Just Like Him

SecretKeeper

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 02/07/2005
Last Updated: 02/07/2005
Status: completed

(One-Shot) There was just no way around it. Whether it was necessary or not, heroic or not, there was simply no escaping the fact of his actions. He had killed. And he made me just like him… (Minor Fluff Warning)

Chapters

1. Just Like Him

1. Just Like Him

Author's Note: I don't know, exactly, from where the inspiration for this story came. However, I knew I wanted to write a one-shot, and get out some angst as well as a bit of fluff. By the way, most of the stuff in italics are Harry's thoughts. I tried to make that as clear as possible. I really hope you all enjoy it!

Just Like Him

He turned me into a murderer. He stole my family, my godfather, my friends, and now… he's stolen me. He's taken everything in me that was good… was. The person I had been is gone. The person I wanted to be can't exist. Because he turned me into a murderer. He made me just like him. Oh, God… he made me just like him. At least before I had a purpose. At least before there was a reason for me. Now… I'm worthless. No, worse than that. Empty. Hollow. He took everything… everything. What's left? No parents. No hope. No morals- not anymore. Because now I've killed. Now… I'm no longer on the `good' side. How can a murderer be good? How can I? Because he turned me into a murderer. He made me just like him.

Harry Potter's thoughts stormed through his mind, tearing down any remnants of happiness and peace that had once existed.

He'd thought it would be different than this. He thought that, if he was able to end Voldemort's reign, he'd feel relief wash over him like cold, pristine water. He had thought he'd feel content for the first time in his life. He thought that the tight, griping sensation that constantly ate away at his heart would release its hold. He thought that his worries and fears would vanquish, and that his hopes and aspirations would flourish. He'd thought it would be different than this.

But he was a murderer.

There was just no way around it. Whether it was necessary or not, heroic or not, there was simply no escaping the fact of his actions. He had killed.

And he made me just like him…

His breathing was quick and deep. He was sitting beside the lake, only faintly aware of the bitter cold that nipped at his exposed arms. Night had painted the sky a deep, inky black. No stars could be seen, and no moon was present to cast its light. Dark. Everything was dark, cold, and empty.

Like me…

Harry began to tremble, but it had nothing to do with the piercing wind and freezing temperature. He could feel his heart quivering below his chest, as if it too was shedding tears for the lost boy of his youth. The lost boy that had been so innocent… tainted, but still innocent. The lost boy that hadn't killed anyone, or hurt anything. The lost boy that would never be able to return home.

Raising his glassy eyes, he could blearily see small, rippling waves softly crashing against the tall grass outlining the lake. Hogwarts' lights were reflecting on the water, making it look as if little fairies were glistening as they floated to shore with the tide.

But Harry did not see the beauty in it. He did not see the beauty in anything now. To him, beauty had meant innocence. And he had thought that innocence was immortal. But now…

Nothing is immortal. Innocence is an illusion, he thought wretchedly.

And everything was fallible.

A huge gush of wind tangled itself in Harry's unruly black hair. His body continued to tremble as his strikingly emerald eyes shut tight and forced two tears to make its sad descent down his cheeks.

Heaving an audible sigh, he reopened them and distantly wondered how long he'd been out here. At least an hour, he was sure. But it wasn't long enough… not yet. He couldn't face the world. He still felt too… too…

Dirty, his mind provided.

“Harry?”

His heart stopped abruptly. He recognized that voice. And as much comfort as she usually was, he desperately wanted to be alone right now.

No, Hermione… leave me here. Go back in…

“H- Harry, are you… are you all right?” she questioned earnestly. Just then the wind picked up again, and he heard Hermione shiver behind him.

“Go back inside, Hermione.”

There was an extended pause. Harry could feel Hermione contemplating whether or not to obey his request, and a picture of her nervously biting her lip cracked the exterior of his consciousness.

“Harry, I…” she began weakly. The pain and worry in her voice was excruciatingly evident, but he did not want her- or anyone- near him. Not now. Not now that he was filthy and hollow. Not after…

…after I've become like him.

Harry felt his thoughts suffocating him. They were restricting his breathing… and he just felt so mislead. It wasn't supposed to be like this. After years of anguish, he was supposed to feel content… relieved. And now that the force of his actions had taken hold, and reality had sunk in, Harry couldn't help but feel deceived and so terribly alone.

