**
It seemed as if I had no time to hide or avoid Harry in the weeks that followed Ron's departure. People were in and out- Remus, Tonks, and Moody- and we were thrown together in these awkward circumstances.
We stood together in silence mainly as if we had somehow re-winded back to the first day we arrived in Japan. There was the occasional grab of my hand or I'd unintentionally lean against him as if nothing had happened. But we had no choice to draw strength from each other- It was always going to be him and me and we were both aware of this in our own manner.
Today was the day that Professor Snape was due to arrive.
I was sitting in the gardens, a place that had become my constant solace, my back against the cherry blossom tree by the gate. Remus' notes were scattered in a circle around me- I felt more comfortable starting with his notes so that at least when I'd sit down with Harry and finally with Snape, I'd have some sort of foundation. Harry and I had yet to sit down and actually open a book, stumbling between awkward silences and uneasiness managed to occupy our time instead. Regardless, I wanted to be somewhat ready for Snape. I wanted to stay as neutral as possible with him.
I was deep in my reading when the slamming of the sliding panel jolted me. Covering my eye with my hand resting on my forehead, I looked up and watched nervously as Professor Snape eased languidly down the steps and across the grass in my direction.
Perhaps it was the obvious surprise registered across my face because when he finally reached and greeted me, an amused smirk curved onto his lips.
"Nice to see that you're still alive, Granger," he murmured.
My eyes were wide. I was used to the man that hid underneath black cloaks and stringy hair, pacing back and forth between caldrons with his hollow eyes. This man looked far younger than the Professor I knew from Hogwarts, much like Sirius did after he had finally regained some of his strength after his escape from Azkaban. This man was almost handsome and somewhat elegant, for there was a brutal scar that was viciously slashed across his eye. He wore similar clothes to that of Remus when he came to visit: simple black pants and a button down shirt. He nearly looked comfortable.
Nearly.
It was amazing how people hid behind the masks they fashioned for themselves.
"Sir," I responded finally, some of the shock seeping into my voice.
"May I?Ó He asked, motioning to the ground beside me. "Unless you want to remain gaping at me like a fish? I must admit though. It brings me a large amount of satisfaction that I've made the Gryffindor Know-It-All speechless."
I snorted. I missed you too, Professor. "By all means," I replied, his insult allowing the shock value to disappear completely.
He sits down quietly, reaching for one of the notebooks as he settles against the tree. For a moment, I'm surprised at my calmness. I've always been comfortable around adult more so than people my own age, but I was always wary of Professor Snape and his wrath.
"This is the one thing that Lupin always did exceedingly well," Snape murmured. I find myself raising an eyebrow at the veiled compliment, but wait for him to continue.
"I'm sure you are well aware of what I'm to be teaching you and Potter for the couple weeks," he began. "Merely basic, but no less dangerous than years of study. I assume you haven't opened any of the books yet?"
I shook my head. "No," I said quietly. "I've tried, but I've always felt rather odd and somewhat-"
"Terrified?Ó Snape supplied.
I nodded.
"It means you still retain a good portion of your humanity," he said. For a moment, he turns his head and studied the garden as if he did not want to share something. "Al- Professor Dumbledore and I," he corrected himself. "We've discussed your reaction to the books at a most tiresome length. I understand that your empathic abilities are stronger than average?"
I sighed. The truth in his words was a frightening concept to me. I have always felt more than the average person has. At first when I was old enough to rationalize, I had thought that I was allowing people to project their emotions onto me. Then with my entrance into the Wizarding World and my rapidly growing understanding of my own magic, I realized the extent of my empathic abilities. I tended to feel things more that other people. I was very good at hiding it, but it seemed to grow stronger as I grew older.
"Yes," I answered finally. "You think my reaction to the books have something to do with my magic?"
He nodded, slowly leafing through Remus' notes. "Very astute, Miss Granger. Never cease to amaze me with your astounding intellect."
I rolled my eyes, trying to suppress the urge to smack him upside the head as if he were Ron or Harry. "I've given up trying to find a compliment somewhere in there, Professor."
A smirk appeared on his lips. "Cheeky bint."
My brows furrowed as he stood up, handing me back the notebook. "If you don't mind me asking sir, I was unaware of this-" Utterly bizarre, I wanted to say but stuck with neutral words. "-attempt to mentor me...I was aware, however, of your purpose here to teach...not to be my friend."
