Unofficial Portkey Archive

A/N - Hiya! This chapter came a lot quicker than the last ;) Not to pat myself on the back, but I really enjoyed this chapter and I hope you do too. Things are really progressing now. I think we're really getting close, which is kind of sad =( But I promise it'll be good! Oh yeah. Happy Valentine's Day!

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"Harry! Wake up!"

"Wha-? Hmmphmm," Harry mumbled. "S'early, 'Mione."

Harry pulled a pillow over his head.

"Harry Potter, you get up this instant!" Hermione ordered, stripping the pillow away and rapping him smartly across the back.

"Ow!" Harry cried, then shielded his eyes and groaned as the window blinds were opened.

"Today's a very important day, and I don't have much time before work!" Hermione said.

"Hermione, are you trying to kill me?" Harry complained, sitting up. "Besides, what's so important about tod-"

He didn't finish; he just sat there with his mouth open and a foolish expression on his face. Hermione was bustling around his room wearing only a very abbreviated sleeping gown. If he'd needed any reminder that Hermione was an extremely attractive woman, he was receiving it in spades.

"Come on, Harry, we-" Hermione turned to face him with her hands on her hips, which only served to accentuate her figure, and saw him staring at her. She looked down at herself and turned scarlet.

"Hermione," Harry said in a strangled voice. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Hermione squirmed and bolted for the door, but stopped halfway. She slowly turned and a wicked smile lit her face. Still smiling that smile of pure mischief, she- and there was no other way to describe it- undulated over to Harry's bed, hips swaying provocatively, and seated herself nearly in his lap.

"Good morning, Harry," she purred, eyes smoldering.

"Uh, g-goodmmpphh," Harry stammered before finding himself being thoroughly kissed. Not a chaste kiss, or even one of the deeper, more meaningful kisses they had shared two days ago at the Weasleys. No, this was of the intense, tongue-trading, face-eating, hungry, turn your bones to water and knock your socks off variety and it left Harry gasping. And then she just let him go and stood up, smoothing her sleeping gown; he very nearly collapsed face first into the blankets.

"Breakfast will be ready soon. You better get yourself out of bed," Hermione said, a twinkle in her eyes as she left a speechless Harry behind, still rolling her hips in that arousing strut on her way out the door. He swore he heard her giggle.

It took Harry a few minutes to recover, and a few more to get dressed. By the time he made it out of his room Hermione was fully dressed in a conservative set of Healer's robes with her hair pulled up into a functional bun.

"Took long enough, sleepyhead," she said, a twinkle still in her eyes as she deposited a couple of slices of toast onto his plate.

"Um, yeah," Harry managed, seating himself. He couldn't really come up with anything else to say, so he just helped himself to some toast, eggs and orange juice. Hermione sat opposite with a small smile lurking around the corners of her mouth, clearly enjoying herself.

"So, um," Harry finally spoke as they were finishing. "What's so important about today?"

"Well," Hermione said brightly. "The rest of us talked it over and decided it would be best if we came up with a new identity for you. It would just be a nightmare if you were to suddenly re-appear after all these years, and we didn't want you to have to deal with that."

Harry felt a huge rush of gratitude.

"That's a brilliant idea, Hermione," he blurted.

A quick flash of something, relief maybe?, passed across Hermione's face. Harry frowned, puzzled, then it hit him.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. "You were afraid I'd fly off the handle, weren't you?"

"No, no, of course not," Hermione said hurriedly. Harry laughed.

"You're a terrible liar, Hermione. But I love you anyway," he said impulsively, uttering the expression without even thinking about it. Hermione's eyes widened, then softened and grew moist.

"I do get to choose my new name, right?" Harry pressed on, not noticing.

"Of course," Hermione said, reaching out with her other hand to take Harry's in both of hers.

"Oh, good. Are you ok?" Harry asked, finally noticing Hermione's expression.

"Oh, yes! Everything's just fine," she smiled. "Come on, let's get over to the Ministry. Mr. Weasley got us an appointment with the Minister of Magic."

"Scrimgeour?" Harry asked, drawing back in alarm. "I don't want that man knowing anything!"

"Oh, Harry! There's a new Minister of Magic. Scrimgeour was killed by Voldemort before you were able to finish it. Didn't you know?"

