Threads

Kaze

Rating: R
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 14/01/2005
Last Updated: 14/01/2005
Status: completed

[completed] I was barely sixteen when I fell in love with Harry Potter.

Chapters

1. One

2. Two

1. One

Dedication:

To danielerin, for our continuing friendship and being the matriarchal figure of the OBHTF. DonÕt laugh. You know it is true. You keep me sane. I love you, darling!

She may betray all that she loves and even wait for their Savior to come

And in some things, maybe he'll be rightÉ

**

We were three once.

(Although they were two, but that time was soon forgotten.)

We were three once, an infinite triangle of the sorts. There was no beginning or end, we merely shared the positions of the first or the middle or the last. (Even though, it was Harry my life revolved around all along.) It brought an indescribable comfort to Harry, to me, to Ron and we never once questioned it. It was all we knew.

But like anything else, it was bound to change.

The mechanics of life.

I was barely sixteen when I fell in love with Harry Potter.

Well, I was sixteen when I finally admitted it to myself and understood.

It was my greatest secret and my most dangerous secret. Nothing it seemed, especially when it would affect the comfort of my life at that point, was simple. I knew if I were ever to disclose my secret, everything would change-

Most likely, for the worst.

Ron was jealous by nature.

It was hardly his fault. His older brothers were prodigies and names onto themselves. Ginny, by default, was the only girl and it was much easier to separate herself from the mess of competition between the boys.

Then of course, there was Ron and Harry. While competition between the Weasley boys was by far healthier, Ron felt like he always had to go beyond Harry and his extraordinary capabilities. It was a twisted pursuit of trying to establish himself to be anyone but Harry Potter's best friend, but Ron still clung to that comfort as desperately as I did.

I was deathly afraid of losing my friendship with Harry.

And thus, my secret became my burden as well.

I was-

I'm still afraid.

Ron, Harry and their friendship mean too much to me. It's my sanity and my safe guard.

But I have to tell him.

It's going to break us.

And right now, with the ever-looming presence of Voldemort, Harry needs the both us right with him.

But how long can I sacrifice my own sanity?

Especially now.

If you tuck three growing teenagers away in safe house, things are bound to get ugly.

Don't get me wrong. I had no illusions about my seventh and finally year at Hogwarts. A part of me wished desperately for a semblance of normalcy, which happened to be in the form of the Head Girl Badge. But the other part of me, the rational and levelheaded part, knew that as long as Voldemort loomed in the distant- I- We'd never have normal.

So that summer, I kissed my parents goodbye and watched them take the train to one of my Grandmother's summerhouses in France. And I, I- Ron, Harry, and I were left to our own devices in an unknown location in a remote area in Japan, secluded, safe, and very unhappy.

It was a beautiful house, the kind of house that I used to dream when I was a little girl. The architecture was astounding, but it was the least of my concerns. The garden was unreal, but added more to the surreal sense of being caged. I come outside, only when I cannot face the dream world, like tonight. I'm afraid of the things that are waiting for me when I close my eyes.

I sighed.

We were okay at first.

Ron and Harry spent most of their time playing wizarding chess and I choose my time to write letters to my friends and parents, letters I knew could never be sent. The rest of the time I spent, I read. I read books that I had forgotten about from authors like Austen and the Brontes. I forced myself to read the Divine Comedy in Italian and Garcia Marquez's works in Spanish. I had always wanted to learn Spanish and Italian, so I figured why not do it with what was provided for me.

At night, however, it was different.

At night, it was the nightmares.

Ron couldn't handle the nightmares. He always came and got me, pulling me from the edge of sleep to wake and stay with Harry. When nightmares came, he was always so far away.

On the other hand, it was like Harry's violent screaming awoke something even more desperate inside of me. I was already fully aware that I was in love with him, no questions asked. I had accepted the inevitable, but the nightmares seem to pull things from inside of me that terrified me.

It was with the nightmares that everything began to change.

I began to fall more and more in love with Harry, his need for a facade of comfort feed my growing attachment to him. And Ron, Ron began to drift further and further away from us.

"Hermione?"

I jumped, the blanket I had wrapped around my shoulders falling slightly. Ron stood leaning against my door, arms crossed over his chest and his lips set into a frown.

"He's starting to shake again," he muttered. "Thought I'd come and getting you before the screaming starts."

A shaky sigh escaped my lips. Sometimes I found myself getting so angry with Ron. How could he be so detached from this? This was Harry, our best friend. Our Harry, our innocent and sweet Harry who was fiercely loyal to us both.

But I said nothing.

I hadn't been saying much lately.

In fact, there was nothing much to say in this empty, beautiful, and lonely house.

"Well, come on," Ron said, grabbing me by the arm. "I'd like to get some sleep."

"Stop being a prat, Ron," I replied quietly. "Not tonight, please."

Ron dropped my arm as if it were a stack of bricks too heavy for him to carry, his eyes wide.

"You know what, Hermione? Fuck you. You don't have to sleep in the same room with him. You don't have to hear him."

