He Never Broke A Promise

Blissfully Absent Minded

Rating: G
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 01/07/2005
Last Updated: 25/07/2005
Status: completed

I can never think of a good title, but anyway, this is a short one-shot that takes place at the end of the final war. It's from Hermione's point of view. I hope you like it.

Chapters

1. Author's Note

2. He Never Broke a Promise

1. Author's Note

Hey all,

A few things about this story have been bothering me, so I decided to do a bit of editing and altered it a bit.

Enjoy,

Blissful

2. He Never Broke a Promise

Author’s Note: This is something that I’ve been thinking over for a few days and finally found the time to write it down tonight. I just finished it and I haven’t edited it at all, so please excuse any errors. I am working on the sequel to The Hardest Thing and I should be able to begin posting chapters soon. Anyway, here’s something to appease you in the meantime. A wonderful book called Odd Thomas by Dean Koontz influenced this. I strongly recommend this book, it’s great, I loved it. Anyway, read on and let me know what you think.

Blissful

* * *

The days following the final war and Harry’s defeat of Lord Voldemort were some of the happiest days of my life not because Voldemort was finally and forever gone and his reign of terror in the wizarding world was at an end, but because Harry and I had finally acknowledge our feeling for each other and had finally crossed that invisible, never mentioned, but ever-present barrier that separates friendship from something more. Something amazing. Crossing that barrier took only a few brief high tension and terrifying seconds as Harry prepared to meet Voldemort.

It happened moments before he left to face the Dark Lord. I was holding Harry tight, tears rolling over my pale cheeks and busy telling him to be careful and about to make him promise to come back to me when he interrupted me with what will forever be the greatest kiss of my life. He kissed me and I never got around to asking him to promise to return to me because that’s what the kiss was. It was his promise that he would return alive and whole so we could pick up where we were leaving off. He kissed me once and then he left.

He was gone only for a few hours, but those hours felt like days to me. I had spent the last seven years of my life worrying over Harry and wondering if this time will be the last time, but I had never been so worried as I was during those few hours. But I didn’t doubt that he would come back, not even for a second did I think that he might not return because he had promised me and Harry had never broken a promise to me.

The news of Lord Voldemort’s defeat reached the castle long before Harry did and, the moment I heard, I left the castle to go up to the cliff overlooking Hogwarts’ grounds. Harry and I had spent many an afternoon and late night sitting on that cliff, watching over our beloved school, and talking about everything and nothing and whatever crossed our minds. I knew that this was where Harry would look for me first. I knew that he wouldn’t return to the castle until he had found me and so I sat on our cliff and watched the commotion and the beginnings of a celebration at the school. Only a few left the grounds to move the celebration inside, most remained outside, keeping a watch out for our hero, wanting to see the saviour of the wizarding world and to congratulate him before moving their celebrations inside. They would have to wait a while because Harry would come to me before he went to them and I intended to have a few moments alone with him before I let them steal him away.

I sat up on that cliff for half an hour before he came to me. He was filthy, sweaty, and completely exhausted but he was gorgeous to me. He smiled sadly, weary from the battle that had been waged and I leapt from the rock on which I sat and threw myself at him, wrapping him tightly in my embrace and weeping against his shoulder, murmuring nonsensical words as he moved his arms around me and squeezed me tight. I ignored the coolness of his skin, probably just from nerves, and moved my mouth over his neck and face, finally landing on his cool, dry lips in a kiss that rivalled the first. I had never been happier to see someone in my life. I’d been so scared for him, for me. But he came back. He promised me and he came back and I have never loved him more that I did at that moment.

I kept him there for an hour, making sure to get my time alone with him before he was swept off by everyone awaiting him at the school and the reporters who would want an interview with him. We eventually made our way back to the school, holding hands and smiling happily at each other. Few people were still waiting for us on the grounds, most had moved inside to start the party and celebrate Voldemort’s demise. Those waiting for us smiled sadly as we passed and I wondered briefly why they looked so despair, but I chalked it up to grief for the many we had lost in battle. They seemed to sense our need to be alone and for peace and let us pass without much said. Only Ron stepped forward to say something. He looked so upset, like he’d lost the world, as he reached out to touch my arm. I looked up at him, feeling giddy with Harry by my side, his cool hand holding tightly to mine.

