Unofficial Portkey Archive

Thanks to everyone who reviewed my story, it really means a lot. I promised this part yesterday, and I'm sorry, but it's a few hours late ;) Oh well, that's better than a week late now, isn't it? One of you commented something about still having problems with Ron and Hermione being married in the past in this story, and all I have to say about that is...you'll learn stuff about their marriage in this part, not stuff that will make your skin crawl. Next part should also follow soon.

As soon as she set foot in her own flat, Hermione collapsed. Her back to the wall, she slowly sank to the floor, tears covering her face once again. Before the door had even closed behind her as she had ran out of Harry's home, she had apparated in front of her own front door without fear of being seen by a muggle, her building one of the many in town that was only inhabited by wizards. She had stood there for a good five minutes, trying to figure out if being reunited with Harry in such a horrible way had been the reality or her own cruel imagination. And now, there she sat, the door still open as she wept, but she could not care less if one of her neighboors saw her. Leaning her head back on the wall behind her, she took in a long breath and pushed herself up. She was still crying as she closed the door, locked it and made her way through the dark appartment.

Boxes were still piled up here and there, mostly stuff she did not necessarily want to open, mostly Ron and Harry's stuff. She had kept it all for far too long, Ron's clothings still hanging next to hers after so many years and Harry's room untouched apart from the few belongings he had brought when he had visited the flat the three of them shared ever since graduating from Hogwarts. He probably had made sure she would not be there, had taken a few things in his room and left her a letter on her pillow. It was only through that letter, a month after the final face-off with Voldemort, that she had learned Harry had made it through. He made it quite clear that he was giving up on magic, giving up on being Harry Potter. He had also written that she was the most important thing in his life but that he simply could not be a part of hers anymore, because he had failed her so. For months, she had refused to admit that Harry would not return, and when he had not after such a long period, she still remained in the flat, eventhough she barely could afford it with one salary. Every now and then, Molly Weasley pleaded that she should come live at the Burrow, with the rest of the family - or at least, the ones who had survived the war. Charlie and Ron gone, the Weasley family simply wasn't the same. And finally, after almost six years, Ginny had persuaded her that moving on would help her, that leaving the place where so many memories haunted her was the sane thing to do. None of them knew that Harry was alive.

Pushing the door to her room, she went to sit on her bed and pulled open the drawer of her nightstand, reaching in the darkness for the piece of paper she knew would be there. She did not need to read the words, she knew them by heart. The sheet had been folded and unfolded so many times that the corners had worn out, the ink smeared by tears. Holding the letter Harry had written her in both hands, she bowed her head, still sobbing. And then with a swift motion, she teared the folded letter, letting the pieces fall on the ground next to her feet. Reaching out for the pillow behind her, she pressed it against her chest as she laid down on her bed, crying tears that just would not stop coming.

The next morning, when Harry called in sick, his boss barelly emitted a snort. It was to be expected, he had said, that Harry was not as perfect as he had always seemed: on time, focussed on his work and never sick. Or, it was probably what he had said, Harry thought as he sat down on the couch with a sigh, given that he had hung up while the man was in mid-sentence. He had not slept, pacing back and forth through his flat all night, trying to figure out what to do. As Hermione had left, he had felt the old familiar impulse to run after her, but he had resisted it. No matter how much Hermione meant to him, there were things to be considered before he simply left his current life behind and ran back to being Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Chosen One. There had been reasons, good reasons why he had dissappeard, and the previous night's argument certainly was an example of that. The guilt he had felt has he had covered Ron's body with his cloak had been greater than anything he had ever felt before. Dumbledore's presence had been of unequalled importance in Harry's life, and the loss of Sirius had left him scarred beyond belief, but this was Ron; his best friend, Hermione's husband, Ginny's brother...a Weasley, the family he felt was his own. He had failed all of them and even his victory over Voldemort could never change that.

Looking around him at the piles of books, he could not help but smile at the memory of Hermione's expression as she had laid eyes on them. He certainly had never been the type to surround himself with books or spend hours reading, an habit he had only gotten around after Hermione, Ron and him had started living together. Researching the Horcruxes' locations had certainly required a lot of reading, the most of which had been done by Hermione, but the constant presence of books around him, even more so than while he was at Hogwarts, had forced him to take up reading. For countless hours, Hermione and him had sat on the couch reading side by side while Ron was off playing Quidditch, being the professional player that he was. At one point, Ron was away so often that Hermione and Harry spent more time together than she did with her husband. Having books around now made him feel like he was home, like no matter where he was or what he did, Hermione was never far.

And now, Hermione's presence was physical. He had held her, had talked to her. Had screamed at her. He felt his face redden as he remembered the things he had said to her, and as much as he regretted saying them to her in such a fashion, he knew that he had meant every one of them. And then she had gone, with a remark that had stung beyond anything Hermione had ever said to him. He knew he had hurt her, but even as she had cried in his arms, he had not understood how much. But with those words, he had seen how much those years had changed her.