Hermione sighed, giving up her attempt to speak. Instead she slowly walked next to him, lowered herself onto the ground, and very meekly looked at him from the corner of her eyes.

And she saw his tears. She finally took notice of his trembling body and the goosebumps that had crawled up his arms.

“Oh, Harry!” she breathed. “You must be freezing!” Hermione spoke softly, yet urgently, as she simultaneously tore off her cloak and fumbled with it before placing it around Harry's shoulders.

For a brief moment, Harry had forgotten she was there. But once he realized what she was doing, he said, “No, don't. Put it back on,” he continued as he shrugged it off. “I'm fine.”

“Harry, please, you've been out here for ages, and I just came out, you've got to be freezing by now, and-”

“I said I'm fine,” Harry snapped.

Hermione stopped mid-way through wrapping the cloak back around him. Letting it fall to the ground, she turned her face away and brought her knees to her chest. She wrapped her arms around them and stared out past the lake.

Minutes that felt like hours passed in silence. Every now and then, the roaring wind would pick back up and cause Hermione to grasp her legs tighter. A few dead leaves tumbled across as the grass rustled all around them. Harry had become acutely aware of Hermione's presence, and though he was not looking at her, he knew she was occasionally glancing over at him. Wiping his face with the back of his hand, he forced the droplets gathered in his eyes to stay put.

Finally, when Hermione saw this, she couldn't keep herself silent any longer. The sight of him unnerved her, and if she didn't speak soon, she'd throw herself upon him in a tearful hug.

“Harry… talk to me?”

He didn't answer, just kept his blurred vision focused on the water.

“Please, talk to me,” she begged.

Without flinching or looking in her direction, he said, “There's nothing to talk about.”

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. Shifting a little closer to him, she hesitantly said, “But- but I… I think there is, Harry…”

“Well, you're wrong.”

Hermione stopped biting her lips because now they were quivering. Her deep, brown eyes hastened to stop the influx of tears… but her feeling of helplessness consumed her, and they spilled down her face anyway.

For the first time, Harry turned his head to look at her, and saw that she was crying. His stomach knotted up and he felt sick with himself. This wasn't her fault… don't take it out on her, he thought. He wanted so badly to curl up and hide, but couldn't let himself.

“Look, Hermione,” he began. “This… this has nothing to do with you, or anyone besides me. I just… I just want to be left alone right now.”

Harry turned back to the lake and prayed she'd just get up and walk away. I'm not good enough, Hermione… I'll only taint you too.

“But… I don't want you to be alone,” she said so softly, Harry's ears strained to hear her.

“I am alone, though,” he said in a daze, his eyes unfocused. “Just because you're sitting next to me doesn't mean I'm not alone.”

Hermione took in his words and slowly began to comprehend. She eyed him, her tears beginning to diminish. Another moment passed before she had gathered the courage to respond.

“Harry, you know-”

“Don't try talking to me as if you understand,” he said shortly.

Hermione blinked. “I- I wasn't going to… I was only going to say-”

“That it's all fine, right? That I'm not alone because I have people that care about me? That I've done a great thing, is that it? I've conquered Voldemort! Congratulations, Harry, you've saved the world. Now, for that remarkable feat, we'll take your soul and strip you of your innocence and childhood, then just get on our way. Well done, though,” he spat sarcastically.

His willingness to spill his words surprised even him. But he still didn't turn to face her. He was afraid to see the look in her eyes.

Hermione gaped at him. She'd long since forgotten about the cold night air. And after a lengthy moment of staring at him in awe, she turned her head to examine the ground instead. Closing her eyes, she replied slowly and sadly,

“I think you were stripped of your childhood long before now, Harry.”

Now Harry blinked. He wasn't expecting that response. But he could hear the distress in her voice, and knew she was right…

“Yeah,” he admitted.

Little butterflies had gathered in the pit of Hermione's stomach as she returned to watching him. His lack of attentiveness made her nervous, but moreover, she was ridden with sorrow and helplessness. It was unthinkable that she couldn't help him… that she couldn't accomplish something she set her mind to.

