The Way it Never Was

I know some of you are waiting for a very long overdue update of Candleburn, and it's coming, but after reading HBP, I knew I had to write something that took those events into account. I think that given all that happened in those books, this could happen. It's not playing or changing anything that happened, or trying to analyze it. It's taking everything in tide and bringing the story forward a decade.

There is a strongly implied Ron/Hermione, but it's essential to the story. Also, Fe is a goddess and the best beta in the world.

The curtains were drawn on the immaculate room, everything put neatly in its place as though nobody lived in there. The walls were white, greatly lacking the posters or pictures that could give them life and the top of the nightstand next to the bed was bare except for a small lamp. The desk bore the only traces of someone actually ever being in the room, a few books piled on its corner, a few pens and paper. And there, on the bed, was that someone, his eyes open in the darkness as he laid on his back, his hands joined behind his head.

Eventhough the state of the room would indicate elsewise, it had been his for a few years now, almost three to be exact. He had been worried about moving to London at first, knowing that being so near to where he had once lived could mean bumping into someone that knew him. Ultimately, his choice of living in the muggle world with muggle means had left him little choice: he had been offered a good job in London and given his lack of muggle credentials, a job of that importance would probably not come around twice. He snorted, breaking the silence, thinking about that word. Importance? He had had an important job once, and now everything paled in comparison. But he had done what he had been meant to do, what he had been expected to do and what he had been prophecised to do. The man he had been then was dead now.

The next day he would be turning 28. Six years, he thought, one hand coming up from behind his head to scratch absently at the lightning bolt scar that marked his forehead. Because of course, in the charming way fate knew just how to hit him hard, it had all happened on his birthday. Closing his eyes as his hand rejoigned the other, he saw it all play out again as if it had been yesterday. Too many Death Eaters, too much pain. Horrifed, he had thought he had lost her at first, sinking to his knees next to her. She had been okay, offering him a soft smile as she had clutched to her wound. She had tried to get to her feet, with little luck and he had helped her to hide, turning his back as she argued with her husband that she was fine and that he should go. He knew she must hate herself for it now.

The rest was too painful to remember. He clenched his jaw, trying to push the ache back to no avail. It was foolish to even try; the pain never left, day in and day out. Removing his glasses, he set them down on the nightstand next to the lamp and rolled on his side, hoping that he would not dream of it tonight, as he did more often than not. It was always the same. Wide eyes looking up at the sky as he laid on his back in the grass, his face petrified in an expression of fear. Harry Potter would never forget the expression on Ronald Weasley's face as Voldemort had performed the killing curse on him. He never would.

The sun shone brightly, a deep contrast with the way Harry felt inside. His face was expressionless as he wandered through Hyde Park, rollerskaters passing him by. No matter how much he had protested that it was fine, he could work, his current boss had insisted on giving him his birthday off as he did for every other employee. He knew that if he were to go back to his flat, alone, he would only end up ressassing memories so instead, he had gone for a walk in the park. He had been walking for hours now.

Approaching the Peter Pan statue, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his vest and took a seat on a bench. Every year it was pratically the same: he would spent the day either working until he fell asleep on his desk or wander off, walking through whichever city he lived then until the night came. The first three years had been hectic, travelling from place to place every few months, if not weeks. He was but a mere shell of himself for the first of those three years, working small jobs he would quit every time he moved. They had allowed him to survive at first. In Farnham, where he had stayed for a year, he had stumbled upon a place as a publicist, a fairly dull job he had only gotten out of sheer luck and kept because of his uncanny ability to work well under pressure. Quickly, he had been offered a better position in London, which he had pondered on for almost a month. Being so close to the world he had left behind, so close to Diagon Alley, the Ministry of Magic and other things that had marked the life he had once led was a risk he was not sure he was willing to take. But in the end, the need to keep this job in order to live a life that did not ressemble that of a shadow had been greater than the need to hide. He was still hiding in a way, keeping away from the surroundings of The Leaky Cauldron and such.

