Somebody to Love

A/N: Like all things, love is all relative. Wouldn’t it be nice if it wasn’t?

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Somebody to Love

One-shot

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I was in Hell.

Absolute, bleeding Hell.

“Hermione?”

I sighed, my shoulders tensing before I turned to face Ron. His eyebrows were raised in disbelief, a smirk adorning his features, eyes mocking my pain. I clenched my fist and set my lips in a grim line, waiting, anticipating.

He didn’t have to say anything.

His eyes were bursting “I told you so.”

I rolled my eyes and moved onwards, my gaze on him.

Harry.

I heard a violin play in the distance, Ashokan Farewell...white tablecloths...the most beautiful flowers, imported, I was sure, fresh and smelling of innocence, of grace...

I took a deep breath and held my tears at bay as I inched closer to my destiny. I heard him laugh, saw him throw his head back as Seamus patted him on the back.

Okay.

I could do this.

I cleared my throat when I was two feet away from him and I saw his entire frame tense, the small hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end. I shivered with the knowledge that I could still...

“Hermione?”

Seamus stared at me, as did Hannah, and Dean, and Lavender.

I nodded at Seamus, answering his question, and Hannah grabbed his elbow and nudged him towards the punch. Lavender did the same with Dean, leaving one last, lingering glance on Harry before escaping my peripheral vision.

Now, it was just us. The way it should have been.

I cleared my throat again and stepped another foot closer, my hand finding purchase on his elbow. Harry flinched and I let go as if I had been burned...and maybe I had. I felt a new wave of tears at his obvious discomfort, but words escaped instead.

“Congratulations, Harry.”

There.

I said it.

I saw him shake his head, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose before he turned around to look at me. He looked the same. He looked exactly the same. His hair was a bit longer, his eyes slightly older...rougher lines on his face...but he still looked like Harry.

Like my Harry.

He tried to smile at me and, scratching the back of his neck, muttered, “Thanks.”

“I...um...I know I wasn’t invited, and I didn’t mean to be rude, just showing up, because I’m sure that you had this entire...um...this...”

Damnit, I couldn’t say it.

Wedding.

Say it, Hermione! SAY IT!

“...this entire thing all planned out, and you had the food and the chairs and everything proportionate to how many people were coming, and I just wanted to let you know that I’m not staying, I just, um, came, uninvited, and, I didn’t mean to be rude, just showing up...”

Oh, my, Merlin.

Harry was looking at me as if he was torn. Torn between laughing at me or crying, and I was amazed his face still resembled some sort of shrugging nonchalance.

I took a deep breath and looked at him, at his tuxedo, at his engagement ring...and I finally found the strength to say what I had been practicing for two months.

This was it.

“I just wanted to come here and say congratulations. And that I wish you the best of luck, Harry. I know that we...didn’t end up how we originally planned, but I just wanted to let you know that...well...and I find this hard to say without sounding condescending, because that isn’t how I feel about this at all, it’s just I don’t know how else to say it...I just wanted to let you know that I give you my blessing, and that Melissa is a wonderful woman, and I’m glad that you finally found someone...who...who...”

Come on Hermione, you can do it...just finish it. Finish it!

“...who you could share your life with.”

I swallowed and peered over his shoulder at Ron, who I saw approaching. He had obviously overheard my monologue and I saw his pained expression, the words he was bursting to say...but I forced myself to gaze upon Harry instead. He also had an afflicted expression, his mouth determinedly closed, and I felt a tiny flare of hope die within me.

I had nurtured that little flare...kept it alive for three years...and now, today, at this moment, it had finally died...

And before I did anything I would regret I looked into his warm, loving eyes one last time, gave him one last smile, and walked away.

As my footsteps rang in my ears I heard a hoarse “Hermione, wait!” but was disappointed to recognize Ron’s voice. I brought my hand up to my mouth to stifle a sob as I rushed out into the adjoining garden, heavy footsteps following close behind.

Of course he wouldn’t chase me.

Of course he wouldn’t care.

It had been three years...why had I clung unto some desperate claim of hope, of a dream? I had given him a choice...and he hadn’t chosen me...

I stopped my running to catch my breath and I looked around at unrecognizable surroundings.

I still loved him.

I sighed and rested my forehead on a stony wall, palms on the cold, piercing stone.

To hear about his engagement, about his wedding, in the morning papers...

I could feel myself trembling and I stepped closer against the wall, losing feeling to my legs.

He hadn’t chosen me...

“You can’t do this,” I muttered, hands wrapping themselves in his hair as I forced him to look at me. “Harry, are you listening to me? You can’t do this to me!”

“I won’t let you go, I would never–”

“I need to be there, next to you! Beside you! Fighting with you! You need me, damnit! You bleeding need me, Harry James Potter, you can’t just lock me in a dungeon while you fight Voldemort–”

“I need you? I need you?! Damn straight I need you! But I need you alive, Hermione! I–”

“No. Harry...you’ve...you’ve always done this...held me at arm’s length...can’t you see this isn’t going to work?” I bit my lip, petting his hair back as tears escaped my eyes. I hated this, I loved him, but I couldn’t live like this...I couldn’t love like this...