She heaved a great sigh before going on.

“As for the other things,” she nearly whispered. “I don't think it's all fine, as you put it. There are… obstacles. New ones now, and… I won't pretend to you that there aren't,” she finished, awaiting his reply. But when none came, and all he gave her was his silent stare out into oblivion, she pushed onward.

“I think… well, I- I'm not all together sure what it is you're thinking,” she said sincerely. A light blush crept up her cheeks as she became afraid of sounding patronizing or condescending. “But… I think now you'll have to overcome yourself, Harry,” she said with a bit more confidence. “You'll have to come to terms with some things, I suppose. And… and I'll always be here, of course, but… there's only so much I can do. So, in that sense, I guess you are alone.”

Harry's eyes narrowed as he took a deep breath. He was glad she wasn't putting on a façade, faking it as if everything was sunshine and roses. Her words hit him as rather insightful, actually, considering he'd given her so little to go on. He still felt far from relieved… far from happy… because the same thoughts persistently plagued his mind.

I'm just like him…

“But…” Hermione continued, snapping Harry out of his reverie. “You still… oh, Harry, you still have your soul!” she said almost pleadingly, begging him to believe her. “You still have it, and it's just as… as…” she blushed furiously and turned from him before saying, “…as beautiful as ever…”

Something caught in Harry's throat. His face relaxed into a deceivingly calm expression, before it grew hot and his cheeks red in a deep blush. He became suddenly very thankful that it was so dark.

“You're still the same person, Harry, this doesn't change that-”

“Yes it does.”

Hermione was feeling nervous again. His short, cryptic answers left her worried and seemed to be the key to the butterflies in her stomach. But he surprised her when he continued.

“I'm not-” he cut himself off, allotting time for the newly formed water in his eyes to subside. “I'm not the person you met in first year… I was… innocent then. It all comes back to that,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “And…” the tears were whelming again. “…I'm a murderer, Hermione… I… I… oh, God,” he said before shoving his face in his hands. Hot tears stung his skin as he frantically tried wiping them away. He didn't want her to see him like this… and he found himself wishing she'd look away.

But she didn't. Her soft eyes were wide as she watched him intently. It was hard for her to keep from embracing him, as she felt her heart give way to an immeasurable amount of pain. It physically hurt to see him like this…

Scooting closer to him, Hermione left little room for the cold wind to pass between their bodies. She reached for the fallen cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders, along with her arm. This time, he did not protest.

“I… I've killed someone, Hermione! I… h- how… how do I live with that?! ” he pleaded. He turned to face her, and they stared into each other's eyes.

Hermione felt her heart crack in two. His usually bright orbs seemed dull in the backdrop of his tears.

“Harry…” she whispered. “What choice did you have?”

Ignoring her question, he tilted his head down and said, more to himself, “I'm a murderer…”

“No,” Hermione spoke firmly. “You're not a murderer, Harry. A murderer gets pleasure out of killing. A murderer does it for personal gain… personal interest… You are a savior.”

The wind whipped their exposed faces and the water gave a wistful lurch. Harry's bleary eyes returned to the edge of the lake.

“I can't believe that,” he whispered. “I can't. No matter what the circumstances… it just… doesn't mean anything. I still killed. And it… it wasn't supposed to be like this,” he added. And he didn't need to explain what he meant.

“I know,” she replied softly. “You were mislead.”

“Yes.”

Hermione gently rubbed his back, every now and then tucking the cloak around him when the wind whipped it off. She could smell his soft hair, and when she closed her eyes, it filled her with a sense of hope. Tears still remained in the edges of his eyes, so close to tumbling down with the others.

Hermione slowly rested her head on Harry's shoulder, and was relieved to find he wasn't shaking anymore.

But despite that, Harry couldn't stop his mind from straying down the same path.

It doesn't matter… none of it matters… I'm still a murderer. I'm still… still… like him…

His head kept repeating the same revolting phrase, and without realizing it, he granted voice to thought.

“Just like him…”

Hermione lifted her head and looked at his face. “What?”

But Harry didn't hear her. “I'm a murderer… he made me a murderer,” he was saying. “Made me just like him.”

