A/N - thanks for all the reviews guys! Though it seems some of you have your mind in the gutter! Tut tut. Not too sure about this chapter, but it definitely isn't as sad as the previous ones (and neither is the next one) but we are half way through now so…
Oh, and I apologise for the extra blank lines that keep appearing - they don't show until I upload into Portkey so I don't know how to get rid of them.
Chapter 6 - The Home of Hermione
Hermione opened the door to her flat and made way for Harry as he followed her in. She watched as he looked around the living room feeling, for some reason, apprehensive of what he would think of her home.
"This is so you Hermione," he finally said, turning to her with a smile.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Good." She looked at him and tried to shake away the mental images she had of him fighting his final battle with Voldemort, sitting alone, filthy and starving in a shack, waiting for the darkness to come - but she couldn't. Quickly turning away, she took her jacket off and made her way to the kitchen.
"What would you like to drink?" she asked.
"Ah, a tea would be nice." She jumped slightly as his voice indicated he had followed her. Turning, she saw him leaning on the door frame, his eyes now inspecting her kitchen. She didn't reply but instead bustled around to make the tea.
"You don't use magic?" he asked as she poured the boiling water onto the tea bags in the cups.
"Magic drains me," she replied, leading the way back into the lounge, "I use it very rarely."
"So we've both been living like Muggles - the Chosen One and the brightest witch of her age…"
"Ironic isn't it." Harry smiled at the repeat of his words from the Weasley's dinner before sitting down in one of the oversized arm chairs. As soon as he made himself comfortable, a familiar bundle of ginger fur jumped onto his lap and began to purr.
"Crookshanks," Harry acknowledged, scratching the cat behind its ears, "how you doing buddy?" Crookshanks just continued to purr.
Hermione watched the exchange between her pet and her friend, bringing back the tears which she fought away with desperation.
"You make being angry with you very difficult Harry," she said after a few moments. Harry looked up at her a bit sheepishly.
"Sorry," he replied, "you've got a lot to be angry with me about."
"Yeah I have," she sighed, "but, and don't you dare tell Ron he's right, you had your reasons for leaving. I've spent five years thinking you had found happiness, that you had fallen in love and had the family I knew you wanted so much. And now I find out that your life has been as much as a struggle as mine."
"They actually mirror, in a way. Both in darkness for two years and then spent three years finding our place, accepting who we are…"
"You're right," Hermione said thoughtfully, "except your place has a future and mine doesn't."
"Don't say that…"
"It's true Harry," she interrupted, "you know the score, you spoke to Maggie. I'm dying and the sooner you come to terms with that, the better off you'll be. If you want to be around me, you will need to accept what's happening and deal with it because I don't want people to feel sorry for me, or treat me any different…" Hermione realised her voice had got hard, but she had struggled to get everyone else in her life to treat her like a human being and not a fragile doll - she didn't have the energy to do that again with Harry. It wasn't fair to him, but when it came to this, he wasn't the most important anymore.
"I'm trying Hermione," Harry interjected, "but I pictured you happy, married with children of your own. Or Minister of Magic - one of the two…"
"Minister of Magic?" Hermione unthinkingly laughed, her previous hardness disappearing, "I'm good, but not that good!"
"Well, okay, maybe not the minister, but successful in whatever career you had chosen. I never thought you'd be fighting for your life."
"I'm not fighting Harry, I've finished fighting. This is a war that can't be won. I'm just trying to enjoy the life I have left."
"Many thought the war against Voldemort couldn't be won, and we proved them wrong…"
"Not this time. This time Lord Voldemort has won convincingly."
She watched him as he turned his concentration back to the cat sitting on his lap, mirroring the frown that crossed his face with one of her own. She needed to make him understand that this time he couldn't save her.
"I've accepted my fate Harry," she said softly, after a few moments, "you need to too."
They both paused until Harry seemingly resolved whatever was going through his brain - and changed the subject.
"It must have been difficult for you, not being able to see for two years. What with no reading…"
"Oh, I read. The wizarding world doesn't have many facilities for the blind so I returned to Muggle libraries and read Braille. I coped. I guess it was difficult, but no more difficult than for you fighting for your sanity. Alone. At least I had my friends around me to help." She waited for her words to sink in. She wasn't angry anymore - but she hadn't forgiven him yet either.
"At the time, I didn't even remember who you were…"
"I would have helped you remember…"
"I could have killed you! I was so full of hate…"
"We would have worked through it. I fully believe you would never have hurt me."
"You had your own problems to deal with, mine would've consumed you…"
"Your problems would've helped me work through mine quicker so I could help you. I would've done everything in my power to help you fight that bastard so you could have peace. You deserve happiness Harry."
"And so do you, yet he's taken that away from you. And I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure get that back."
"You can't do anything…"
"Don't be so sure." She looked at him and he returned her stare, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. She could see the determination in his eyes that she had seen so many times before, and she wilted. It had always been difficult for her to say no to Harry.
