Disillusion

This time, this place; misused, mistakes; too long, too late. Who was I to make you wait?

You quit everything. You quit her. Remus. Ron. Everyone. You fought and you left. You know you're a coward for this. You told her you loved her before you left, and that was all there was. You made her cry and told her that it would be better this way. You know now that you were wrong. You told her not to wait for you but both of you knew that you wanted her to. In your heart you hoped she would wait for you as long as it took. You even got yourself to believe she would.

[You know that you were wrong. You wish you could take it all back but what's done is done. You had no right to expect her to wait for you, and yet you think she might have. You hope.]

You're home again. Whatever home is, now. You feel pathetic. All of the things you could have had you ran away from because you were afraid; after all was said and done you didn't know who you were anymore. If you weren't a hero, anyone's hero, what was left for you to be? You wondered if you were anything. And because you were too scared to stay, to see what it could have been, you ran because you fooled yourself into believing you might find yourself elsewhere. Even if you hadn't gone, you know now that you would have been more. You know that you let everyone down, even if they don't tell you so. They don't have to; you can see it in their eyes.

[Part of you wonders why she isn't here. Part of you knows. You don't think about it because the possibility is too painful. So you pretend.]

They all welcome you home. They ask you questions you don't really want to answer, and you give them answers they don't really believe. You wonder briefly how you could have ended up like this. You realize it was your own mistake. You have no one to blame but yourself. They say she'll be here soon and your heart pounds. You've missed her too much. While you were away you thought mostly of her; you wondered if she cried over you, and you wondered if she wanted you to come back more than you wanted to. You decided to stay away. You know you probably killed her heart.

[She was the one person you were never supposed to hurt.]

She shows up. For a moment you don't think you've ever felt so much joy in your life at the sight of someone, and then you realize: she isn't alone. That smile that was almost there, that almost touched your lips, is gone. She meets your eyes. It's more than obvious that things have changed. And you know that you still love her.

[But you made her wait too long.]

Just one chance, just one breath; just in case there's just one left.

It's you and her now. Alone. It's cold outside and you think she should probably wear a jacket. You can't stop wondering who he was. You notice that she hasn't looked at you - not really - and you notice that your eyes don't meet. Things are not like they used to be. You're suddenly sorrier than you've ever been for leaving her behind. There are too many things hanging between you, all that's been left unsaid and all the time you should have had. You want to talk to her, say anything, but you really don't know what to say. It's the first time in memory that you don't know how to talk to her. So you wait. You know she knows you're waiting for her to speak first, and she makes you wait for a change.

[You think that yes, this is what you deserve. You were supposed to be there for her and you abandoned her. Yes, this is what you deserve.]

Then: “Why did you come back?”

You didn't expect that. You don't know what you expected, really, but not that. Somehow, you understand how her heart must have crumbled when you left, because that's how you feel now.

You say: “You know.”

For a moment you wonder if she does know. You think she has to. [You're more scared than you have ever been that she doesn't. You think, maybe, this was a mistake.]

“Do I?” She looks at you, finally, and her eyes have changed. The things you remember about her are different now. “The only thing I know, Harry, is that you've been…” she shakes her head and looks away “…so far away from us, far too long.”

You know she's right. You want her to be wrong. You wonder if this can be fixed and you find yourself doing something you haven't done in years, maybe ever. You pray.

“We still have a chance, Hermione.”

She won't look at you now. You're still praying. For one more chance. For one more touch. For anything that proves there's still something left. “You're too late.” she says. You think you might die.

“I still love you,” you whisper. [You pray that it's enough. You know it isn't, can't be.]

She turns on you now. You see tears in her eyes and you know it's your fault. Beyond that, she's angry. You don't want to talk anymore. But you know that you have to listen. “I wanted you to stay. I needed you, Harry.” She's crying. You feel like shit. This is your fault, truly your fault. “I loved you.” You watch tears running down her cheeks and hurt shining in her eyes. This is what you've done.

You move to take her in your arms. At first, she struggles hitting your chest, hating you for leaving her and not being what she needed. But she subsides. You hold her and you remember how it used to be like this. She clings to you.

[You missed her. You'll stop breathing if you ever have to let go.]

On my knees I'll ask; last chance for one last dance.

Somehow you find the both of you upstairs. You think you may have realized it was too cold. Maybe she did. It doesn't matter now. She sits on the bed, facing away from you. You think maybe she hates you. You hate this silence. [You would give all you have. You'd give anything for her. You can't give up, because you'd have nothing left to live for.] Once again you find yourself unable to speak. There is so much to say but it's easier this way. Easier left unsaid. Words don't hurt if they aren't spoken - at least they don't hurt as much. But you know that you have to say something.

You say what you can: “I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry isn't good enough, Harry,” she says quietly. Nothing is good enough. You should have been here. It's where you have always belonged.

“I'm not leaving.” You wonder where you get your sudden courage. You think maybe you should shut up now, and just leave her be. You've hurt her enough for a lifetime. “I'm not leaving this room until we fix this.”

She says: “You can't always fix it, Harry.”

“I'm not letting this go. I'm not leaving you anymore, Hermione.”

She stands up suddenly and the hurt in her eyes is feral. She advances on you so quickly you don't have time to react. You barely see her hand. You feel it too well. Your eyes tear with the stinging as you hold your cheek. “How dare you do this to me!” She's crying again. You cry, too.

[This is what you've done.]

And then you're kissing her. Maybe she kissed you first. You don't know and it doesn't matter. She tastes the way you remember. Her arms are around you; her fingers grip your shirt. Your hands are in her hair. You know she doesn't forgive you but you don't care because you need her. You need her to hold on to you and never let you go.

You fuck her. She arches and calls your name. Maybe things will be ok. Maybe it will all just fall apart. [You both pretend to forget. But the ghosts of consequence will still be there in the morning. You decide to let them haunt you then.]

`Cause with you I'd withstand all of Hell to hold your hand.

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