"Oh. No, I didn't. I guess I've really been out of touch," he concluded ruefully.

"Well, now you know. The new Minister is a lovely man. You'll like him." Harry wore a skeptical look.

They cleared off the table and then took turns in the bathroom washing up. In short order they were ready to go.

"Let me Apparate us," Hermione said, gripping his hand tightly as they settled on the designated Disapparation spot (Harry still had unbelievable amounts of warding around the flat). "I know where we're going better than you."

"Of course," Harry agreed, looking guilelessly into her eyes. "I trust you."

"You silver-tongued devil," Hermione murmured, toying with the collar of his shirt. "And you're not even trying."

She wrapped her arms around him, lacing her fingers together behind his neck, and went on her tiptoes to kiss him. A moment later, they disapparated, still kissing.

* * *

"Minister?" the Junior Minister called through the door. "Your appointment is here."

"Oh, good," a deep, rumbling voice said cheerfully. "Send them right on in."

The first glimpse Harry got of the new Minister reminded him strongly of a bear. The Minister was tall, burly, and sported a heavy, wild black beard. He had arms and legs like tree trunks, a nose resembling a hatchet, and deep sunken eyes of a startling blue. His skin seemed pale, but it was hard to tell through the thick covering of hair.

"Arthur!" the man boomed, grabbing Mr. Weasley's hand in a crushing grip. "How good to see you! It's been too long; I've been awful busy."

"Smashing," Mr. Weasley grinned, resembling his twin sons very much in the moment. "Worry not, I don't expect you to make time to see a minor official like me."

"Nonsense. You're an important, and trusted, part of my team. You're far too self-effacing."

Harry was standing nervously just inside the door; Hermione slipped her arm through his and gave a re-assuring squeeze.

"Everything will be ok," she whispered.

Harry nodded and studied the room. It was quite large and ostentatious, but Harry got the feeling from the way it was decorated that that fact embarrassed the current Minister and he only put up with it because he had too. The walls were of the most expensive wood and polished until they gleamed, with ornate carving around the door and window frames. A monstrosity of desk with clawed feet sat in the center of the room, the edges gilded. The wall was studded with skylights and windows large enough to serve as door lined the far wall. The parts of the ceiling that weren't glass were painted in a manner befitting a cathedral.

Yet the only personal decorations were a few understated paintings, a rather utilitarian wardrobe, a plain wooden chair and a small table upon which sat a truly excellent arrangement of wine.

"I see you're of a mind with me about this room," the Minister interrupted Harry's thoughts, regarding him slyly. "It's a crime against humanity, I tell you."

"I, uh," stammered Harry, nonplussed.

"I would have had it stripped down, but they nearly had a coronary when I tried to remove that beastly desk. So I just leave it as is and try not to let it burn my eyeballs out."

Harry couldn't help it; he grinned. He had been completely prepared to despise the new Minister, no matter Hermione's opinion, but he found she was right as usual.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Harry. I knew you were too tough to be taken down by Voldemort," the Minister said, extending a hand. "Ursus. Magellan Ursus."

It didn't escape Harry's notice that he had said Voldemort's name, and immediately his estimation of the new Minister rose several more notches.

"Thank you, Minister. I'm glad to meet you. In half a dozen sentences you've already caused me to hold you in higher regard than the last two Ministers," Harry said truthfully. "Combined."

Ursus grinned hugely at him and winked.

"And this lovely young lady must be Hermione Granger," the Minister turned to offer his hand to her, a smile softening his wild features. Hermione colored and shook his hand shyly. Harry noticed his grip was a good deal more gentle with her than it had been with him or Mr. Weasley. His hand still ached slightly.

"I hear it was your brilliant idea that brought us here today."

"Well, it was really sort of everyone's idea," Hermione said almost inaudibly, blushing even more.

"You're a terrible liar," Ursus let out a hearty laugh, echoing Harry's earlier words. "You'd never make it in politics. Don't be shy about taking credit for your ideas, Miss Granger."

"But what am I doing?" the Minister clapped a hand to his head. "Maundering on like this. Where are my manners! Sit, sit, everyone! Would you like some wine?"

He pulled out his wand and conjured three comfortably padded chairs, which spun and settled down on the floor near the desk with a thunk.