He said nothing, staring at me as if he were search for something. I held his gaze with an intense one of my own. Earlier in our sixth year, Harry sat Ron and I down and gave us Occlumency lessons. I knew how to protect myself. I may not be as strong as Snape or Harry, but I could hold my own.
"Do you trust me, Miss Granger?"
I licked my lips. "No.Ó I was surprised at how strong and firm my voice sounded. I felt almost like I was back to being... me. Well, whatever me was.
"Good," he replied and turned to walk away. "Because you shouldn't."
I watched walk back to the steps, but then he stopped and turned back around to face me.
"Oh and Miss Granger?"
"Yes, sir?Ó I called back, puzzled.
"Congratulations. You've just passed your first lesson."
And he disappeared back into the house.
I attempted to return to the notes before me, slightly unnerved by my encounter with Professor Snape.
Perhaps it had been a talent over time that he had perfected the ability to hide his emotions or maybe, simple, he was just brilliant at lying to people. But I couldn't help but be slightly frightened. I didn't trust him; he had never given me a reason to trust him. Yet, I could not ignore my curiosity that lingered with his bizarre motivations.
You've passed your first lesson.
If his attempt at conversation (or was it my attempt?) was to gain something to use against Harry, he obviously wasn't looking for it. Snape had never really shown any interest in my abilities as a witch. I had consistently outranked Malfoy at Potions, thus prompting him to ignore me in class. But I began to wonder if this was going to be used against me? Or rather, was this going to be used to further the awkward gap that I had instilled between Harry and me?
The sliding door slammed and startled me out of my thoughts. Once again, I looked up and shielded my eyes from the strong afternoon sun. Surprised at the appearance of Harry and the two mugs of what looked like to be tea, I watched him cross the lawn silently to my sitting place.
"Remus had leave, but told me to bring something out for you," he said by way of greeting, handing the mug to me. "He knows how intense you get about your reading."
I said nothing, but gratefully accepting the warm mug and inhaling the comforting smell of green tea. I had hated green tea when we had first arrived in Japan, perhaps because I was still indulging in some sort of self-denial and my pining for home. But it grew on me and evolved into a comfort of sorts, I usually drank it after spending time with Harry after a nightmare and before bed.
"Did he say when he was coming back?Ó I asked finally, allowing some of my hurt at the fact that he didn't come and say hello at least.
Harry shrugged. "He had to get to Paris as soon as possible, apparently. He just wanted to make sure that we were okay and that Snape was settled. He was in a rush, so I don't know."
"Oh."
A part of me resented the fact that Harry and I were being kept out of the loop in regards to the outside world. I began to wonder if this was how Ron felt when he was with us.
My acceptance of the expectations in this place and our circumstances was slowly beginning chip away. Then again, I had no idea how much Harry really knew and what secrets was he hiding.
There was no doubt in my mind that Harry was hiding things from Ron and me- but me especially. I thought nothing of it at first. The past two years, especially our fifth year, had been nothing more than an emotional burden for him.
It's his place to tell me, I always told myself when the urge rose to ask and offer comfort. But like my acceptance of the expectations placed upon me, my acceptance of him hiding behind his secrets was wearing thin.
I didn't like being the vulnerable one.
Harry sighed. "Look," he began, setting his untouched mug next to him. "I want to apologize for not telling you."
I swallowed nervously. This was the strongest I had heard him sound in what seemed like years. I stared down at my mug, pretending to be absorbed in the pale green color of the tea.
"This is stupid, you know," he continued. I could feel his eyes burning holes into the back of my head. "But I refused to lose you."
"Why?Ó I found myself asking. "Why didn't you tell me?"
I still didn't look up, but placed my mug to the side and studied our hands. Our hands lay side by side on the grass, touching but not really. It seemed to be an unconscious struggle to see who would reach out first.
"I wanted to. Really. But Ron begged me, pleaded with me not to tell you," he responded, his hand finally lying on top of mine. "He asked me to swear on our friendship that I wouldn't tell you because he didn't want to lose you. And I bought it because frankly, I didn't want to lose him either. I wore the secret like another scar. A part of me knew that this was what could possible drive a knife between the three of us, but as soon as we began to live here...I couldn't take anymore."
I entwined my fingers in his finally, the sensation of contact between the two of us slowly reawakening that desperation between us.
"I'm hurt," I finally said. "But I understand. I can't pretend to know what I would've done if it had been me forced to keep a secret bet-"
I stopped myself before I could go on. Circles, I realized. Circles. We were going in circles. Ron's and Harry's secret from me. My secret from Harry and Ron. (Although, we seemed to have started to avoid this like the plague.) Harry's secret from Ron and me. It seemed as if we were inevitably doomed to split as if three was never meant to be.