Harry did not know how long he had been sitting there, his eyes set on the statue but his mind miles away. When he seemed to finally snap back to reality, the sun was setting down, the sky red and purple. With a sigh, he stood up and turned to go around the bench, stopping dead in his tracks as he looked up in front of him. Mere feet from where he stood, there she was, her face white and her bottom lip trembling ever so slightly. Her eyes were open wide, much as his and she simply stared back at him as he took in her appearance. Even thinner than she had been the last time he had seen her, she was wearing a simple top over jeans, her hair up in a bun, but an aura eradiated from her: she embodied everything he had left behind and the reason why he had. Eventhough his brain was shouting her name, it still had trouble finding its way to his lips so that when he finally spoke it, it ressembled a moan. 'Hermione...'

She seemed taken aback by the sound of his voice speaking her name and for a moment, he thought she would simply turn and run away. His mind racing, he wondered how long she had been standing there, staring at him in disbelief, before finally, she took a few steps forward, looking up at him as if she still doubted it was truly him. Standing about a feet away from him, she raised a shaking hand and tentatively touched his face, pulling away as if she had been burned the moment the tip of her fingers touched his skin. Unable to stand looking at her any longuer, he lowered his eyes to the ground as she pressed her palm against his cheek softly. 'Harry? Oh god, Harry...'

His arms encircled her instinctively as she threw herself around his neck, crying with her head burried in his shoulder. He felt the tears come too, her presence bringing as much pain as it brought good memories, but he pushed them back, holding on to her tightly. She mumbled something against his chest that he did not quite understand and only pulled her closer, letting her cry. As he held his only surviving best friend, the one he had not failed to protect yet had hurt so badly, he watched all he had worked for, six years of almost incessant running, crumble away.

Harry turned on the light as he lead the way into his flat, looking back at Hermione. She had not said a word, crying silent tears for most of the way and then simply following him as he had pulled her out of the park by the hand. He might have been uncertain about what would be said, but he was sure a public park where everyone could see them - and most importantly, hear them - was the worst place to be reunited with Hermione. He closed the door and leaned his back to it as she took a few steps into the living room, eyeing the white walls, dusty television and the piles of books that sporadically covered the floor. Some were muggle books, others - such as The Monster Book of Monsters, which was slightly hopping on the ground in the far corner of the room - were undoubtebly magical. She seemed to frown at this and threw Harry a quick glance over her shoulder before returning her attention to the rest of the flat. He remained where he stood as she continued to explore, popping her head into the kitchen, the bathroom and finally, his bedroom. He heard her shuffle a few pieces of paper and then calling out his name.

Hearing her voice felt so strange. He had heard it so many times in his mind - hers, Ron's and so many others - but actually hearing it sent him back several years before. He nevertheless slowly made his way to his bedroom, finding her sitting on his bed. She looked up at him and extended her arm to the side, patting the bed softly to encourage him to come sit next to her. He hesitated for a moment, then sat, hoping that she would speak because he was at a loss for words.

'So...how long have you been living here?', she finally said, breaking the long silence.

'Close to three years... Do you, huh.., live in London or are you just passing through?'

'Moved just outside the city about three weeks ago. Everything is closed today and I simply could not stay alone in my flat', she said, looking down at her feet, her hands joined on her lap. Harry nodded slowly, understanding all too well how she felt. Something she had said suddenly grabbing his attention, he frowned, then repeated her words, 'Everything is closed today?'

'Yes. The Ministry found it fit to celebrate your defeating of Voldemort by decreeting it a national day of some sort. For me, it simply means I get to stay at home and remember -', she started, stopping abruptly to look up at him. Her eyes were shining with tears as she stared at Harry, obviously trying to bite back words she did not want to speak, until the urge to do so became too great.

'How could you do this, Harry? Just throw your cloak over Ron's body, leave him there and never come back? A bloody letter one month later did not help, Harry!'

'I just couldn't...I couldn't face you', he said in a barely audible whisper, standing up and turning his back to her. He heard the mattress protest with a metalic grunt as she pushed herself up. Her small hand grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. Hermione's face was red, her tears now falling freely.

'Do you have any idea how lost I felt? Any idea of how much I needed you to help me go through this? Because burrying my husband wasn't enough, I had to lose my best friend too?!'