"Yes, please," answered Mr. Weasley and Hermione, but Harry declined. With a clink the Minister poured two glass and floated them over to Mr. Weasley and Hermione. With a considering glance at Harry, he pulled his beard, then waved the wand again. A bottle of butterbeer thumped down on his desk next to Harry.

"You'll be a butterbeer kind of man, I reckon?"

"Er, yeah," Harry replied, impressed.

"Thought so. Don't even ask me what I go for."

A last wave and a glass of some smoking, fiery drink appeared by Ursus' elbow. He lifted it in one huge paw and drained off half with a contented sigh.

"See?" Hermione whispered gleefully to Harry. "I told you!"

"Yes, yes, you're right," Harry whispered back. "As always."

"So," the Minister grew serious and fixed them all with a steady gaze. "I hear that you think that Harry should assume a new identity? Well, I quite agree. Stroke of bloody genius, Miss Granger. Doesn't hurt that you look so different these days either, Harry."

"Erm, yes," Hermione said in a small voice. "Harry's had a tough time getting acclimated even to us knowing he's still alive, and I-I didn't want him to get overwhelmed."

"Of course," the Minister agreed. "I share the sentiment. Though I won't deny that there are some definite political motives behind it as well. Sorry, Harry."

"I understand, Minister," Harry said. "I'm not offended. It wouldn't do to have me stirring up trouble. Why, there might even be people clamoring for me to take over as Minister of Magic, mightn't there?"

Ursus chuckled.

"Very perceptive of you, Harry. You might be suited for a career in politics. Yes, you are quite right. And I think I make a much more capable Minister of Magic than you, Harry. No offense intended."

"None taken. I'm positive you make a better Minister than I would. Even if I wanted the job."

Mr. Weasley was watching the exchange, a small smile on his face.

"So. To the business at hand. Have you thought about a new name, Harry?"

"Oh, I just told him about it this morning," Hermione said, pulling out a piece of parchment. "He hasn't had any time to think about it, so I made a list of-"

"Yes."

She turned to stare at Harry, notes halfway out of her bag. He smiled at her.

"Yes, I have. Black. Harold Black."

"Oh, Harry, I don't think that's a good idea!" Hermione said immediately. "It's far too obvious!"

"On the contrary," Ursus interrupted thoughtfully. "I think it's perfect."

Hermione stared at him, incredulously. Harry was seized by a fit of childishness and stuck his tongue out at her.

"Yes," agreed Mr. Weasley. "An excellent choice, Harry."

"I don't understand," Hermione confessed.

"Think about it Hermione," Mr. Weasley said. "Harry is the rightful owner of Grimmauld Place. This way it'll be easy to pawn him off as some distant cousin of Sirius who inherited when Harry died. Plus, keeping him as Harry avoids potential slip ups and makes it easier on the rest of us. And since he's technically Harold, Harry is just a nickname. Harry's real is just Harry, not Harold."

"Oh!" Hermione squeaked, comprehension dawning on her face.

"Plus, no one is going to expect Harry Potter to disguise himself as someone else," added Ursus. "And even if anyone suspected that, they'd never expect him to take a name so close to his own and the surname of his godfather and parents' closest friend."

"Yeah..." Hermione turned and faced Harry and grinned. "Nice to meet you, Harold."

"My pleasure, Miss Granger," Harry said solemnly, holding out his hand. Then, feeling unusually light-hearted, added, "Forgive me for being so forward, but you're bloody hot."

Ursus exploded into gales of booming laughter as Harry borrowed his mannerism and Mr. Weasley winked at Harry, who was smirking. Hermione stared at him in shock, but recovered quickly.

"You're not so bad yourself, Black. Your head could use a little deflating, though. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really must be on my way."

Nose in the air, Hermione marched out of the room.

"Ahaha," Ursus gasped, tears running down his face. "I think she got you there, Harry. You better go, Pott- I mean, Black. Go. Catch her. We'll take care of the rest."

Harry scrambled out of his seat and hurried out the door to the sound of more laughter. He found Hermione right outside, tapping her foot and looking impatient.

"There you are!" she exclaimed. "I reckon you think you're funny? Well, ok, it was. Come over here."