Hermione raised her shaking fist, hesitation holding her back for a second before she brought it down on the door and knocked. She heard some shuffling inside and she breathed in deeply, trying to calm her nerves. The door openned wide to reveal a smiling Ginny, holding a baby in one arm and a mass of toys in another. Her smile quickly faded as she took in Hermione's expression, her red eyes and pale face. Taking a step back to let her friend come in, she put the baby down in its bassinet and dropped the toys in a pile next to it, waiting for Hermione to enter and close the door behind her before she spoke. 'You look horrible.'

'Thanks', Hermione muttered as she walked towards the couch and dropped down on it with a long sigh. She looked up at the redhead as she came to sit next to her, one leg bent under her in her perpetual ready-to-go attitude; being the mother of three children certaintly required that from her. 'Sorry for not using the floo network, my floo powder's still packed, and I know the little ones are still a bit scared of the sound.'

Ginny shrugged, her response clearly indicating that she was more interested in knowing what was wrong with Hermione than the reason why she had knocked at her door instead of simply walking in through the fireplace like she normally did. Hermione felt her heart miss a beat at the thought of what she had to say to her best friend and even more so, at having to tell her that all those years, she had known that Harry was still alive and had not told her. After Harry had broken up with her to prevent Voldemort getting to him through her, she had waited for him for almost a year, finally moving on as she had met and fallen in love with a Ravenclaw of the same year as her, a man who was now her husband and father to her children. She had been nothing but supportive of Ron and Hermione's marriage, which had come one year before her own and two years before Ron's death. They were only 21, but just as it had been the case for the generation before them, a good number of wizards hurried in marriage as the menace of Voldemort weighed on them. It was a way to find security in a world that offered so little. Losing Ron and Harry had had almost as big an effect on her as it had on Hermione, with the only difference that Ginny had had an husband and kids to rely on, while Hermione lived alone in the apartment she had shared with Ron and Harry, with the knowledge that eventhough Harry was still alive, she never would see him again.

'You're probably not going to like what I'm about to say', Hermione started. Ginny pressed her lips together and Hermione knew she was bearing herself for the worst: it was an expression she had seen too often on people's faces during the war. 'One month after Ron died, I came home one day and found a letter. It was from Harry.'

Ginny looked puzzled, frowning as she tried to understand what Hermione was trying to say. 'You mean...'

'Harry was alive...Harry is alive.' Hermione continued, nodding slowly. She waited for Ginny to erupt, but she remained quiet, looking at Hermione as if she knew there was more to it. 'In the letter, he said he had survived but would not return, that he had failed us. He said he was sorry and...'

Even now, as she spoke, she felt tears spring to her eyes. She paused, trying to push them back, and smiled gratefully at Ginny as she put a comforting hand on her shoulder. 'I get it. Some stupid noble reason, a victory to which he still finds failure, guilt? The essentials of being Harry Potter.'

Hermione let out a small chuckle as she nodded in recognition, then dropped her face in her hands with yet another sigh, causing Ginny to frown once more. That was until it became all too clear. Her eyes wide, Ginny squeazed Hermione's shoulder as she drew in a long breath. 'Blimey, he's back...'

Hermione's head snapped up, looking at her best friend with oddly pleading eyes. Before she could even speak, the redhead pulled her into a tight hug, caressing her back in a comforting way. It was quite amazing how, eventhough she had remained the same in so many ways, Ginny had matured in the last decade. It was undeniable that she was a Weasley, she still had that flame that was also such a big part of what Ron had been, but she had fully embraced the mother role, both with her children and with Hermione. While Hermione wasted away in that doomed flat, Ginny visited her every day, sharing lunch with her more often than not and forcing her out when the only thing she wanted to do was mope. The war had changed all of them.

As they both pulled back, Ginny's eyes met Hermione's and she smiled kindly. When she spoke, she did so on a calm tone, as if she had had long hours to digest this new information. In truth, Hermione knew she was probably pushing everything back and only waiting for her to leave to burst. 'Hermione...if he's back, what are you doing here?'

Harry was in his flat's small kitchen, preparing tea when he heard the distinct sound of someone apparating. He had no anti-apparating system, having not praticed any form of magic in years. Stopping what he was doing, he remained on the same spot for a long minute, knowing all too well who was standing in his living room. Yet, his heart missed a beat when he finally came around the corner and saw her. A little more put together than she had been the day before, her tamed down hair fell in long waves on her shoulder, she was wearing a black buttonned down shirt and dark jeans. The effect of this dark framing of her face only made her look more pale. She smiled timidly, holding his stare as he leaned on the wall, unsure of what to say.

'I went to see Ginny', she began, pocketing her wand. The mention of another name from his past seemed to shake him and he stood straight, walking back into the kitchen. She bowed her head, her eyes on the floor, but seconds later, he was back, carrying a tray with two cups on it and a tea kettle. Her smile returned, brighter and wider, and she followed him as he sat on the couch and balanced the tray on a pile of books.

'What about Ginny?', he said, handing her a cup, which she took as she sat down next to him. They looked at each other for a little bit, then she smiled once more. And it was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen.