Undone

Goldy

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 02/10/2005
Last Updated: 02/10/2005
Status: completed

Recovery is a difficult road. Thankfully, she won’t ever give up on him.

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

Title: Undone

Author: Goldy

Disclaimer: *rolls eyes*

Pairing: Harry/Hermione

Genre: Romance/Angst

Spoilers: Books 1-6

Summary: Recovery is a difficult road. Thankfully, she won’t ever give up on him.

Rating: PG

Dedication: For danakm, who made a birthday request, oh, ages and ages ago. I’ve written it. Finally.

Request:

1. Harry and Hermione in front of the fireplace at the common room. Hermione sitting on the carpet and Harry laying with his head on Hermione's lap. She's stroking/playing with his hair.

2. A scene by the lake at Hogwarts.

A/N: This fic was largely inspired by the song Undone by Lifehouse, which rocks and should definitely be listened to as a companion piece. Because I said so.

When all your plans are made out lying on the floor
and all your dreams are turning into nothing more
When all your hope has left you know you're not alone
Just hold on
Hold on

-Undone, Lifehouse

***

It was a dark and stormy night when Harry Potter defeated Voldemort.

Rain splashed down over the fallen. The lake turned red, stained with the blood of the dead. Bubbles exploded out of its surface. The whine of mermaids penetrated the air. Their wailing covered the ground, surrounding the standing members of the Order of the Phoenix and haunting their grief.

Harry stood alone, separated from the scene around him. They were frightened of him now. No one came too close. No one looked right in his eyes when they spoke to him.

The rain crashed to the ground, seeping into the cracks and holes. It mixed with tears and sweat. They opened their mouths wide, hoping to catch the water on their tongues.

And still Harry stood apart.

***

“Harry! Harry!”

The knocking startled him out of his musings. Harry dropped his book on the floor and straightened.

The door flew open and Hermione stood glaring at him, her hair a wild flurry around her face. “Ron says you’ve been—oh, honestly, Harry… it’s such a terrible mess in here…”

Harry watched as she delicately stepped about his room, gathering up fallen clothes in her arms and tossing them into a pile. She scoffed at his mess, shooting him disapproving looks. She stepped on an old sandwich and gave a small scream.

“You!” she said, picking up the sandwich and throwing it into the garbage. “Are the biggest pig I’ve ever met. It smells horrid in here, Harry! Horrid! And it’s dark and musty and—oh—what is this?”

Her arms flailed about in the air and she bent down to pick up an old sock. She frowned at it before tossing it into the laundry pile.

She reached his side. “Get up,” she said crossly.

He obeyed and she flicked her wand at his bed, making it in an instant. She heaved a great sigh before turning to look at him, her eyes narrowed. She framed his face with both hands, peering into his eyes.

“Oh, look at you,” she said. “You’re hardly eating.”

She didn’t get an answer.

Her voice turned softer. “Ron says you never leave your room anymore. He says he’s tried everything. He’s doing his best, you know. He only wants to help you.” She paused. “I wish you’d consider moving in with me. I know things wouldn’t change much, but I’m more forceful than Ron is—don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true—and I can’t help but think it might be… better… for you.”

She bit her lip and let her shoulders sag. “Perhaps that’s simply wishful thinking. Do you know, Harry? I’ve always wanted to be the one to save you. There you were, gallantly rushing after everything and everyone and there I was—rushing about after you.” She cleared her throat. “Well, you’re alive, at any rate. I suppose I really ought to be thankful for that, shouldn’t I be?”

He gave her a tentative smile and she smiled back, the rest of her anger melting away. He almost opened his mouth to tell her how relieved he was she hadn’t given up on him—not when everyone else had. But his lips stayed clamped together, as they had since that night Voldemort had turned to ash and blood ran into the lake.

She settled herself on his bed, setting magic on the rest of the room to clean itself. He hadn’t been able to use magic since that night, either.

She patted the space next to her and smiled warmly so he sat down, careful to keep a few inches separating them. He didn’t want to get too close. His skin itched when he was too close to her, like he might somehow rub off on her. It was like an infection he couldn’t control.

In his head, he could still remember the scream Voldemort had made when he had ripped him inside out. The horcrux had been buried too deep. Harry shuddered when he thought of what he’d had to do to reach it, the darkness that he’d felt in himself.

He’d destroyed the last piece of a man’s soul.

“What are you reading?” Hermione asked. She picked up the fallen book and her eyes widened. “Oh, Harry,” she breathed. “This is Hogwarts: A History, isn’t it?”

Harry shrugged and looked at his hands.

“I never thought—you’re really reading it, aren’t you?”

Harry shrugged again.

Hermione clutched the book close to her chest, her forehead creasing as she thought. “It’s so tied to who you are, isn’t it? Hogwarts?”

Yes.

His first and only true home had been Hogwarts. Hogwarts was where he met Ron and Hermione and where he’d kissed Ginny for the first time. Hogwarts was where he’d killed.