The gravity of what he was saying set in her head with an almost audible click. She understood the meaning of his words now-

“What?!” she nearly yelled. Harry almost toppled over in alarm. “What did you say?!”

Harry had no idea what she was talking about. He merely stared at her as if certain she was about to sprout another head.

“You are not like Voldemort!” she said. “Don't you ever say or- or think that again!”

Finally, Harry grasped that he must have muttered his musings aloud. But instead of defending them, he sighed and turned back toward the lake. He was too drained to attempt to argue. But he knew he was right. He knew he was just like-

“No, don't you dare ignore me now,” said Hermione. “Listen to me, Harry! You mustn't believe you're anything like him! Do you hear me?! He destroyed lives and you saved them! How- how could you ever think…” her voice died away as she stared at him disbelievingly.

Harry sniffed back his sorrow before saying, “I felt it, Hermione. In that moment… when it came down to it… I felt it…”

Hermione stared at him, lines of worry and pain etched along her tired eyes. “Felt what, Harry?”

His eyes were glazed over, still on the lake, as he said, “Willingness.”

Hermione turned her whole body to face him, then laid a gentle hand on his arm. She closed her eyes in agony when she felt how cold it was… cold as death… “W- willingness?” she questioned carefully.

“Willingness,” he responded again. “I was… I felt… ready. I felt ready to kill… I knew what I was doing, knew what it meant… knew I'd be a murderer. And… I think…” he paused then, a look of concentration grazing his features. “I think I'd be ok with it if… if I hadn't felt so willing to do it… it was like… like- I wanted to… wanted to murder… like him…” he finished, his voice trailing away.

Hermione tightened her grip on his arm and drew herself closer. The freezing air was piercing her, but she didn't flinch. “B- but… have you ever thought… about why you were willing?”

Harry's eyes still seemed distant and hazy. Hermione stared at them, coaxing him to look at her. But he didn't.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I was willing because… I… I was vengeful… angry… I wanted to see him die…”

A lone tear made its way down the same path as all the others before it. Harry tried blinking it away, but instead only forced out another. He felt repulsed with himself. He never wanted to feel the way he did… never wanted to be so eager to murder… never wanted any of it. And at this moment, he especially didn't want Hermione knowing how ugly of a person he was. The light of hope in his mind extinguished completely as he realized he'd just shown one of the only people he cared about the real him… the person he never wanted anyone to see…

Harry sighed in defeat as he prepared himself for Hermione to never talk to him again. Why would she? he thought savagely. You're a murderer… you wanted to murder… you're worthless now… you'd only hurt her. Only make her dirty with your guilt…

But Hermione didn't move. She went back to biting her bottom lip, though, and took an ample amount of time to summon the courage to speak.

“Harry…” she breathed softly. “You… but… look at you now,” she said. “You feel terrible over it… you feel guilty… even though you didn't have a choice, you feel as if you had. Doesn't… doesn't that say something? Doesn't that say you're a good person? I'd think that your remorse means you're good… because… because bad people don't feel remorse, Harry… bad people would feel relief and… happiness.”

She allowed a pregnant pause to ensue, hoping he'd soak up her words, before concluding.

“But you don't, do you? You don't feel any of those things. You don't feel any of the same thing's he would have felt if he'd succeeded… you're his opposite, Harry… not his counterpart…”

Hermione sighed when he didn't show any signs of understand what she'd said. Her head fell as she focused once again on the billowing grass around them, feeling just as useless as ever. But she replayed his words in her mind… replayed them, and found one very large flaw.

“Harry… I don't think… that's not why you killed him,” she said. “That's not why you felt ready.”

At this, Harry finally looked up to face her. His green eyes blazed with silent agony and question, and made Hermione feel as if she were making some small bit of progress. At least he wasn't running from her now.

“You may have felt anger when it came time to do it,” she said before he could argue. “But that's not what got you there to begin with. That's not what got you through everything in the past. You haven't gotten your strength from anger. You may have felt it… you may have felt vengeful… but that's not why you killed him, Harry… that's not why…”

Harry's eyes surveyed her face as she spoke. He felt oddly impatient to hear what she had to say.

Hermione knew what she wanted to tell him, but found it incredibly difficult. It sounded so much better in her head, she thought, and his eyes were distracting her… it was hard to focus.

But she sighed, and decided to show him instead of telling him.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered.

Harry's brows furrowed as he gave her a look of skepticism and suspicion. Wet stains were still clearly visibly on his cheeks, as the light from the castle reflected off them.

“Just do it,” she whispered again.

Harry cast her one last doubting look before complying. He shut his eyes, and immediately his face relaxed. Hermione let go of his arm, but leaned in next to his ear so she could whisper directly into it.

“Now, no matter what I say… don't open your eyes,” she told him. He didn't give any sort of indication that he wouldn't, but she trusted him. “I want you to imagine the Burrow,” she began. “Imagine it. Visualize the inside of it. You're sitting at breakfast with the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley is cooking, but still finds the time to shoot Fred and George reproachful glares when they comment on their latest prank…” at this, the corners of Harry's mouth tugged into a hesitant, small smile. Hermione grinned inwardly, knowing it was working.

“Mr. Weasley is questioning you about electricity again, and Ron is sitting across from you with an apologetic smile. You smile too, and turn your head to see Pig flying through the window, before swooping down and nipping at Ron's hair,” she continued. Harry wasn't sure why Hermione was making him imagine all this, but he found he didn't much mind.

“You look back to Mrs. Weasley, who you now notice is fussing over your hair,” she said softly to his ear. “Now switch scenes. You're at Hogwarts. It's your first night back from a dreadful summer at the Dursley's, and you crawl gratefully into your warm four-poster, watching Dean and Seamus play exploding snap as Neville pokes and prods his latest potted plant,” she continues. She glanced at Harry's lips and saw they were stretching to a slightly broader smile.

“Remember first year, and that awful troll Quirrell let in?” she asked rhetorically. “Merlin did that thing smell,” she giggled. She knew her plan was working… and she felt bad about it. Knew that she'd soon have to take away these lovely visions and replace them with something terrible. But it was the only way.

“I remember the first time I met you,” she said. “Do you? You remember me fixing your glasses? Now visualize all the members of the D.A. All their hopeful, determined faces spread around you, listening to whatever it is you had to say. Remember how well Neville had done? Remember our common room. All the times we sat by the fire, you and Ron sulking over Snape's essays as I reprimanded you for spending too much time with Quidditch… remember that essence of murtlap I made, to heal your hand? Oh, Merlin, how about Grawp? Hagrid… can you see Hagrid in your mind, Harry? Do you see him?”

Harry nodded, reliving memory after memory in his head, following her words obediently.

Hermione sighed, almost angry with herself for doing what she was about to do.

“Now… go back to the Burrow,” she commanded. And he did. “Mr. Weasley is still droning on about plugs. Imagine Ron is swatting at Pig, but not really meaning to hit him… imagine Ginny's giggling as Fred and George test their own product on themselves- now imagine them dead,” she said forcefully.

Harry took a sharp intake of air and flung open his eyes.

“No! Don't open your eyes!” she said as she placed her hand over them.

“What are you playing at?!” Harry screamed.

“Trust me! Do what I say,” said Hermione, knowing he would react like this.

“Now imagine them dead, Harry! I want you too see it in your head,” she said, still covering his eyes. “Mr. Weasley is sprawled out on the ground, completely motionless and pale-”

“Shut up!” Harry shouted.

“-Ron and Ginny are crying, Mrs. Weasley is howling beside him, shaking him, but he won't come back- he can't come back-”

“I said shut up Hermione!”

“Now Ron! He's lying dead out in the garden, next to Ginny, dirt all over their faces as Mrs. Weasley screams and begs and cries, but it doesn't matter, nothing she says or does matters because nothing will bring them back-”

Harry tried forcing Hermione's hands away, but she held them there with surprising strength.

“Mrs. Weasley, blood trickling from her head into a puddle- Now go to Hogwarts- No!” she screamed at him as he tried to stand. She shoved him back down and repeated, “Go to Hogwarts, Harry! In your mind! There's no Ron! He'd been dead for months- Dumbledore is gone too! There's no Headmaster so the Ministry appoints another Umbridge woman- Death Eaters attack the grounds, knowing Dumbledore isn't there to protect everyone… there's a slaughter! All the students are killed! Hagrid, lying lifeless and white beside fang- you'll never see any of them again! They're dead! Do you see it, Harry?!” she yelled at him. Her stomach felt knotted again, as she prayed he'd forgive her for this one day.

Hermione pressed her body against him, not letting him stand, as she spoke.

“Neville was driven insane like his parents! He can't recognize anyone, and you find out they got to Charlie and Bill too- All the Weasleys are dead- Hogwarts doesn't exist anymore- do you see it?! See it in your mind, Harry,” she insisted.

And he did. He saw it all, coming to life before him as if it were real.

“Now me- I'm huddled in a corner, without a wand, and Lestrange approaches me with hers- she points it at me, and with an evil laugh and a flash of green light I hit the floor with a thud, eyes still open, but dead-”

“NO!” Harry screamed and violently pushed himself away from Hermione. That vision had been his last straw- his worst fear realized. He scrambled to his feet and stared at her like he'd never seen her before. He was breathing heavily, and the continuous breaths of cold air struck his lungs like daggers.

Hermione looked away from him, appearing ashamed for what she'd done. But it was necessary, and deep down, she knew it. Her fingers played nervously with the grass as a large lump built up in her throat.

“I- I'm sorry, Harry-”

“Why'd you do that?!” he cut her off.

“Because… because you had to see,” she said quietly. “You had to see what it would be like if you hadn't killed Voldemort.”

Harry's breathing was strained as he eyed her. He heard her sniffle before she said,

“Because you seem to think you had a choice,” she muttered. “And you didn't. You're not a murderer. You didn't…” she stumbled, then sighed. “The reason you killed him wasn't anger, Harry.”

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes pleading with his to believe her. To trust her.

“You killed him because you didn't want to see those things in your mind come true. You killed him because the alternative was far worse. It had nothing to do with anger… you may have felt it when it came time, but that's not why, Harry. Anger wasn't your strength. Compassion was. Hope was. The reason you killed him wasn't vengeance… it was love.”

Harry's eyes had softened and he looked at her sadly. He could see she was struggling to keep herself from crying again, and his heart tore open.

He slowly walked back over to her, sat, and stared intently in her eyes. Hermione shifted closer to him and took his hand in hers.

“And that, Harry, is why you are nothing like him,” she whispered. Her eyes bore into his, begging him to see the truth.

Hermione felt Harry's hand strengthen around her own. She stiffened at this, never having felt him reciprocate her touch before.

Harry could feel the sincerity of her wash over him, completely warming his heart. As he looked in her eyes, he saw a love and compassion so strong, it winded him. Hermione wanted to turn away, but wouldn't let herself… his eyes… they were too… powerful… and she didn't harbor the resilience against them.

“Hermione?” he questioned after a long while, still looking at her.

She didn't look away as she responded, “Hmm?”

“I… I think I remember now… why I had to do it,” he said quietly. She smiled, and her eyes sparkled with happiness that her idea had worked.

“Love, Harry,” she mumbled. “You couldn't let the Weasleys… Hogwarts… the whole world be destroyed. Because you love,” she said.

Harry's eyes glazed over and narrowed.

“Yeah…” he said slowly.

A moment passed as neither looked away, until Harry continued.

“But… that's it, I suppose… the real reason… I never knew…” he said to himself, in a disbelieving tone. “Never realized it…” he continued to mumbled, until he became aware that Hermione was still watching him, at which point he blushed and said, “But… what I was saying… it's not… that's not… the only thing,” he finished.

“What do you mean?” she asked, as he caught her off guard. What else could there be?

“You remember… the Department of Mysteries?”

“Yeah…” she said.

“Well… when- when you were hit… I was… I couldn't believe… you might have died,” Harry muttered as his face winced. “I kept thinking, please don't be dead, it's my fault if she's dead… and… if I hadn't stopped Voldemort… and you died… it'd be my fault then too.”

Hermione's eyes became glossy as she watched him with a sorrowful expression.

“Oh, Harry, that… none of that matters now because Voldemort's gone,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, returning to look at her.

Their eyes met again and Harry, for reasons beyond him, felt his heart beating wildly in his chest.

Hermione smiled at him, sending a jolt through Harry's stomach. He suddenly became aware of how very close they were.

Hermione's smile faded as she realized this too. Her hands were growing hot, despite the furiously cold wind. She didn't know how it had happened, but they had gradually leaned in, their faces now mere inches apart.

Rather flustered by their closeness, Hermione struggled to get out her words. “Y- you believe me, don't you?” she whispered. “That you're… you're an amazing wizard… an amazing person… and you're not… not anything like him…”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed with a blank expression. And he did believe her.

His mind swam out of focus… his last thoughts were, Too close… much too close…

He watched in astonishment as little rays of gold flickered in Hermione's eyes, dazzling out all else, and he had a thought- one he never believed he'd have again:

Beautiful…

His stomach lurched unpleasantly with a peculiar tickling sensation. She was so close… and his heart was thumping persistently… quickly…

Hermione's eyes were wide and questioning as he leaned in even closer. Yet she found herself slowly following his lead, moving in, ever so gradually… until she could feel his hot breath breathing gently against her skin…

Harry's stomach gave one final tingle. Hermione's eyes fluttered shut… she lightly tilted her head to one side… he leaned in all the way, and kissed her bottom lip. So gently and sweetly, like a soft whisper…

His lips moved against hers… Hermione gave a small gasp before responding, and Harry's hand slowly made its way to her cheek.

Then he gently pulled away, releasing his grip on her lips. Neither opened their eyes. They didn't move, but breathed in each other's scent and feel for minutes, until Hermione's eyes crept open.

She looked at him, completely stunned, her mouth slightly open as if wanting to say something.

“H- Harry…” she whispered softly.

He looked in her eyes, shocked with himself. His own daring was surprising… but the feeling of peace that now engulfed him was even more so.

Harry raised his hand back to her face, and Hermione closed her eyes and moaned. Harry's heart skipped several beats as he leaned back in, pressing his lips firmly to hers. Hermione's mouth was ready this time, and their lips moved together, slowly but steadily.

Hermione leaned further into him… Harry took a mental breath of courage before carefully prying open her mouth. She gasped again, letting him in and deepening their kiss. Harry's mind ached longingly as his hands made their way to her long hair. Hermione placed her feeble hands on his chest, telling him she wanted this too.

Harry blushed when his mouth deceived him and moaned into Hermione's. Their tongues crashed sweetly, embracing one another in their warmth.

Finally, Harry forced his mouth away from hers. He wanted to look at her face, to see what she was thinking and feeling. Her eyes opened hesitantly and met Harry's. She could see the question in his eyes…

All she wanted to do was sigh in relief. Finally… was the only word that came to mind. But upon registering Harry's continuous look of worry, she smiled brightly at him, then flung her arms around his neck.

Harry laughed nervously before awkwardly wrapping his arms around her. He still couldn't believe what had just happened… the memory of it stunned him…

But it felt good. And he smiled into her neck, strengthening his hold on her. When she pulled away and looked in his eyes, she grinned tearfully, and he grinned back. Hermione leaned down and lightly kissed him on the lips and both teenagers blushed meekly.

And for the first time since he could remember, Harry Potter felt whole. He felt like a piece of him that had been taken away had been given back. Her smile filled a void in his heart that he hadn't known existed, and the loss of Sirius, of his parents, and of his innocence stung so much less with her arms wrapped securely around him.

And he knew, in that moment, that he wasn't like Voldemort; for Voldemort could never gain nor give the love Harry and Hermione harbored… so unconditional and pure. He could not possibly understand what it meant to care for someone more than yourself. He could not understand the empty, worthless feeling that accompanied killing another- for he was much too selfish. Harry was not like him… because Harry knew what it was to be devoted, and to have another's devotion. Hermione had always been there… when no one else was- when the world turned its back and other friends' devotion fell short- she was always there, like a strong, protective wall that elegantly blocked out all else. And she had been right… he killed because he loved… her. And Voldemort could never have comprehended this.

Nor could Voldemort ever have grasped the swooping sensation of love, the hollow one of guilt, the blinding one of determination, or the hopeless one of doubt.

Harry felt it… as he looked in Hermione's smiling eyes and saw her, for what he felt was the first time… he felt, and knew, that he was not just like him.

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