Harry sauntered over, making ever effort to appear nonchalant and cocky. She sighed in exasperation, reached forward and jerked him forward by the front of the shirt. Then, right in front of none other than a scandalized Percy Weasley, she jerked Harry forward and snogged him.

"I'll see you later tonight," she bid farewell and disappeared with a pop.

"What-" spluttered a flustered Percy.

"Hey, Perce," Harry said with a grin, and strolled off, leaving a bemused Percy scratching his head.

* * *

Harry had intended to Apparate home and work on his latest project, but a sudden idea occurred to him.

"Excuse me," he said politely to a middle-aged woman seated behind a crowded desk in the first room Harry came to. "Could you tell me where Ron Weasley works?"

"Do I look like a flaming secretary to you?" the woman snarled in reply. "Go down to the first floor entrance and ask there!"

"Uh, ok," Harry said, edging away. She gave him a last scowl as he quickly left and he heard the door slam behind.

The secretary turned out to be far more pleasant, though frightfully dim-witted. Harry had to repeat Ron's name four times before she finally found him in the directory.

"Oh! Yes, Ron Weasley," she exclaimed. "Yes, he's in the Department of Experimental Charms, in the dungeons."

"The Dungeons?"

"Yes."

"Ok, thanks," Harry bid her farewell and she smiled vapidly.

Harry took the lift down as far as it went, then padded down the rough stone stairs, recalling the journey he had made with Mr. Weasley years ago for his trial. Torches were spaced evenly, casting flickering orange light. At last, he came to the bottom. He reached out to open the first door, but a hand shot out of nowhere and pulled him back.

"Oh, no, we don't go around doing that," a voice said mildly from below. Harry looked down and saw a squat little man peering up at him.

"Who are you, by the way?" the man asked.

"Harold," Harry responded, trying out his new name. "Harold Black."

"Harold Black?" the man scratched his head. "I don't recall anyone with that name working here. What are you doing down here?"

"Er, actually, I was looking for Ron Weasley. Why don't you open doors down here?"

A moment later Harry's question was answered as a tremendous detonation came from inside the room and the door flew off and through the spot Harry had been standing. A ragged wizard, clothes hanging off his body haphazardly, stumbled out.

"Too much sulfur," he muttered over and over. "Too much sulfur."

Distractedly, he waved his wand and restored the door, then retreated back inside, not paying them the slightest attention.

"That's why," the little man said. "I'm Braun, by the way."

"Er, nice to meet you," Harry said, staring at the door. "Does that happen often?"

"Oh, more often than you'd think," Braun replied offhandedly. "You get used to it. Ron Weasley, you said? He's down this way."

"Yeah, thanks," Harry muttered, glancing back at the door as the little man led him down the hall.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed upon seeing him. "What are you doing here?"

Harry looked quickly over at Braun, but the man didn't seem to think Harry was any different from Harold and ambled away.

"Well," Harry began as Ron drew him into the room, "I was just up with your dad and Hermione meeting the new Minister about getting a new name."

"Oh, yeah!" Ron said. "How'd that go? What did you think of the Minister? What's your new name?"

"Whoa, one at a time!" Harry laughed. "My new name is Harold Black. It went well. And I like the Minister very much. Wow, Ron, what is this place?"

Harry was trying to look in eight directions at once. He was in a long room with polished silver walls and ceiling and all sorts of arcane equipment and stations. There were potions bubbling in one corner and a few broomsticks in another. Random bits of what seemed to be garbage jostled shoulders with priceless treasures.

"This?" Ron swept his arm about. "This is our laboratory. Nice name, by the way. I like it."

"Thanks. What do you do here?" Harry asked.

"All sorts of stuff. See these over here?" Ron pointed at a table full of objects; there was a battered old cup, a sock, a book, three sets of brass knuckles and a load of other stuff on it.

"Those all have enchantments on them that we've never seen before, so we try and figure out what they are and how they work. It can be a bit dangerous."

"And, of course," Ron continued, "we bake up our own brand new spells and potions in here as well."

"No! I thought your friends were kidding about that! How do you go about making a new spell? How do you know what spell you want to make in the first place?"

"Well, there's always all sorts of spells that the Ministry would like to have. They dream 'em up and we try to make them. And they give us time to experiment on our own and see what we come up with."