I could feel a raw anger threatening to pour out of me. Ron always managed to drag out the worst in me; however, I was on my last straw. I was tired too. I was tired of being the good female friend. I wanted Harry to talk to me and I just wanted Ron to shut up.

"Fine," I hissed. "Sleep in my bloody room from now on."

Ron's eyes darkened. "Fine. Always knew you wanted Harry to yourself."

"Oh bloody hell, Ron! Don't turn this into something that it's not."

He grabbed me by the arm again, his grip tight and his gaze fierce. He knew; I began to panic. He knew. He knew. He knew.

Oh god.

"We'll talk about this later," he spoke softly, almost dangerously.

I swallowed and said nothing, leaving him out in the porch and went back into the dark house. Back to safety and solitude, where I could bury my issues and focus on things that are more important. Inside, I could focus on Harry.

Harry and I have always spoken in riddles.

Although words are just words, when we talked weight and tone and speed twisted into spectacular loops that formed our conversations. When we talked, it was liked we were dancing, and as we grew older our roles began to change.

Instead of me rambling and him listening, he became the talker and I the listener.

I became used to- comfortable in my role as the listener. He was talking to me and if I had to sacrifice my own need to vent, fine. Harry needed to know that someone was there for him, if not he'd revert inward and that was more dangerous than anything else.

I made my way into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water. Remus and Tonks, the two order members that were our caretakers, insisted that we'd try to blend in as much as possible, including the occasional grocery shopping.

Bottled water, as odd as it sounded, was perfect for Harry's nightmare episodes.

Down the hallway and past my room, I noticed that the door was still shut which meant the Ron hadn't come in yet. For that, I was grateful; a double confrontation was something I knew I didn't need at the moment.

I paused at Harry's door, as I did every night. Whether it was to prepare myself or virtually shove all my emotions into a locked box, it didn't matter. What mattered that I was strong of mind and not thinking with my heart. It was much easier to be rational in a situation like this.

Even though the scene on the other side of that door always broke my heart.

I had built up a sick system of immunity to it now. A combination of my desire to protect the three of us from my secret and from sheer will to keep Harry from shattering into a million pieces drove me. Crashing and burning were not options.

I opened the door and was greeted like always by the infinite darkness. Ron's side of the room was terribly messy. Shoes, books, and letters were skewed all over the place. Once, I found a week old sandwich in his pile of dirty laundry.

Harry's side of the room was immaculate. His clothes were always folded and placed back in his drawers. His shoes were by the corner of his bed. His books are neatly tucked into one corner of his writing desk. It makes me sad really. Each time I step in their room, I'm reminded of normal Ron is and how far from normal Harry will ever get the chance to be.

It's Harry's whimpering that startles me from my thoughts.

Swallowing back tears, I made my way to the side of his bed. He laid twisted in his bed covers, one arm flung above his head and one fist clenching his bed sheet. His forehead was coated in sweat and his lips were pursed together in pain.

I wanted to kill Voldemort.

I wanted to him to suffer as badly as Harry has. I wanted him to know the loneliness and despair, the self-denial and the guilt. It wasn't fair, but life never was. I had learned that the hard way, books could never teach me that.

"Harry?Ó I whispered, gently pushing him in the side. "Harry, you're dreaming. You need to wake up."

He whimpered and rolled, his head beginning to toss and turn.

"Noooo," his voice escaped the prison of his lips in a slow and painful whisper. My heart was throbbing. I felt like crying, but, I kept telling myself, crying would not do me any good.

"Harry, please-"

His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me down into the abyss of blankets. My back hit the mattress with a sharp pain and suddenly I found myself pinned between Harry and the bed.

A faint heat began to spread in my cheeks as he shifted on top of me. Not good. Not good at all. I begged the rational side of myself to come out and help me, but the pounding of my heart was too fast and my throat was too dry.

His eyes were too bright, too green, and-

Staring right at me.

"Hermione," he breathed.

And I was lost.

I was so unbelievably lost.

They say that you know the exact moment you fall in love. Me? I was falling more and more in love with Harry Potter.

And this was bad.

This was very bad.

We hadn't even started talking yet.

I swallowed.

I wished I was as witty as Elizabeth in Pride and Prejudice was. I wished that I could somehow talk my way out of this situation. I wished for an interruption, for Ron to come barging into the room and make angry assumptions. I wished for anything but silence.

Silence was dangerous, powerful, and terrifying. I was vulnerable in the silence. I had never learned to protect myself and I knew that my secret was bound to be found out. We're just not ready for it.

"You're okay," Harry finally spoke, his fingers brushing against my cheek.

I'm trembling. The closeness is just too much- both wonderful and horrible at the same time. I wasn't ready for this. I didn't want this to happen.

His eyes glowing in the darkness of the room and I could see- no feel the wave of overwhelming emotions hit me. I knew that I was inevitably connected to Harry through our friendship, my natural empathic abilities, and that little sliver of me that wished knew that it was more.