“What are you talking about?” he whispered, his eyes wide. “Hermione? What–”

“You’ve always done this to me,” I whispered, looking away as I tried to compose myself. “And I...I can’t stand it. It’s not just...just the leaving me here while you and everyone else fights...it’s not just the physical barriers...I...I feel as if you can’t share yourself with me. Always locking something away, leaving me on an empty bed while you cry in the shower...I can’t stand it, I can’t stand this...”

“Hermione, listen to me.” Harry had grabbed my hands now, his voice somewhat desperate as he tried to catch my gaze. “Listen to me. I love you. I. Love. You. I...I need you...you’re like a part of me...”

“But I’m not! And I can’t live like this, if this is how we’ll be. A relationship is a two-way street, Harry. I can’t always be in the shadows, it’s not just about the sex, about the love. It’s about the companionship, too. I don’t doubt that you love me. I don’t doubt that you want to be with me. But what I do doubt is if you will ever let me into your life again, if you will ever allow yourself to admit that I need you just as much as you need me. And that maybe, I need to be with you as strongly as you need me to be safe. And that maybe, maybe it’s worth it! That you’re stronger with me there, beside you!”

“Nothing is worth your death, you hear me? Nothing!”

“Oh, Harry...” I sighed, shaking my head as my hands began to tremble. I loved him. I really, truly did. But I couldn’t do this to myself. I couldn’t live an empty life with him, enjoy his empty love. “I’m giving you a choice. I love you...but if you can’t...can’t let me fight by your side, and trust me...I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” Harry whispered, his hands clutching my own almost desperately. “No, no, Hermione, I love you, no, you–”

But I stopped his words with a desperate kiss and that night, we had shared our bodies underneath the moonlight with desperate haste. The following morning, I woke to a kiss and with Harry’s warm breath on my shoulder, his embracing body around mine, I whispered in his ear how I would always love him, how I would never leave. He relaxed and held me tight, but later that day, I heard him crying once again in the shower. His hope, his dreams, his fear for the battle that he would enter later in the evening. Something he had never shared with me, yet I had known. Known because of our past, because of that look in his eyes...because of Ginny’s words, the conversations I overheard in the kitchen while I stood just above the stairs, Harry’s head nestled in her shoulder as he cried.

This could be the final showdown. We both knew that. And before he left, with the other members of the Order, I gave him one last kiss and whispered that I would be here, waiting for him when he returned with news of Voldemort’s defeat. He smiled with the glee of a child’s innocence. Ginny, however, left with one last piercing gaze and my heart swelled, my breath caught, and I swallowed my guilt.

I had been left, locked in the dungeon, while Harry fought alongside his loved ones, and won.

And when I heard the exhilarated shrieks of Molly upstairs, I smiled, wiped away my tears, and left.

And when Harry returned, bleeding and swollen but undeniably alive, he returned to an empty dungeon and one, wilting letter.

This had been the first time we had conversed for three years. Harry had attempted to find me, but being the clever witch I was, I eluded discovery. And although I kept constant correspondence with both Ron and Ginny, they were magically tied to secrecy. They understood both of our pain.

But I loved him. I had escaped, hoping I could find a more fulfilling love.

I had been wrong.

For the first time in my life, I had been wrong.

And here I was, in a dingy corridor when I should have been at the wedding, and Harry was at the ceremony, about to commit his life to a woman I had never met.

To a woman who wasn’t me.

“Oh, Merlin,” I whispered, feeling the tears escape.

I knew I wouldn’t have been happy, fulfilled, with Harry. Yes, I loved him. Yes, I wanted to be with him. But I needed him in return, and I knew he wouldn’t give himself to me. Not in the way I wanted. Somehow, by loving me, I was no longer his best friend, his Hermione. That relationship had been lost somewhere along the way until I became fragile in his eyes, a delicate piece of beautiful glass he had to protect. And I couldn’t live like that.

I stood there, alone, miserably cold, for fifteen more minutes. I’m not sure why I stayed. I think maybe, I was waiting for him to come, to whisper loving words and slide a wedding ring upon my finger, to promise things would be different.

But soon, soon enough, I found my composure and I walked out of the plaza, not once looking back. Until I felt a warm hand grab my arm and apparate, my sudden transportation eluding the sudden tug in the pit of my stomach.

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“How dare you!”

These were the first words I heard when my feet touched the ground and I stumbled slightly, his hand still on my elbow.

“How fucking dare you!”

I looked up to see Harry, enraged, glaring down at me with eyes full of passion and cheeks red with fury. And I was speechless.

“You just leave and then now, now, three years, at my wedding, you show up and just...just...”

Then Harry threw his hands in the air, letting out a roar before stomping away towards the window, deep breaths coursing through his lungs as his hands clenched the windowsill.

I blinked, confused.

“Why aren’t you on your honeymoon? What are you...where’s Melissa?”

