Chapter 6: Since forever
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the product of J.K. Rowling's imagination.
Author's Note: THE FINAL CHAPTER
OK, I just realized one bad thing about cliffhangers-you bring to much expectation on the next part. I realized this from the mixed-reviews! Anyway, I do take criticism without feeling bad (OK, maybe a teeny bit!), and I really appreciate your feedback.
But, I'd like to make a certain point. This is a story that does not wrap itself in every chapter. There are some things that are hard to understand-especially if it's not read from start to finish. I purposely do not tie the strings together in every chapter because I have to use it later on in the end (meaning this chapter). There are a lot of things to explain still, and it is here. It's very crucial that Harry and Hermione talk about these things in the final chapter because it contributes, and leads, significantly to the ending.
Having said that, I hope you enjoy this. I had a fun time writing the story, and I'll be taking a long break after this. Who knows, inspiration might strike again and I'll be back! Thank you for your wonderful reviews.
Lastly, I suggest listening to the Kink's "Waterloo Sunset" while reading the final chapter. That was the inspiration, and it continues to inspire me.
Cheers, everyone.
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The sunlight streams inside the room, illuminating his face. Slowly, he opens his eyes. His vision is blurry, but he looks around him. He makes out an easel, he sees some paint marks on the floor. He also smells the paint. And then he smells it. Cinnamon. He wonders if he's going mad. For some reason, he actually believes he's going mad. The events last night are just too hard for him to comprehend. She comes, and she goes. She cries, and she kisses him. He does not understand what exactly is going on, and it drives him crazy.
He lingers in bed a little bit more. Her wedding is in the afternoon, so he doesn't move. He wonders if he should still go. He wonders if he can survive the whole thing without crying. He wonders if he is a glutton for punishment. And then he gives out a snort. He is a glutton for punishment. Last night, he recalls, is a prime example. Any normal, rational man will not let things end that way. Any normal, rational man will ask her questions. Any normal, rational man will find her actions too cruel. She stands naked in front of him, she seduces him, she kisses him, she cries, and then she tells him not to be late for her wedding.
But he is not any normal, rational man.
He loves her. He loves her to the point of madness. He loves her with so much faith. He loves her with so much devotion. He loves her enough to justify her actions. He loves her to the point of irrationality. He loves her without understanding anything. He loves her even if it kills him. And that, he tells himself, is love. She does not have to give him anything. She does not have to reciprocate it. The fact that he loves her is enough.
So he gets out of bed. He leans before the window and stares outside. He admires the fall foliage. He admires the way everything seems golden and beautiful. The way the skies open up to let the sun seep in. The way the trees all raise their arms in praise of the heavens. The way everything seems to be perfect. Perfect for Hermione's wedding. And he smiles. He may be bleeding inside, but he still manages to smile because this is where Hermione's happiness lies. And he's not going to take that away from her.
He loves her. He loves her. He loves her.
That's why he's giving her up, without any bitterness in his heart.
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He stands outside her apartment building. He knows she's inside, along with Ginny, Luna, and her whole entourage. He knows this because he can see their silhouettes in the window. He knows this because there is a black Rolls Royce with a bouquet of flowers in the fender, behind him. He knows they're leaving soon. He knows this because the chauffer of the limo keeps on checking his watch.
After looking at the silhouettes above him for a couple of minutes, he finally leaves the painting in the front porch. He puts it in an unassuming corner. It has no wrapper, so he leaves it backward. He takes a final look and a deep breath. He looks at her apartment window again.
"Good bye, Hermione," he mutters under his breath.
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He is in Waterloo Station again. He has his suitcase in one hand, but no Hermione in the other. Instead, what he has is a ticket for Scotland. He has a ticket for Scotland because it is the only ticket available for last-minute passengers, like him. He has a ticket for Scotland because he wants his last memory of London to be at the Station. This is where he first saw her, after all those years, and he wants to relive that moment. It may be torture to some, but he's past that already.
So he's sitting in the waiting area. His watch says that the train arrives in ten minutes. But he doubts that, knowing full well about the transit system's inconsistencies and delays. So he just sits in one lone corner, staring at his hands. There are still a few paint marks left, and he likes it. He likes it because those marks are the result of a special creation. Hermione. He corrects himself, Mrs. Krum. The wedding is to end at four. It's already twenty-past-four.
"Cheers," he mutters under his breath, and for a brief second he wonders if she notices he's not there. He cuts that train of thought, immediately. He stands up instead and looks at the posters at the wall. He does not find anything that interests him, so he leans against it instead.
He's standing there, whistling out-of-tune, when he feels a touch in his shoulder. It is a soft, brief, and gentle touch. One that can only come from,
"Harry," she says.
He closes his eyes. He counts to three. He tells himself that it's but a dream. But when he opens his eyes again, the hand is still there. Finally, he turns around.
"Hermione," he says, breathlessly.
For a moment, they don't say anything. They just stare at each other. He notices that she's not in her wedding gown but she has her face fully made up. He notices that she's wearing her clothes from the night before, but she has her hair up, something she does not do. He notices that she's alone, with no Krum, and no entourage. He notices all these, but once again, he doesn't understand anything.