Suddenly, I wanted to cry.
"Hermione?"
And I found myself turning away.
"Hermione? Bloody hell, are you crying?"
Whether it was everything finally catching up to me, from leaving my family to finally telling Harry the truth and only to lose Ron in the process...I began to sob.
"Hey," he whispered, gathering me into an embrace. I went willingly. I just wanted to cry, it seemed. "We're going to be okay."
Never had those five words sounded so good to hear. I wanted to believe Harry. I wanted to appreciate and reveal in our closeness, no matter how fragmented it was turning out to be.
But I couldn't let myself forget. There were threads. Millions upon millions of thread weaving our inevitable path of life together. We knew, him and I, that we were reaching that point- that point where we'd become virtually inseparable.
I had to learn to embrace everything at this point, big or small. Because I didn't know how long it would last.
So I cried.
And he whispered in my ears, repeatedly, "We're going to be okay."
**
The weeks with Professor Snape passed with an agonizing pace.
He spent most of the time being a complete and total bastard to Harry. However, he seemed to avoid me as much as possible and when we did share an encounter or two, he was relatively civil.
The Dark Arts relies solely on the manipulation of the emotions of you and of other and Severus- Severus is very good at both.
I threw myself into the resources that had been provided for me in order to avoid becoming a victim of my own curiosity. I broke down Remus' notes. Once. Then twice. Then three times more. Meanwhile, I had begun to ease into read the books on the Dark Arts.
At first, I had insisted (more like pleaded, but at this point who cared about the difference?) that Harry stay with me while I read. Then gradually he began to stay less and less, his time now occupied with the plethora of incantations and spells that Snape tossed at him like a master tossed a bone to his dog.
Therefore, I spent my days in my room and outside by the cherry blossom tree, notes and parchment and books spread around me. Today, it was raining and Harry and Snape were on the other side of the house practicing something and leaving me to my work.
I'm not going to lie. There was something so fascinating about the power of words because that's all these books were. Page after page filled with words- words that happened to form some of the darkest magic spells. The strangest thing to me was the decreasing unease that I began to feel around the books. At first, I allowed myself to think that because I had Remus' notes and the foundation, I was slowly beginning to get used to the idea.
But no one ever gets used to the idea of violent and malicious attentions.
I found myself ignoring the profound draw of the books and neutralizing them, treating each text as if it were nothing but paper and ink or even a mathematical problem to be solved. It was nice for a while, I felt like I was in school again and settling into my old study habits.
Until I looked at my own notes.
They say that people always underestimate their own strength. It seemed clear to me the more isolated I got and the further I went, I could actually see how Tom Riddle lost himself in these books. In fact, I could see how anyone could lose his or her humanity. There was a fearsome and unnatural draw to the books and the knowledge that was held within them, not mention that knowledge was always a dangerous thing.
But when I began to pay attention to my notes, my writings on Remus' own observations and the primary texts, I began to understand.
I understood the makeup of the Killing Curse, and I had begun to break it down, piece by piece on mere scrap of parchment. I understood the power of love and lust potions, the drive of obsession one had to have to create them. I understood madness and terrible urges to kill and to have what didn't belong to you.
I finally was beginning to understand my role in this.
I suppose it was finally acknowledging and riding myself of the self-denial that came with the fact that I was pawn. Like everyone else was. But it was different for me. It wasn't because of my magic or my ability as a fighter. It was because I could understand. It was because I knew people and was very good at unlocking their secrets and motivations. It was because I could understand Tom Riddle.
I could understand Voldemort.
I suddenly felt sick.
"Hermione?"
I looked up to see Harry peeking out from behind my door, his expression weary and frustrated.
"Hey," I greeted softly, struggling to hide my self-revelation. "You finished today?"
He nodded. "Yeah," he murmured. "You?"
I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about it. "The books aren't going anywhere. What's wrong? Something happened."
He took that as an unspoken invitation into my room, sitting beside me on my bed as I began to put things away. My hands were shaking and I was trying valiantly to it.
"No," he answered. "Just Snape and the usual."
I had given up on getting any response but that. I knew there were things that he wasnÕt ready to tell me, I suppose it were natural in some way. It didn't hurt any less, especially when I was beginning to feel the need to spill everything to him. But I was scared and too ashamed of my revelation, if you could call it that.
"Oh."
I didn't know what to say; instead, I grabbed his hand in mine and settled against my pillows. We like this for a while, his hand in mine and my eyes glued to the wall straight ahead of me. The silence had always been a bit of a comfort for the two of us. We shared a common language, I guess, a mix of physical action and unspoken words with saying very little.
"Do you miss him?Ó He asked, breaking the short silence.
"I don't know."
And I was being honest. Over the past few weeks, my relationship with Harry was always evolving but in its own way. Yet, Ron had left scars upon the two of us (or were there three?) and they seemed to prefer to stay.
"I do," he murmured. "And... And I hate myself for it."
I swallowed. "You him better them me, Harry. I don't expect you not to miss him."
"But," he protested, turning to face me. "He was your friend too."
I shook my head. There was no excuse for hiding the truth now. "Sometimes," I murmured. "I think in reality, Ron and I were just two people who knew each other and shared you in common. In away, I'm somewhat surprised that this didn't happen earlier. I don't think that he and I would have lasted long as friends."
Harry hung his head like a small child. "I should have told you."
Tugging at his arm, I forced him to look up at me. "You can't predict these things, Harry. And you need to stop blaming yourself; it's an unnecessary burden you're placing upon yourself.Ó I paused and the words left me faster than the strength of myself control. ÒI know there are things that you won't tell me and I'm not Ron. I'm here though. I'm here and ready to listen."
He looked at me with his sad eyes, brushing his fingers against my lips and cradling my chin in his hand. "I know," he said.
I lowered my gaze. This was not the time or place and completely unfair to him, but I felt like I had to tell him again. "I meant what I said. I love you and I don't expect you to tell me anything. I just want you know."
Some of papers began to slide off my bed as he leaned towards me. I could have sworn I saw tears, but I said nothing and waited for him to react. I had waited a long time to confess and I was willing to wait another lifetime for him, but it seemed to me that most important thing was that he knew.
He pressed his lips onto mine, one arm sliding around my waist, pulling me closer. No two kisses seemed to be the same with us. Some were slow and telling. Others were passionate and demanding. But this kiss was different.
With Harry, I suddenly begun to understand what my mother always said after she kissed my father. It's like coming home.
And I couldn't lose that.
**
I was in the kitchen reading The Secrets of the Draught of the Living Death and fighting to pay attention to Professor Snape, when he collapsed onto the floor. His knees had hit the ground with a nauseating crack and I sat frozen to my chair, watching with a sickening fascination at the man before me.
He hissed at the obvious pain, but his was void of any emotional evidence. One hand clutched his forearm, but I could see the evidence of his dark mark peeking out from under his hand.
I had never ever felt fear so raw in my life. I knew the Professor Snape, my Potions Professor. I had begun to force myself into unease acceptance of the man who had become a cross between a mentor and man who was fighting this war as well. But I was not prepared for Severus Snape, the Death Eater and the unpredictability that came with him.
"Go," he growled, a wild look burning in his eyes. "Go and- check on Potter. Stay in your room and lock the door until someone come for you. I'm going to floo the Headmaster. Obviously my presence here is a risk."
The book slipped from my fingertips and fell to the table with soft thud. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't put myself together and my rational mind was quickly disappearing.
"You stupid chit, don't make me go and throw out of this room because you damn well know that I will. Go!"
My chair screeched backwards and I scrambled to my feet, heading towards the hallway. A part of me screamed in protest against the idea of leave him behind in such obvious pain, but that change when a pair grabbed me by the waist. I tensed and stood unmoving as best as I could, cringing, as I felt Snape's nauseating breath in my ear.
"It's going to be up to you, now," he murmured, laughing quietly to himself. "Try not to be an incompetent wench."
He let me go and I ran, ignoring both my pound heart and the nauseating echo of his mocking laughter still ringing in my ears. I forced myself to neutralize my mind, passing the many closed doors of the rooms I had to explore.
I passed the library and the entrances to the gardens, forcing myself to stop trembling. I passed my room, a brief sigh of relief escaping my lips at the thought of it being shut and warded. If whatever was to happen, my things- my letters, my photographs, my privacy would be safe.
I reached the door to Harry's room, praying that it was open.
It wasn't.
It wasn't open.
"Oh Merlin," I whimpered.
I knew the doors were warded. Harry had personally done the room he shared with Ron himself, but I didn't have to rack my memories for the spells he used. I didn't know what time I had to begin with.
"Harry," I pounded on the door. "You need to let me in!"
There was silence.