He did not want to yell back, but as she continued to bury him under accusations of all sorts, he felt his own anger and pain swell up inside of him. And finally, when hearing from her all the blame he felt for himself became simply too much, he exploded right back at her. 'You have no idea Hermione, no idea what happened that day! You don't know what it was like, watching as he got killed, being the one responsible for it! Don't pretend for one second that you have any notion of how it felt to be me or even think about telling me what I should have done!'

She stopped as soon as he spoke back, an expression of shock on her face. She obviously did not expect him to scream back at her. Scanning his face with her eyes as he remained in an oddly still position, his hands slightly raised on each side of his body, she seemed to be debating weither to continue the fight or to simply leave. When she did nothing, he slowly lowered his arms and looked at her uneasily, the tide of anger inside of him pulling back and leaving him feeling guilty for yelling at her. He then watched with a frown as a twisted grin made its way to her face. 'I almost forgot. Happy birthday, Harry.'

And with those words, she spun on her heels and left the room. Seconds later, he heard the front door slam shut.

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.

Not much to say here, other than, there is a flashback in this part, but I don't plan to have a lot of them. Flashbacks is something I explored a *lot* with Candleburn (which I'm still working on, I swear!) and I want to try something different.

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Their night had been filled with talks of what everyone was doing, Ginny and the Weasleys, of course, but also friends that dated back to Hogwarts, including Seamus, Dean, Cho and so many others. The first time Hermione had laughed, Harry had been left speechless. Suddenly, he was seeing her on her wedding day, dressed in a long flowing dress with white flowers in her hair as he had dipped her playfully on the dance floor. She looked blissfully happy, like no matter what, nothing could ever break her. They both knew better now. The sun had gone down and up, but they were still talking, admittedly with less intensity than they had in the previous hours. Turned towards him, her legs under her, Hermione sat with her head resting in her hand while Harry sat with his head leaned back, completely relaxed.

'So, what's your job like again? Quidditch division, really?', Harry snorted, watching Hermione roll her eyes. She reached out and playfully slapped his arm, only causing him to chuckle.

'Only temporary. They gave away my old job to the Minister of Magic's son, so of course I was left with boring spots to fill. There was an openning in the World Cup Planification department of the Quidditch division, and I was basically forced to take the position because I was married with a professional quidditch player. So ridiculous!' she said, shaking her head. For a moment, her eyes seemed to focus on a blank spot on the wall, as if she was lost in thought, then she gave her head a quick shake and her eyes were on him again. The words came out of his mouth before he even thought about it, 'You really loved him, didn't you?'

He could not believe what he had said, especially as he saw the effect it had on her. She stared at him, anger flaring in her eyes, her mouth slightly open. He sat up straighter, reaching out to put one hand on her knee as the other brushed through his unruly black hair nervously, stammering, 'Oy, Hermione, I'm so sorry. It was stupid, I know you loved him. I don't know why I said that...'

For a moment, they starred at each other in silence, the comfort they had felt in each other's compagny only moments before now completely vanished. Then Hermione lowered her head, her shoulders sagging a bit as she announced that it was probably better if she left. Pushing his hand away softly, she got to her feet, never looking at him once. A small gasp escaped her as she felt herself being pulled back. Harry's arms envelopped her into a firm hug, his chin leaning on top of her head. 'Don't go, please. I've been enough of a git to let you run out on me the other day, I don't ever want to do it again.'

'Right-found git, but that's what you've always been', Hermione mumbled against his chest, before letting out a weird sort of half-sob, half-laugh. He felt her shake her head slightly and he smiled knowing she was arguing with herself that she was not going to cry for the hundredth time that day. He pulled back just enough so that he could plant a kiss on her forehead and she sighed, closing her eyes. 'I'm in quite serious need of sleep or coffee. Possibly both.'

With those words, she pulled away from him and headed towards the kitchen. Within moments she returned, her hands on her hips, clearly irritated. 'Honestly Harry! How can you live like this?'

The words made his smile widen and eventhough he was amused by her current irritation, it was mostly what they reminded him of that caused the warm feeling that seized his whole body.