“Hermione,” Ron said, sounding as though he were close to tears. He looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and I wondered why he wasn’t happy, ecstatic even. Ron should have been one of the first partying and celebrating, so why was he still here looking so miserable and hopeless? “Hermione, I’m so sorry.”

He moved to hug me, but I stepped back, moving closer to Harry’s reassuring presence. I smiled at Ron, too happy for his despair to touch me. “Ron,” I laughed lightly, “what are you on about? Why are you sorry? Everything’s perfect. Voldemort’s dead, the war is over. Everything’s wonderful.” I smiled up at him and reached out to put my hand on his arm. “You should be celebrating, Ron. But I think Harry and I will just go up to my room. He’s pretty worn out and I don’t want to leave him alone right now. You understand, don’t you?”

Ron frowned at me, but I ignored him, tugging on Harry’s hand and leading him past the small group around us, ignoring the imploring looks as we passed.

Harry and I holed up in my Head Girl room, hiding away from the press circus and the occasional reporter that managed to penetrate the castle and we hid away from our classmates and professors, most of whom likely wanted to either whisk Harry away to one party or another or pull him into a conversation and repeatedly ask for even the smallest detail of the battle with Voldemort, though they knew Harry would never say a word about it.

Harry became oddly silent after the war. He refused to talk about it, even to me. If I even made mention of anything related to the final war, Harry would only shake his head sadly and fix me with a heartbreaking and hopeless look. I soon stopped asking. I never wanted Harry to look anything but happy; he spent too many years without happiness.

He didn’t talk much, mostly he just answered with a nod or shook his head in reply, but he’d always been awfully quiet, so I didn’t really think anything of it. The war took a lot out of Harry, I expected him to be a little withdrawn. So I did most of the talking and Harry listened with an attentiveness that he’d never shown me before because now we had the time and luxury to focus solely on each other and ignore the outside world.

We discussed everything. We talked about our feelings for each other, talked about our future and what we wanted out of it. Harry admitted that he’d never really thought about the future because he’d never believed that he had a future to think of. I, of course, already knew this, not because Harry had ever mentioned it, but because I knew him so well that I knew what he wanted without having to ask him. He’d like to marry and have kids. He wants three, I want two, but we decided we’d discuss that later, when the time was better. We talked about marriage and decided that we’d wait for a while before we crossed that line. After all, we were still adjusting to the recent change in our relationship and there was no need to rush anything. We agreed on nearly everything and all of the most important things. It was almost like he was reading my mind; he said exactly what I wanted him to say.

I never knew it was possible to be as happy as I was during those few short days that I spent holed up in my room with Harry Potter. I couldn’t wait to spend the rest of my life with him and, though he didn’t say it, I knew Harry felt the same.

We spent days hidden away in my room. We had almost everything we needed and what we didn’t have Dobby was happy to supply. That house elf has an unwavering devotion to Harry and now, it seems, to me. We grew closer in those days than we had ever been before. I told Harry things that I had never told anyone before, knowing that he would never judge me. We didn’t make love; we wanted to take our time with that to make sure that we were both ready for that step. At night we laid in my bed, our arms around each other, holding tight. His presence was comforting, it kept at bay the nightmares that had plagued me for months before the war; nightmares of losing Harry to Voldemort. Everything was wonderfully perfect. Everything was as it should have been.

No one disturbed our sanctuary for several days after the war, even Ron stayed away until the fourth day after the battle. He woke us one morning, knocking on the door and calling out my name. I rolled over in my bed, hiding my face in Harry’s cool chest and muffling a grown at being pulled from sleep.

“Hermione,” Ron’s muffled voice came through the door. “Hermione, open the door. We need to talk.”

“Go away, Ron,” I shouted back, sighing deeply as Harry’s arms moved around me, pulling me against him.

“Come on, Hermione, you can’t do this anymore.”

“He’s right, sweetie,” I heard Ginny call. “Open the door, Mione.”

I groaned again as I threw the comforter back and the chill morning air touched my skin. Harry reluctantly let me go as I rose from the bed and padded across to the door, pulling it open none too gently and fixing my friends with my most fierce glare.

They looked at me sadly and gently pushed past me to enter the room. They turned back to me, ignoring Harry standing by the bed, looking deliciously rumpled and sleepy. I closed the door and turned to them, waiting for them to speak their piece so I could get back to Harry.

“You can’t go on like this, Hermione,” Ron began. “Everyone’s worried about you.”

Ginny reached out and took my hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s not healthy, Mione. You can’t hide up here anymore.” She tugged my hand, pulling me over to the couch by the fireplace and pulled me down beside her as she sat. “I know you’re upset and you’re dealing with it the best way you can right now, but this… hiding up here and pretending like it never happened, it’s not healthy, sweetie, you need to deal with it, you need to grieve. The funerals are tomorrow, will you be there?”

I gently squeeze her fingers and smile reassuringly. “Of course, Ginny. Harry and I will both be there.”

Ron and Ginny share a look that I don’t quite understand and I look to Harry who was standing beside me. He met my gaze, looking downtrodden, his eyes watery with tears. I want to ask him what’s wrong, but Ron interrupts me before I could pose the question.

“No, Hermione, Harry won’t be there. You can’t keep doing this. We’re worried about you.”

I scowl at him. “Of course Harry will be there, Ron, why wouldn’t he be?”

“Hermione,” Ginny said, “You have to accept that Harry isn’t coming back. I know you loved him and I know how hard this is for you, but you can’t keep on like this. Harry died and he’s never coming back.”

I laughed humorously. “Honestly, Ginny, have you lost your mind? Of course Harry’s not dead, he’s right here.” I gestured to where Harry was beside me and Ron and Ginny looked at him then back at me, looking confused and worried.

“Mione,” Ron’s voice was full of misery. “There isn’t anyone there. Harry died with Voldemort.”

I shook my head violently, refusing to believe what they’re telling me. Harry didn’t die, he was right beside me, I could see him, I could touch him. I reached out my hand and took Harry’s. It was cold, but solid. I looked up at him and his face was a mask of absolute misery. Tears were rolling over his cheeks and he looked so worried for me, like he did after the Department of Mysteries when he thought he’d lost me forever or could lose me at any moment.

Ron sat next to me on the couch and put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side. “Hermione, I’m sorry, but Harry is gone. I hate it too and I wish I could do something about it, I wish I could change it and make all of this better for you, but I can’t.”

I continued to shake my head, not wanting to believe what they were telling me. But I looked up at Harry again and he was nodding his head slowly, telling me that what they were saying was true. Harry had died during the war.

“Harry’s funeral is tomorrow, after all the rest. They thought it right that they finish the ceremonies by saying goodbye to him. He gave up so much for all of us, it only seems right.” Ron told me.

I started to cry, sobbing loudly, my body shaking, and Ron pulled me into his arms, holding me tighter than I’d ever been held before and Ginny moved over to wrap her arms around me as well. But Harry didn’t move and that, more than anything else, served to tell me what I’d been refusing to accept for days because, when he was alive, Harry had always been the first one to hold me in his arms and comfort me. I cried harder as I felt my heart tearing in my chest. How can my Harry be gone?

“You have to let him go, Mione. He wouldn’t want you to live like this. Please, come back to us. We miss you so much.” Ron whispered in my ear, his voice breaking. “I lost him, I can’t lose you too. Please, Hermione. Please come back to us.”

I raise my eyes to Harry. He was watching us and he looked at peace for the first time since the war ended. He reached out one hand and stroked my hair, saying goodbye in the only way he could before he left me.

I sobbed against Ron’s shoulder. Harry never broke a promise to me in his life.