"Harry, please-"
The door opened finally with a slow creak. I stood terrified and was greeted by no one. Entering quietly because of the little choice I had, I closed the door and found myself greeted by the sight of Harry staring out the window.
I mustered what little courage that I had and spoke, "Professor Snape was being called. He said to wait together until someone came and got us."
Harry said nothing. I could hear my heart pounding loudly in my ears. I began to wring my hands, a nervous habit. For the most part, I could deal with the silence, empty and meaningful. But the unpredictability did more than just terrify me and I knew Harry knew more than he was letting on.
"Talk to me," I pleaded, suddenly forgetting the dire circumstances that we had been placed in.
He turned slightly and waved his hand, the door looking and glowing, signifying that wards had been set. I did not try to even hide the surprise on my face at his display of wandless magic.
"Talk to me," I tried again, weakly. I was frightened and confused and could feel the sensation of hopeless threatening to swallow me up. "Please..."
His hand slammed against the glass window, a crack etching its mark as a reminder of his strength.
"I can't," he growled softly, viciously. "I can't because he'll know. He'll know and he'll see you. And I can't let that happen."
Whether it was a small confession or not to what he had been hiding, the weight of his words forced me to slump tiredly against the door. I stared blankly at his form, his back turned to me as it had always been these last couple years, waiting.
I didn't know what to do for the first time in my life.
I was numb and lost.
I didn't know what I was waiting for and I probably never would, but it was the only thing I could do right now.
Waiting.
Instead of feeling helpless.
The old grandfather clock in the sitting room that looked out into the gardens began to chime, its faint echo traveling in through the cracks in the door. Although not part of the traditional Japanese architecture, it was evidence of the slow cultural assimilation that had taken place during the Meiji Era.
And at this point, I found myself starting to cry quietly.
I felt like I had done nothing but crying in these past couple of weeks. I was an emotional wreck, but the silence and graveness of the situation was pulling at every nerve. Since Harry had turned a cold shoulder to me and I couldn't do anything, I cried.
I cried for my, no, our losses. The splitting up of three of us had begun to take a toll on me. As angry as I was at Ron and as awkward as the gaps between us were, I knew we needed each other. It was stupid, really. It was stupid that they had spilt the three of us. We had always faced everything together. It was our strength.
I cried for the unpredictability of our situation, the thought of not knowing scared the hell out of me. I was used to control, of knowing and understanding. Everything was just beginning to catch up with me.
I cried, I cried, and I cried. And I couldn't stop.
It was quiet at first and suddenly, a vicious sob ripped through my body and escaped my lips. I found myself clawing at my jumper, my fingers tangled in knitted wool. And I just kept cry, unaware and not caring about the time and space and everything else around me.
I didn't know how to be of useless.
The floor creaks and I look up to find Harry staring back at me, looking just as lost and just as broken as I did. For the first time, I saw Harry. Not the reluctant hero. Not the little boy. I saw him. Broken and struggling to grasp what was left of his life.
I saw my other half.
I saw my own despair. I saw my own reluctance to open up. I saw my fear. I saw my dissipating hopes. I saw that he and I were still fighting alone, when we could break free of this entanglement together. There was no reason why we couldn't.
He slowly kneeled before me, wringing his hands as if he were too afraid to touch me. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so fucking sorry."
I said nothing and waited and was back to crying quietly. I had no energy for a voice. I could only listen.
"I'm just not a good person to get involved with," he continued. "I can't keep promise. I can't keep people alive... I won't do that to you. I can't. I can't. I CAN'T!"
I jumped. My eyes were wide and terrified. There was a hysterical nakedness is his eyes. I had never seen him like this, only bright with happiness when was flying or dazed and sad, looking off into the sky at the stars.
"I can't lose you," he stumbled, beginning to sob. His hands slam against the wood floor, over and over again. I'm shaking. My hand flew up and covered my mouth to silence the hysterical sobbing that was beginning to start again.
"If I lose you, Hermione. If I lose you because of my own stupidity, I will never forgive myself. He can take you away from me, don't you see?"
I'm sobbing loudly now and I don't know why. I can't reach out to him as I usually can because I don't know. I don't have any words of reasoning or comfort. I can't give him anything that I haven't already.
He grabs me desperately by the hands. "You have to promise me that you'll let Remus take you away. Where you're safe, okay, alive, and away from me. I'm begging you. Because I can't I have nothing to come back to. I have to have something to fight for."
I forced myself to swallow my hysteria. Someone needed to take control. What if we were being watched? I hadn't heard anything and I assumed Snape had left for the Headmaster's, but we were certainly not in the right frame of mind in case anything happened.
