully.

Ginny’s face fell. Her brothers immediately realized their mistake and hopped off their stools
to sit on either side of her.

“Sorry, Gin,” Fred said, stroking her hair softly. “We can be careless arseholes sometimes,
can’t we George?”

“Sometimes?” Ginny said, smiling slyly.

Fred hit her lightly on the arm. “Last time I try and comfort you,” he said with an arched
eyebrow.

George put his arm around Ginny’s shoulders. “No progress with Harry, then?”

Ginny shook her head. “The only thing that almost worked was, for one, apparently extremely
dangerous, and two, Ron fucked it up,” she said, spitting her last words out venomously.

George tutted. “Such language from such an angelic face,” he joked. Ginny hit him. “Ow.”

Fred bit his lip. “What did he do?”

“Well,” Ginny began, “Luna told us about this kind of wand circle-”

“Wait, Luna? Ginny, she’s a lovely girl, but she’s not exactly the sharpest wand in the
circle.”

“You’ll be on the receiving end of the sharpest wand in the circles’ sharp end if you don’t let
me finish.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, it needed five of us to make the circle with all our wands pointed towards Harry. We
had Harry, Luna, Neville and me, but we were one short, so I, foolishly, thought Ronald”- she spat
this word out as if it were a deadly poison- “was really a good person, so I… kind of forced him
into it. But he dropped the wand just when it looked like it was working.”

George shook his head. “I think, Fred, we need to have a word with dear Ronald,” he said
quietly.

Fred nodded. “Indeed.”

George looked at Ginny. “Is he here? Did he come to Hogsmeade?”

Ginny nodded. “He came with Luna, a bit behind Neville and me.”

Fred’s mouth opened slightly and he held up a hand. “Wait a minute,” he said slowly. “Firstly,
Luna? And secondly, you’re here with Neville? What happened to Harry?”

Ginny flushed, hoping- without much conviction- that her brothers wouldn’t notice. “Harry,” she
said carefully, “didn’t want to come, and with all the pointing and whispering he’s been getting I
don’t blame him,” she said, looking crossly at Fred. “Neville is my friend. And Luna… well, I have
no idea what’s going on there, but he seemed to be getting along pretty well with her.”

George cleared his throat. “Well, at least he’ll be easy to spot if he’s with Luna,” he said
with a grin. He leapt down off the table and disappeared into the storeroom.

Fred took this rare opportunity of solitariness to talk quietly to Ginny. “And how are you?” he
asked softly, rubbing his sister’s arm.

She shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I mean, it’s not easy, people seem to find me as fascinating as
Ha-”

“I mean about Harry,” he interrupted.

She blushed again. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, looking away to where she could hear
George bustling about.

Fred raised an eyebrow. “I know it can’t be easy, you know,” he said quietly. “Watching him so
confused, that little part of you thinking this could be your chance,” he whispered, voice getting
lower, so that Ginny could barely hear him over the loud sounds of George swearing as something
fell loudly on top of him.

Ginny bit her lip and looked up at her brother, frowning slightly at him. “How the hell do you
know so much about me?”

Fred smiled and tapped his nose. “I’m not as stupid as our mother thinks,” he winked.

They both looked up as George emerged, his arms laden with boxes. He grinned over them at Ginny.
“We figured you’d need presents,” he said. “I hope you’re good at shrinking charms.”

Ginny laughed, shaking off her depressing thoughts. “Where do you think all my chocolate is?”
she grinned, jumping down from the table and waving her miniscule shopping bags in front of his
face. She pulled her purse out of her inside pocket but George shook his head.

“You’re our sister, you don’t pay,” he said vehemently.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I’m a customer,” she said insistently. “And besides, I like to know I
bought people’s presents with my own money,” she said, picking some Galleons out and pressing them
into George’s hand.

George sighed with a smile. “Oh, alright then, sister dear, I suppose we’ll have to accept your
money,” he said with mock sadness.

Fred grinned. “Yeah, we’ll put it towards our million Galleon mansion,” he said with a wink.
“Here, take some for Neville,” he added, piling some more boxes into Ginny’s arms. “He’ll
appreciate them, they’re all… Herbologically related,” he said, waving his arms about wildly as he
made up a new word.

Ginny laughed. “You two are the stupidest pair I’ve ever met,” she said, and Fred stuck his
tongue out childishly at her. Opening the door, she saw Neville lingering by a display of potted
plants- god knows what they did, she thought to herself- but Fred put a hand on her shoulder before
she could move and leant down to her ear.

“We’ll talk to Ron, okay?” he assured her. “And be careful. You know the right thing to do.”

Ginny nodded. “I know. I’m doing it. But it’s hard.”

*~*~*

Harry threw down his quill. It was no use. He could not think of a single word to fill up the
final six inches of Snape’s blasted essay. But of course, the bastard wouldn’t accept it unless it
was the exact length he’d requested- hell, if Harry had done a foot extra Snape would probably have
given him detention for not listening to instructions properly. Three feet was the task- two feet
would not do, and four feet would not do. It had to be three.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He looked furtively around, but there was no one
to be seen nearby- the entire school had gone to Hogsmeade, it seemed, even in this weather,
although Harry was sure that first and second years weren’t actually allowed to go- though they
were hardly going to spend their Saturday in the library, he realized bitterly.

He angrily snapped the myriad of books before him closed and packed up his bag, deciding the
best course of action for his stupid Potions essay was to ignore it. Well, not best- perhaps
easiest. He was fed up with work, but it felt like it was the only thing keeping him going. It was
easier to concentrate on the perfect transfiguration of Neville into chair than to ponder all of
Ginny’s memories. It was easier to memorize the eleven rules of the Fidelius Charm than wonder why
Ron was so bitter. It was easier to learn the entire chronological list of Goblin Kings than think
about what Hermione was doing right at this very moment.

“Hello, Harry,” said a small voice.

He looked slowly up. He already knew it was her; that voice haunted his dreams, even if he
didn’t let it haunt his thoughts any more. She was leaning against the bookshelf, a gentle
expression on her glowing face, a thick furry sweater looking better on her than it had any right
to look on anyone.

He gave her the strongest smile he could muster, which, he was glad to see, seemed to suffice,
for she sat down on the chair opposite him, resting her hands on the edge of the table.

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.

“I was looking for you,” she said, and he felt his heart jolt. “Ginny said you didn’t want to go
to Hogsmeade?”

Harry shrugged and bit his lip. “People… staring… weather,” he mumbled, looking down at his pile
of books, which he was now wishing he’d left open.

Hermione’s hand moved nearer. “What?” she said, with definite amusement in her voice.

Harry chewed his lip harder. “It’s raining,” he remarked vaguely.

Hermione chuckled. “Yes, it is,” she agreed quietly. She looked down at his pile of books. “What
were you working on?”

Harry looked up again. “Snape’s essay,” he replied. “I could only do two and a half feet,” he
added sadly.

Her hand moved yet closer. “I could have a look…” she said softly. “You know, if you like,” she
amended quickly at his inscrutable face.

He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage and pushed his parchment across the table to her.
“Sure.”

He watched her, chewing absently on the end of his quill as she read through his work, vague
hums emanating from her lips. This was the Hermione he recognised from Ginny’s memories-
hardworking, focused, and deliberate.

“You did this a lot for me,” he said suddenly, and she looked up, quill swivelling as it lost
its place in her mouth. “Looked at my work,” he explained, and her face cleared as she understood.
“I saw it in Ginny’s memories.”

She smiled, and again he saw the painful mixture of sadness and love in her eyes. “Yeah,” she
said softly, gazing at him for a moment; then she looked back down again, and the moment was
lost.

The next few minutes passed in silence, apart from the cries of the wind behind the distant
window, and eventually Hermione reached the end of his essay and looked up at him, face still
focused. “This is good,” she said, a trace of surprise in her voice. “Really good. You could spin
out the effects of the aniseed and poppy a bit more, that should get you an extra half foot.”

He smiled gratefully. “Thanks,” he said, pulling the parchment back across and scrawling her
advice down in tiny letters on the back. He rolled it up and slid it into his bag, and looked up at
her again.

She was looking at him, her eyes slightly out of focus, her lips drawn in a tiny, gentle smile.
For a moment she seemed to be looking not at him, but into him; and he stared back, almost
transfixed by her deep eyes, her smooth, pale skin. Then they both seemed to stir at the same
moment; Harry shook his head lightly and flushed.

“Um, why were you looking for me?” he asked, feeling that familiar tension settle over them
again.

She started. “Oh, yes,” she said, blushing herself now. “I, er, wondered if you wanted to try
using the Pensieve with me,” she said, smiling quickly.

That caught him by surprise. His eyes widened. Did he? He’d spent the past few days trying to
avoid all thought of Hermione, of his lost memories. Could he face seeing them now, and with her?
But he had to start somewhere.

He bit his thumbnail nervously, looking at her and knowing she was waiting for an answer.
“Okay,” he said finally, and her face brightened with clear relief. She stood up.

“Come on then,” she said.

*~*~*

Hermione could feel Harry standing behind her, sense his nervous, unbalanced stance, and it
distracted her. The thick stone basin stood in front of them, its liquid slowly rotating before
their eyes, a glassy, sparkling, translucent soup.

Hermione lifted her wand to her head and focused; carefully, she drew the shining silver hair
from her head, and dropped it into the liquid.

It darkened slightly, and both Harry and Hermione leant forward as murky shapes appeared, and,
even though they remained blurred and opaque, Hermione knew they were her and Harry. She looked
sideways at him, her face a question.

Wordlessly, he let her hand entwine with his, and they dipped their heads towards the basin.
Then they were hurtling through nothingness, both landing cleanly on a dusty wooden floor.

It took a few moments for Harry to recognise his new surroundings: it was the Burrow, Ron’s
house, although, as he looked around, eyes startled by the darkness, he noted that Ron was nowhere
to be seen. In fact, only he, Harry, was present in this memory, sitting curled up in an armchair,
a single candle flickering beside him, his face drawn in mournful sadness.

Hermione gestured to the present Harry and together they sat down on the floor; it was eerily
weightless, and Harry felt like he was floating, despite the fact that, when he touched it, his
wrist flexed at the floor’s existence. He was there, his body obeyed the usual rules, and yet he
couldn’t feel any of it.

Suddenly Harry realized that, since this was Hermione’s memory, she must be here somewhere; and,
sure enough, the sound of footsteps immediately became apparent, and the figure of Hermione-
looking less worn and harried than she did now- appeared on the bottom step of the rickety
staircase.

“Harry?” the Hermione of the memory whispered. “What are you doing down here?”

Harry just looked up at her, his eyes reflecting the flickering glow of the candle, and the
Harry sitting of the floor noted with alarm that his past counterpart had tears in his eyes.

The past Hermione had clearly noticed this too, for she gave a small gasp and ran over to him,
kneeling beside him and taking his hand in hers. “Oh, Harry,” she breathed, her other hand reaching
up to wipe his eyes. Harry seemed so depleted that he simply let her; a tear was stirred by
Hermione’s movements and trickled down his cheek.

“Harry, you can’t do this to yourself,” Hermione whispered, so quietly the present Harry had to
strain to hear her. “You need sleep; you need rest.” She paused. “It’s not healthy.”

The past Harry gave a little snort of derision. “Healthy?” he echoed hollowly. “For god’s sake,
Hermione, I don’t care about my health right now.”

Hermione sighed and shuffled forward slightly. “Harry,” she said softly, “it’s not your fault. I
know you think it is, but it’s not… and if you keep blaming yourself, you’ll fall apart.”

Harry looked at her sadly. “I’m already falling apart, ‘Mione,” he said in what was probably the
most depressed voice Harry had ever heard. “I had a family, a real family… and now he’s gone.”

Hermione looked startled and shuffled yet further forward. “Harry, no!” she said in an urgent
whisper. “You still have a family.” She carefully brushed a tendril of Harry’s hair from his eye.
“You have Mrs Weasley, and Remus, and Ron…” She paused, tentatively moving her hand to his cheek.
“And me.”

Harry, the real one, sitting on the floor watching himself, suddenly realized two things: first,
he had a swimming vision of Sirius, his raggedly-faced godfather, gasping in surprise and toppling,
vanishing behind a wispy veil; secondly, he knew, unequivocally, exactly what was about to happen
between the two people before him. He looked sideward at Hermione; tears were streaming down her
face.

He looked back at the memories of himself and Hermione before him; they seemed to have frozen,
their tearful eyes- for Hermione’s eyes were lined with tears too, now- just staring at each other,
her hand stuck to his cheek, and Harry saw the tip of her thumb softly caress the memory’s face.
She had straightened up, still kneeling, so that their heads were together, and, ever so gently,
she touched her forehead to his, the light of the candle blocked, so that his face was suddenly
deep in shadow.

Harry felt as if he watching it slow motion; it seemed several minutes before, gradually,
nervously, the memory of him slowly moved his head, lips brushing softly against Hermione’s; and it
seemed her lack of rebuttal was all he had needed, for the kiss deepened, Harry’s hands going up to
Hermione’s cheeks, seeming to drink her in, desperation and neediness prevalent in his actions… he
slid off the chair and they were kneeling beside each other, faces aglow in the dying candlelight,
silence enveloping their sweet, unbroken embrace-

Naturally, it seemed to Harry, the kiss came to an end, the foreheads of the Harry and Hermione
of the memory still resting against one another, and the words they spoke were whispered, private,
and Harry almost felt he shouldn’t be listening.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly, and Hermione laughed softly.

“Sorry?” she said quietly, amusement in her voice. “Why are you sorry?”

Harry brushed at his eyes, water dripping onto his fingers. “I shouldn’t have done that…” he
said eventually. “Pushing myself on you… making you feel guilty…”

Hermione put a finger to his lips. “What if I wanted you to do it?” she said, smiling
slightly.

Harry’s head moved back from her, looking at her with surprise. “You… wanted…”

Hermione put a hand back on his cheek. “I’ve wanted that for a long time, Harry,” she admitted
tenderly. “I just never thought you felt the same.”

Harry closed his eyes for his second, as Hermione’s fingers caressed his cheek. “You could’ve
said something,” he said, smiling. Hermione laughed lovingly and leant forward, and it was as their
heads rested against each other once more that the scene started to dissolve.

And then Harry felt himself flying upwards, and, only a moment before they entered the
nothingness, Harry glanced at Hermione; face stained with tears, she smiled sadly at him, and he
felt his heart ache.