“God, Hermione, don’t you get it?” Then he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he muttered, “No. No. You never did. You never...”

I turned around, glancing at me with that look, that consuming, territorial look, before turning back around and sighing.

“Merlin, Hermione...” He looked up, his hands settling in his pockets as he whispered, “You haven’t changed.”

I blushed, twirling a strand of hair around my finger as I glanced around. More than anything I wanted to jump on him, claw, ravage him...apologize, beg, do anything to get him back...

...or run. Run away.

That was just as tempting.

“Harry...” I finally whispered, stepping backwards. “What...what do you want?”

I heard him chuckle, deep in his throat, as he continued to look out the window. I continued to step backwards until I felt the cold wall against my shoulders, my hands searching for a nonexistent doorknob.

This was exactly where I wanted to be...yet I couldn’t hide an undeniable urge within me to run, to flee, to protect myself from who I once was, what I had once felt.

“I came home,” he finally said, his voice thick. He tilted his head back slightly, and I watched a few tendrils of hair sway with the motion. “I came home, and you weren’t there. I...I fought Voldemort, and I won, I killed him...and do you know what I was thinking while I held my wand, facing him?”

I shook my head, biting my lip. I couldn’t hear this. He couldn’t break my heart yet another time.

“About you. About coming home to you. About...about our life, together, after all this was over...”

His shoulders began to tremble and I stood there, shocked, as I saw Harry begin to cry.

“And I came home. I c-came home...and you...you weren’t there...”

I heard him take a shattering breath. I saw him bring his hands up to his face, wipe away his tears and reset his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Then he turned around, blinking at me, and clenched his fists.

“How could you leave me!” he yelled, anguish lining every syllable until I couldn’t help but cry, cover my mouth with both my hands as I continued to witness his fury. “I fought him for you! I came home for you! I lived for you!”

“No,” I muttered, shaking my head as he continued to yell at me. “No.”

“No?!” he screamed, his glasses slipping. “I loved you, Hermione! How could you ever doubt that?! How could you promise me everything, and then leave me with nothing!”

“I never doubted that!” I finally screamed, bringing my hands away from my face as I took a step closer to him. “I never doubted that you loved me, that you fought for me! But you never lived for me, Harry! You never let me see any of you! All I saw were your fake smiles, your encouraging eyes, this..this..bleeding facade!”

“I shared everything with you!” he bellowed at me, taking another step.

“No!” I screamed, crying now as I remembered trembling on the top stair, as I heard Harry sob, as I heard Ginny’s comforting whispers, holding the knowledge that he had never cried on my shoulder. As I remembered his agony at Lupin’s death, the way he pushed me away when I tried to hug him, as he whispered a choked “I’m okay” only to climb in the shower and weep. “You never let me see your tears, your agony! You never shared anything with me! I learned everything by hearing you confide in everyone else, by hearing you cry in the shower...you never...you never just held me, we never just talked, I...I didn’t know you anymore...”

“We’ve been best friends since we were eleven years old, Hermione! Just what–”

“Then what happened!” I exploded, almost tearing my hair out in frustration. “Then what changed?! Admit it, Harry! You felt like you had to protect me! From the war, from death, even from you! You wouldn’t share any of your fears or your feelings or your triumphs because you couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk me! But can’t you see it was killing me?! I’m not just a glass figurine you can stash away in a dusty closet! I needed to be there, fighting with you, fighting for what I believed in! I needed to see everything, every aspect of you! I needed to be afraid, to be–”

But I was stopped midsentence by Harry charging at me, pushing me harshly against the wall as he growled in my ear, “You were everything to me, Hermione.” Yet his words were traced with bitterness, and my heart stalled.

I swallowed as his grip on my shoulder tightened. And before I knew it, he was crushing his body to mine, his arms entwined around my waist, his head nestled in the crook of my shoulder.

And he was sobbing.

He held me tight, his grip never wavering, as he continued to cry softly into the fabric of my sweater. And before a thought crossed my mind my arms found purchase on his back, on his neck, in his hair, anywhere as I closed my eyes and concentrated on his beating heart and rushed breaths.

My tears found their way.

After a few moments, he raised his head to look into my eyes. I was startled to see the raw passion behind the lense of his glasses, the tears streaming down his cheeks...and as I skimmed my fingers over his skin, over the crevice of his mouth and the battle scars on his neck, it was like holding the 17-year old boy in my arms once more, with his unbridled passion and his silent strength.

“I love you,” he had whispered, and I had believed him.

“I love you,” he whispered, once again, just as he had all those years ago. And as I looked into his eyes, at his pain and his longing and his hope, that wilting, flame of hope, I believed him.

And when he whispered, “I’m sorry,” I heard his promise.

And when I nodded, sobbing as I muttered a barely audible, “I know,” he knew I was here to stay.

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A/N: Reviewing’s good for the soul...

And my apologies, dear readers, for those who wait for a new chapter. I won’t burden you with excuses, but will leave with the promise that no, I haven’t forgotten and no, I won’t abandon my stories.