"I can't promise you that," I whispered. "I can't promise you that I'll forget that I love you and that you are the most important person in my life. I can't and I won't. I won't do it."
"You have to," he whispered back. "You must."
I shook my head, wrenching my hands free from his and cradling his face between my palms. "I won't," I repeated firmly. "You can't bloody well make me."
He tried to wretch himself free, but failed. If I had to be strong for the both of us, I would. I would carry him until the very end.
"I leave you," he countered weakly. "I'll make them take you away."
I shook my head. "Try it. You know I'll find you, no matter what it takes."
The look in his eyes was heartbreakingly painful, but I was determined to make him see. I was determined to let him know that I was right here and I wasn't going anywhere.
So it was I.
It was I who kissed him this time.
Somewhere between my jumper being tossed carelessly to the side and Harry's tongue slipping into my mouth, I began to realize that this was the moment.
The moment that I heard Lavender and Pavarti giggling like banshees at two in morning from my corner of the dorm.
The very moment my mother would try to caution me against, and then turn and look at my dad with a wistful blush.
This was the moment that I read about with my face red and my eyes wide as I discovered book after book in the darkest corner of the Hogwarts' Library.
But this was my moment and it was if I was detached from the entire thing.
I lay on my back, pinned beneath him.
Harry was crying as he tore his lips from mine and buried them against my neck, cold and wet. I couldn't tell the difference between saliva and tears. (Was it mine or was it his?) My hand slipped into his jeans, torn and far too big for his still too sickly figure, and pulled his shirt out. My hands seemed to be working out of their own accord, clawing desperately at each button and whimpering when my bare back met the cold floor.
I felt as if I were watching the two of us from a distance both unbearably terrified and confused.
What was I actually expecting?
The anticipation and the expectations had flown out of my mind the minute Harry's trembling hands drifted down the familiar path and tossed my bra to join my jumper in a small pile. He watched me and I was watching him. Neither of us knew what to do and were acting on emotions alone.
He cupped one of my breasts, his fingers dancing shyly over my skin. I whimpered as his fingers were soon replaced by his lips, his tongue drawing lazy circles around my nipple. His free hand rested at my bare stomach, every once and awhile brushing softly against my skin. My soft moan of approval seemed to encourage him to become daring. His hand stopped the caressing of my stomach and reached for my other breast, pinching my nipple.
A startled cry escaped my lips.
He looked up, panicked.
"I'm sorry," the words came out of his mouth in a nervous fumble. "I didn't mean to... to hurt you."
"No," I whispered. "I'm-"
I didn't know how to finish that. In fact, I didn't know what to make of this. It was I pinned under Harry with one leg almost wrapped around him and my tangled hair fanned beneath me. I was wet and trembling with so many foreign sensations that I thought IÕd go mad. I wanted him to do something- anything- to free my mind from its semi-rational state.
His eyes were dark and a mirror of the feeling that were burning through me. ÒCan I go on?Ó
I swallowed, my fingers brushing against his lips. ÒPlease,Ó I murmured, a strange and scary amount of courage seemed to be pouring out of me. ÒPlease.Ó
He began to trail a path of wet kisses down my stomach and when passed at the waist of my jeans, the situation suddenly became very real to me. Even as the snap of the button echoed in my mind and my legs were exposed to the cold and bitter air, I realized that I couldnÕt go back after this.
We couldnÕt go back after this.
Somewhere inside of me, it registered that I couldnÕt go back to a lot of things, but this was a change so fearsome and so altering that it nearly ripped me apart from inside-
-Until his fingers began to stroke against my wet cotton knickers.
I canÕt really say what happened next. Whether it was I who pushed my knickers off or was it he who slid his jeans off his body, I will probably never remember. What I will remember is something entirely different.
I remember kissing him, savoring the warmth of his body and shivering when he pressed himself against me. I remember the look of a thousand words, his eyes burning into mine and mine searching for something I had hoped to find but did not see. I remembered my nervous sigh and his trembling body as he positioned himself between my legs.
But most of all, I remember the pain.
I cried out.
ÒIÕm sorry,Ó he whispered, his voice coming out in shaky gasps.
ÒStop saying that,Ó I hissed, rotating my hips so that I could find someway to rid myself of the painful invasion. What it did, however, was cause Harry to thrust slowly inside of me. And suddenly, my whimpering began to evolve into moaning and I lost all sense of rationality.