Hogwarts was everything and nothing at the same time. Sometimes what he wanted was a time-turner, to be back before. First-year. Second-year. Third-year.

He’d been so innocent. Once.

“I’m glad you’re reading it,” Hermione said. “I always thought you’d find it fascinating. It’s not quite as dull as you and Ron always made it out to be, is it?”

Harry shook his head.

“But… I don’t suppose… it doesn’t really help you find any of the answers, does it?”

Harry stared at the comforter, his shoulders slumped.

“Oh, Harry…” she whispered, her voice shaking. He turned his head to look at her, startled by the tears in her eyes.

She wiped at her cheeks, giving a strained smile. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you hate it when I get all weepy. You never were much good with crying females, were you?”

He frowned and reached forward to catch one of her tears on his thumb. The small droplet ran down his finger and evaporated. She grabbed his wrist and held on.

“I just… I wish you’d talk to me… Harry, it’s me—it’s…” she sniffed. “I’ve always been there for you. I was there when no one else was—don’t you remember that? All I need is for you to let me in.”

He flinched and started to pull away, but she gasped and lunged forward, her arms clinging to the back of his neck. “Oh, I didn’t mean that, Harry—honestly, I didn’t. I’m at the end of my rope here, don’t you see? This whole thing is terribly frustrating for me. You must understand, all I want is for you to get better. I know you’re unhappy and I hate it—I hate it, Harry.”

She went still for a moment, her arms still wound tightly around his neck. He gave in, holding her like she could give him all the answers he was looking for.

“Harry, I need to help you… I need to make you better… I—”

He slowly loosened his hold on her and she pulled away, wiping at her tears with her palms. She grabbed his hand again and he let her, drinking in the small bits of physical contact even as a part of him revolted against it.

“I love you, Harry.” Another tear dripped down her cheek. He tried to tug his hand out of her grip, but she held him back. “Don’t you dare,” she said, her voice fierce. She tilted her chin you. “I love you. No, I don’t mean like a friend or even a sister, I honest to goodness, am deeply and completely in love with you.”

She released a long breath, her lips pressed tight together. She searched his face, her eyes burning into his skin.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” she said. “It’s been building for so many years, you must feel it. Even when I was with Ron, there was always something special between us, wasn’t there? So you see now, you see why I won’t leave you, Harry. We’ve survived everything else, haven’t we? We’ll get through this—I know we will. Together we can do anything.”

She pressed her forehead to his, her nose bumping into his face. He closed his eyes and breathed her in, echoing her words in his mind over and over. I love you.

“Okay, Harry?” she breathed. “Okay?”

***

She took him back to Hogwarts. It was late spring. The school had parted for summer hols only a week ago.

He stood for a long time overlooking the lake. He had so many different images of it in his head. Crossing it in first-year, diving into its depths during the Triwizard tournament, and fighting his last duel with Voldemort…

Hermione squeezed his hand, her fingers curving through his. It was a remarkable thing, really, how her touch seemed to melt him. He tried so hard to hold himself back, but it felt so right, so perfect when Hermione touched him.

He could feel the way she cared for him and she had been there that night. She had been there and she said she loved him—now, after everything.

They trekked over the grounds and into the school. They visited the Great Hall—decked out in Ravenclaw colours.

“Neither Gryffindor nor Slytherin won the house cup this year,” Hermione said. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

She dragged him to the library. “This was always my favourite table, you know. I was really quite possessive, honestly. I engraved my initials in it—Harry! It’s not that funny!”

But she smiled at his mirth.

She pulled him into one of the last stacks, wearing a mischievous smile. He was beginning to depend on that hand on his arm, tugging him back and forth. He followed her willingly, unable to bear the idea of a world without Hermione’s fingers latched onto his arm.

Thick books lined the shelves, their covers old and covered in dust. Hermione quirked a brow and leaned back against one of them, pulling him closer.

“I always had this fantasy,” she said. She blushed, but she gazed into his eyes. “I thought that this stack would make a fantastic place for a snog.”

She curled her fingers into his hair, dipping his face down near hers. “Ginny always said you were a good kisser. Think you could prove it to me?”

Her eyes were shining and something in him swelled. He touched her cheek, his fingers curving against her skin. He wondered how many times he and Hermione had sat in the library, studying, talking, doing nothing at all.

Maybe it had all been leading up to this moment. Here. In this stack. Surrounded by books and yellowed paper.

When he leaned forward to kiss her, she hummed happily against his mouth. Her arms encircled his neck. And for the first time since their arrival, he stopped thinking about that scene down by the lake when blood roared around him.

****

“Common room hasn’t changed much,” Hermione said.

Her cheeks were flushed from their snog in the library and a few strands of hair had come undone from her bun. She beamed at him on their walk up from the library, reassuring him in a never-ending constant chatter. He’d learned to appreciate the sound of Hermione’s voice. She could fill even the deepest of silences.