Watching as he turned his attention back to Crookshanks, looking comfortable and relaxed as if sitting on her chair, in her lounge with her cat was the most natural thing in the world for him to do, Hermione tried to get her thoughts together. His story explained why he left and why he has now returned; but she wanted more. She wanted to regain the friendship they had before he left. No, that wasn't quite right - she wanted to regain the friendship they had before Ginny and their sixth year at Hogwarts. Deciding to take matters in her own hands she took a deep breath and finally spoke.
"I don't know if anyone has mentioned that I have a spare room here since Ginny left…"
"Only a few," Harry smirked.
"Really," Hermione asked, curious, "who?"
"Let's see - Molly, Arthur, Ginny, Ron, Neville, Fred, George, Remus, Tonks and I think even Professor McGonagall mentioned there was a room going at your place…"
"You're kidding!"
"No, it seems everyone thinks that I should move in…"
"Why didn't you say something?"
"Because I didn't think you wanted to speak to me let alone approach the possibility to flat with you." Hermione smiled in defeat.
"Well, do you want to have a look at the room? You wouldn't need to pay rent, just your share in the expenses…"
"I'll pay rent…"
"You have no job!"
"There is always work for a good barman…"
"You'll go back to bar work?"
"Yeah, at this stage. Not quite ready to hit the wizarding world full on." Hermione nodded her acceptance and stood. Harry ignored the annoyed look from a disturbed Crookshanks and followed Hermione up the stairs and into a large room at the top of the landing, furnished plainly with a queen sized bed, dresser, some shelving and a wardrobe.
"This is the room. You basically have this floor to yourself as my room and bathroom is downstairs. What do you think?" She watched him look around the room and saw a satisfied smile on his face.
"This is fantastic," he said, his smile reaching his voice, "are you sure Hermione? I mean, considering what I've done to you…"
"What you've done to me? Harry, you had your reasons for leaving, I understand that now…"
"That's not what I meant," Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she waited for Harry to continue, "Hermione, you have the right to be mad at me - to hate me even - do you really want me living in the same house as you? It's my fault you're dy…."
"Don't you EVER think that Harry Potter!" she practically screamed at him, "what happened to me is not your fault! I may have thought many things about you over the last few years, but I have never, ever blamed you for what happened to me and you better not start! Voldemort is killing me, not you!"
"But…"
"There is no but," she interrupted again, "this is not your fault!"
Closing her eyes with weariness, Hermione felt herself sway slightly as the shouting unsteadied her. Not protesting when she felt the secure arms of Harry guide her to the bed, she sat down heavily and held her head in her hands.
"I'm sorry," she heard him say, his arm still around her shoulders.
"I know Harry, I know," she replied as she looked up at him, realising his apology covered so many things. Sighing, she continued, "it would be great if you shifted in, the house seems so empty with only Crookshanks and myself here. And it will give us a chance to get to know each other again." Harry smiled and nodded.
"I'd like that," was all he said.
"So, does that mean you'll shift in?"
"Yeah," Harry replied, finally dropping his arm from her shoulders, "I'll speak with Molly, but I can't see it being an issue for them. When will be the best time?"
"Whenever you want…"
"Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow is fine." They smiled at each other before Hermione stood and left the room feeling slightly nervous of what she had just agreed to do.
An hour later Harry was back, seeing no reason to wait, and they now sat together on his new bed; Hermione watching as he unpacked and lay his belongings out, ready to be put away.
"Is that it?" she asked, amazed.
"Yeah," he replied, taking out the last of his clothing items.
"So, you have…" Hermione began itemising, "four t-shirts, one jumper, two sweatshirts, two pairs of shorts, two sets of long-johns, one pair of slacks, some socks, six pairs of underwear, trainers, a shirt, a raincoat, a parka plus what you're wearing…" which was jeans, hiking type boots, a skivvy and a jumper, "this is your whole wardrobe?"
"Yeah," he said again, not sounding the least bit embarrassed.
"This is five years of travelling?" she continued in obvious wonder, "Harry, is this everything you own?"
"No," he replied smiling as he lifted his other, smaller bag to the bed, "I have this stuff too!"
Hermione was shocked and watched open mouthed as he emptied his other bag. She knew he had money and that technically he owned Grimmauld Place but she had never known anyone with so little possessions. Soon his toiletries, the photo album that Hagrid had given him so many years ago, his wand, a small group of books that looked like journals and…
"What's that?" Hermione asked, a larger but thin black leather bound book grabbing her attention.
"It's my sketch book…"
"Sketch book? You draw?" Harry smiled nervously at her, but Hermione curiosity meant that she missed the first sign of his unease.
"Yeah, I draw," he said, "mainly people. Alex had suggested it and, well, it's quite therapeutic."
"Can I see?" she asked without really thinking but as soon as the words left her mouth, she knew it had been the wrong thing to say. She saw fear jump into his eyes as all other colour left his face, his internal debate practically visible to her, making her look away from him as if she had been intruding into something intensely private. Which is what, she realised with a silent groan, she had done when callously asking to see his sketches. She guessed no-one had seen them, that he had hidden them away and had never meant anyone else to look - how could she be so stupid!