I launched myself forward, pressing my lips against his in a frenzy. He returned my kiss with a fierce hunger of his own, his hips beginning to thrust wildly. The searing pain was still there, but manifested into a spectrum of unbelievable sensation. Red. Gold. Blue. White. I forgot about the War. I forgot about my parents. I forgot about Ron and the awkwardness between the three of us.
I forgot anything and everything and just didnÕt care.
And then my world exploded into a sea of blackness.
**
I never maintained any expectations that life was supposed to be simple. I was never that na•ve. But naivety extended from somewhere else. For me, life had always been about my books and my abilities. I thrived under my ability to solve problems, break them done step by step and thread them back together with strings of sensible logic. I understood things that people were either never meant to understand or simply, didnÕt want to.
And as I lay down on the floor with my limbs entangled with HarryÕs and his tears burning into my neck, I knew IÕd never be the same girl.
It was more than just looking back to who I had been. It was more than small moment that I told my best friend, the most important person in my life, that I was in love with him. It was more than just the impending and dark significance of the war that had begun to move into public circles.
This was me leaving the little girl behind.
ÒYou okay?Ó
HarryÕs voice was muffled against my neck. ÒIÕm not hurting you?Ó He asked.
ÒNo,Ó I whispered back, my eyes staring at the cracks in the ceiling. I was used to staring at them when I slept in Harry and RonÕs room during the nightmare episode. I counted them sometimes to fall asleep. But something was different. They seemed to spread like a disease across the wide ceiling and I wondered why I hadnÕt noticed it before.
ÒWe should go and check everything downstairs. Reset the wards too.Ó
I nodded, shivering against the cold floor. ÒSure.Ó
I didnÕt know what else to say or to make of this moment, for that matter. It seemed as if I didnÕt know what to make of or react to many things in that particular moment.
I didnÕt know what to make of the overwhelming emptiness when Harry shifted and pulled out and away from me. I didnÕt know how to react to restoring myself to the girl before-
Same bra and knickers. Same jumper. Same jeans. Same rubber band that held my hair back and out off my eyes. I had accepted the chance that apparently happened within me, I just didnÕt know what do. I didnÕt know how to feel. And the one person that could give me back that sense of comfort and taken it away.
I had given myself to Harry.
Physically and emotionally.
What I had begun to understand was the phrase Ôheart and soulÕ and what it meant. I was nearly at the edges of my eighteenth birthday and I was numb, instead of facing it with excited anticipation.
It was almost as if we had gone back in time and were back to the way we were the night we arrived in Japan. The three of us. (Now there were two.) Awkward. Angry. Alone. We had arrived tired, but still friends. Now, we were strangers. I was in love with a stranger.
Or was really a stranger was in love with another stranger?
Did I even know?
I followed quietly behind Harry, clutching my nearly forgotten wand in my jumper pocket and forcing myself to focus on being prepared for whatever lay ahead.
Nothing.
The hall was quiet, as we stopped and reset some of the wards in the rooms that we used the most. We passed the gardens, silent and unmoving. I murmured an incantation to shut the heavy doors and locked them. We entered the kitchen together, still same as I had left it. Books were scattered in the exact place I had left them on top of the kitchen table.
Time seemed to stand still as I recognized the soot-covered footprints of Professor Snape are leading to the fireplace in the sitting room.
I swallowed. ÒIt seems like things are okay.Ó
Harry said nothing in response, quietly searching around the room for any disturbance. We had both learned through the years to expect the unexpected and never to ignore the small things. I suppose I should have felt some urge to return to the room, but out here, I didnÕt have to face the uncertain coldness. I didnÕt have to face the change in me, in us.
Harry finally stopped. ÒIt looks like it, letÕs go back up-Ó
A loud pop echoed through the fireplace and we both jumped, Harry leaning forward with his wand drawn and a protective arm around my waist. My hand gripped my wand tightly with a nervous apprehension.
Remus and Tonks stood before us with wands drawn and obviously prepared for something.
The silence seemed to last for an eternity.
ÒOh bloody hell! Thank Merlin the two of you are all right!Ó
Tonks flew forward and yanked Harry into her arms, pulling him away from our empty embrace and fretted over him in one of her rare, token nervous Molly Weasley moments. (She and Ron would sit for hours and make fun of the poor woman.)
Remus, on the other hand, took me into his arms with his sad eyes and held me. And while the profound moment that had occurred between Harry and I earlier had lead to discoveries and reassessment and acknowledgements that I was beginning to wish that never happened, Remus gave me something different.