"I'm fine," I managed to squeak out.

He shifted and pressed more of his weight into me. Suddenly, I'm glad that he hasn't thought to turn some of the candles on because I know that I must be blushing.

"Could you...?Ó I finally got some semblance of courage to ask.

His eyes went wide with a cross of surprise and embarrassment and he rolled off me, but not without grabbing my hand in his. I was uncomfortable and exposed, but as always, I struggled and managed to push down any of my feelings back in that locked box.

I was his best friend.

If holding my hand and having me close was the way I could bring some comfort to him, then I'd do it.

"Ron gets you?Ó He asked.

I sighed. Never could lie to Harry, so why bother?

I kept my eyes glued to the dark ceiling. "He did."

He let go of my hand and sighed. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he whispered. "I've taken advantage of our friendship."

I shook my head. "Stop talking nonsense," I ordered, my bossy personality seeping into the conversation. A comfort mask and a welcomed one away from the feelings I couldn't control. "You're my best friend, Harry. I wouldn't expect anything less of myself."

I felt the bed shift and realized he was no turned back towards me. I swallowed and kept my eyes to the ceiling. As long as I had detached myself in some way, I was safe.

"Hermione."

Don't do this to me, Harry, I pleaded silently.

"Hermione, look at me."

I was starting to lose my objective thinking. He was so close and yet, so far away. I couldn't stop thinking about what would happen if I let my guard down. There were three of us in this house, not two. There were three friends, not two people in love.

But I complied.

I could never refuse Harry Potter; it was my fatal flaw.

I turned slowly, my hair spilling down my shoulder.

"You're hiding something," he accused quietly.

Harry's never been perceptive, but with me, between the two of us it's always been different. Ron, I could lie to. Harry, I was literary an open book.

"I," I stumbled with a shaky sigh. "I'm fine. Just a little homesick."

Which wasn't a complete lie. Although I had grown used to the idea of the minimal presence of my parents in my life, I still missed them terribly. I missed my mother's innocent attempts to offer me advice. I missed my dad's cooking and our annual shopping.

But I was hiding something much darker. (Is this the consequences of falling in love?) I was hiding the end of Hogwart's Golden Trio.

"You can talk to me," he murmured. "I want you to feel like you can trust me."

He's so close to me right now. His hand lets my hand go and his arm is suddenly around my waist. I can feel his breath against my neck and I'm so goddamn nervous.

I'm not ready for what's about to happen.

He pressed into me again and I whimper. There was something about Harry touching me- hand in my hand, arm around my waist, lips pressed against my forehead-

This was dangerous. Too dangerous. Too unpredictable.

Then he kissed me.

And I kissed him back.

The closest I ever came to kissing Harry Potter was at the end of my fourth year in Hogwarts.

Looking back, I could never explain my impulsive decision to kiss him on his cheek.

Perhaps, that was the first moment. The moment where I knew, but didn't know that there was no me without him or him without I.

And although, I've come to accept the fact that I've harbored these feelings for him for a long time, my sense of stability and rationality become worse when I think of him and me. Together. Separate. It didn't matter.

Now, it did.

Harry Potter was kissing me.

And I was kissing him back.

I had to second-guess my ability to make conscious, rational decisions. His hands were in my hair, tangled and pulling, and my arms wounded around his neck. Our lips were crushed together, needy and seeking. It was so damn good and felt so-

So-

Right.

But if I didn't pull it together, we'd all fall apart.

I broke away from the temptation. "Harry," I whispered. "We can't-"

He looked at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. He didn't move, still clinging to me as if I were the last person on earth.

"This is about Ron, isn't?"

Merlin, I mused panicking. Merlin, not Harry too. I couldn't- I can't tell him, I kept saying to myself.

"No- Yes- I don't know," I whispered brokenly. "I don't know anymore."

He said nothing, but let go of my hand turned his back to me.

I can't do this. I can't tell him I can't tell him about anything. The rational part of my brain kept begging me to get up and get out. It was the safest idea. Safe was good.

But I couldn't move.

"I'm in love with you."

My voice is strong despite the lack of control I have over my emotions. The room is silent and my words hang over us like a bad omen.

"I'm in love with you," I say again, stronger this time. "But I don't want to fight. With you. With Ron. I don't want to see you and Ron fight. So let me have this. Let me have this notion of being in love with you. Let me have my secret."

I swallow back my tears. I still refuse to let people see me cry. I'm vulnerable when I cry, and even worse, now, I'm completely open to him.

I can't believe I just confessed.

I let out a shaky sigh and the roll over, pushing away from him and subjecting myself to more mortification and disappointment. I get off the bed and keep my back turned to Harry. I don't want to see him. I don't want to be more disappointed than I already am.

I don't want him to see me cry.

"Drink your water," I murmured, breaking the thick silence. "It'll make you feel better. I'll tell Ron he can come back."

And I walk out, broken and numb.

I should've kept my secret.

**

But as always the thing that he loves

He will change from her sunrise to clockwise to soul trading

**

I had been left alone.

It was easy to avoid the two of them for days. Ron had no longer come to my door to tell me that Harry was having his nightmares and for some utterly bizarre reason, I had a sick suspicion that he was secretly gloating about the self-imposed exile that I placed myself.

Away from him.

Away from Harry.

I stayed in my room, hiding like a coward most days, writing letters to my parents and friends like Hannah Abbott who had become a lifesaver for my sanity our sixth year.

I read books that I had already read like Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse and Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar.

I drowned myself in words to forget my mistake, to forget the release of my deepest secret.

"I'm in love with you."

Sometimes I dream of that moment, still hours fresh. I dream of the things I could say and should have said. I dream of the truth and how far of a stretch it is now.

I dream.

And then I'm alone.

I was used to being alone. I was used to self-imposed exiles; I tend to go through them at home a lot. I love my parents, don't get me wrong, and they love me back, but this- me being witch is becoming harder and harder for them to accept as more than just a phase.

God, I miss them.

This place, this house, I don't know it. That sense of familiarity is gone and we, we who used to be friends, are now slowly becoming strangers.

And that is ungodly terrifying, especially when we need each other.

I need him.

But instead of three, instead of three friends who accept and love each other, we're each becoming one.

Three has become a facade that is slowly weakening.

My secret is out.

My mask is gone.

A knock on the door startles me.

I can't run away forever.

The knock on the door was a heavy reality check.

I couldn't hide forever.

But I was naked, raw, and torn. I was open and vulnerable and I hadn't even begun to tell Harry the truth, from start to finish. I probably wouldn't even get the chance now because of my lack of control over my own emotions.

I felt stupid and embarrassed.

"Come in," I called finally. I couldn't recognize my voice, hollow and worn as if I had lost all sense of myself. I was stuck in some terrible gap and had no idea how to get back to normal... whatever normal was.

"Hey."

My eyes go wide and I nearly drop my worn copy of the Bell Jar. Harry stands in front me with his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his gaze on the floor.

I swallowed. "Hello."

"Remus is coming this afternoon," he murmured. "His letter came this morning with the rest of the post."

I nodded with apprehension. It still made me nervous that we were getting our mail and the newspaper by owl post. Although our location was protected, much like the wards in Grimmauld Place, we were still able to be found by something simple as the owl post. But what did I know? I wasn't turning eighteen for a couple weeks and by default, I was still considered a child and useless.

"Hermione?"

I blinked and then blushed. "Sorry. Did he say anything else?"

Harry shifted on foot and shook his head. "No."

"Oh," I fingered the folded pages of my book nervously. Why was he staying? Why wasn't he leaving like he was supposed to? Merlin, if I weren't mortified enough already.

"I'm sorry!Ó He blurted out finally. "Er, for you know-"

"-Kissing me?Ó I finished weakly. I couldn't decide whether or not he was consciously offering me the easy way out. Kissing me wasn't half as bad as me confessing to him that I loved him. That was unforgettable and while a part of me begs to take the chance, I couldn't live with that hanging over our heads.

I needed him, alive and well, and in my life.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, I d-didn't-"

"It's okay, Harry," I whispered. Instead, I was screaming at myself. Where was that courage that apparently put me in Gryffindor? I barely flinched in my NEWT classes with Snape, well, the ones I had started. I was being ridiculous, really. Here Harry was apologizing for kissing me and I was the one who had confessed- confessed- I-

I didn't want to apologize.

In fact, I had no desire too.

I was being silly really. It was out in the open and I was almost burden- No, I told myself firmly. I wasn't burden free. I had gone ahead and place another one on my shoulders. While confessing to Harry that I was in love with him in the heat of the moment, I had single handedly drove another wedge between the two, no, three of us.

"I meant what I said, you know," I spoke finally, lowering my gaze. A heavy silence settled between of us. I wouldn't dare look up, but I continued to speak. I might as well finish digging my grave.

"I have been since fifth year, probably longer than that... but I admitted it to myself then. And I sort of fancied myself telling you in a much more romantic manner too, but I suppose better late never."

I paused and got the courage to look up. Harry's gaze was burning holes into me. His eyes were dark and hungry, causing me lose my train of thought for a moment. And then I felt it again. I felt myself being pulled towards him; our connection seemed to be stronger than ever. Each lose thread was winding into knots, tighter and tighter, with a strength that terrified me.

"I love you, Harry Potter," I murmured, swallowing. "And I know it's not the best time or place or even moment. But I want you to know. I need you to know and-"

For the second time in days, Harry Potter leaned forward and kissed me.

This was a kiss.

This was a kiss that erased all preconceived notions and fears that I had about Harry's feelings for me. This was a kiss, burning and numbing, that erased all thoughts from mind. Every single last one of them.

My book fell from my fingertips onto the ground with a soft thud and I found myself crushed into Harry's embrace. One arm snaked around my waist and the other entangled itself into my hair. My hands clung to his shirt desperately and my mouth melted into his.

I was falling. No singing voices from heaven. No earthquake splitting the earth open. I was just falling and spinning into oblivion without a bloody care in the world. Because this was how it should be. Him, I, and no one else, no awareness of other space.

His hands began to creep up my heavy jumper. Warm and calloused, they caused me to whimper and shiver deliciously.

"Merlin," he hissed, tearing his lips away from mine and burying them into my neck. Slowly, his hands began to inch their way up my back and to the lace of my bra. By then we had, by some miracle, lowered to the floor. I had no idea what was going on, but his hands, oh his bloody hands, made me feel like I was going insane.

My jumper suddenly found itself pulled over my head and tossed carelessly to the floor. And although this would be the point where the rational side of my brain would begin to protest, Harry's mouth conquered mine and my back was pushed against the cold, hard floor.

And I didn't care.

I didn't care when he pinned me between his two arms and he pressed himself between my legs. I didn't care when he pressed his lips between the crevice of my breast or when one hand began to push slowly my strap down and off my shoulders.

I matched Harry stare for stare. I kissed him with as much fever as I could muster- and even more so because all the feelings that I had kept hidden so long inside of me, began to spill out. I tugged his bottom lip between my teeth and painstakingly began to rock my hips below him.

"Hermione," he murmured, his fingers had found the clasp of my bra. "Merlin, Hermione... So-"

The clasp snap open and cold air greeted my breasts. My breath caught in my throat as he stopped and looked up at me through half-lidded eyes. His fingers brushed against my lips and danced their way down my neck and to my breast. He cupped one in his hand.

"I- I don't know what to do," he murmured, his fingers brushing a nipple. He didn't meet my gaze. "But you're- you're beautiful."

It hit me then. It hit that his was his confession. This was as close as I was going to get to 'I love you'. It made sad. I know that they're just words, but they're words with a lot weight. Saying I love you came with an unbelievable emotional price. To say them meant that you were acknowledging that you belong to someone and that you were merely a half a soul.

This was as closes as I was going to get, but as sad as it made me feel, I understood.

I opened my mouth to reply, but loud knock interrupted us.

"Harry? Hermione? Can I come in?"

The two of us flew to our feet in record time. With an embarrassing blush, I turned away from Harry and set to returning my bra and my jumper to their rightful places. Never mind that Remus was a father figure to us both, I really didn't fancy the sex talk now.

Tucking a strand of loose curls, I swallowed and prepared myself to answer.

"You can come in Remus!"

Harry grabbed my hand in his, entwining our fingers together. I looked at him in surprised.

He smiled softly. "So you don't go hiding again," he whispered into my ear.

And for the first time during our stay in this house, I greeted Remus with a real smile.

My relationship with Remus Lupin was a strange one.

While it was automatically assumed that Harry would latch onto the last of his father's friends to guide him through his journey, the wounds of Sirius' death was far too painful for Harry to acknowledge Remus' attempt to reach out to him.

Instead, oddly enough, Remus became a source of comfort and confidence for me. Although I loved my parents as any child would, they had become virtual strangers, even more so with this forced distance between us. Remus slowly began to fill that void inside of me.

He understood me when I was looking for someone to understand.

"Go ahead downstairs, Harry," he murmured. "Tonks is here too with some things. She's making Ron wait for the two of you; I just want to ask Hermione something."

Harry nodded and gave my hand a squeeze, before turning and leaving the room. Remus waited to speak until Harry's footsteps began to fade away.

"Something you want to tell me?Ó He tried to look stern, but he was fighting a smile.

I blushed. "Not really."

He swallowed. "I know you're a smart and practical girl, Hermione. I don't fancy myself giving you the- Er-"

"Talk?Ó I supplied with a small grin. "I don't fancy myself talking about shagging with you either, dad. But it's the thought that counts, right?"

He laughed. "Took the words right out of my mouth, you chit."

He smile faded. "I do want you to be careful, though. And as awkward as it might be to, um, talk- I am here. You are very important to me, Hermione."

I gave him another small smile, hoping to reassure him and not at all liking the sad gaze in his eyes. I had come to know Remus Lupin, like I knew Harry and Ron. My mother always told me I was a brilliant observer. I had a frightening intuition when it came to reading and understanding the emotions and expressions of people. Remus was a reflection of his memories sometimes. I can't pretend to understand him completely like my intuition with Harry, but I had begun to pick apart and put the pieces together.

"There's something else, isn't there?Ó I asked quietly. My heart began to pound. Was it my family? Although my parents were tucked away in France, Voldemort wasn't stupid and was once a muggle. There was no doubt in my mind that he was still aware and made use of his muggle heritage.

"Your parents are fine," Remus murmured, but did nothing to soothe my fears. "I have a letter from the two of them waiting for you downstairs."

I sighed with relief and waited for him to continue.

"No," he said. "This, ironically, has to do with you... and a spot of research."