9. Chapter Nine: Crisis Point
-----------------------------

**A/N:** *This would’ve been up sooner, but I experienced major computer difficulties (I
almost lost everything!), but now it’s all fine and dandy and I’m bringing this to you as quickly
as was possible. Once more, thanks to those who reviewed- I hope you do so again. A couple of
points were raised by the reviews that I must address:*

- *Harry hasn’t got any memories back- he was simply watching one of Hermione’s. (I thought
I’d made that clear, but obviously not.)*


- *Harry isn’t sure what he’s feeling for Ginny- and yes, that is important, although not in
this chapter. This is still an H/Hr story, however. (Don’t worry, I know where I am.)*


- *Ginny and Neville are still just friends- although, as it probably obvious, Neville feels a
bit stronger than that towards her.*


- *I haven’t forgotten Fred and George.*

*But onto this chapter.* *I’m quite nervous about this- I’m not sure how you’ll all
accept these revelations. (So let me know!) But I’ve rambled enough- read on, gallant
reviewers.*

Love Will Come Through

**Chapter Nine: Crisis Point**

“I don’t know if I can take much more of this, Gin.”

Ginny studied Hermione, saddened by the deep currents of despair she could hear within her
friend’s voice. It was Thursday morning, and they sat together at the Gryffindor table in the Great
Hall, food ignored on their plates as they talked in low tones, trying to block out the packed room
around them, something made more difficult by the fact that they were, as usual, the centre of
attention.

With all the gossip concerning them that seemed to be bouncing around the student population,
Ginny was heavily surprised that no one as yet seemed to have figured out that Harry took his meals
in the kitchens. Hermione, however, seemed desperate for a sense of normality, so she had, upon her
release from the hospital wing on Monday morning, stubbornly come down to the Great Hall with
everyone else, flushing at all the stares she gathered.

It wasn’t the wagging tongues of the Hogwarts students to which Hermione was referring, however.
Every day after her lessons had finished she and Harry had headed for Professor McGonagall’s
office, who, due to the fact that the holidays were less than a week away, had granted them use of
the Pensieve every day. But, every day, they returned to the common room with drawn expressions on
their face, separating themselves from one another almost immediately, one of them always vanishing
straight to their dormitory while the other sat weightily down beside Ginny. No progress had been
made, and this was having a particularly distressing effect on Hermione.

Ginny put a comforting hand on Hermione’s forearm. “It’ll happen, Hermione,” she said as
convincingly as she could, “you just have to be patient.”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m tired,” she sighed, “and I miss him. And there’s no guarantee
he’ll ever get his memories back, Gin, so don’t patronize me.”

Ginny ran her hand through her hair. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” she said quietly. Her eyes sloped
sideward and she saw Ron sliding into a seat down the table, steadfastly ignoring the chirping
greetings of a third year as he tore the corner of his piece of toast. She looked back at Hermione,
who was pointedly *not* looking at Ron. “But you have to stay positive.”

Hermione banged her fist on the table angrily, then blushed, clearly regretting this action
immediately when everyone in the immediate vicinity looked up at her. She smiled weakly and turned
back to Ginny. “Ginny,” she said in a hiss, “it’s hard to stay positive when you look at a memory
and start sobbing, but he’s looking at the same thing with some kind of nervy fear.” She sloped
into her hand, resting her chin awkwardly on its palm. “I just can’t cope.”

Ginny sighed heavily. She knew she could continue to softly encourage Hermione with platitudes,
but she also knew that these were as much for her own benefit as Hermione’s, and, besides, she
didn’t think she could hear herself say one more ridiculous word of false hope. Instead of
improving, Harry seemed to be slipping further and further away- but Ginny knew it was not her job
to pull him back.

“Are you sure there was nothing? Not even a second?” she whispered insistently. Hermione just
looked at her, her sullen face telling Ginny everything she needed to know.

“We should eat,” Ginny said, having looked furtively around her, and Hermione nodded vaguely,
absently sticking her fork into a piece of bacon that didn’t quite make it to her mouth. It had
fallen open as she stared into what Ginny had thought was nothingness, and Ginny quickly followed
Hermione’s line of vision, discovering a sight which made her mouth fall open even wider than
Hermione’s.

Ron was still sitting where he had been when Ginny had noticed him arrive, and he still had a
full English breakfast laid out on his plate (apparently seething jealousy had no effect on Ron’s
appetite); he also had Luna Lovegood attached to his mouth.

She was standing to his right, which meant that his face was still visible to Ginny, and she
could see that he was as surprised as everyone who was staring at them. But Luna’s hands were not
holding him in place, and, even though his eyes were open wide with shock, he wasn’t exactly
fighting her off.

Eventually Luna drew away, and Ginny distantly heard her say something to Ron beneath all the
whistles and catcalls that were now sounding throughout the hall. Ron went beetroot red, but nodded
vaguely at Luna, who sailed off down the aisle with her usual serene ambivalence. Ginny and
Hermione’s heads turned at the same time; after staring at each other for a second, they laughed,
the airy sounds making heads turn their way- right then, however, both could have cared less.

*~*~*

Ginny said goodbye to Hermione in the entrance hall, the latter giving a distinctly lacklustre
reply and trudging gloomily off up the marble staircase. Ginny herself had the unenviable journey
out to the greenhouses, for it was still raining heavily- Ginny hadn’t seen any sign that it had
actually stopped in the last week- and she had forgotten her umbrella. Cursing herself, she opened
the door a crack and looked outside. As expected, it was dreadful, and Ginny resigned herself to
the fact that she was going to get soaked.

“Ginny,” a voice suddenly whispered in her ear, making her jump wildly, flail her hands out, and
whack Harry straight in the face.

He winced in pain and rubbed his nose, which had rapidly gone scarlet. “Ow,” he said dryly.

“Oh, Harry, I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!” she chastised. Harry
just looked at her sullenly. “What’s up?” she asked, softening her tone.

He sniffed. “Did you talk to Hermione at breakfast?” She nodded. “Then you’ll know what’s
up.”

Ginny sighed. “You have to stay positive,” Ginny said, echoing her earlier words to Hermione.
“You can’t give up.”

Harry looked like he’d heard these words before. “It’s easy for you to say that,” he said rather
angrily, “you’re not the one with a memory like a piece of cheese.” He spat these words out
venomously, and Ginny had to remind herself that it wasn’t her that he was mad at- not really…

She put a placating hand on her shoulder, which, to her slight surprise, he didn’t shake off. “I
know it’s difficult,” she said quietly, “and I know you feel like giving up, but I know that you
can see why you need to keep doing this. You’ve seen the memories, you know you can’t give that up.
You can’t do it to yourself, and you can’t do it to Hermione.”

Harry looked at her mournfully, but nodded. “I’ll try,” he said heavily, and Ginny smiled
encouragingly.

“Good,” she said as cheerfully as she could. She felt someone arrive at her right and a flash of
a goldfish’s tail on clear, shiny plastic told it was Luna. “Harry, I’ve got to go, I’ll see you
later okay?”

Harry nodded dully again and quickly vanished in the milling crowds, which Ginny somehow hadn’t
noticed while they’d been talking. She turned to Luna, who smiled brightly at her.

“Looking forward to Herbology, Ginevra?” she asked, plucking at her coat, which had folded
awkwardly at her knee. “I hear Professor Sprout has procured some fascinating Luminous Pockseed
Bushes.”

Ginny smiled thinly and glanced out at the weather again. “I’m going to get soaked,” she said
bitterly, but Luna just smiled serenely.

“Would you like to borrow my umbrella, Ginevra?” she said dreamily, pulling a thick black stick
from her bag with nimble fingers.

Ginny gave an audible sigh of relief. “Merlin, yes; thanks, Luna,” she said, and Luna handed the
umbrella to her. “Ready to go?” she added, and Luna nodded, still smiling widely. Ginny pulled open
the door; immediately rain started to hit her robes, pelting down at some ridiculously acute angle,
and the wind was so strong it took Ginny almost a minute to get the umbrella up completely. Behind
her, students squealed, those who were lucky enough to be staying inside running away up the
staircase.

They ran for it. Luna looked positively delighted by the thunderstorm, and it seemed to Ginny
that Luna was only running to keep up with her. By the time Professor Sprout had ushered them into
the greenhouses, where the rain was silenced by some clever charmwork, Ginny’s legs were as wet as
if she’d spent half an hour in the lake. She waved her wand at it and it dried instantly; Luna was
doing the same to her coat, which, Ginny was impressed to see, folded into a miniscule pocket of
Luna’s bag.

There were a few other people in the room, but Professor Sprout was still watching the door for
other arrivals, so Ginny and Luna sat down near the front- “We can’t sit at the back, there are
Kinked Ogflies in those Snargaluff pods!” Luna had said in alarm.

“So,” said Ginny, drying off Luna’s umbrella and handing it back to her, “how is Ron?”

Luna smiled rather wistfully. “I thought Ronald needed some cheering up,” she said fluidly, “so
I thought I’d do what I could. He’s been looking rather down lately.”

Ginny snorted. “I’ll say.” Luna’s eyebrows went up slightly. Ginny flushed. “Um, well, yes; but
why did you *kiss* him? He didn’t exactly look very prepared for it.”

Luna’s frown vanished and she nodded wisely, smiling her dreamy smile. “Oh, Ronald just needs
some persuading,” she said lightly, “he’ll come around.”

“I wish it was that easy,” Ginny muttered, and then Professor Sprout, having let everyone in,
clapped her hands and the lesson began.

*~*~*

The corridors were, blissfully, deserted as Harry trudged back to the common room. It had been
another disastrous session in the headmistress’ office with Hermione and the Pensieve- she had
taken him back to when they had told Ron, a display of solidarity under fire that made Hermione
unable to suppress the tears as she watched what she had lost. Harry, once again, felt nothing-
nothing stirred or sparked, and he watched the dramatic scenes feeling extremely uncomfortable. The
Ron of the memory had been clearly upset, and Harry recognised his ex-best friend’s surliness as
the same bitter jealousy that was dominating the youngest Weasley male right now.

Hermione had run off to the library- some essay or other, she hadn’t stopped to explain- and so
Harry took the path back to Gryffindor Tower alone, only the sounds of the billowing winds
interrupting his thoughts. It had, to much relief, finally stopped raining earlier that day, but
the wind was still whirling madly, and the windowpanes clattered nosily.

He quickly changed direction when he heard Peeves zooming around down a corridor, but everywhere
was still devoid of students- it was the dormant period between classes’ end and dinner, and Harry
knew that the common room would be full. Sighing, he turned the corner and saw the Fat Lady up
ahead, who seemed to be taking an afternoon nap. Reaching her, he coughed pointedly, but as she
awoke grumpily, she was swung out of sight, and into her place in Harry’s vision came the person he
least wanted to see.

“Oh.” Ron looked surprised, which quickly turned to disgust, and he stopped, half-in and
half-out of the portrait hole. “It’s you.”

Harry snorted. “And it’s you,” he repeatedly mockingly.

Ron’s face contorted. “There’s no need to be rude,” he said angrily.

Harry held up his hands. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

Ron glared at him. “You know what, Harry, everyone might think you’re a big hero, but you’re
just as arrogant as Snape always said, aren’t you? All you’ve done is treat me like crap.”

Harry gave a short, hollow laugh. “You’re one to talk.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked roughly.

Harry put his hand to his chin and stroked it sarcastically. “Hmm, I wonder,” he said
thoughtfully. “Who told me that Hermione broke up with me when she didn’t? You did. Who duelled
with his own sister in front of the whole schoo? You did. Who *ruined* what was possibly my
only chance to remember everything? Oh, that’s right, *you* did!”

Ron looked incensed. He leant forward threateningly and hissed, “I did NOT ruin anything!”

Harry pushed his own head forward so their noses were almost touching. “Then why did you drop
the wand?” he said lowly.

Ron growled. “It was an accident!” His voice rose. The common room behind him had gone deathly
quiet; Harry knew that everyone inside was listening intently to every word he and Ron were saying.
He found, to his surprise, that he didn’t care.

He laughed scornfully. “Oh, yeah, because everyone’s going to believe that!” he said
mirthlessly. “Yeah, you’re helping your ex-best friend try to recover the memory of someone you
want for yourself, of *course* it was an accident! How could we be so blind?”

Ron’s face was gradually becoming purple. “Like I’d touch her after she’d been with *you*,”
he spat viciously. “I don’t accept tainted goods.”

Harry, despite his anger, paused. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ron laughed hollowly. “Oh, that’s right, you can’t *remember*! How tragic. Your first time
and you can’t remember a thing about it.” He smirked. “Well, I can tell you, the end wasn’t very
satisfactory for her.” His smirk a contorted grimace, Ron finally swung his other leg out of the
common room and pushed Harry aside, striding down the corridor with a victorious strut.

Harry just stood there. The faces he could now see in the common room were looking hurriedly
away, but Harry didn’t care. The meaning of Ron’s words was no longer a mystery, but they had shot
at Harry like a poisonous dart, the truth of it seeping into his blood. *This* was the reason
for Ron’s horrific jealousy; this was where his and Hermione’s relationship had gone.

“Excuse me,” came a lofty voice from somewhere to his left, “are you going to keep me hanging
open all day? It’s very uncomfortable, you know…”

*~*~*

Harry didn’t enter the common room- he could barely stand the stares and whispers before, let
alone now the entirety of Gryffindor house had heard the most intimate details of his life- and
instead headed to the only place he could think of where he wouldn’t be disturbed. The Room of
Requirement was kitted out for his simple needs- plain white walls, a neatly made bed with fresh,
crisp linen, and, he was surprised to find, a copy of ‘*Alice In Wonderland’*, which he’d read
many times over as a child (it having been thrown out by a disinterested Dudley and rescued from
the bin by Harry). He proceeded to lose himself in the delirious world again, still as fascinated
by the madness and magic as he had been aged six. For those few hours, alone in the silent, small
room, he forget about everything, and it was a rude return to the horrid state of affairs when
there came, inexplicably, a knock at the door.

He started; the book fell out his hands and sat awkwardly on the floor, pages curling. There
came no voice, but more insistent knocks; Harry could only assume that the room did not allow
whoever was knocking to either enter or speak to him, which meant that he’d have to go and
look.

He made his way tentatively to the door; the room seemed to know his every thought, for when he
reached the door he found that a peephole had materialized. Putting his eye to it, he saw the
distorted, but unmistakeable, shape of Hermione, her malformed face looking frantic. Her lips were
forming words Harry couldn’t hear; however, knowing he could hardly stay in the room forever, he
slowly turned the doorknob and watched Hermione slide into view.

Her face sagged with relief, her stream of words immediately becoming audible. “Harry, I know
you’re in th- Oh, Harry, thank you!” she exclaimed on seeing him, flinging her arms around his
neck. Flustered, he simply let her hang there, and she quickly relented, flushing slightly.