'Honestly Harry! How can you live like this? One day, I'm going to trip on something you left behind, crack my skull and you'll have no one to blame but yourself!', Hermione said as she went around Harry's room, picking up stuff from the ground. At one point, she shrieked and used her wand to pick up a pair of boxers, which she then threw at Harry, who was still half asleep, blinking to help his vision come into focus. He laughed and put them on the side, reaching for his glasses as Hermione stood straight at the end of his bed with her hands firmly planted on her hips. 'This is not funny!'

His glasses now on, he could fully see her wrinkled nose, which he only found adorable eventhough he knew it was meant to express her anger. Sitting up, he yawned then grabbed the pair of boxer and waved them at her. 'Clean. Don't worry.'

She sighed with exasperation and bent over, resuming her cleaning frenzy. When she came near enough, he reached out for her wrist and grabbed it firmly to stop her. 'Hermione, please stop.'

She starred at him for a moment, as if she was trying to ignore what he truly meant, and then her knees seem to give up on her as she dropped on the bed, her face in her hands. 'I'm sorry, Harry. I'm a mess. I just... I keep trying to not think about it which only makes me think about it, of course.'

'Hermione, don't. I was bloody stupid enough to go after the last horcrux alone, got hurt badly, but I'm still here. Don't go blaming yourself over this and don't get out of your way to take care of -'

Before he could speak another word, Hermione had thrown her arms around his neck and - to his undeniable shock - had pressed her lips against his. His arms hanging limply on both sides of his body, it took him a few seconds to ease into the kiss, finally wrapping his arms around her. He kissed her back with the same intensity she did, giving in to emotions he always refused to tap into. And then suddenly, she pulled back, one hand covering her mouth as she looked at him with wide horrified eyes. Dumbfounded, he watched her leave the room in silence.

He had known he loved Hermione Granger ever since the year following his graduation from Hogwarts. She had been there by his side when he had woken up at St.Mungo's after a very bad encounter with Voldemort. Ron had been wounded too, but far less severely than Harry had and by the time Harry woke up, he was already on his feet. Just watching her that day, almost literaly beaming as he had mumbled a few incoherent words, proving he was at least partly fine, had made him realize that what he felt for her was more than simple frienship. Every illusion of still longing for Ginny had vanished and it had been perfectly clear. But she was Ron's girl, had been for two years then, and he knew they loved each other. So he had taken the back seat, convincing himself that he was fine with it. And yet, whenever he was with her, he felt the familiar pang in his chest. By the time the two of them had gotten married, Harry thought he had gotten over her. After all, it was only natural that he would feel so much for her, having gone through the things he had with her. It did not mean he loved her. And then this kiss had proven it all to be rubbish.

When Harry's thoughts brought him back to the present, Hermione was looking at him with a puzzled expression on her face. He shook his head a bit, as if he was trying to chase away all memories of that kiss. The days that had followed had been filled with embarassed glances from Hermione and a feeling of guilt that gripped him everytime Ron was around. Not one word had been mentionned about it, Hermione carefull not to stay alone with him in the same room more than was needed, which proved increasingly difficult as they prepared to go face Voldemort. The last horcrux had been collected and destroyed, leaving Voldemort once again mortal.

Number twelve Grimmauld Place once more served as the Order of Phoenix's head quarters, Harry having optionned not to live in it eventhough it was his because he simply could not stand being reminded of Sirius everywhere he turned. The last few days had been spent there, days when Harry had been constantly sick. He had faced Voldemort before, but this time was different. It was the decisive fight, the battle to end it all. He would either kill or be killed and would probably lose a lot of people in the process. He was 22 years old then and for half of his life, he had been fighting. It was basically all he had ever known and he was beyond exhausted.

'I work a lot, don't eat in here all that much. But if you want tea, I got a whole lot of that', Harry with a half smile, motionning the tray towards her as he picked it up. Hermione rolled her eyes and let out an exagerated sigh as she grabbed it away from him to take it to the kitchen. He followed, doing his best to forget the memory of the kiss. It was probably the first time he had allowed himself to think of it in a positive way, all previous occurences leaving him with nothing but guilt. His feelings for Hermione had been another reason why he had left.