I calmly raised an eyebrow, but inside I was cheering like mad. Finally, I mused. Finally, I could help and be useful... instead of waiting around. I waited for Remus to continue.

"Albus- Professor Dumbledore has finally consented to allowing Harry to learn the Dark Arts."

My eyes widened. The Dark Arts? The very core of Tom Riddle's ascension into power? Was he mad?

"But-"

Remus shook his head. "There's more. He wants Professor Snape to do it."

I nearly choked. "Is he-"

"Mad?Ó Remus finished. "Quite possibly. But there's a catch. Severus won't agree to it, unless you participate in it. He's tied up for a few more weeks in London, so he feels 'that bothersome chit' should be able to help 'that ungrateful brat' until he arrives."

"I don't know whether or not to be horrified or flattered that Professor Snape paid me a compliment," I muttered dazedly. "But the- the Dark Arts?"

Remus' gaze darkened and he stepped forward placing his hands on my shoulders. He sighed. "I want you to be careful, especially now with this new progression in your life. 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 nodded, both alarmed and relieved that Remus had warned me early. Dealing with Professor Snape was not a favorite hobby or anybodyÕs for that matter. Remus sighed and rustled though his robes, pulling out two small black notebooks.

"There are books on the table that you are to look at," he began again, handing me the notebooks. "And these are my notes. Every incantation and make up of spells and potions. If you feel like-"

"I'll be careful," I whispered, taking his notes into my hands with a little bit of awe and apprehension. I could not begin to imagine the books waiting for me downstairs. I couldn't even imagine how this was going to affect the three of us. Then there was Harry and Snape...

"I'll be careful," I repeated, firmly this time.

I had to.

For Harry.

I followed Remus out of my door and down the hall, into the kitchen.

I had taken the seat next to Harry on pure instinct. Being as close as possible to him served as an unintentional reassurance rather than the intentional goading, as the glare Ron was giving me, seemed to reflect. Remus took the empty seat next to me and Tonks was nursing a beer from across us.

"Looking good, kiddo," she said as a way of greeting.

"Hello, Tonks," I murmured back.

I gave her a half-smile, my gaze suddenly stuck on the pile of books on the middle of the table. My heart began to pound. Even though Remus had told me he had brought a few books along, there was just something so sinister and frightening about the pile of unmoving books in the center. We all sat around the table as if someone died and Remus and Tonks were trying to put it to us as gently as possible.

"Well," Tonks stated loudly, drawing my attention away from the center of the table. "I'm sure that Remus filled you up to date with the news of dear ol' Severus and his plans to stay with the three of you for the next couple weeks."

Ron snorted and Harry shook his head miserably. I sighed. We were all apparently looking forward to those weeks with bated breath.

"Don't worry, loves. Remus and I will drop by frequently to make sure he hasn't killed you all or rather, you haven't killed him," she said with a smirk and shake of the head. "However, there are some things that we do need to talk about."

I watched her as she turned and rustled through her knapsack and pulled out a bundle of letters- one for me, two for Ron, and several loose ones for Harry. She rustled through her bag again and pulled out a week's worth of the Daily Prophet.

"We can't do the owl post anymore,"

I nodded, not bothering to show my relief. I didn't fancy seeing Death Eaters popping in anytime soon.

Tonk's gaze grew serious. "The attacks are growing in number and in violence. I can be honest with the three of you now because you're older and you understand. Dumbledore is thinking of sending all the muggle-borns home to their families and providing hidden locations for them. They're getting closer and closer to Hogwarts... and if that doesn't give you an idea of the situation, I don't know what will."

I swallowed. I knew for a long time that it might come to this, but a part of me still hoped and held onto that childhood fantasy that Hogwarts was still indestructible. With a heavy heart, I began to think of the friends that I had left behind. We were no longer children anymore.

"So you want us to learn the Dark Arts then?Ó Ron muttered.

Harry shot him a look and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, my gaze going back to the pile of books.

Remus sighed, picking up where Tonks had left of and from our discussion upstairs. "We want you to be prepared," he began slowly. "Severus is going to be focusing on tutoring Harry mainly and Hermione as well."

"And me?Ó Ron snapped. "What about me?"

Remus looked away and Tonks took a swig from her beer.

"You're coming back with us, Ronald," she muttered. "Your family's going into hiding and your parents want you all together, especially with the level of work both Bill and Charlie are doing for the Order."

Ron slammed his fist onto the table and his chair clattered to the ground. "Great," he snarled. "Just bloody fucking fantastic! Let me guess, you want me to go and pack my stuff. You know, so I can leave these two lovebirds alone."

"Will you just lay off?Ó Harry said quietly from beside me. He didn't move and stared straight ahead.

"So you don't deny it?Ó Ron hissed. "You and Hermione been shagging behind my back, eh? Poor, stupid Ronald. What does he know, right?"

Harry stood up, his chair screeching painful against the floor. It was by then I realized that I was shaking uncontrollably and that Tonks and Remus were watching Harry and Ron with wide and sad eyes.