“What do you want?” Harry said sourly. Her face cracked sadly; clearly she’d been expecting a
slightly warmer greeting than this. She slid in before answering, and Harry closed the door, noting
with ambivalence that it was dark outside, and that it had also started raining again.

Hermione looked slightly bewildered by the simple furnishings of the room, but she made no
comment; instead, she picked up the damaged book from the floor and looked at it with interest.

“Oh, *Alice in Wonderland*!” she said lightly, not looking at Harry. “I used to love this
book,” she added, flipping it over.

Harry sighed quietly and leant back against the door. “Yeah, me too,” he said in a monotone.
“What did you want?”

Hermione, still not meeting his eyes, examined the book for a little while before seeming to
decide she could not escape any longer, putting it down beside her, and looking up. “Ginny told me
what Ron said,” she said, biting her lip.

Harry raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Hermione stood up.

“Harry, how could I have told you?” she said, her voice cracking as she walked over. The room
was so small she reached him in a matter of seconds. “You can’t even remember our first kiss, what
would you have done… how could you have… I…” she trailed off, eyes welling with tears.

“I’d rather have heard it from you than from Ron,” Harry said quietly, almost a whisper.

Hermione’s eyes flickered upwards, suddenly burning at him. “I know,” she said softly. “And I’m
sorry… but how could I know he would tell you?”

Harry tried to shrug, but all his shoulders did was twitch. “How did he even know?” he suddenly
asked.

Hermione looked down, chewing fiercely on her lip. Clearly she had hoped to avoid this
question.

Surprising him, her fingers suddenly batted at his, and he felt them interlocking with his own.
“Come and sit down,” she said gently, “and I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything.”

Harry felt extremely uncomfortable having her soft skin touching his own, but let her lead him
over to the bed, where she let his hand go and it dropped onto the smooth sheet. Hermione played
absently with her own fingers before finally looking up at Harry and beginning her story.

“It wasn’t a rash decision,” she said rather pleadingly, “we thought about it for ages, we
waited, you know, we only did it when we both felt it was right.” She paused, and Harry nodded
vaguely for lack of a better response. “It was only a few weeks ago… just before we went to fight
Voldemort. It was in here,” she looked around, “though it was a bit fancier than this,” she added,
smiling wistfully. “And we… you know,” she said, blushing, “and it was wonderful, Harry, it really
was, you were so…” Her words fell away as she looked at him, his face impervious. Tears welled in
her eyes again; she wiped them away and cleared her throat.

“We were in here, but then Ron came in… well, it was pretty obvious what had happened, and he
got really angry… started spewing all sorts of horrible things, it was vile,” she said, shaking her
head ruefully.

Harry frowned. “Wait…” he said slowly, and Hermione froze. “Ron said... he said that ‘the end
wasn’t very satisfactory for you’…”

Hermione gave a small, ironic smile. “I think he means because of him,” she said. She laid an
assuring hand on Harry’s and patted it. “There was nothing wrong with you, Harry,” she smiled.

Despite the situation, Harry smiled, feeling strangely relieved. “Good to know,” he mumbled,
flushing, and Hermione laughed softly.

“Anyway…” she said after a while, face straightening, “you said some things back, and so Ron
challenged you to a duel.” Her brow crinkled, showing just what she thought of this event. “I
begged you not to accept, Harry, but you wouldn’t listen…”

Harry suddenly felt rather guilty, even though he of course had no recollection of what Hermione
was describing… but he knew that what she said was exactly what he would have done, and the sadness
on Hermione’s face reflected everything.

“So what happened?” he said, his voice cracking.

“You fought,” she said, and even now the disappointment was evident in her voice. “I kept trying
to stop you, but you just ignored me… it was horrible, I’d never seen you like that, or Ron.” She
coughed. “You won, eventually… Ron was in a bad state, it took a while to wake him up, and even
then he was babbling. I’m not sure what happened to him.” Her eyes were lined with tears. “You just
left… I was mad with you, you tried to get me to come with you, but I stayed with Ron.” She sighed.
“Then he realized where it was and what had happened; he was nasty, really angry with me. And then
he didn’t talk to us again. Not that I’d have let him,” she added, eyes suddenly flashing.

Harry bit his lip. “Thank you for telling me,” he said quietly. Hermione nodded, her face a
grimace.

And thereafter silence fell between them. Neither moved, both lost in thought; Harry vaguely
registered the thought that it was probably a ridiculously late hour, but this didn’t seem to
matter- what did time, or rules, matter any more? He stared intently at Hermione’s knee, crooked on
the bed, her black jeans a stark contrast to the clean white sheets. He found it difficult to
comprehend these revelations; he had had sex with this girl- no, he corrected himself, with this
woman; and yet he couldn’t remember a thing about her, couldn’t remember kissing her, holding her,
sharing his soul with her. He had the memory of seeing these some of these occasions; but he did
not have the feeling of them. While he watched the memories he was a disconnected being; fact lay
before him but feeling was nowhere to be found.

After what seemed like hours, he heard Hermione’s soft, gentle voice. “Harry?”

He looked up, his eyes permitting her to speak on.

“Do you think I could kiss you?”

His eyes widened; panicked, she quickly hurried on.

“Not because of some selfish want, Harry; I just thought, maybe, it might help you remember,”
she said, rather pleadingly.

Harry found this outcome very unlikely, but something in him couldn’t help but *want* to
kiss those rosy lips… ‘*besides**,*’ the something’s voice hissed rather sneakily,
‘*what harm could it do?*’

“Okay,” he said, surprising himself with how calm he sounded. She looked rather startled herself
that he had agreed so readily.

She shifted, the leg that had been dangling off the bed curling beneath her, and she was
suddenly a whole lot closer. Harry swallowed, and decided the best course of action was to close
his eyes. He heard her gentle breathing, and felt it tickle his cheeks before her lips found
his.

Harry could not, to the disappointment of some distant part of his brain, say that her lips
sparked any memory of feeling in him; however, he felt stirred in a different way, suddenly knowing
exactly why the Harry he had seen in those memories had enjoyed kissing Hermione so much- for this
was, he thought vaguely, heaven. Her lips were supple and smooth, not cracked like he often found
his were, and the delicate taste his tongue delighted in reminded Harry of summer, of the smell of
mountain air that drifted over the castle in July, and in that moment he was there, not in a plain
white room in the middle of a stormy December -

Hermione made a tiny noise of some emotion Harry couldn’t comprehend, and suddenly her tongue
darted into his mouth, and her hands were in his hair; he shivered, but Hermione did not let go,
and slowly he felt her manoeuvring him downwards, and before he knew it his head was against the
soft, light fabric of the sheets, his hair ruffled beneath him, Hermione lying across him, her
mouth still attached to his.

He gasped, devoid of air- but she seemed to feel the same thing at the same moment, and gently
moved her lips down to his chin, planting soft kisses down to the nape of his neck. Harry was made
so delirious by this that it was only with the faintest interest that he noted that what they were
doing was probably a very bad idea.

He moaned as she played with the buttons of his shirt, fingertips moving between them to touch
his skin. She was still kissing his neck, smooth lips meeting sensitive skin; she seemed to have
become a different person, driven by some desperate desire, and he barely recognized her voice when
she gave a husky whisper. “Oh, Harry.”

He was not doing anything he could have expected to elicit this whisper, seeing as he was simply
laying there, hands inert at his sides; suddenly his brain shifted and he sat up, sending Hermione
flying up with him and looking rather dazed, as well as hurt.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Harry said, voice shaking.

It took Hermione a minute to react; to his surprise she gave a small smile and the suddenly
pressed her mouth to his again, giving him short, sharp kisses as she rather breathlessly
whispered, “Come on, Harry. I know you want it as much as I do,” she said, pausing and looking
pointedly downwards. He flushed, but turned his head so her next kiss only landed on his cheek.

“I can’t,” he said firmly, though his body was quivering.

Hermione’s hands were still holding his arms; they froze. He didn’t look at her, but her voice
was suddenly coursing with anger. “What’s wrong with me?” she said rather hotly.

Harry almost laughed, which he knew would have been a stupid thing to do under these
circumstances. “Hermione, there’s nothing wrong with you,” he said, still not looking at her. “But
how can you not see this is not a good idea? You don’t want to do this, I know you don’t.”

Hermione’s hands vanished. “How can you know that,” she said cruelly, “you can’t remember
me!”

Harry looked at her; she looked angry, but her eyes were welling with tears and he knew her
words weren’t really meant to sting. “I know that,” he said quietly.

They regarded each other for a second, Harry’s gaze strong, Hermione’s nervy; then, without
warning, she suddenly burst into tears, covering her eyes with her hands as sobs wracked her
body.

Alarmed, Harry sat awkwardly, not knowing whether he should be trying to comfort her or not, and
as a result he did nothing whatsoever as tears leaked out from behind Hermione’s fingers.

“Oh, god,” she choked, “I’m- I’m sorry, Harry!” Her voice was a high-pitched wail, and it was
startling to yet another side to Hermione- though Harry couldn’t pretend to be particularly
enamoured of this one.

Hermione wiped at her eyes in a futile attempt to stem her tears. “I’m such a stupid person!”
she cried, which even Harry immediately recognized was an extremely false statement, and he
nervously shuffled nearer, tentatively putting a hand on her shoulder in what he hoped was a
comforting gesture. She leant her head against it, and her next words were, to Harry’s relief,
spoken much more quietly.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said again, looking up at him so sorrowfully he jolted with surprise. “I
don’t know what I was doing… I just thought…” she broke off, chewing her lip fiercely. Harry,
feeling like he had to be the strong one, made a shushing noise and stroked her hair gently; for
all its bushiness, it was surprisingly soft, he noticed.

Her sobs slowly subsided as she leant against his body, and he just kept soothing her, fingers
running down her hair at the back; after a while, he felt her droop, and knew she had fallen
asleep. As gently as he could, he moved off the bed, lowering Hermione down onto the bed, carefully
pushing a pillow under her head just before it hit the sheets. He looked down at her pensively for
a few seconds, then, without even wondering how the room had known it, laid down on the camp bed
that had appeared behind him, and slept, dreams full of swimming pictures of Hermione.



10. Chapter Ten: Ashamed
------------------------

Love Will Come Through

**Chapter Ten: Ashamed**

When Harry awoke, muscles aching and head groggy from a restless night’s sleep on a camp bed
that was rather uncomfortable- maybe the Room of Requirement was punishing him for something, he
pondered- Hermione had already vanished, the sheets and pillow upon which she had laid crinkled,
long, wavy brown hairs lying upon them. The pillow was also, he noted sadly, stained, and he
remembered hearing faint sniffling while he had laid half-conscious in the middle of the night,
awake enough to recognize but not awake enough to understand.

He poked his head out of the door, but no one was to be seen. It was still raining heavily, and
the skies were so dark with cloud Harry had no way of telling what the time was. Sighing, he closed
the door behind it, and it disappeared immediately, its use now defunct.

As Harry made his way back up Gryffindor Tower it became apparent that it was already
mid-morning; he heard classes chattering behind doors, and, at one point, a teacher’s loud yell.
However, Harry had no idea where he was supposed to be, and so had little option but to go back to
his dormitory, where his timetable lay somewhere within his bag. His stomach howled in protest but
Harry ignored it.

He needn’t have bothered. When he finally made it to the Charms classroom, he found that
Professor Flitwick had surrendered the last day of term to fun and games, and most of the class was
chattering noisily amongst themselves, Dean and Neville engaging in a particularly violent game of
chess. Flitwick waved aside Harry’s apologies and went back into his doze; Harry, for want of
anything else to do, sat down beside Seamus to watch the chess game.

Hermione was sat alone on the other side of the room, her head buried in a book; he doubted very
much whether she had seen him come in, though her cheeks did have a suspiciously pink tinge about
them. Ron was nowhere to be seen.

Professor McGonagall was not so kind; when Seamus complained that Flitwick had let them have fun
she went into a stern lecture about the importance of NEWTs and they spent the lesson revising
their work from the previous year. Once again, Ron was nowhere to be seen.

Ginny soon explained that. “He’s gone home,” she told him, chewing absently on a mouthful of
steak and kidney pie, “couldn’t bear to stay a minute longer, apparently.” She rolled her eyes.
“What happened to you last night, anyway? Neville said your bed wasn’t slept in,” she said, looking
suspiciously at Harry.

Harry hoped his face didn’t show his misery. He leant forward so only Ginny and Neville could
hear him, and told them what had happened. He was halfway through the story when he wondered
whether he should be telling them at all; but, he rationalized, they’d been loyal and helpful
throughout this whole thing, why shouldn’t they know? Nevertheless, he couldn’t help feeling
slightly uncomfortable when he saw Hermione slide onto the end of the opposite bench in the corner
of his eye.

Neville looked rather embarrassed as Harry told his story; Ginny simply looked rather shocked,
but as Harry came to a finish she seemed to have become rather resolved.

“Well,” she said quietly, putting down the fork she had been holding in mid-air for several
minutes, the food had been holding long consumed, “at least now I know why you were all so angry
with each other.”

Harry frowned. “What d’you mean?”

“I caught you and Hermione fighting a few days before you left,” she explained calmly. “You both
denied it, of course, but it was obvious- plus there was the fact that Ron was trying to pretend
neither of you existed.”

Harry nodded vaguely, but Neville looked concerned. “Is Hermione alright? She’s been awfully
distant all day-”

“Of course she’s not *alright*, Neville,” Ginny said with a withering glance, “didn’t you
hear what Harry said? I better go and talk to her,” she said, swinging her legs over the bench and
running off down to where Hermione was sitting, hunched over a bowl of steaming soup.

Neville turned to Harry. “Are *you* alright?” he said pointedly.

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. “Fine,” he said unconvincingly.

Neville raised an eyebrow. “I may not be very good at Potions, Harry, but I’m not an idiot.”

Harry looked at him. “That’s not true. You are good at Potions. You got that one perfectly the
other day.”

“That’s not the point, Harry,” insisted Neville, though he blushed and gave a small smile at the
praise. “It must have been very… confusing for you,” he continued tactfully, “finding out like
that.”

“What, and having everyone else find out at the same time as well?” Harry said bitterly, glaring
up the table, where some third years were chattering as they stared at him.

Neville bit his lip. “Well, that too,” he admitted in a small voice.

Harry suddenly bashed his clenched fist against the table, making Neville jump and several
people nearby look round. “It’s just too bloody hard, Neville,” Harry said in a low voice, running
a hand through his hair. “I’m exhausted.”

“You can’t give-”

“Up,” Harry finished for him, eyes flashing. “Yes, I know that, Neville,” he said flatly.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t feel like I want to.”