While I was miles upon miles away from the only family that I had know and a virtual stranger to the boy (or was it man?) that I had fallen in love with, Remus gave me a sense of familiar comfort.
And a place to cry.
**
I had never been one to hold myself to the illusions of basic needs. I was a practical girl, always had been and perhaps, IÕll always be. Yet when we arrived back at Hogwarts with both Remus and Tonks, I found myself wishing that I had something to hold onto, something to disillusion myself from the terrible and foreboding feelings that clutched my heart.
I wish that I could say everything turned out to be all right, when we arrived at Hogwarts. I wish that I could describe feeling of joy and relief when the magnificent presence of Hogwarts castle greeted us as we walked up the path to the school.
Instead, Harry and I looked as if we had come back from the War itself. HarryÕs expression was dark and haggard and he looked the epitome of an awkward teenage boy- tall, lanky, and thin enough to break. I, on the other hand, was no picture of beauty. I could almost see myself with dark circles under my eyes and my clothing rumpled and out of place. The two of us presented the picture that people never wanted to see-
The beginning of the worst of times.
The Headmaster pulled Harry away motioning for Remus to follow and Tonks to escort me to the room that was prepared for my arrival apparent. I was so tired that it barely registered that there were conversations going on around me. Words blurred into murmurs and murmurs melted into sounds, and I followed Tonks silently. I passed through hallways that should have been familiar to me, but were not. I passed portraits that used to keep me company when I did my rounds as a Prefect, I didnÕt know them either.
I was out of place once again, this time in the place that I had called home since I was child.
Tonks turned to me as we came to the portrait, waving a greeting at the older woman and murmured, ÒDevilÕs Snare.Ó
For a moment, I was frozen at the memory. The memory of the three of us, young and happy and ready to make the world right again. But that memory faded and I found myself becoming more and more detached from my memories and myself.
The older woman gave me nod, as if she sensed my need (or was it just inevitable?) to be alone.
So I went in and shut the door.
It was a struggle to sleep that night. I spent the most of it, restless and quiet. I paced up and down the room, stopping to stare out the window occasionally. I didnÕt close my eyes and hope for a dreamless sleep to come and have mercy for me. From pacing, I moved to sit the best. Sometimes I sat on the bed with my legs curled under me and stared at the reflection of myself in the mirror by the dresser.
I didnÕt recognize myself. It had been quite some time since I had. My eyes were too wide. My skin was too pale. My hair was pulled back into severe ponytail. I looked older that I really should be. I could lament over things that couldÕve been done differently and the fact that I was involved directly in the brewing War and danger.
I just wanted to feel something.
But apparently, that was too much to ask.
Sometime between the sun rising and the cool early mornings of a September sneaking through a window I had opened, there was a knock at the door.
I sighed. ÒComing!Ó
I opened the door, but was greeted by an empty hallway. I shivered, not trusting myself to step out and check if there was actually someone there. I had been living in isolation for a better part of the summer and it was beginning to get to me, especially with the ordeal that we had the night before.
I stepped forward, deciding that I was being completely ridiculous and nearly had heart attack at the loud crumple beneath my slipper.
I leaned down to pick up a small envelope. Smoothing the creases with my thumbs, I began to shake when I recognized the handwriting on front.
Hermione.
My eyes widened. ÒNo,Ó I whimpered. ÒNo, no, no!Ó
A trembling finger slid under the flap of the enveloped and opened it, pulling out a small bit of parchment.
Two words stared back at me, mockingly.
Two words that would forever change my life.
IÕm sorry.
And I knew he was gone.
**
Still she'll lay down her body covering him all the same.
**
AuthorÕs Notes:
Before anyone decides to kill me, thereÕs a sequel and itÕs in the writing stages.
So you canÕt kill me because then you wonÕt get the sequel. So there.
And IÕm sorry that the formatting sucks. ItÕs loading weird.
This was a new thing for me, writing in first person. IÕm quite proud of the way it turned out. Two things that I need to mention. The lyrics between each break belong to a Tori Amos song called, ÒVirginiaÓ. ItÕs a brilliant song and completely worth checking out.
This story was also inspired by another song, Vanessa CarltonÕs ÒHalf a Week Before the WinterÓ. ThereÕs a line in the song that goes something like he whispers dreams into her ears. Or something like that. But it did get me thinking that I needed to tell or at least, start to tell HermioneÕs story.
Thus the sequel.
So donÕt kill me and review.
*smirks*