Finally, she asks him,
"Why did you leave Harry?"
Her gaze does not waver. Her eyes do not flinch. They are open, wide open, in anticipation-for his answer, for the truth.
"Leave where? I wasn't at the wedding," he answers, weakly.
"No Harry, I meant four years ago," she corrects him.
He gives a sigh. He tells himself that there's no harm in finally admitting the truth. So he asks her,
"What time is it?" She gives him a look of confusion, but she checks it, nonetheless.
"4:25," she answers.
"Good, I've got five minutes then," he replies. He takes one long lingering look at her before he starts. He sees she's looking vulnerable, and that makes him stronger. So finally, he tells her,
"I left because I love you."
He closes his eyes, he takes a deep breath, and he shuts out the noise around him. He finds the feeling of finally telling her the truth too overwhelming. For a couple of seconds, he stays that way, and when he's calm enough, he continues,
"I left because I was a coward. I was scared that you'd hate me and that it would ruin our friendship. I was scared that you'd reject me and that I would never see you again. I didn't want that to happen, so I left."
When he finishes, he finds himself looking at her, instead of closing his eyes. This time, he's brave enough to see her reaction. This time, he wants to know exactly what she feels about this. This time, he wants to know what she feels about him. And when her gaze finally wavers, he finds himself holding his breath.
"I know," she says.
He looks at her with incomprehension. He looks at her with shock.
"What do you mean, you know?" he asks.
"I know that you love me," she answers, simply.
"Since when?" his voice is shaking, but he has to know.
"Since you got back,"
"How come you never said anything?"
She gives a sigh, and she looks at him with remorse.
"You never said anything," she finally answers.
He closes his eyes. The next things he knows, tears are flowing down his eyes. But he wipes them off. And when he looks at her, he gives a shrug and a smile. Finally, he tells her,
"Well, you're married now, so what can I do? You're the one that got away."
He expects her to sigh. He expects her give him a look of pity. He expects her to pat him on the back. But she does not do any of those. Instead, she replies,
"No Harry, I'm the one that almost got away."
And when she says that, she raises her left hand for him to see- and to understand. And he does. He sees her hand. He understands.
"What happened?" he asks, tears flowing down his eyes again. He chides himself. Bloody, bawling, Potter.
This time, she's the one taking deep breaths. This time, she's the one closing her eyes. This time, she's the one shaking.
"I decided not to get married," she finally answers. He closes the gap between them. He realizes she's crying, so he wipes the tears away.
"Why not?" he asks, quietly.
"Because I love you too," she finally answers.
He feels his heart stop. He feels the whole station stop. He feels the world stop. Everything at that instance ceases to exist. It is just the two of them. And he finds himself shaking. Shaking with happiness. Shaking with understanding.
"Since when?" he manages to ask, despite the uncontrollable tears in his eyes now.
"Since forever," she replies with a smile. The smile that makes his heart beat.
"Even the last two days?" he asks again.
"Yes, even the last two days,"
"Then why did you plan on marrying Krum?"
"A girl can't mope around forever," she answers. It hurts him a bit, but he sees the rationality behind it.
"How come you never told me last night? Or any time for the matter, since I got here?"
"Harry, I was supposed to get married. How complicated would that be?" she asks, in standard Hermione voice, and he gives a laugh.
"Is that why you went starkers? Is that why you seduced me?" he asks, this time he's grinning. And when he sees her cheeks turn red, he cusps them into his palms.
"I was irrational last night. I was hurt. I never told you the whole story-Viktor was there the whole time. And all he did was laugh. He never once defended me."
Suddenly, he feels his insides turn cold. Suddenly, he feels like going after Krum. But then she covers his hand with her own, and tells him,
"What I did was selfish and cruel. But I didn't tell you because I know you would go crazy," she whispers. He wants to tell her that he has every right to go crazy. He wants to tell her that Krum has every right to turn into a bloody pulp. He wants to tell her, but he can't, because Hermione kisses him.
And he explodes.
So he kisses her back. He kisses her with urgency. He kisses her with all the passion stored inside him. He kisses her until his mind goes blank. He kisses her until his lips are bruised.
And when they finally stop, all they can do is smile. But then she begins to giggle. And he feels his heart flutter. She's giggling for him. So he grabs her again and he kisses her. But immediately she moves away, and she says,
"Let's get out of here."
So he holds her hand. And as they walk out, it occurs to him that there is still one unanswered question left.
"By the way, how'd you find out I was here?" he asks her.
"The painting in the porch told me," she answers.
"What do you mean?"
"It told me you were leaving, it told me you weren't coming back. I searched for you everywhere, and when I finally felt hopeless, it occurred to me that you might be here. Turns out I was right."
"You are always right," he murmurs as he squeezes her hand.
"No, Harry, I never told you how much I love you from the very beginning," And with that she kisses him while the sun gently sets behind them.
THE END.
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