“Harry, it’ll be okay, everything will work out, we’ll find a way-”

“Shut up!” said Harry loudly, causing more swift glances. “Just shut up, okay?” he said again,
lowering his voice slightly. “I don’t want to hear it. Stop *lying* to me,” he said
forcefully. “Everything won’t be okay, it’s a fucking mess, and I can’t do it any more,” he said,
voice cracking, and before Neville could do anything else Harry had swivelled off the bench and
fled the Great Hall, the delighted catcalls of Malfoy ringing over the din.

Neville put his head in his hands and didn’t emerge until he felt a soft touch on his arm, and a
gentle whisper in his ear. He looked up. Ginny smiled weakly.

“Is Harry okay? I heard-”

“Did he *look* okay?” said Neville coarsely. Ginny’s eyes flashed warningly and he coughed.
“What did Hermione say?”

Ginny looked decidedly miserable. “She’s leaving,” she said regretfully, glancing back at
Hermione. “Going home for Christmas, she says she needs a break.”

Neville sighed. “Probably a good idea,” he said, making Ginny start with surprise. “Harry said
he was exhausted too,” he added.

“Fuck,” said Ginny in exasperation. “Sorry,” she said quickly at Neville’s frown. “But, it’s
just… how are they going to get anywhere if they stop trying?”

Neville put a hand on hers as it rested on the table. It was a mark of her preoccupation that
she didn’t even seem to notice this. “It’s only a couple of weeks, Ginny,” he said placidly. “It’s
probably a good idea for them to take a break; step back and breathe,” he added. “And then come
back and try again.”

Ginny nodded sadly. “I suppose,” she said, sniffing. She looked up at Neville. “Are you
staying?” she asked abruptly.

Neville sighed. “I can’t,” he said sullenly. “I promise Gran I’d go home- first holiday without
the shadow of You-Know-Who, you know, she’s having a big do,” he said, his expression showing
exactly what he thought of this idea.

Ginny nodded glumly. “That’s okay,” she said kindly.

Neville frowned slightly. “What about you?” he asked.

“Well, someone has to stay with Harry, don’t they?” she said dutifully. “Besides, I don’t think
Ron and I could live in such close proximity for a fortnight,” she said, eyes darkening. “It’s bad
enough here.”

Neville mumbled in agreement. “Yeah,” he said listlessly. “Is your mum okay with that?”

Ginny waved a dismissive hand in the air. “She’s not exactly pleased that Ron and I are
fighting,” she said bitterly, “but she thinks it’s good of me to stay with Harry. She asked him to
come to ours for Christmas, but, you know… Ron…”

Neville leant his head against his palm, elbow propping him up as he slumped over the table.
“What a mess,” he said sadly.

Ginny could only nod.

*~*~*

“Hey hey, little bro!”

“How is our ickle Ronniekins?”

Ron groaned. He was, to put it bluntly, stuffed. His mother had outdone herself again- Ron
hadn’t been able to resist the magnificent spread she’d put out for Christmas dinner, and, what
with their unusually depleted numbers (no Ginny, or Harry, and Charlie was stuck overseas for the
holiday), it had fallen to Ron to eat up the remainder of the foods on offer. So now here he sat,
stomach expanding and contracting vengefully, meaning he’d had to excuse himself from Celestia
Warbeck’s radio concert and go and lie down.

But now Fred and George had burst into his room, and Ron was so inert that he couldn’t do a
thing to stop them. “Bugger off,” he grunted.

George waved a petulant finger in his face. “Now, now, Ronnie, language,” he said with a smirk.
“What would our mother say?”

Fred’s face appeared behind his brother’s. From Ron’s position it was as though they were two
humans looking in at a fish bowl- very intimidating. Fred smiled. “Our mother doesn’t know the half
of it, Georgie,” he said wickedly. Ron groaned again.

“What the hell do you want from me?” he moaned.

Fred put a hand to his chest in fake shock. “Us?” he said innocently. “We only want to
*talk* to you, Ron,” he said angelically.

Ron had the distinct feeling he wasn’t going to enjoy this one bit. “About?” he asked
gruffly.

George was now sitting at the end of his bed. “Ginny.”

“And Harry,” added Fred.

George nodded gravely. “And Hermione.”

Ron’s eyes widened in panic. “Why?” he said uselessly.

George looked at Fred. “I think he should be sitting up for this, Fred,” he said pointedly, and
Fred immediately seized the front of Ron’s fuzzy jumper and yanked his brother upwards. Ron
squealed.

“Ow!” He glared at Fred, who just smiled as he leant Ron back against the headboard. Ron sighed.
“If you’re going to do that, can’t you do something about my stomach ache?” he complained.

George slid along the bed and shook his head. “Oh no, Ronnie, we’re not having you running out
on us,” he said suspiciously. “You’re going to stay here and have a nice, *uncomfortable* chat
with us.”

“Now,” said Fred, “*why* are you fighting with Ginny?”

Ron just stared at him with narrowed eyes.

“Okay,” said George, “we’ll try a different question. Why did you sabotage the attempt to rescue
Harry’s memory?”

Ron growled. “I did not *sabotage* anything,” he said crossly. “Ginny’s just being a
bitch.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “That’s our sister you’re talking about there, Ronnie,” he said, a
definite note of warning in his voice. “I’d watch yourself if I were you.”

George nodded. “Let’s try this again, shall we?” he said airily. “Why did you stop talking to
Harry and Hermione before they left to see to the mean old dark wizard?”

Ron said nothing. George looked to Fred. “I think he needs some persuading, Fred,” he commented.
Fred nodded, and picked something from his pocket. Waving it before Ron’s eyes, he said, “This,
Ron, is one of our Super-Strength Stinkbombs. I’m sure you recognise it. And I’m sure you know how
dreadfully it smells.” Ron didn’t move. “Now,” continued Fred, “if you don’t tell us what we want
to know, Ron, we will let off ten of these in this room.” Ron’s eyes widened immediately. “I don’t
think I need to tell you what’ll happen then.”

“You can’t do that,” said Ron quickly, “mum’ll kill you.”

George just smiled. “I don’t think so, Ron. You see, mum is fully informed of the situation, and
she agrees with us. She thinks you’re in dire need of having some sense knocked into you. And, to
calm her last worry, we assured her that the stink would be cleverly confined to just this
room.”

Ron’s eyes darted around in panic. “You wouldn’t,” he said weakly.

Fred grinned. “I think you know we would, Ronald,” he said sweetly. “Now, are you going to tell
us what we want to know?”

Ron glared at them, but after a few seconds his head dropped, and when he lifted it back up it
looked decidedly miserable. “Fine,” he said despondently.

Fred smiled contentedly and dropped the Stinkbomb back into his pocket. “Excellent.”

“So,” George said, “why are you fighting with Ginny?”

Ron sighed. “I don’t even know any more,” he said sadly.

Fred frowned. “Alright, then, do you know why Ginny is upset with *you*?”

Ron nodded glumly. “Because I was angry with Harry,” he said heavily. “And because she thinks I
dropped the wand.”

“Why did you?” George asked.

Ron moaned. “I already told you, I didn’t!” he protested. “It was shaking, it was too hard to
hold onto!” He shook in his agitation and almost fell over the side of his bed. Fred put out his
hand to push him back again.

“Alright,” said Fred placatingly, “we believe you. But that doesn’t explain why you were angry
with Harry in the first place.”

Ron squirmed. “It’s private,” he mumbled.

“What’s that?” said George with a hand at his ear.

“It’s private,” he said again, louder.

Fred looked surprised. “Private, eh?” He put his hand in his pocket. “Need I remind you what’s
in here?”

Ron gave the most excruciatingly pained expression and growled. “Alright,” he said eventually in
a very tight tone of voice. “I suppose the entirety of Gryffindor already knows anyway,” he added.
He paused, pushed himself awkwardly into a more comfortable position, and closed his eyes.

“Alright, Ron, it’s not a dramatic reading, get on with it,” said George impatiently. Ron opened
his eyes and they flashed in annoyance.

“Okay,” began Ron, avoiding their eyes. “I suppose you already know I wasn’t exactly very happy
with Harry and Hermione being together in the first place,” he said, and the withering looks he
received were more than enough confirmation of that. “Well, it wasn’t as if I wasn’t talking to
them or anything, I mean, I still wanted to be their friend even if they did keep kissing each
other.” He made a disgusted face. “And then one night they weren’t anywhere, and no one had seen
them. So I went looking for them. I tried everywhere- the library, the hospital wing, the kitchens,
even Hagrid’s. But they weren’t anywhere.

“So I went to the last place they could possibly be. The Room of Requirement.” Fred’s eyebrows
went up in realization, but he let Ron carry on. “There was no door, but I told it that I needed to
find Harry and Hermione- I mean, they could’ve run off to fight Voldemort without telling anyone
and died, for all I knew,” he said, frowning darkly, as if they’d done just that. “But no,” he
said, voice becoming more edgy and eyes clouding blackly, “they were having sex.” He said this very
bitterly, almost forcing the last words out.

George’s eyes widened in surprise; Fred suppressed a laugh. Ron glared at him. “Well, I’m glad
you think it’s funny,” he said angrily.

Fred straightened his face and tried to look very concerned. “I’m sorry,” he said, mouth still
twitching. “It’s just… *that*’s why you were mad at them? Because they had sex?”

Ron stared at him. “Yes,” he said blankly.

Fred sighed and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Ron, Ron, Ron,” he said gently. “That’s
what generally happens when two people fall in love: eventually, they express this love through the
physical act of sex. It’s a natural urge, Ron; I’m surprised you haven’t felt it yourself.”

George sniggered.

Ron glared at him again. “I’m not stupid,” he said hotly. “It’s just…” he paused, and his face
softened. “I think that seeing them, like that... it was like the final nail in the coffin. They
were really together.”

George sighed. “Ron, are you blind as well as stupid? They’d been together for over a year.”

Fred held up a hand. “Shush, George. I understand, Ron,” he said, nodding gravely. “Seeing them
like that meant that there was no chance for you any more, am I right?”

Ron regarded his brother for a moment, sniffed, and finally nodded. Fred patted his shoulder
warmly.

“Did really ever think there was?” he asked quietly.

Ron sighed. “I guess not,” he answered glumly. “But why didn’t she want me?” he asked, and Fred
was alarmed to see tears welling in his brother’s eyes.

George scooted nearer. “Life doesn’t always work out the way you want it to,” he said wisely,
“but you have to learn to accept the way it does work out. Do you believe in fate?”

Ron, startled by this question, looked up with a frown, but when George simply looked
questioningly at him, he nodded slowly.

“Okay,” said George, not seeming surprised by this response, “then Hermione wasn’t the one you
were meant to be with. She was meant to be with Harry. And there’s someone out there who’s meant to
be with you,” he added, patting Ron’s knee comfortingly.

Ron blinked. “Do *you* believe in fate?” he questioned.

George smiled sheepishly. “Well, no,” he admitted, “but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Fred laughed. Ron rolled his eyes, discreetly wiping them of tears.

“Right,” said Fred purposefully, “now that we understand you, Ron, we can deal with you.” Ron
gulped. Fred laughed. “There’s no need to be scared, Ronnie! We’re here to help.”

George nodded. “Unless you’re going to tell us you’re happy being mad with everyone and being a
moody-arsed recluse,” he said pointedly. Ron gave him a sullen glare but said nothing. “Thought
so.”

Fred leant forward. “Now, I know it’s hard, Ron, but you have to move past this. We know you
miss having Harry and Hermione as friends, and I’m sure they miss you too- well, the nice you,” he
said.

Ron nodded dolefully.

“Can you apologise to them?” George asked seriously. Ron paused, then nodded again. “Good. And
to Ginny?” Ron sighed, and inclined his head. “And can you try to be okay with Harry and Hermione
being together?” Ron grunted. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Fred grinned cheerfully. “Excellent,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Well, George, I
think our work here is done,” he commented, standing up. “Don’t forget, Ron, we’ll be monitoring
the situation closely,” he added warningly, walking with George to the door.

Ron groaned and held out a hand. “Wait!” he cried. They looked back. Ron gestured to his
growling stomach. “Can’t you…?”

Fred laughed. “Oh, we don’t know the spell, you’ll have to ask mum,” he said lightly, closing
the door, and Ron’s eyes widened- in his haste to attack his brother, he fell off the bed and it
took him several minutes to stand up again.

*~*~*

Harry stared out of the window. The wind was still a biting cold, whipping the plummeting rain
into circular frenzies, wildly hitting the glass at all sorts of angles. Clearly the weather made
no allowances for holidays- for all of Christmas Day it had rained as hard as ever, and Hagrid had
arrived looking even more bedraggled than usual, having trekked through the storms for the
traditional feast at one o’clock. As it had in Harry’s third year, the number of students remaining
at Hogwarts was so few- most had gone home to celebrate Voldemort’s downfall with their families-
that the house tables had been replaced with a smaller one in the centre of the hall; though, with
Professor McGonagall as headmistress instead of Dumbledore, the meal proved to be a lot less
entertaining.

The only other Gryffindors remaining along with Harry and Ginny were two meek second year girls,
who had nevertheless proven quite fun at Exploding Snap, and Harry had managed to forget all his
problems for the few hours they spent wiling away by the crackling fire. But now the second years
had gone to bed, and Harry was left with his thoughts, Ginny, and a rather uncomfortable
atmosphere.

The fire was dying, and so Harry’s face was clouded in darkness, meaning that Ginny’s glances of
concern revealed nothing whatsoever to her. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, slumped
down on a sofa, feet dangling in front of the fire, head resting in the palm of her supported hand.
The presence of the second years all day had proved a convenient way of avoiding having to talk
about anything- for in the few days since everyone else had left, their discussions had become
strangely strained and difficult, and, though Harry was glad for all the help Ginny had given, he
couldn’t help feeling that her attitude towards him had shifted. Her reassuring touches were always
quickly withdrawn, her eyes couldn’t seem to meet his, and she had been staying in her dormitory as
much as she could possibly manage.

Not that he was behaving much better. Less people and little to do meant he was left to his
thoughts, which circulated constantly, never coming to conclusions, and his dreams, always
featuring taunting images of Hermione, and reminders of the person he had used to be.

He turned from the window, softly walking back over to the fire. He threw some wood onto it and
poked it roughly, the resulting flare of light making Ginny look up at him.

“What time is it?” she asked, sounding tired.

Harry pushed the sleeve of his new Weasley jumper back and squinted at his watch. “Quarter to
twelve,” he said eventually, lowering himself into a plush armchair opposite Ginny’s sofa. She
yawned slightly, and swung her legs up onto the sofa, resting her head on the armrest, rolling it
so it faced Harry.

“We should go to bed,” she said vaguely, ironically settling even deeper into her new
position.