"You leave her out of this," Harry said dangerously. "Don't even think about involving her in this petty fighting between the two of us. And for the record, I think you're fucking full of shit."

"Take that back."

Harry ignored him. "Why don't you tell her the truth, Ronald? The real reason that, oh yes, how did you put it to Seamus? Tell her the truth behind your supposed-"

"All right, boys, that's enough," Remus said firmly, standing up and placing himself between Ron and Harry.

I swallowed. Tell me the truth about what? What were they hiding from me? I knew Ron had fancied me when we were much younger. In fact, perhaps there was a moment where I fancied him... but that was it. Some stupid girlhood phase that I was destined to go through like any other girl who had boys for best friends. That is, if you could call them that now.

"Ron," Remus spoke calmly. "I want you to go upstairs and start gathering your things. Harry, a word in the other room. Please."

They stood frozen for a moment. Harry glaring at Ron and Ron glaring at Harry, neither of them ready to end the moment quite yet. It was Ron who sighed and broke away first, turning on his heels and disappearing down the hallway.

Harry sighed sadly and nodded at Remus, squeezing my shoulder as he followed the older man and left me behind with Tonks.

I fought to swallow back my tears, fingering my bundle of letters.

Why did I suddenly feel like I had lost a friend?

The awkward silence finally settled in. Tonks made some excuse to go check on Ron and see if 'the little bugger' was packing like he should be, but I knew it was more than likely because she had no idea what to say to me after the little tryst in the middle of the kitchen.

I had no idea what to say.

Sighing, I untied my bundle of letters and opened the first one. I need something to take my mind of, well, everything. A small smile lingered on my lips as I recognized Hannah Abbott's handwriting.

Have you gone mad, yet? I know I would, especially since there's no doubt in my mind that those two nitwits you call your best friends are with you. I just wanted you to know that I miss you and that I will try and keep in contact as best I can, especially with mum and dad pulling me out of school.

I swallowed and shook my head, discarding the letter to the side. I would send a reply with my parents' letter. Hannah's father Stephen happened to go to Oxford with my father and so I wasn't to concern about staying in touch with her... yet.

I took the next letter of the pile, surprised to see that it was from Lavender Brown. Lavender, Pavarti, and I had a bit of a fall out towards the middle of sixth year. While it was well-know throughout school that I would be offered the Head Girl position and the liberties of my own dormitory; I had lost interest in trying to be civil with the other two girls. I had begun branching out and didn't pay as much attention as I used to, especially with my attention becoming more and more occupied with this impending war. I believed in someway Lavender and Pavarti began to resent me for it, even more so when Padma Patil and slowly became much closer.

I know this a bit awkward, especially when I tried to goad into a row last year... But I really do hope you're taking care of yourselves. And if you need the latest Witch Weekly, I'd be more than happy to save mine for you.

I snorted and tossed the other letter to the side, happy that I had something to keep me quietly occupied instead of obsessing over Harry and Ron's minor row. The next letter was from Padma, her small and scratchy handwriting formed an apology.

Sorry about the letter from Lavender if you get it. I was hoping it would miraculously fall into a ditch somewhere. Lavender ended up begging Pavarti to give this to me. I was a good sister and will collect my dues for doing the favor. I hope you're okay and that I get to see you soon. Hannah and I miss you like crazy.

Rubbing my eyes, I forced myself into composure. For a while, I had forgotten what lied outside of this house. I was used to the emptiness of this house and the three of us. I was used to wondering about the people that I had left behind, but I had forgotten the significance and the importance of their places in my heart.

I wanted to go home, but I knew it was nothing more than an overly nostalgic sentiment. I couldn't afford to be nostalgic. Not now. Not ever.

My hands were shaking as I picked up the letter from parents, my name written in my mother's simple and elegant handwriting.

Darling, it began. Words cannot describe how much your father and I miss you. It isn't the same without you. Your grandmother's house seems so empty. Regardless, as much as I want to beg you to come home and away with you, I know you won't. Just be careful and know that we love you and look forward to the next time we see you. Please, do take care of yourself.

The letter slipped from my hands and floated onto the table. Would I ever see my parents again? I shook my head, forcing myself to stop. It wouldn't help anyone if I began to think of answers to questions like these. I had to remain firm. I had to remain practical. I would reply to each letter as I did to the last. I'm okay. I miss you. See you soon. There was no reason why I shouldn't.

But I was giving them false hope.

And that wasn't fair.

I sighed and stood, gathering my letters and grabbing a few issues of the Prophet to read in my room. My eyes drifted back to the center of the table and the pile of books that had been left behind.

There was strange and disturbing allure to the stack of books in front of me. I recognized the intellectual curiosity in me trying to fight against the known rationality of the facts. They were only books, pages of words that made up incantations for spells and potions among other things. But those spells and potions were designed and made for people of great hatred and harmful intentions.

Therefore, easy to stumble onto.

It's our choices that make or break us and I found myself wondering what Tom Riddle, one of Hogwarts' best and brightest had felt when he came and encountered these books.

