Whiskey Lullaby

A/N: I had to change the character because I forgot I couldn't use Ron. The story is still the same, just a little tiny bit of info on this guy. More later.

“Whiskey Lullaby”

When I sit and look out of my window and think about all that my life has become, it makes me sick. To be so incredibly intelligent, I have been morosely naïve in the ways of love and how they affect me. I was in love-am still in love. I skipped right over the little school girl crushes and things of that nature, and fell head first in love. I knew we would be together. I knew that he loved me and he promised me that when he came back from the war we would get married and live happily ever after. I believed him because I knew it was true. If only I had foreseen what would become of our plans, I could have stopped myself. I should have stopped myself anyway but that part will come soon enough. I am Hermione Jane Granger-Potter and this is the tale of the event that brought my life full circle and caused me to step back and evaluate everything I have ever done.

~*~

Harry left me standing cold and teary eyed on the doorstep of our flat. He kissed me quickly and reminded me that he would return, probably scathed, but that he would return nonetheless. I hoped in the deepest part of my soul that he was right because I knew that I could never live without him. That was on the third of December, 1998.

I waited, quietly and alone, for the call I knew would eventually come. It happened on August fifteenth, 2000. I had waited for two years without so much as a peep form anyone who knew where Harry was. The order never contacted me nor came to check up on me. The only companion I had was Ron. He would sit with me late into the night while I cried myself to sleep. It was only when he was tired of seeing me so drunk that he would take the bottle out of my hand and lay me down for countless nights of unfruitful slumber. The night that Ron came to me, his head hung low and his cheeks tearstained, I knew it was over. I knew that Harry would never return to me like he had promised to long ago. He didn't say much; he knew I didn't want to hear all of the grisly details.

“It's done.” That was all he said. I collapsed on the ground in the very spot in which I stood and screamed. I screamed myself quiet many nights after that. Only Ron was there to hear the rattle from my throat as I tried repeatedly to cry out for my lost love. It was only he who saw my tears. When I found that I could cry no more, after months of unrestrained grief, I turned to the bottle as a false comfort. I drank myself into oblivion every night and yet Ron was still there to clean me up and set me to bed.

I had never felt for Ron the things I felt for Harry. He was my other best friend and that was always the end of the line. But those lines became blurred the deeper I fell into my own grief. All I wanted was Harry. I yearned for his touch, his lips against my neck, and his body under mine. It was all that I wanted and all that I knew I could never have again. So in my foolish drunken stupor, I advanced on Ron one particular night. He stopped me, however, and walked out of my life forever.

Over the next few days, with Harry dead and Ron gone for good, I looked towards my next door neighbor for consolation. His name was Vincent Mershaw and he was a law student at the local college. Vincent came to visit me daily, often bringing wine or whiskey with him. We would stay up late into the night drinking. We never talked, not about what mattered anyway. I only told him once about Harry and that he had died and Vincent seemed to understand. He understood so much that he, unlike Ron, did not stop me when I came onto him one night.

We made love that night for the first time, and in my destroyed mind all I could think of was Harry. I made Vincent be Harry and made him suffer as the cries that escaped my mouth that should have belonged to him, carried Harry's name throughout the gravely empty house. We slept together many, many more times after that night. Never once was I sober. It only happened when my need for Harry was very great and almost unbearable and Vincent always succumbed to me in the end

A year after Harry's death, and as I was worse on the bottle than ever, Vinvent and I had a particularly bad encounter. All I wanted was sex, to pretend that he was Harry just for those few sweet moments. But he was tired of my games. He said that he didn't love me and I sure as hell didn't love him and that what we were doing was wrong. Well if I had been sober, naturally I would have agreed. Since I was in no state of mind to argue much of anything, I just jumped him. We had sex in the middle of the floor, mostly because I would not let Vincent up. It ended as it usually did, with me screaming Harry's name into the dark room. The only thing different was Vincent's whispered “oh my god,” as a dark shadow loomed over us both.