Harry smiled to himself. “Yeah,” he answered just as distantly, studying her. Was now the time?
It seemed absurd, but suddenly he felt he couldn’t bear not to understand the way she was acting
anymore; and now, when her defences were down, might be the moment he got the truth.

“Ginny,” he said slowly, and she blinked, smiling at him, “are you alright?”

Her lips curled curiously. “I’m fine,” she said, still sounding sleepy, “why wouldn’t I be?”

He sat up, body more rigid and imposing. “You’ve been acting… odd,” he said, biting his
thumbnail absently. “I just wondered why.”

Ginny’s eyes immediately shifted, and she seemed to be looking over his head rather than at it;
her cheeks, he thought, seemed to have gone a bit pink, though it was hard to tell in the
flickering golden light. “What d’you mean?” she said rather shakily.

Harry chewed slightly harder on his thumbnail before answering. “It feels like you’re drawing
away from me.”

The colour in Ginny’s cheeks was definitely rising. Her mouth opened and closed several times
before she finally said “I’m not”, which meant Harry certainly didn’t believe her.

He leant forward. “You *are*,” he said firmly, as her head rolled away to stare at the
ceiling. “Please,” he added pleadingly, and he saw her hand twitching uncomfortably, catching in
the flickering firelight.

There was no sound except the crackles of the burning wood for almost a minute, but Harry could
sense the internal struggle in Ginny, and knew he had to wait. Eventually, her voice sounded, quiet
and cracking. “I can’t.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“I just can’t,” she said, more loudly and forcefully.

He was so near to the edge of his chair he almost fell off. “Ginny,” he said, voice rather
terse, “don’t do this. I know you think, for whatever reason, that it’s for the best, but it isn’t.
Don’t tear even more people apart. I need you.”

Ginny’s hand went to her face for a second; if Harry hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought
she was brushing away a tear. Finally, slowly, she sat up, her face turned to his again. She looked
torn apart. “But you don’t understand,” she said, voice thick, “I can’t tell you. Please, don’t
make me…”

Harry could see she was floundering. He slipped off the floor onto his knees and slowly hobbled
across to kneel at her head; she slid backwards, but their faces were still in such close proximity
that their noses were almost touching. “Gin,” he said softly, “you have to tell me.”

A single tear ran down towards her ear, clinging onto her shining hair, and her words were a
whisper. “I’m in love with you.”

Harry stared at her. Unconsciously, he fell back, feet buckling under the sudden weight of his
body. “You… what?” he said, gaping at her.

Ginny took a deep, ragged breath. “You see? This is going to tear us apart anyway,” she said
sadly.

Harry, still rather shocked, shook his head vehemently. “No it won’t,” he said firmly. “I won’t
let it.”

Ginny looked at him rather despairingly, and ran a hand through her hair in frustration. “It’s
not that easy, Harry,” she said quietly. “How can things be the same? You *know*,” she said,
sounding hopeless, “and how can I possibly look at you when you know that?” She brushed another
tear away. “I’m a horrible person,” she said in a deadly whisper.

Harry instinctively put a hand on her face. “No!” he protested firmly, shaking his head. “How
can you say that? Love isn’t a thing to feel guilty about. Love is a wonderful thing, to be
celebrated.”

Ginny’s eyes burned. “Exactly. How can we celebrate this? You love Hermione, and I’m so stupid
for feeling this-”

Harry put a finger on her lips. “You are *not* stupid,” he said softly, “you are a funny,
kind, beautiful person, and it makes me feel humbled that you would choose me, of all people, to
love.”

Ginny couldn’t help but smile. Her mouth seemed to be forming words but none came; instead, she
just looked at him, her eyes reflecting the golden light of the fire, her mouth a rosy circle, her
smile surprised and loving. Their noses were touching. Harry wasn’t sure how he’d reached this
position, but he suddenly didn’t seem to be able to move out of it; he stared into her dancing
eyes, he saw her blink, he felt her soft, thick lips gently pressing against his own…

“No.” He jerked backwards, the taste she’d barely impressed lingering on his own lips.

But she didn’t look upset; rather, she looked ashamed, and now the tears that were streaming
down her face went unhindered, and she looked so small, so pitiful, sitting curled up in the corner
of the sofa, the firelight fading as the flames slowly died; and he sat beside her, and put his arm
around her, and she cried into his shoulder, the last secret finally hanging in the air around
them.

*~*~*

**A/N:** *Once again, thank you if you reviewed, even it was critical- it can only help me
grow! We’re now in motion towards the conclusion- only two or three chapters left. You should be
getting the next chapter in under a week, so let me know what you think of this one by scrolling
down a smidgen and typing a few words. Thanks!*



11. Chapter Eleven: Red Sky At Night
------------------------------------

**A/N:** Thank you for your reviews, be they positive or negative. As there are- as I
intimated last time- only three chapters (plus an epilogue) of this story left, I would hope that
complaints of no plot movement are soon quelled. However, I’m clearly a poor judge of this,
considering I hadn’t noticed it before- so don’t take my word for it.

The next chapter will be published on Monday, unforeseen technical difficulties notwithstanding
(you never know).

P.S. I’m not sure if the title reference is a Brit-specific thing- let me know.

Love Will Come Through

**Chapter Eleven: Red Sky at Night**

Ron trudged up the spiral staircase, hearing snatches of noise from all the other dormitories he
passed as he made his way up to the very top of the tower. He stopped before he reached the door,
which was closed, and looked out of the window. He was stalling, he knew, but still, the weather
was mad. The sky was a crisp, clear, luminous blue, and barely a cloud was to be seen. The wind was
still. The weather seemed to know that today was the day everyone returned to Hogwarts, and it had
cleared with startling immediacy and contrast. The grass was still damp with the torrential
downpours that had lasted almost the entire month, and yet the sky showed no sign of their origin.
Of course, no clouds mean that the air was ice cold, and Ron was regretting leaving his mother’s
Christmas jumper behind at the Burrow- his robes were simply too thin.

He turned to the door, and took a deep breath. He must be in here, Ron knew- Neville had told
him so. Ron also knew he had to do this now, before his nerve crumbled, before he forgot what he
needed to say. He gripped the knob as firmly as he could, and turned it. The door creaked open, and
into view swam the sight that had become his second home- five four-poster beds fitted with smooth
red linen, drapes drawn back against the poles- and on one, the resting form of Harry Potter, eyes
closed as his head lay against his pillows.

Ron walked slowly over, and Harry’s eyelids snapped upwards. Ron saw recognition, then wariness,
but none of the disgust or mistrust he would have expected to see in him- ‘*maybe*’, Ron
thought bitterly, ‘*that’s because it was just* you *feeling those things*’.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked quietly. Harry shrugged listlessly. Ron sat down on the edge of
his own bed, clasping his hands together nervously.

Harry was looking at him expectantly, eyebrows raised in scepticism. Ron cleared his throat,
which didn’t help. “I…” he started, voice shaking, “I’m sorry.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “You what?”

Ron swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “For everything.”

Harry looked at him, eyes narrowed, and slowly slid up so his back was resting against the wall.
“Okay,” he said slowly, “anything else?”

Ron stared at him. “Harry, please,” he said pleadingly, “I know I’ve said and done some horrible
things, and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I’m really so sorry for it all. I was an idiot, a
bastard, I know. I was jealous. I know that’s not an excuse, but I couldn’t handle it… you and
Hermione… and then when I…”

Harry put up a hand. “Okay,” he said, and Ron was relieved to hear a softer tone to his voice.
Harry leant forward. “Ron, I never wanted to lose you as a friend. I know I can’t remember
everything that happened, but maybe we neglected you, I don’t know- Ginny said we did, and if we
did I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. But the things you’ve said… they’re not easy things to
forget.”

“I know-” interrupted Ron, but Harry held up a silencing hand again.

“Let me finish,” he said, smiling slightly, and Ron allowed himself a quick smile back. He felt
the tension ease just slightly. “Hermione and I- well, it’s complicated right now, but I think- I
hope- that we’ll still be together, and you need to accept that, Ron.” Ron nodded. “Neither of us
want to lose you as a friend, but the person you became…” he trailed off, shaking his head
ruefully.

“I’m not that person any more,” Ron said quickly. “I hated being like that. But I act before I
think… jealousy overrode me. I don’t want to be like that any more.” He paused. “I miss you. You
and Hermione… and Ginny,” he added, after a thought. “Everyone, in fact,” he realized. “I pushed
away everyone.”

Harry let the following pause hang in the air before he asked the question Ron had been
expecting. “But there is one thing… and I need the truth, Ron,” he said, eyes piercing, and Ron
nodded quickly. “When we did the wand circle with Luna, did you drop the wand on purpose?”

“No,” Ron said fiercely, almost before Harry had finished speaking. “I may have been angry and
jealous, but I would never have done that on purpose. Never.”

His words were strong, level and forceful, and Harry gave him an inscrutable look before smiling
gently. “It’ll take time,” he said, and Ron nodded again, “but I think we can all move past this
eventually.”

Ron smiled, let out a long breath, and fell backwards onto his bed. “One down, two to go,” he
said quietly to himself, and Harry, though he heard the murmur, just closed his eyes and let it
go.

*~*~*

Ginny let out the breath she’d been holding, slumping several centimetres down in her chair as
she did so. She heard her brother do the same behind her; then his retreating steps, disappearing
back p the spiral staircase. His apology had been so torn and pathetic that she just couldn’t find
it in herself to repel him- no, she hadn’t forgiven him, but she hadn’t not forgiven him either,
and Ron had known that for the time being, he’d have to be satisfied with that. Truth was, Ginny
was tired of fighting, and she didn’t want to have to work so hard to be horrible to Ron. And, in
some small way, she felt vindicated- he had been, all along, a good person, when it came to the
crunch.

It was evening, and for the first time the map of stars could be seen over the castle, only a
few wispy clouds masking the few distant balls of light unlucky enough to be positioned behind
them. Before Ginny’s feet the fire burnt once more, glowing a fierce red, its flames licking at the
very tops of its stone enclosure.

Ginny was shattered; the past week with Harry had been hard, but she had forced herself to spend
time with him, to laugh with him, to act as though she was moving past it. But, truth was, with
only Harry around, that was impossible- there was him, and only him, to focus on. Now, perhaps, she
could move on, distract herself, recover.

“Gin?”

She smiled up at that voice, soft and friendly as it always was, and Neville took that as an
okay to perch himself on the edge of her armchair- the return of everyone meant that all seats were
taken, and Ginny’s favourite sofa had already been invaded by some rowdy fourth years, currently
telling rude jokes and laughing loudly, which was irritating Ginny immensely.

Neville looked down at her, concern mixed into his smile. “You okay?”

Ginny gave a non-committal shrug. “Fine,” she said unconvincingly.

Neville raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Come on Gin, we all know you can lie better than that,” he
said teasingly. Ginny, despite herself, laughed, although that quickly faded into her prior
sadness. “What’s up? Did something happen?” Neville rested a hand on her knee (resting before her
face as her foot balanced on the edge of her seat), which neither of them seemed to notice.

Ginny sighed. “He knows,” she whispered, so quietly he barely heard her under the loud catcalls
nearby.

Neville closed his eyes briefly, taking in this fact. He did not look surprised. “How long?” he
asked in a low voice.

She looked at him, eyes shining. “A week… since Christmas Day.” Neville closed his eyes again
for a second in recognition of her pain and moved his hand from her knee to her shoulder, kneading
it ever so gently. She sighed, and stared into the roaring fire as she spoke. “I couldn’t hide it
from him any longer, Neville… it was so difficult, just me and him, I couldn’t-”

Her voice cracked and Neville leant down and pulled her into an awkward hug, resting his head on
top of hers and holding her as reassuringly as he could. “It’s okay, Gin, it’ll be okay,” he said
softly, caressing her hair as she clung to him. They stayed together for a good minute, silencing
holding each other, before Neville drew away, flushing slightly as Ginny looked up at him, eyes
brimming with tears, and smiled at him.

He shifted on the arm of the chair, wincing as he hit a piece of wood, and Ginny, noticing,
asked softly, “do you want to sit down?”

He looked at her, frowning, and she squashed herself to the side of the chair, gesturing to the
space she left. He shook his head rather vehemently. “There’s not enough space,” he insisted.

Ginny scoffed. “There’s plenty,” she said, smiling up at him, but he just shook his head again.
She sighed. “You can’t sit on the arm, Nev, it’s uncomfortable; sit down, it’ll be fine… I’ll…” her
hands flailed wildly as she thought quickly, “I’ll sit on your lap if needs be!”

Neville went pink. Ginny, who had been looking down at the disputed chair space, glanced up and
noticed this; she frowned, then her eyes went wide, and she blushed too. “I didn’t mean… I…” she
stammered, face growing redder by the second. “Look, there’s space, okay?” she said, voice
flustered but firm.

Neville shook his head again, looking intently over Ginny’s head. “No,” he said, voice
quivering, “no, I can’t…”

Ginny rolled her eyes and pulled him forcefully by the arm down onto the chair, where his body
immediately went rigid. “See?” said Ginny. “There’s plenty of room,” she smiled, wincing as
Neville’s elbow poked her in the ribs.

Neville bit his lip as he tried to relax; after a few minutes, he turned his head to look at
Ginny, who seemed to have returned to thoughts of Harry, for her face betrayed painful
reminiscences again.

“I was stupid,” she whispered, looking distinctly ashamed. “How could I have let it happen?”

Neville tentatively laid a comforting hand on her knee, it being the only part of her body that
his constricted arm could reach. “It’s better that he knows, that way you can move past it,” he
said soothingly.

But Ginny looked anything but soothed. “Not that,” she said, in a whisper that held distinct
self-disgust. “I… I kissed him,” she said so quietly he could barely hear her, even though his ear
was mere inches from her mouth.

Neville’s eyes went wide. “You… you…” he stuttered; Ginny looked at him, and for a fleeting
second as their eyes met she could’ve sworn that he looked more hurt than anything else. Neville
took a deep breath. “What did he do?”

Ginny sighed. “Broke away, of course,” she said resignedly. “And then I cried… I was so
pathetic, but he still stayed and sat with me…”

Neville let the ensuing quiet rest, both barely hearing the rowdy students around them, all
totally indifferent to the emotional scene developing in their midst. Eventually, Neville patted
Ginny’s knee as reassuringly as he could and smiled at her- though, to her eyes, it seemed rather
forced.

“At least you feel regretful,” he said. “I mean, you know it was a mistake, and Harry knows you
know that, and you can leave it be. You can forget it, move on.”

Ginny nodded glumly. “Yeah,” she replied dully. However, the disheartened look this provoked in
Neville did not go unnoticed, and she smiled at him as best she could, rubbing the hand that lay on
her knee warmly. “Thanks, Nev,” she said, and, to his clear surprise, kissed him soundly on the
cheek and stood up, feeling Neville’s eyes follow her as she disappeared up the spiralling
staircase.