She tugged him to the couch in front of the fire and they sat down, watching the flames jump in the hearth. A few sparks shot up, bathing them in heat. She perched her chin on his shoulder, her hand rubbing up and down her arm.

“It’s so different, isn’t it?” she said. “From—from that night.”

It was the first time she’d spoken of it. He stayed still, but made no moves to pull away. After a moment, she continued.

“Harry, you mustn’t torture yourself over what happened. You did what you had to do—nothing more. Don’t you see that? You saved us all.”

He flinched and stood up, going to stand in front of the fire. He shoved his hands in his pockets, letting the flames dance over his face. He hadn’t been able to go out in the rain since that night.

“Harry…” she said. “Harry, please… please talk to me…”

His fingers sought his wand in his pocket and he clenched it in his fist. He wondered, if he had known… if he would have gone with Hagrid that day…

He turned back around to stare at Hermione and the look she gave him broke through his resolve. He could see the way she was hurting for him. He understood, then, that she couldn’t do this forever. He needed her too much to let her go, but if he didn’t give back, she would leave him, no matter how much she cared for him.

The thought made him weak and he sunk to his knees in front of her, resting his head on her knees. She sighed and let her fingers slide through his hair, her nails scratching against his scalp.

The heat from the fire burned his back, but he didn’t care. He would have done anything to stay this way forever in Hermione’s embrace, her fingers moving back and forth through his hair.

He raised his head and she stilled, her eyes seeking his, waiting for him. He opened his mouth tentatively, unaccustomed to the movement.

“Hermione…”

She smiled encouragingly and slid off the couch to rest on her knees beside him. Her hands sought his shoulders, clutching him as though he might disappear.

“Yes?” she said.

“I…” he swallowed. “I killed Voldemort.”

She nodded and leaned forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Yes, you did. It was very brave of you. My hero.”

He rolled his eyes at her tone. “But it wasn’t—it wasn’t like I thought it would be.”

She cupped his face. “How did you think it was going to be?”

He bowed his head. “Better—easier, I mean. I thought I’d be happy.”

“Why?”

“Because—because he’s evil, and he’s taken so much from me… and he deserves it, doesn’t he?”

“Of course.”

“But it wasn’t like that at all, Hermione. It was… it was awful. The screaming when I destroyed the horcrux…” He shuddered. “I didn’t just kill him—I destroyed his soul. I have that power—me. With my hands—my hands, and I’m touching you right now, I was just kissing you and—”

“Shhh,” Hermione said fiercely, her eyes brimming. “Don’t you dare say such things.”

“I can’t help it,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t be allowed to touch you.”

She grabbed both his hands in her own. “No,” she said. “No, Harry—no. There is nothing evil or—or wrong about you. Look at you, look at how good you are…”

She hugged him tightly. “Oh, Harry,” she sighed in his ear. “What will it take for you to believe me? How many different ways can I tell you?”

He almost laughed then—it seemed like this was all they could do, go around and around in circles. “I reckon I need help,” he whispered.

“That’s what I’m trying to do, Harry.”

“I know, but it’s not up to you, you know?” He loosened his hold on her. “Listen, there’s something in me, something I don’t know how to explain. You are helping. You’re the reason I’m here at all. But I can’t put it all on you. It’d drive us both mad.”

“That’s not true,” she said.

“You’re too important,” he said. “All those years leading up to this moment… us together, I mean. I don’t want anything to get in the way of that.”

She rubbed his shoulders, her teeth nibbling at her bottom lip. “What are you saying?”

He thought for a moment, caught off guard by the question. “I’m saying I want it all. I want to be able to do magic again. I want to marry you and shag like bunny rabbits and have a ridiculous number of children. I want… I want a future and I don’t want him messing it up, not anymore.”

Harry stopped, exhausted by his speech. Hermione’s chin trembled, but she smiled.

“I want that too,” she said. She cleared her throat. “A ridiculous number of children?”

He kissed her forehead and twirled a loop of her hair aimlessly around one finger. “Well, okay. Maybe one or two.”

She giggled. “What about Crookshanks?”

“We’ll give him to Ron.”

She punched his arm. “Don’t be heartless.”

“I know. Poor Ron.”

She tried to look stern, but her eyes shone. “You really do want to get better, don’t you?”

“Yes. I do. I want to know what it’s like not to be the Chosen One. Normal, I suppose.” He gave a wry chuckle. “It’ll cost me a fair bit in therapy, mind you.”

“Harry—”

“I know. I know. It’s what I’ve got to do.” He sighed. “I’ll never forget it. Sometimes I worry that it’s changed me too much, Hermione.”

She placed her palm over his heart. “It changed all of us, but who we are, at our core, that stays the same. You were meant to defeat Voldemort, Harry. Everyone knows that, but very few people know the reason why.”

He swallowed. “Love.”

“That’s right,” she whispered. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why you’ll never forget it. But you’ll go on, because you have to, and I—I need you to.”

She leaned forward and kissed him for a long time and he let go, taking his first steps down the long road of recovery.

The End