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A/N: HeHe…in my haste I forgot to add in my last note that I changed the character from Ron to Vincent Mershaw because it was brought to my attention that there is NO R/Hr allowed here, and I simply forgot so I had to change it. Hope that clears things up a bit. Also, yes, this story is based on the song “Whiskey Lullaby” by Brad Paisley. It's one of my favorite songs and I was inspired to write this one day while I was listening to it. Anyways, thanks to those who have read and reviewed: Le-Ann, Ryusuken, JazzyGeorgie, Marina, Panther, Crewbabe89, LivingArtemis, down2earthangl85, and Allyeinstein23. I appreciate the reads and the reviews. Thanks guys! And now, part deuce!

~*~

I almost fainted when I turned to see why Vincent had cried out. Harry stood before us, bags in hand, staring bewildered and wide eyed. Vincent scrambled to get up, throwing me to the ground in the process. I lay there, naked, stunned, tears streaming down my face. Vincent gathered all his clothes quickly and fled in a blur of flesh muttering something about me being insane. He was right, of course, but I had bigger things to worry about. There before me stood the love of my life, the man I believed to be dead for a year.

Harry sat his bags on the floor and offered me his hands. He helped me to my shaky feet and wrapped me in a blanket that had been hanging on the back of the sofa. He guided me gently to the chintz armchair in the corner and I sat down, still shaking form shock. He took a seat opposite me and we sat there staring at one another.

He didn't seem real to me, I was sure he was just some figment of my alcohol induced, clouded mind. The man I loved had died a year ago. I had entered into a sick relationship, if you could call it that, out of grief. I had pined for him while making love to another man for more months than I care to recall. Then, as if my emotional distress had summoned him, there he was, back from the dead.

I broke down, crying shamelessly as the realization of what my life had become hit me. In an instant Harry was by my side, then embracing me in a way no one had since the last time he had touched me. I sobbed mercilessly into his shoulder and he stroked my hair, trying to placate me. When it became quite obvious that I would not be soothed, he scooped me up into his arms and carried me to my room. We lay on the bed together and soon he was sobbing with me.

I believe to this day that Harry expected to see what I had promised him would be waiting upon his return; me waiting for him, alone, uncomforted. I wish that had been the case. As I sobbed for myself and the horrible position I had put myself in, he cried because he believed that he had lost me forever. I know that he was also angry. I swore I would never share my body with another man, even if he did not return. If he had known the truth then, that I had become a raging alcoholic and a whore, then he would have cried harder still. But those revelations came later. At that moment it was only us, two broken, weary souls who were desperate for the familiar comfort of the love we both thought was lost.

I fell asleep in the arms of the man that I believed I would never see again, the man who had a hold so tight on my heart that I had become one of the worst kinds of people: a desperate slave, bound in the chains of true, immortal love. I slept peacefully that night. More peacefully than I had since the day he left me, but especially since the first night that I decided to put that bottle to my head and pull the trigger.*

A/N: Hi it's me again. Im sorry that this is so short, but working as a third shift waitress, this is the best I can do at the moment. There will be more, soon, I promise.

*Lyrics from “Whiskey Lullaby”

"She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger

And finally drank away his memory

Life is short but this time it was bigger

Than the strength she had to get up off her knees

We found her with her face down in the pillow

Clinging to his picture for dear life

We laid her next to him beneath the willow

While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby"

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A/N: Ok folks, this is it, the last chapter. Once again, I apologize for the shortness of all of this but I do really hope to have something that I've been working on up soon that is longer. I hope you all have enjoyed this little piece thus far and I also hope that the ending is suitable for you all. If not, oh well, it's my story. And now, the conclusion!

*~*

When I woke the next morning I smiled, daring to believe that it was really Harry's arms that I was entwined in. He smelled so good, like rough hand made soap and hickory. As my mind came out of the fog left over from sleep, I thought about all of the things that he and I would have to talk about through the course of the day and I became scared.

Harry stirred beside me and opened his eyes, peering at me with groggy eyes. A small smile spread across his face and it was then that I noticed how very weathered and old he looked. His eyes held an empty gaze and it hurt my heart to know that what I would tell him about my life would only worsen that empty, hollow look.

We got out of bed together and Harry went ahead of me to make morning tea. I dressed slowly, allowing me more time to get my thoughts together and brace myself for the conversation that I knew was inevitably coming. When I went into the kitchen, Harry was already seated at the table sipping his tea. He appeared apprehensive and a little scared. I sat down opposite him, leaving my tea untouched. I did not have much of an appetite; I felt nauseous at the thought of what was coming. I looked at him, still slightly disbelieving that he was sitting in front of me.