*~*~*

Hermione could hear silence. The bright golden sunset was reflected in the polished walnut of
her dormitory door; she had watched it slowly going down along its invisible arc, translucent
yellow becoming fiery orange, blue sky becoming tinted with darkness. Vague greetings had been
given to her roommates, who had unpacked their things and then disappeared off downstairs again,
boyfriends or girly chats awaiting them in the toasty warmth of the common room. Up here it was
cold, but to Hermione, the cutting air floating in through the freshly cleaned window was
rejuvenating; the rain was gone, and with it the darkness, and Hermione, head resting in her hands,
propped up on her mattress, lying towards the window, made a silent pledge to herself that she
would not let anything bring the darkness back into her life.

She had missed him; this was an undisputable fact. She had told her parents what had happened,
but they didn’t understand the depth of her relationship with Harry; they did not know the loyal
friendship turned to committed partnership, did not believe that she could be so deeply in love at
her young age. And so they left her to her thoughts, which only focused on him, and brought her to
one conclusive conclusion: she had to have him in her life, whether he remembered her or not. She
was not a weak person, nor a dependent one, but a life without Harry was unimaginable to her- yes,
she could exist without him, but she felt as if that’d mean she’d be missing a vital part of
herself. And she had seen it in his eyes; he had wanted her too, even if their former life was
gone. They could make a new one.

She sat up. She had to find him. Where would he be now? She looked at the clock. Seven fifteen.
Dinner. That explained the silence. She could hardly profess her undying love for him in the midst
of the entire student body. She would have to wait; wait for him to return, then take him
somewhere- and yes, she knew where. The only place.

Resolved, she stood up, and strode to the door. As she opened it, Crookshanks darted in, winding
himself slowly through her legs, purring for attention; smiling, she picked him up, stroking him
fondly as she walked carefully down the staircase to the common room.

She started when she saw a pair of legs stretching from an armchair to the dancing flames in the
fireplace; the feet were bare, their toes wiggling. She knew those feet.

“Harry?” He looked around, startled. She frowned at him. “Why aren’t you at dinner?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same question.”

Hermione shrugged. “I’m not-”

“Hungry,” he finished for her, and they both laughed rather nervously.

Hermione moved over to the opposite armchair and sat down, releasing Crookshanks, who promptly
crawled onto Harry’s lap and nuzzled his chin. Harry smiled down at the cat, rubbing his fur. “Aww,
who’s this little-”

He stopped, frozen in realization of his mistake. “I should know that, shouldn’t I?” he said
quietly. Hermione chewed her lip anxiously and gave a brief nod.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said quickly. “This is Crookshanks,” she told him, with a rather pained
smile. Harry, cheeks a little red, smiled back and looked down at the cat, tickling his neck.

“I do remember him,” he said slowly, still looking at Crookshanks, who had curled up on his lap,
“but it’s like… it’s like he was someone’s pet who they only let wander around once every
month.”

Hermione sighed. “Harry, I…” He looked up expectantly when she paused. “Can we talk?”

Harry opened his mouth, but the portrait hole chose that exact moment to open and in came a
crowd of people, not seeming to notice the pained expressions on the faces of the two famous
students before them; instead, they whispered loudly to each other and watched Harry and Hermione
from the positions they took up around the room, and so privacy was lost. Harry stroked Crookshanks
and scooped him onto the floor; the cat purred and stalked off across the room. Harry leant over so
Hermione could hear and said, “Want to go somewhere else?”

Hermione smiled at him in relief and nodded. It did not go unnoticed, by Hermione or by the rest
of the room, that he took her by the hand as he led her through the stream of students out of the
portrait hole. Once they’d ducked down a side corridor and had left the other students behind, he
stopped and turned to her.

“Um, do you have any idea where we could go?”

Hermione laughed; he looked so lost and adorable. She rubbed her thumb across the back of his
hand. “Yes, Harry,” she smiled, “I know where we can go.”

Low whispers even came from the portraits as they walked- though, from the snatches that
Hermione heard, they seemed more concerned than the gossipy ones the other students engaged in-
across the corridors, and Hermione noticed, out of the corner of her eye, Harry’s frown each time
they passed a staircase. When she reached their destination, his eyes widened in surprise.

“The Astronomy Tower? But why-”

Hermione shushed him. “You’ll see,” she said quietly, ‘*Alohamora*’ing the lock and
creaking open the door.

Hermione half-expected to be blasted by the chilly air she’d been enjoying only ten minutes
before, but then she remembered the charms long instigated on the Tower; no one would take
Astronomy lessons if they had to endure the biting cold that’d accompany them without spells
protecting against the wind and temperature. And so it was warm, but not overwhelmingly so, as they
walked up the steps into the main body of the tower, parapets and decorative mini-towers dotted
around the low walls. A few spare telescopes were dotted around the floor, all looking rather worse
for wear.

Harry’s hand was still in hers; it was tense but warm, and it felt, for a second, as though
nothing was wrong whatsoever. But then he spoke, and she knew it was.

“Why are we up here?”

His voice was confused, quizzical, and it devastated her that he did not know the significance
of this high tower. Sighing, she pushed this thought to the back of her mind, and led him over to
the East side of the tower, where the sun was half showing behind a tall, rocky mountain.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she whispered, as they looked out across the landscape, hands still
together.

“Yeah,” he breathed, seemingly transfixed; in unison they sat, gaze unbroken, and they watched
the sun setting in silence, Harry bewitched by the beauty of the red sky, Hermione simply content
to sit with Harry, have his hand in hers, and pretend that things were alright again.

Time passed.

“It’s gone.”

Hermione jumped and looked at Harry. The sun was, indeed, gone- finally vanished beneath the
mountain, its orange glow still emanating around its hidden form, mingling with the grey-blue of
the rocks, sparkling on the evening dew. But now the orb itself had gone, its spell over Harry had
broken, and, after half an hour, his head finally moved, turning to look at her. Their hands were
still clasped together, sweaty palms stuck together, warm and wet and so familiar to her, and so
comforting to both.

“What did you want to talk about?” he finally said, voice low.

Hermione bit her lip and looked about. “Can we… sit down?” she said, gesturing to a pair of
stone benches in the centre of the tower. Harry nodded and they went over to them, both clutching
nervously at the cool, smooth black stone beneath them, half-turned towards each other.

Hermione took in a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair, trying to find the right words
to start. Eventually, with Harry still looking expectantly at her, she began. “Christmas was hard,
Harry,” she said nervously. “It was just me, really- I mean, my parents don’t really understand- so
I was left to my thoughts a lot… I thought about you, most of the time,” she added, trying to
smile; the doleful look on his face told her she’d failed. “This hasn’t been easy, Harry, and I
know it’s been harder for you; I don’t mean to belittle your situation,” she said placatingly,
although Harry just smiled briefly in assurance he hadn’t thought that at all.

“But what I kept thinking, what I kept coming back to, Harry, was that…” and here her voice
cracked, “… that it was even harder without you. Just seeing you makes me feel better, even if it
also comes with pain right now.” She paused, studying his intent expression. “What I’m trying to
say is… Harry, I don’t care if you never remember, as long as I can be with you.”

She waited, her words hanging in the air between them, waiting to be embraced or swept aside;
and she watched him, looking at her with an expression she wished she could read, and it felt like
several minutes passed as she waited for him to answer, trying her best to keep herself calm.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” he said softly, “but I never thought you’d want me like
this.”

Hermione cried out. “No!” she said in a firm whisper. “Harry, I *love* you… I want to be
with you no matter what. So what about the memories? We can make new ones,” she said emphatically,
edging closer.

Harry bit his lip. “Hermione, I… you want us to be honest with each other, right?”

That caught her off guard. “What?”

He looked flustered. “I, um… if there was something that had happened, and it was bad, you’d
still want to know?”

Hermione, baffled by his words, nodded slowly.

Harry gave a heavy sigh. “Ginny told me she loved me,” he said breathlessly.

Hermione stared at him. “What?” she said again, unable to process this ludicrous piece of
information.

Harry looked down. “On Christmas Day… she’d been acting strangely, so I asked her why… she
didn’t want to tell me, she said it’d tear us apart, but I made her… and she told that she was in
love with me.”

Hermione gaped at him. How had she not seen this? As she thought back, clueless to Harry’s
anxious hand-twisting, it seemed ridiculously obvious- Ginny’s schoolgirl crush, hidden but not
broken when she actually graduated to being Harry’s friend; why Ginny was the one who had helped
Harry, for she had always watched them so closely; Ron’s callous ‘*Ginny’s been taking good care
of him*’… She could have kicked herself. She wasn’t angry at Ginny- so the girl was in love, it
was hardly her fault- but at herself, for letting Harry venture into that situation, weak and
confused, to build companionship with Ginny, who, by the sound of it, was just as weak and confused
as Harry. And two weak and confused people could stumble into some very regrettable actions…

“Did anything happen?” she asked suddenly. Harry’s head shot up, and the pink tinge that spread
over his cheeks told her the answer before his words did.

“She kissed me.”

Hermione bit her lip fiercely, breathing quickly to stop the panic rising. Harry quickly went
on.

“But I stopped her, I didn’t… I don’t…”

“You can’t tell me you feel nothing for her, Harry,” Hermione whispered. “I know that’s a
lie.”

Harry looked fiercely into her eyes. “Fine,” he said, a trace of bitterness in his voice. “But
what do you want to hear? That there’s a part of me that’d rather be with Ginny, because that’d be
easier? Well, there is. I remember her, Hermione- I know her. You…” He looked at her sadly. “I feel
something so strongly for you, but I can’t understand it. I want to be with you, but I don’t know
why. I don’t want all this pain. It’s tearing us both apart.”

Hermione laid a hand on his. “But Harry, I don’t care that you can’t remember, I want to
try-”

“You say that, Hermione, but how can you know that?! It’s not that easy, you can’t just throw
this off, we can’t just forget it and move on! I can’t remember you, Hermione… how could you look
at me, knowing that all the memories you have don’t exist for me? You seriously think you can do
that?”

“Yes!” Hermione almost yelled, tears pricking at her eyes. “I can’t lose you, Harry, I need you!
I can’t imagine ever loving someone like I love you.”

Harry sighed, looking defeated. “I think I feel the same,” he whispered. “I can’t help wishing
that I could just be with Ginny… but it just doesn’t feel the same with her. She doesn’t make me
feel like you do.” He stared strongly into her eyes. “I look into your eyes,” he said softly, “I
feel like my heart stops. You’re beautiful. I look at you and I can’t think of anything else.”

Hermione let out a dry sob and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Harry!” she said into his
shoulder, clutching desperately into her. Slowly, she felt his arms tighten around her, and soon he
was holding her just as fiercely, his chin digging into her shoulder. “I love you so much,” she
whispered into his ear.

Suddenly he went rigid. Alarmed, she lent back and looked at him. “Are you alright?” she said in
a hushed whisper.

He nodded slowly. “I…” he said, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Why are we up here?”

Hermione frowned at the unexpected question. “Because I wanted to talk to you,” she replied.

He shook his head. “No, I know that… I mean, why specifically here? Why did you choose to come
up here?”

Hermione stared at him. “Why are you suddenly asking that?”

He considered her question rather more than she felt necessary; eventually, he spoke again, and
the words made her heart jolt. “This is where I first told you I loved you,” he said quietly.

Hermione stared at him. Time suddenly seemed to stop, and those words went round and round in
her head, his timid, quiet voice saying them over and over again. “How did you know that?” she
whispered slowly.

He stared back. “Did you show it to me?” he said, though she knew he knew the answer.

“No.”

“Then I think… I think I remember.”



12. Chapter Twelve: He Remembered
---------------------------------

**A/N:** And wherein I take liberties with JK’s magical mechanics and offer an explanation
you’ll either accept or think is utterly ludicrous. Or both.

I also tease you with my final cliff-hanger. You have been warned.

Big thanks for all the lovely reviews for the last chapter- I’d really appreciate it if you
could scribble down a few words once you get to the end again. The final chapter and the epilogue
(I see no point in publishing them days apart) should be up by Saturday at the latest.

Love Will Come Through

**Chapter Twelve: He Remembered**

“Professor! Professor!”

The headmistress whipped around, jumping at the sudden burst of noise coming from the door of
her office, and staring with surprise at the two very familiar students who appeared through it.
Hermione Granger, red-faced and breathless, a beaming smile lighting up her face; and Harry Potter,
breathing heavily behind her, looking rather humble and more than a little scared of his
girlfriend.

“Miss Granger!” Professor McGonagall said in alarm. “What on earth-”

“He remembered, Professor, he remembered!” Hermione interrupted in a delirious rush, pulling
Harry to her side.

The headmistress’ eyes went wide. “You remembered what, Potter?” she asked sharply.

Harry, clutching at a stitch in his side, didn’t answer immediately, but Hermione, it seemed,
couldn’t be stopped.

“We were up in the Astronomy Tower, Professor, we were talking about something that had happened
there-” Hermione went looked rather bashful as she said this, and if she hadn’t already been red in
the face the headmistress suspected Hermione would have turned pink- “and he remembered it,
Professor, he told me everything that happened, exactly as it happened!”

Professor McGonagall processed this information as quickly as she could manage, then waved her
wand, conjuring two chairs for the two students to sit in- Harry looked deeply relieved to be off
his feet. Hermione, however, was twitching so excitedly she could barely stay seated. The
headmistress sat back down at her desk and looked at the pair scrutinisingly.

“You didn’t show him this memory in the Pensieve at any point?” she asked, and Hermione shook
her head vehemently. “And this was a moment solely between the two of you? There were no others
present?”

“No,” said Hermione, looking rather embarrassed again.

Professor McGonagall turned her glance to Harry. He looked at her rather meekly, so she removed
her thin glasses and softened her gaze. “Do you remember anything else, Harry?” she asked
kindly.

He took some rather shallow breaths before answering. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I mean, I
could have, but how do I know that it’s not just from Hermione or Ginny having shown me the
memory?”

Hermione leant forward rather eagerly to interject. “But Professor, it’s the feeling, isn’t it-
surely Harry would know-”

The headmistress held up a silencing hand. “The subject of memory is a very complex one, Miss
Granger, and study of it has never come to entirely conclusive answers. However,” she continued,
for Hermione was looking rather disheartened all of a sudden, “I believe that in essence you are
correct. Harry, if you had truly regained the memory of those moments, you be able to recognise the
distinction.” Harry looked mollified. Professor McGonagall put her glasses back on her nose and
looked at him piercingly again. “What interests me, however, is why Harry has suddenly regained
this memory, and whether the rest will follow.”

Hermione was so near to the edge of her seat that she was in danger of falling off; Harry,
however, still looked rather impassive. Professor McGonagall leant back in her chair and sighed.
“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” she said, her brow furrowing, “was undeniably a very powerful wizard.
In any normal circumstances, I would think that any memory charm he performed would be impossible
to ever reverse by even the most talented,” she said, glancing up at Dumbledore’s portrait just to
her right, which was currently empty. Hermione was frowning at her. “However, as we know, the
memory charm performed upon Harry was intended as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s ‘final revenge’- and,
as such, was performed during his very final moments, possibly even as he died. Very rarely is
magic ever performed at that moment- for most, of course, it is impossible.

“I have thought about this, long and hard, for the last month, watching the pair of you struggle
from a distance- it was a personal matter, and I did not wish to entangle myself in things that did
not concern me, at least not until I had good reason, and conjecture does certainly not fall under
that category. But this does not mean I was not attempting to find a resolution, just as you were.
Naturally, I interjected when I heard of Miss Lovegood’s outrageously dangerous idea- as I told
her, it was potentially life threatening, though I assure you, Miss Lovegood was not aware of this
and did not mean to cause you any harm, Harry- quite the opposite,” she added, gaining a brief
smile from Harry.

“I researched the matter extensively, and I discussed it with Professor Dumbledore’s portrait.
However, even he knew very little about the matter- as I said, very rarely has this situation ever
arisen before, and never, as far as we know, with a memory charm- ‘final revenges’ are usually
more… violent in nature,” she said with an ironic curl of her lips, though neither Harry or
Hermione reacted much- both seemed too intently focused on her other words.

“So, as I said, I researched extensively- however, due to the uniqueness of the situation, I
could ream very little information. So, what am I about to tell you is mostly guesswork, though it
is based in fact.”

“Professor Flitwick tells me you learnt about the memory charm earlier this year?” she asked-
Hermione nodded vociferously, and Harry, after a pause, inclined his head. “Then you will know the
theory behind it, and the techniques and thought process needed to practice it?” Similar nods from
both. “Well,” she said, with a deep breath, “my assessment of the situation is that, while
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was able to perform the body of the spell- the adjustment of the memories-
he did not, even though it takes only a second, have the time to complete the charm-”

Hermione almost leapt off her chair. “The seal!” she squealed.

Professor McGonagall nodded. “Precisely. So, while the memories were masked over, their
adjustment was not permanent- and it has taken this long for the process to begin its reparations.
Without the seal, the spell is incomplete, and so your magic, Harry, will naturally work to mend
the injuries.” She paused, taking in Hermione’s ecstatic expression and Harry’s wide eyes. “This,
as I have said, is purely guesswork on my part- I cannot begin to comprehend the true nature of the
situation. However, this development is highly encouraging.”

Hermione looked round at Harry quickly before turning eagerly back to the headmistress. “So will
he remember everything?”

Professor McGonagall let out a breath. “I do believe he might,” she conceded with a smile.

“How soon?” Hermione asked in a high-pitched tone.

Professor McGonagall sighed. “That is the cloudier area, I’m afraid,” she replied. “However, I
would think that the process will probably speed up- as your magic heals it, Harry, your memories
will begin to come back at a faster rate. I do not know the volume of memories, and so I cannot
know how long the process will take, even if I truly understood it in the first place. But it will
come.”

Hermione looked satisfied, and, after regarding her headmistress with admiration for a second,
turned and grabbed Harry in a fierce hug, and Professor McGonagall glimpsed tears on her Head
Girl’s face for the split second before her face was buried in Harry’s shoulder. Harry similarly
leant his head into Hermione’s shoulder, and Professor McGonagall, flushing at witnessing such an
intimate moment, felt as if she should move away- however, she had more to discuss and knew that
Hermione, if not Harry, would have more to ask her, so she remained.

She watched one of Dumbledore’s mysterious metallic objects whirring on a high shelf as she
waited, hearing only muffled noises from the entangled pair, noises that could have been speech or
simply sobs. Eventually, Hermione drew away from Harry, and they returned to their forward-facing
positions, both blushing and tear-stained.

Professor McGonagall leant forward, steepling her fingers before her narrowed eyes. “I do
realise,” she said, breaking the silence, “that this recovered memory is a highly personal one, and
I hope you understand that I would not ask about it were it not of the utmost importance.” Hermione
went pink. “But I cannot hope to gleam any deeper understanding of why this has occurred unless I
know of the details, so I must ask you, Harry, to recount the memory to me.”

Harry bit his lip. “Okay,” he murmured.

And he recounted it. Professor McGonagall of course paid close attention to his words, but she
watched them too- Hermione was looked firmly at the floor, her face red as Harry described the
intimate declaration of love he had made for her on the top of the tower, the cloudless sky lit up
with stars; Harry seemed himself to have settled for a flat monotone, as though he would not be
able to speak in any other way for fear of breaking down. As he finished, he glanced at Hermione;
the headmistress could not help but notice the gentle interlocking of fingers that ensued between
the couple.

The headmistress sighed. “Thank you, Harry. Hermione,” she said, and Hermione straightened up,
“I must ask you a similarly invasive question… I must know what was happening at the moment of
recollection.” Hermione looked at her rather beseechingly. “Perhaps you would prefer to transfer
the memory to the Pensieve, and I will watch it alone?” Hermione nodded gratefully. The
headmistress half-expected Harry to ask why this alternative had been offered to him- he said
nothing, however.

“Come, then,” said Professor McGonagall, standing and walking over the cupboard where the
Pensieve was kept. Hermione appeared beside her as she was pulling the Pensieve’s stone stand
out.

“You know what to do, Miss Granger.” Hermione lifted her wand to her head, closed her eyes
momentarily in concentration, and pulled a long, silvery strand from her head, floating it into the
translucent liquid before her. Swirling images of Harry and Hermione flashed before Professor
McGonagall’s eyes as she lent down, and then felt the familiar swirling into the nothingness.

When she emerged again, Hermione’s anxious expression was almost amusing, and Professor
McGonagall quelled it with a warm smile. “Thank you, Miss Granger,” she said, and Hermione,
flushed, retrieved the memory from the Pensieve and sat back down next to Harry. “Now,” said the
headmistress, leaning forward again, “once again, I must impress on you that this is guesswork, and
the circumstances could be purely coincidental. However, as I am sure you realise, there were
parallels between the two scenes… something you were possibly hoping for, Miss Granger, even if
only unconsciously.” Hermione smiled, slightly embarrassed. “It would appear, potentially, that the
unique surroundings coupled with the unconscious parallels of the events that transpired there… may
have sparked Harry’s recollection.”

Hermione, for once in her life, seemed confused. “So… you mean that he only remembered because I
said the same thing to him in the same place?”

The headmistress smiled. “No, Miss Granger, not *only*… I think that he would have
remembered something at some point, assuming that my theory is correct. However, the parallels did
serve to spark this particular memory… it was the one most easily recovered, because so much of it
was echoed in the new surroundings.”

Hermione did not look pacified. “But does that mean we have to go back to everywhere… everywhere
we were ever together, and say something the same, so he’ll remember?”

Professor McGonagall looked alarmed. “Good grief, no, I would certainly hope not. That would be
a nearly impossible feat, for one; and besides, as I said, I think that the memories would have
returned eventually despite the circumstances… you may have simply made the process begin
sooner.”

Hermione smiled in relief. “Thank you, Professor.”

Harry smiled too. “Yeah, thanks,” he said quietly, and Professor McGonagall saw him rubbing his
thumb across the back of Hermione’s hand as the limbs dangled together between them.

Professor McGonagall nodded. “I haven’t really done anything,” she admitted. “I hope that you
continue to rebuild your relationship; if I can say so, being your headmistress, you two are better
matched for each other than any other pair I have ever seen.” Hermione went pink again; they stood,
murmured their thanks again, and left, hands still joined together.

Professor McGonagall smiled, sighed, and looked to her left; where, to her surprise, Professor
Dumbledore had reappeared in his portrait, and he was smiling wisely down at her.

“Well, Minerva,” he said with amusement, “it looks like things will be alright after all.”

She smiled. “I hope so,” she replied, eyes wandering to the door, which clicked shut and blocked
out the fading sounds of two sets of rejuvenated footsteps leaving together.

*~*~*

Hermione had barely stepped off the last step of the spiralling stone staircase behind the stone
griffin before Harry anxiously pulled her into him. His lips pressed to hers with what she sensed
(at least before her mind lost control completely) was a mixture of confusion, desperation, and
outright love. It was not, to her vague, distant disappointment, as his kisses were before this all
started, but it was enough for her knees to go weak, for her to melt right in front of him, and to
let herself grope hungrily back at him, hands flying through his hair and tugging ferociously.

He broke off with a yelp as she gave a tuft of his hair a particularly strong yank and she
opened her eyes, seeing his deep flush and knowing, from the heat of her cheeks, that she must look
pretty similar. But in his eyes gleaming the unbidden glint of adoration, and she shivered- her
hope, her suffering, had been rewarded. He would come back to her. He would be complete again. He
would love her.

“I love you,” she whispered, still breathless from his kiss, and he smiled- so sweetly, so
lovingly she almost melted again. “But that was… unexpected,” she added, smiling coyly back.

Harry’s face fell, and immediately she knew she’d said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled,
looking at the floor. “I just wanted-”

She put a firm finger over his lips. “I wasn’t complaining,” she told him, and he frowned,
confused. “But after… so much uncertainty, to have you suddenly… so passionate,” she explained, “…
it was a surprise.”

Harry looked appeased. Once again, he slipped his hand into hers. “I just…” he started slowly,
smiling. “I remembered, so suddenly, what it was like to touch you, to kiss you… to love you,” he
grinned, “that I couldn’t wait to do it again.”

Hermione grinned back, and leaned towards him, planting a soft, quick kiss on his lips. “Like I
said,” she winked, “I’m not complaining.”

*~*~*

Ginny watched the people around her; they were all happy, laughing, carefree, joking with
friends or kissing boyfriends and girlfriends, exploding decks of cards and comparing Christmas
gifts. But Ginny knew that within some of them, there was a darker side, a sadness, for she had
been one of those people, laughing and joking, hiding a secret within.

It did no good to hide a secret, she had concluded, for whatever it was just grew and grew until
when it finally came out, it was a much bigger problem that it would have been had it never become
hidden. Now her secret was out, and it was a relief to her- she could let it go, free herself of
the guilt and pain it caused her, because she knew that it would not be answered, not be
reaffirmed. Life had been a dangerous balancing act, but now she had finally finished walking that
rope, and she could climb down.

Down to Neville. She turned to look at him; he had his eyes closed, head lolling back against
the sofa’s low back, but he was not asleep, for he sensed her movement and his head flew upwards,
looking straight at her.

Ginny stuttered. Neville frowned at her. “Are you alright?”

Ginny shook her head to clear her mind. “Yes, I-”

But she stopped, for suddenly Neville was looking behind her, eyes wide with surprise, and she
whipped around, understanding immediately.

It was Harry and Hermione, and, not only were they holding hands, they were both looking
considerably happier than she’d seen them in ages. She stared at them; Harry sat down in the only
free armchair; Hermione curled herself up in his lap. She chuckled at him, and they looked back at
the shocked pair opposite them.

Ginny gaped at them. “What… are you… did you…” she stammered.

Hermione smiled at her; it seemed warm and friendly, but Ginny detected a hint of frostiness
behind it, and she had a strong idea as to why. “Harry remembered!” she squealed in a rather
un-Hermione-like fashion.

Ginny’s eyes widened just about as far as they could; next to her, she heard Neville gasp.
“What?” he said, shocked.

Hermione was almost bouncing. “We were talking in the Astronomy Tower,” she continued, glancing
affectionately at Harry, “and he suddenly remembered something that had happened there! Professor
McGonagall said that he should remember everything eventually!”

Neville grinned warmly, but Ginny was frowning. “Just… just one memory?” she asked slowly.

Hermione’s buoyant expression slipped slightly, but she replied, “Yes… but that’s still a
wonderful development, don’t you think?”

But Ginny wasn’t thinking about that. “But if it was just one memory,” she continued, as if
Hermione hadn’t spoken, “then how are you… how can you be…” She gestured at their intimate position
and clasped hands.

Hermione smiled. Ginny was sure, this time, that there was coolness directed towards her. “It
was a pretty… special memory,” Hermione answered, rubbing Harry’s hand; he looked slightly
uncomfortable, and his eyes kept flicking between Hermione and Ginny like he was afraid of an
imminent explosion. “Harry knows he loves me.”

Ginny paled. “You know, don’t you,” she said. It was not a question.

Harry’s eyes went haywire; Neville froze; and Hermione’s eyes narrowed, smile vanishing.

“I’m sorry,” Ginny whispered; though the people around them were as loud as ever, to the four
people in the centre of the room, it was as if they were trapped in a bubble that masked the sounds
outside. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Ginny, it’s not-” Harry began to say, but Hermione cut across him.

“I’m going to ask you something, Ginny, and I want the truth,” she said smoothly, voice laced
with ice. “Who was responsible for the kiss?”

Ginny looked at Harry, who just looked back with unchanged nervousness. She bit her lip. “I…”
she stuttered, and Hermione spoke up again.

“I won’t be angry with Harry for anything, Ginny. If he had anything to do with it, it’d be
better for you if you tell me.”

Ginny looked positively petrified. “I… I kissed him,” she admitted slowly, “but only because it
looked like he wouldn’t stop me. But he did.” Hermione raised an eyebrow. Ginny scrambled for more
words. “I was stupid, I never meant-”

Hermione stopped her again. “Just don’t do it again,” she said archly. Ginny looked at her
nervously for a second; then Hermione’s drawn face broke into a smile. Ginny laughed in relief.
Harry still looked rather nervous; Hermione, however, looked at Neville. “Besides,” she added with
rather strange amusement, “I think Neville might have just as much as me to say if you do…”

That did it. Harry blinked in surprise; Neville went a rather vibrant scarlet; and Ginny’s head
whipped round, eyes bulging as she stared at her companion.

Hermione, meanwhile, looked very pleased with herself. “Well,” she said airily, almost jumping
off Harry’s lap, and pulling him up after her, “we’ll leave you two alone.” And with that, she
dragged Harry rapidly out of sight.

Ginny stared at Neville, who was staunchly staring at the floor. “Did she… did she mean what I
think she did?” she asked slowly. Neville, still examining the floor as if his life depended on it,
nodded mutely. “You mean you…” Another nod.

Ginny sighed. “Oh, Neville,” she exhaled, so softly and quietly he looked up by reflex. “Why
didn’t you tell me?”