"Um, that's okay," she stammered, "it's private. I'm so sorry Harry, I didn't mean to…"
"I'd like you to look at them." His words came out in a rush making her look back at his face to see that he still looked scared, but an embarrassed blush now touched his cheeks.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Yeah, yes I am. Just, be gentle with me will you? No-one else has ever seen them." She smiled softly as she made herself more comfortable on the bed, leaning upright against the pillows and the bedhead. Harry pushed his things aside as he sat next to her, hesitantly handing her his sketch book.
She was nervous - she realised that in allowing her to look at his pictures, Harry was letting her, and only her, see a part of him that no-one else had. In a small way, he was trying to make up for leaving, for letting a stranger help him when it should have been her, for shutting her out. Gently, she opened the cover, moved away the first page of tissue and saw a face that she hadn't seen for six years.
Albus Dumbledore looked out at her - wise, gentle with sparkling eyes. She felt a shock of air escape her as the realness of the image brought back so many memories of her time at Hogwarts. Harry had captured the qualities of the old headmaster with an accuracy that was uncanny.
Over the page was her own face - a younger version, but her none the less. She could feel Harry looking at her so she made sure her eyes stayed on the book in front of her, knowing that if she didn't, she would certainly cry. He had made her look beautiful, more beautiful than she ever remembered feeling when she was at school, and she fleeting wondered if this was how he really saw her.
More familiar faces followed - Ron, Ginny, the twins, the Weasley's in general. Hagrid, Tonks, Remus - everyone that meant anything to Harry had been sketched in pencil on the pages, their essence captured with stunning detail. Even Professor McGonagall made an appearance.
Hermione stayed silent as she turned over the pictures, lost back into a time where schoolwork was paramount and keeping Harry alive was a seemingly daily affair. She finally turned over the last page, closing the book gently. Waiting for a moment to get herself together, she turned to Harry to hand the book back to him, knowing there were tears in her eyes.
"They are incredible Harry," she said, her voice choked with emotion, "amazing. You are very talented."
"Thank you," was all he seemed able to say, once again embarrassed. Hermione watched him struggle to retain his composure and realised that he probably needed some time alone - and she needed a rest. Without warning, he looked up at her and caught her studying him, making him smile.
"You look tired Hermione," he said gently, "it's nearly five. Why don't you go and rest for a couple of hours, I finish off here then make you dinner." She thought about his offer, then nodded her acceptance, inwardly smiling that once again he knew exactly what she was thinking.
"I think I'll take you up on that," she said as she stood, "I am feeling a bit weary." And with a parting smile, she made her way down to her room.
A couple of hours later Hermione woke and could smell a wonderful Italian, tomato-type scent coming from the kitchen. It took her a moment to remember that Harry was cooking her dinner and when that thought popped into her mind, she went to her dresser and tried to make herself look reasonably presentable. Finally satisfied, she made her way to the living room, only to pause as she saw Harry putting the knives and forks out on the small table between the couch and the chairs, an apron tied tightly around his waist - he looked adorable.
Her attention flickered away from him as she saw the familiar green glow come from the fireplace and heard Ginny Weasley's voice begin to talk to Harry. Curious on how this conversation would go, Hermione stayed hidden in the shadows and listened.
"Harry?" Ginny asked, sounding very surprised, "what are you doing here?"
"Er, I just…"
"Are you wearing an apron?"
"Well, yeah, I am…"
"I thought you guys were just meeting to catch up," Ginny interrupted, making Hermione smile, "no! She didn't? She must have!"
"Ginny, are you alr…"
"You've shifted in? Neville, Neville - Harry's shifted in with Hermione! Merlin, I never thought she'd actually ask!"
Hermione had had enough and could see that Harry was getting a bit flustered. With a smirk, she made her way over to the fireplace and stood next to Harry, looking at the green head of her friend hovering in the flames.
"Ginny?" she said, "this is a surprise. Is everything okay?"
"Don't you talk to me about surprises Hermione Granger, especially when I find Harry at your house in the evening wearing an apron without even a word from you!"
"Well, it only happened this afternoon…"
"But you only caught up at lunch time! Anyway, we'll talk in more detail later. My knees are getting sore and I'm guessing your meal is nearly ready. Just thought I'd remind you about lunch tomorrow…"
"Tomorrow? Oh, goodness, I did forget!" Hermione turned to Harry, "have you got plans tomorrow? We're all getting together for lunch. It's kind of a regular thing…"
"I think my social calendar is free…"
"Great," Ginny once again interrupted, "see you then." And she was gone.
"Mmm, what are you cooking? It smells delicious." They turned away from the fireplace and Hermione went to sit down in her favourite chair while he made his way back to the kitchen.
"This pasta thing I learnt," he called from the stove, "hope you like it.
"I'm sure I will," she replied, a wide grin crossing her face.