Hermione set the tray down next to the sink and paused with her back to Harry, making a point not to look at him as she spoke. 'We could always apparate to the Burrow, I'm sure Molly would be pleased to have us over for breakfast.'

When his only reaction was silence, Hermione threw him a timid glance over her shoulder, her heart pumping. His face was blank, his smile gone as he only stared in front of him, not even at her. Turning completely so that she faced him, her joined hands tore at each other nervously while she waited for him to speak out, fearing a rejection she knew would come. Finding it hard to stand there in silence as he remained imperturbable, she finally pushed, 'Harry?'

'No. I'm not going back.', he said, with a loud voice, his cheeks suddenly flushed red. His eyes slid from the wall behind Hermione to her face and he saw the tears swell in her eyes. She slowly shook her head, then her shoulder hit him square in the chest, pushing him out of the way roughly as she walked past him and out of the kitchen. This time, he followed and as they stepped into the hall towards the door, he reached out for her and grabbed her arm, just above the elbow. He pulled her back with force so that she would turn to him and she let out a small cry, but he held on. 'Enough of that storming off. You want to talk about why I left? Well, we are talking about it now.'

She pulled her arm back and pushed him harshly, only causing him to let her go and take a step back. She glared at him, the anger she had felt two nights before returning tenfold. 'You left! You just walked away Harry and never looked back!'

'I did look back. Every second.', he replied, his voice considerably lower than hers. That only seemed to anger her even more.

'You were gone SIX YEARS! Hell, you would still be gone if I hadn't seen you in the park! You just can't leave for that long and then expect me not to be furious with you!'

'Be furious with me. I deserve it. But I needed to be away from all this, I needed to be away from you!'

Hermione was taken aback by his last words and she stared at him, open-mouthed. Harry suddenly seemed to realize what he had said and he felt his stomach sink as his mind fought to find something to say that would make her forget it, quickly coming to the obvious conclusion that nothing could. Shameful, he turned away from her and dropped on the couch. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes as Hermione took a few uneasy steps towards him. 'You needed to be away from me? Harry, why?'

His glasses still dangling from his fingers, he looked up at her in silence, then reached out for her hand. She was trembling as he laced his fingers with hers; she knew perfectly what he had meant, she also vividly remembered the one kiss they had shared . When they were at Hogwarts, Harry had been the only one she could confide in and who would trust her no matter what. He was her best friend, someone she simply could not imagine her life without. For two years, she had thought she loved him but had never said a word, watching him pine over Cho. She had moved on, finding in Ron's attention for her something she had longued for her life though. She had always been the buck-teethed, bushy-haired know-it-all and now someone loved her for who she was. She had loved him too, and still did in so many ways. She remembered dancing with him on their wedding night, feeling like this had to be the very definition of bliss. But as Ron was away more and more and the cute bickering that made their attraction for each other so obvious dragged on to become more serious fights, the pressure of the war weighing on both of them, she found that her happiness was slowly fading away. At the same time, Harry was still a constant presence, allowing her to laugh when things got hard. She found that she worried for him more and more when he was out looking for the horcruxes.. And that day, the urge to kiss him had come upon her like no other impulses she had ever known and having him kiss her back had openned her eyes to feelings she had only suspected from him. Two weeks later, she was losing the two men she had ever loved.

'The guilt I felt over losing Ron was not only because I'd failed to protect my best friend, it was also because I was in love with you. And you don't know how many times I found myself wishing you weren't his wife, and maybe...just maybe, that thought was in the back of my mind as we fought Voldemort. Maybe I wasn't quick enough to push him out of the way because of that.'

'Harry...no!', Hermione pleaded, shaking her head slowly as she dropped his hand and framed his face with her hands. 'Harry. You would have given your life to save anyone, no matter how you felt about them or anybody else. Please...please don't blame yourself, I never ever blamed you for what happened to Ron.'

His eyes were closed now and his head slightly bowed as Hermione stood above him, crying silent tears. He finally stood and she let her arms fall limply on both sides of her body, her sad eyes following him as he roamed through the room, stopping by the window. 'I can't go back, Hermione. I can't be the boy-who-lived anymore.'

'Can't you just be Harry?'