“You were dead.” I found that my voice was uncomfortably scratchy and much lower than normal. Harry looked at me a moment before he answered.

“I guess you could say that. From what I saw last night, it seems that you have been dead too.”

His words shook me and I knew that he was absolutely right. Most of my heart had died with him, or at least the idea that he was dead. I nodded my head slowly and thought carefully about what I wanted to ask.

“Harry, where have you been? Why did they tell me that you were dead if it wasn't true? Why would they, you, do something like that to me?

His face grew dark as memories he obviously wanted to forget flickered through his mind. He bowed his head slightly and took another sip of tea.

“I can't really give you any details at the moment; I wish I could. You see, I don't know what happened myself. What I do know is that I killed Voldemort, sustained serous injury, and woke up three days ago. Remus told me how long I had been in the coma and I couldn't believe him. Three years? I have missed three years and that is no small chunk of time. I have lost three years of my life that I will never have again. He wouldn't tell me why everyone was informed that I was dead.”

His tone of voice had taken on a bitterness that I hadn't heard in him since after Sirius and then Dumbledore were killed. It shook me that Harry had lost such time and yet had no way to account for it. He turned his gaze back to me and I knew what was coming next. I braced myself for the question that I knew was sure to come sooner or later.

“What has happened to you Hermione? Who was that man that you were-uh- with last night?”

It was obvious that he was hurt by seeing me with Vincent. As I quickly wondered whether he had heard me scream his name, he answered the question for me.

“I know that this may sound quite odd but, when you, you know, finished, did you call out my name?”

His cheeks were a little red from obvious embarrassment and U hung my head in shame. I knew the time had come for me to tell him everything that had happened to me in his absence.

“Yes.” I said simply. I took a deep breath and recounted to Harry my dependence on alcohol and Vincent. Through my story he remained calm and expressionless and it was almost unsettling.

“Harry, I was broken. It was like someone had ripped my heart out and put it through a blender. My mind was always clouded by the alcohol; it numbed me to the pain of missing you but also made me miss you more. The night I came onto Ron, he left me, for good. Vincent was there for me when I had no one. But I never slept with Vincent. Physically yes, I did, but emotionally and mentally it was you, and only ever you that I thought of. He never heard me cry his name out, he only heard yours. Your name always rolled from the tip of my tongue with ease in those moments of supposed pleasure and for just those instances it was like I still had you.

Last night Vincent tried to leave me and I attacked him. What you walked in on has been a common occurrence since shortly after the news of your `death' reached me. I was determined that if I could not have you for real, then I would make him be you.”

The blank expression on Harry's face had been replaced by one of anger, fear and grief. Tears rolled freely down his face as he processed everything I said. His tears triggered my own and we sat motionless, crying for one another. After a moment, I gathered myself enough to speak in a hoarse whisper.

“I know that the odds of you still loving me are very much against me but please know that I am so very disgusted with what I have done, what I have become. My actions are inexcusable. I will ask no more from you than your friendship, if you can even bring yourself to give me that.”

There was silence, deafening and cold. Harry wiped his eyes and fixed me with an intense stare.

“Hermione, I am unsure of a lot of things right now, but one thing I am sure of is that I love you. I know that this has been horrible for you, and I'm not trying to make excuses for the things you've done, but I think we can get through this. It is going to take a lot of work and we are going to have to start over fresh, but I know we can do it. We'll get you help for the alcohol and I'll be there every step of the way-if that is what you want. I understand if you don't or can't but I hope you will at least give it a try.”

My tears turned to sobs and as I gasped for breath, I nodded my head in acceptance. I knew that finally, my life was going to be what I always hoped it would.

*~*

That was eight years ago. I entered a rehabilitation program for alcoholics and Harry was with me every step of the very hard way, just as he promised he would be. A year after I finished the program we got married. Ron was the best man and he and I worked out the kinks from our failed friendship and started anew. Harry and I have two children now, Eris Lillyanne who is seven, and Briggitte Aurora who is five.

So looking back at what my life has become, it still makes me sick. Not at the outcome but at all of the things I put myself through to get to this point. I was naïve to the ways of love but now I spend my days working through them with my husband, my love, my second chance at a life better than anything I could have ever imagined.

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