The Dark Arts relies solely on the manipulation of the emotions of you and of other and Severus- Severus is very good at both.

Remus' words still haunted me.

What would we have to sacrifice to protect the ones we loved?

"Hermione?"

Harry's hands fell upon my shoulders and suddenly, I found my back pressed against him. "Are you okay?" He asked.

My eyes never left the pile of books.

"No," I swallowed. "No."

Not at all.

Harry said nothing, but pulled me by the arm out of the kitchen. There would be time for worrying about the Dark Arts later.

Harry and I stood by the door of the front porch, watching Remus pull Ron's things together into an organized fashion. Tonks is still inside, yelling down for Ron to hurry. They needed to be back. There was no use prolonging the agony. Leave it to Tonks to inject some sort of humor into the situation. The tension in the air was thick enough as is.

I stood next to Harry with my arms wrapped around myself, feeling terribly lost and confused. I had the urge to grab Harry's hand with the hope that we might draw on each other for strength, but I wanted be careful with the mounting tension. I could feel Harry's growing anger and I knew Ron was just as bad, if not worse.

It was no longer about to split us apart, we had ventured well off that path. This was about the three of us and the separation feed the isolation that we had self-induced upon ourselves.

Remus turns back to us and holds out his hand for Harry to take. "I'll see you both in a few weeks with Severus. You need to take care of each other."

Harry takes Remus' hand and nods. "I know."

Remus turns to me next, a strange light in his eyes. I swallowed. I always knew how important the relationships in my life were. From Hannah to my family, Harry and Ron, Remus seemed to take a level of importance that was becoming irreplaceable. He was becoming family.

"Come here," he whispered, opening his arms.

I stifled a sob back down my throat and buried myself in his embrace. Was this how Harry felt with Sirius? I wondered. I didn't know what I'd do if Remus was ever killed.

"Be careful," I murmured. I knew how much he liked to undermine the work he did for the Order. It was every bit as dangerous as what the Weasley brothers were doing and possible almost to the same level as Professor Snape.

"You'll be fine, little one," He replied with a smile as I wrinkled my nose at the nickname. "Make us of my notes and don't read the books I left alone. Neither of you. The Dark Arts are better studied with two. You can anchor each other that way."

I nodded and stepped back, giving Remus a watery smile. I felt a little better when Harry reached for my hand again and gave it a squeeze. It seemed as if our roles were reversing almost. Instead of me reaching out and make sure he knew that I was there, Harry was doing the reaching and deep in my heart I wondered if this was his way of trying to convey his feelings instead of saying the words.

"Oy! Lupin!Ó Tonks called from inside. "This corner's a little rough for me to levitate Weasley's damn trunk. A little help?"

Remus smiled at us and headed inside, leaving Harry and I alone for a moment.

I had to ask. "Earlier," I began nervously. "What were you and Ron talking about?"

His grip on my hand tightened. "It's nothing," he murmured. "Don't worry about it?"

I turned to face him, angry and hurt that he was brushing this away. "Nothing? You nearly hit Ron because of it. Don't tell me it's nothing."

"You're not going to like it," he replied weakly.

"I don't like very many things that involve me like this," I snapped back. "But I want to know."

He sighed, letting go of my hand. For a moment, Harry looked tired, worn, and much older for his age. He rubbed his eyes.

"At the end of our sixth year, Ron and Seamus made a bet," he began carefully as if I were a fragile piece of glass. "Around school you had gotten this reputation for being virtually untouchable and many people assumed it was because you had feelings for Ron. Seamus bet Ron a thousand galleons that you wouldn't date him at all. Ron said that he'd have you wrapped around his finger by the beginning of our seventh year."

I bit lip down to keep from crying out in outrage. "And when were you planning on telling me?Ó I whispered. I felt as if I had been left out of one of those preschool games that girls liked to play. I was promised and then left in the cold. I didn't like the feeling of betrayal and sadness that had begun to settle inside of me.

"I don't know," he whispered back with sad honestly. "Ron made me promise that I wouldn't tell you. We were friends first. He said when I wanted to tell you. We don't have to tell her everything. I'm sure she doesn't tell us everything."

I opened my mouth to voice a response, but Remus, Tonks, and Ron chose that particular moment to walk outside and onto the porch. I gave a watery smile to Remus and a hug to Tonks, but chose to turn my back on Ron.

I couldn't face him or say goodbye.

My words would have been just as hollow and empty as my letter replies.

Lies.

I didn't know what to feel or who I was angrier at the most. Ron, for being a complete, total, and heartless prat. Or Harry for not telling me the truth. What I felt at this particular moment was just an overwhelming sadness. For Ron and me because I knew there would be nothing to recover of our friendship when and if we survived this war. For Harry and me because of the circle of paths we seemed to fall on.

Secrets were vicious.

And in reaction to the revelation of this secret, I did the only thing I knew how to.

I went to my room to hide.

Then there was two.

2. Two

**

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*