Neville chewed his lip. “You had enough on your plate,” he mumbled, “and besides, you and
Harry…” He trailed off, not needing to complete the sentence.

Ginny ran a hand through her hair in frustration, then, on impulse, placed it on his knee. He
jumped. “Were you ever going to tell me?” she asked.

He paused before he answered. “Eventually, I guess,” he said quietly, looking down at her knees.
“But you had to move past Harry… I could hardly burden you with my feelings with all you’re going
through.”

Ginny almost laughed. “Neville,” she said, leaning forward, “you are the sweetest. But what were
you going to do, just sit and suffer while I wallowed in misery? How can you do that to
yourself?”

Neville looked rather hurt. “Isn’t that what you did with Harry?” he shot back.

Ginny flinched and considered this. “I suppose,” she conceded. “But I’ve also proven that I’m an
idiot, and that what I did was a very bad idea indeed. So I don’t think you should be taking my
lead.”

Neville just looked at her blankly. They fell into an awkward silence, neither sure what to say;
or, in Neville’s case, not sure if what he wanted to say would receive the answer he desired.
Eventually, however, he plucked up the courage; and, when they looked back on that moment, they
muse that that was the moment their lives changed for the better.

“So is there… is there any chance? That you could… like me back?”

Ginny looked at Neville. He seemed so nervous, so pale, and yet she knew the incredible courage
it must have taken for him to ask a question; one whose answer could crush him, or give him what he
most desired. It was for this reason that she felt she should consider his question properly,
instead of giving him a flippant reply.

So she thought. Matters of her heart had always seemed to come back to Harry- for years, even
when she had dated others, Harry had always been the one she had imagined as the one she would be
with, however foolish that idea was. But she could not have him, and, while recent events had
flared up her hopes once again, she had, before that, slowly accepted the idea that it would never
happen. Harry could not be her heart’s desire. He was vacating that position, however slowly.

But Neville? Ginny wasn’t a fool; she had noticed his touches, his glances, even if her brain
had been too frazzled to process them properly. He was certainly someone she knew her mother would
accept- sweet, rather plain looking, meek, and had even proven himself fairly smart within the past
year, which meant good career prospects. Not that Ginny wanted to bend to her mother’s wants, of
course.

She looked at Neville. She knew that, right now, she did not love him- but how many people,
especially of her age, could say that they loved anyone? She certainly liked him- he was a loyal,
trustworthy friend, an innately good person, and she knew he would do anything for her. But could
she ever like him in *that* way?

She watched him, watching her, fingers twitching nervously as he clasped his hands together,
awaited her answer. His happiness hinged on her answer, and Ginny realized that she did not want to
make Neville unhappy. And, in that moment, she knew that she had her answer.

“Yes,” she said, making him jump. “I could.” And, as Neville sat there, frozen in surprise, she
planted a soft, chaste kiss on his lips, leant back, and grinned at him.

*~*~*

Hermione had not felt this content in a long time- she had almost forgotten what it felt like.
But now, with her head resting on Harry’s shoulder, feeling his cool fingers bending around hers,
she felt that all the pain had been, in a strange way, worth it- this would only make them
stronger, this test they had struggled through, almost torn apart but ultimately always knowing
that they wanted to be together. It was only one memory, she knew, but somehow, even though
Professor McGonagall’s words had been cautious, she knew the rest would come. And even if they
didn’t, this Harry, the one with an arm around her, the one letting her lean against him, was one
she could live with, for he loved her.

They were sitting in one of Gryffindor Tower’s few alcoves, a secluded corner masked by thick
velvet curtains, with one plush sofa that had become Hermione’s- and Harry’s- favourite place to
sit, because there they could be alone, apart but not out of earshot of the rest of the common
room. Crookshanks was on her lap, purring contentedly.

“Do you really feel something for Ginny?” Hermione asked quietly. She felt Harry tense. “I’m not
going to be angry, Harry, I just want to know,” she reassured.

Still, she heard him swallow nervously before he answered. “Ginny’s been a wonderful friend
throughout this whole thing,” he started, rather obtusely. “I think I’ll always be close to her.
And, yes, for a while I thought maybe there was something else there. But I was confused, and now I
remember the feeling of being in love with you, and I want to hold onto that,” he continued,
kissing the top of her head.

Hermione blindly reached up to pat his cheek, showing him that she was reassured by his words.
“Good,” she murmured. “’Cause you’re all mine, Potter.”

He laughed. For a few minutes they simply listened to the muted sounds of the rest of the common
room, relaxing into each other. Harry felt slightly stiff. Hermione closed her eyes.

“Do you think everything we did helped?” she mused quietly to him.

Harry’s fingertips tickled her knuckles. “I don’t know,” he replied, breath brushing her hair.
“Maybe. But thank you,” he added, surprising Hermione.

“What for?”

“I know it was hard for you,” he answered, “showing me all those memories. I saw what it was
doing to you… but you kept doing it anyway, even though it seemed to make no difference.” He kissed
her on the top of her head. “So thank you.”

She felt tears pricking at her eyes; she used her free hand to hit him on the side of the
head.

“Ow! What was that for?”

Hermione leant out of their comfortable position so she could look at him. “Harry, you’re so…”
He looked alarmed by the tears in her eyes. She smiled. “Don’t you realize I’d do anything for
you?”

Harry studied her for a second; then he smiled, and said, “Well, you see, I have this problem
with my memory…”

Hermione, despite herself, laughed and hit him again, and he laughed with her, kissed her softly
on the lips, and they settled back into their curled-up position.

“You’re such an idiot, Harry,” she said affectionately.

He tensed. She smiled gently, even though he could not see her face. “That was a joke, Harry,”
she explained softly.

Then, before Harry could reply, another voice was heard, footsteps slowly approaching.
“Hermione? Are you… oh.”

Ron pulled back the curtain, and froze as he saw them together, eyes widening in surprise.
Hermione’s eyes flared, but Harry gave Ron a quick smile and tentatively caressed Hermione’s
hand.

“It’s okay, Hermione,” he whispered. “What did you want, Ron?”

Ron went red. “I, um… I wanted to talk to Hermione.”



13. Chapter Thirteen: Trust
---------------------------

**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…*



14. Epilogue: Love Came Through
-------------------------------

**A/N:** If you clicked on ‘Latest’ and it brought you here (not sure how it works), you need
to go back to Chapter 13.

Love Will Come Through

**Epilogue: Love Came Through**

Hermione rushed up the stairs, cursing her rare decision to wear high heels to work as she
continually tripped over the cold stone steps. Finally she reached the fourth floor, sharply
turning to the right and almost knocking a passing Healer to the floor as she raced down the
corridor. She did not need to push the door open, for it flew aside for her, and she saw him… them
immediately, a Healer at each of their sides.

“Harry!” she yelled.

Luna was already there, her hand in Ron’s- he had a jagged, bloody gash down the side of his
face, nastier than the one that had already become careworn over his left eye, but otherwise he
appeared quite healthy, and was sitting up. Both of them were looking over at the neighbouring bed-
Luna’s hand lay upon the edge of the bed’s mattress.

Harry, in contrast to his partner, was lying down, and, as Hermione neared, she could see that
his eyes were closed. The Healer, a stocky, balding man in his late forties, was pouring some
potion Hermione couldn’t see the name of onto Harry’s right arm- where, she saw to her horror,
there had been an enormous slice of flesh taken out of- had Harry been a Muggle, he would certainly
have been excreting an enormous amount of blood.

She gasped and ran to his side. “Harry! What’s wrong with him? Is he-”

“I’m okay, Hermione.”

His voice was raspy, but she saw that his eyes had been closed simply from the pain- every
application of the liquid made him wince. In addition to the obvious injury, there was a grizzled
chunk of his hair missing over his ear, and one of his eyes was horribly bloodshot.

In spite of all this, she threw herself upon him. “I thought… I…” she choked out. Harry, in his
constricted position, did his best to comfort her. Finally she leant back again, tears running down
her face.

“What… what happened to you?” she demanded quietly.

Harry smiled weakly. “Ask Ron,” he replied.

Hermione frowned and looked up at Ron. “Ron?” she prompted.

Ron shifted uncomfortably, appearing to tighten his clasp on Luna’s hand. “You knew what we
going to do,” he said in his gruff voice. It was not a question, but Hermione nodded. “We were
ambushed before we could get there. Ten of them. We managed to Stun about half of them, I think,
but then one got Harry… sliced that nice bit out of his arm,” he grimaced, gesturing to where the
Healer was still working, seemingly oblivious to the scene around him. Harry had closed his eyes
again to try and bear the evident pain.

“I got a couple more and went to help… there were two of them on him, they must’ve been the only
two left… They used *Crucio* on him, both at the same time.” Hermione gasped and looked
wide-eyed at Harry, who, his eyes shut, did not respond. Ron continued. “So I… I didn’t think, I
just ran at them… so they went after me instead.” He looked momentarily away. “And then Harry
stunned them and bound them all up and sent for help.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open. “Ron…” he said warningly. “Show her.”

Hermione, confused, looked from Ron to Harry and back again. Luna was whispering feverishly to
her husband, pulling at his sheets, but Ron held them firmly down and looked inscrutably at
Hermione.

She, however, was not to be deterred. “Show me, Ron,” she said in a loud whisper, moving around
Harry’s bed to the foot of Ron’s. “Please.”

Ron gave her a painful look and reluctantly drew his sheets back, very slowly.

Hermione gasped. Where Ron’s left leg should have been was a rounded stump covered in
bandages.

“They couldn’t save it,” said Ron roughly, throwing the blankets back across his body. Luna’s
hand gripped his more tightly. Ron tried to smile. “But, hey, now I can be like Mad-Eye… all I need
is one of those eyes.”

No one seemed to appreciate this rather inappropriate attempt at humour- Luna, particularly,
looked like she was about to burst into tears, which they all knew was a very rare occurrence
indeed.

Hermione swallowed. “Ron…” she began tentatively. He looked at her. “You saved Harry’s life. You
sacrificed yourself for him. Thank you.” Ron nodded gratefully at her.

But Hermione was not finished. “I forgive you,” she added simply.

It took a moment for Ron to realize what she meant. It had been, she reflected, over six years,
and they had, as she had requested, not spoken of it since. But she saw realization in his eyes,
and he looked slightly shocked.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied softly. “It never did. All I ever needed was for you to
try.”

Hermione could barely stop the tears from forming. “Thank you,” she said again, croakily.

Ron smiled warmly at her and let Luna kiss him; Hermione knew the moment was over.

She turned to her husband. The Healer had departed; she had not noticed in her emotional state.
More astonishing, however, was that Harry’s arm, despite the bandage now wrapped around it, now
appeared to be fully whole again; evidently the unknown potion had done its job.

Feeling a lucid, eerie calm descending upon her, she summoned a chair from across the room and
sat down at his side, carefully slipping her hand into his, fingertips gingerly feeling the edge of
the bandage.

He turned his head, scar faded on his famous forehead, his dazzling green eyes as bright as
ever. One was still bloodshot, and the green and red sat uncomfortably next to each other. Hermione
was reminded rather vividly of Harry and Draco Malfoy streaking down together towards the Snitch,
brightly coloured blurs on broomsticks.

He was smiling gently at her. She reciprocated, trying uselessly to stave off her welling tears.
As they dropped, it was silently, sliding silkily down her face and onto the bed sheets, which were
marked for a split second before instantly drying themselves.

“I remembered,” he whispered. She gasped- those words, those simple words, had come to mean so
much to them both; a simple signifier they had developed, letting her know another memory had
reappeared in his head, and another piece of their jigsaw puzzle had been clicked into place.
Luna’s experiment in the hospital wing all those years ago might have been dangerous, but her
imagery had come to be symbolic… and now here was Harry, telling her that, if they weren’t very
much mistaken, that the last piece of the puzzle had been put into place.

He was complete.

“Really?” was all she could manage to say. Of course, she had never not loved Harry
unconditionally for not having all the memories, but this meant that he was finally free of those
events- they would never have to think about them again, they would haunt them no more.

It was strange, really- the speed of his memories’ return had been entirely random, moving in
fits and starts for almost two years, though her attitude towards him had not changed- she loved
him, she always would. But there was one memory, one enormous moment, which had, for some reason,
decided it would not return. It was not a happy one, and Hermione refused to show it to him- and
yet without it she knew Harry still felt incomplete. But she would not show it to him through her
eyes- she could not ever let him do that, not ever let him witness it again.

“Yeah.” He squeezed her hand. “It was while they were *Crucio*’ing me… I know it’s stupid,
but two at once… it felt like death, Hermione, like I was going to die,” he confessed, paling
slightly. She gripped his hand tightly. “And then I saw it…”

Hermione tensed. She did not want to hear this, though she had readied herself many times. She
knew he would say this, when he remembered, but she did not deserve…

“You sacrified yourself for me, Hermione… at least you tried,” he added, smiling slightly. “You
were ready to die for me. I don’t deserve…”

Hermione put a firm finger over his lips, stoppering his words. “No, Harry,” she said softly.
“You deserve everything you have. I was nothing compared to you.”

But Harry would not be deterred. “You are far better than I am. You did something you did not
need to do… you put your life in danger to help me. No one asked you to. But you did anyway.”

Hermione leant forward emphatically. “Because I *loved* you, Harry,” she intoned. “Wouldn’t
you do the same for me?”

Harry looked affronted. “That’s different,” he said immediately. “You should never be hurt by
anyone.”

Hermione smiled. “Harry, I love you- but you are an idiot. Don’t you understand that’s exactly
the way I feel about you? I’d do anything to put you out of danger- just like you would for me.
This is a two-way street, mister,” she teased.

Harry looked pensive. Hermione touched his cheek, and he jumped slightly. “You remember,” she
reminded him in a whisper. “You remember everything.” She kissed him lightly, feeling his soft lips
tugging back at hers for a second before she pulled away again. “It’s over now. All gone.”

Harry smiled. “Nothing’s ever gone, Hermione,” he reminded her softly. He glanced at Ron, who
was hidden by Luna’s crouched form. “We just find a way to move past it.”

Hermione sighed gently, and whispered. “I love you.” She kissed his forehead. “I love you so
much.” She kissed his nose. “And I’ll never let you forget that,” she finished, kissing his lips
lightly again.

She felt him smile against her mouth. “You know,” he said teasingly, “I don’t believe that you
will.”

And then the door of the ward burst open once more and Neville and Ginny strode in, hand in
hand, and, as they approached the two damaged, brave men in the beds, Hermione was silent in her
chair. She squeezed Harry’s hand once more; and in the flurry of talk and emotion around them, they
looked at each other, and they were content. And for the rest of their lives, they would remember
this moment, for they were finally free.

**The End**