Harry stood speechless.

"It's pretty fun," Ron laughed.

"But- how do you make a new spell?"

Ron looked at him a bit oddly.

"Don't you know, Harry? I've seen you make up spells on the spot before."

"I, uh," Harry flushed. "I have no idea how I did it. I was always under a lot of stress and I just sort of... did it. Whatever I wanted I just made it happen."

Ron shook his head.

"It's a wonder we're all still alive to talk about it, then," he marveled.

"How did you get to be doing this?" Harry asked. "I mean, uh, this isn't the kind of job I envisioned you doing."

"I've got the talent," Ron said proudly. "See, to be able to make a new spell you need to be able to- see, I guess you'd call it. You need to be able to see the way the magic goes together. Most wizards can invent a little spell or two, but they don't really have much ability."

"What does it look like?" Harry asked in a hushed voice. "Magic."

"Um, well, it's really kind of hard to explain," Ron's face twisted in concentration. "I know I said 'see', but that's not really it. It's like another sense. It's like there's strands, maybe, of magic, and I can see how they fit together to make a spell. What the spell is depends on how many strands there are, how thick they are, how they're twisted, even the orientation of the whole thing."

"Amazing... but how do you know what it's going to do, even if you can see these strands?"

"Um... I don't really know. You just sort of get a feeling for it."

"Can you... can you make a spell right now?" Harry asked. "A little one?"

"Sure," Ron bounded forward, grinning. "Stand back."

Harry backed up as far as he could and watched as Ron relaxed and started breathing deeply. Ron raised his hands and stared fixedly at some unknown point about three feet in front of him. He was murmuring under his breath and twisting his fingers as if weaving something together. He stood there for quite some time and sweat started rolling down his face. Then, with a sudden pop, Ron's feet changed into cloven hoofs and a small pair of horns appeared on his head.

"Oh, no," Ron groaned, looking down and simultaneously feeling his head. "Not again..."

Harry collapsed into gales of laughter as Ron stumped awkwardly to the door, yanked it open, and yelled something down the hall.

"Shut it, you," he said irritably to Harry, crossing his arms. "Now that I know it, I can do it to you too."

Harry couldn't respond, only laugh helplessly, clutching a table for support.

"And not a word of this to anyone else," Ron said ominously as a Cursebreaker rushed in, took one look at Ron, covered his eyes and sighed.

* * *

Hermione didn't get back until late that night, but Harry was waiting for her, eager to relate Ron's latest accident.

"Hi, Harry," she greeted him. "What are you doing still up?"

"Oh, I just wanted to see you before you went to bed," Harry said, nearly fit to burst.

"That's sweet," Hermione smiled. "But I don't think that's it. You look like you're about to explode."

"Ok, you're right. But I did want to see you," Harry added, stepping close to give her a quick kiss. Hermione, however, had other ideas and wasn't satisfied with just a quick snog. It took all of Harry's willpower not to laugh until they were finished. At that point, unable to hold it in any longer, he started howling with laughter. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"I assume you're going to tell me what's so funny one of these days," she remarked. "And, for your own health, it better not have anything to do with what we just did."

"Sorry," Harry gasped. "N-no, it-it was Ron. You won't believe what he did."

Harry recovered and launched into the tail, embellishing it along the way. Hermione's expression shifted from cool to incredulous to tragic as the tale unfolded.

"Oh dear," she said when Harry finished, burying her face in her hands. "He didn't really?"

"Yes," Harry choked out. "Yes, he really did."

Hermione's shoulders started shaking and giggles leaked from between her fingers.

"Too bad you didn't have a camera," she laughed.

"I'm glad you stayed up for me, Harry," Hermione said a few minutes later when they finally regained their composure. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh yeah?" Harry said, settling onto the couch.

"Yeah," Hermione replied. "But first..."

She disappeared into her room and re-appeared a minute later clad in a comfy set of pajamas. Dropping down on the couch next to Harry she burrowed up under his arm.

"Much better," she sighed.

"I'm glad you're comfortable," Harry said dryly.

"Oh yes," Hermione said happily. "Very much so."

"So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Oh, that," Hermione sighed again, a very different sigh, and squared her shoulders a bit.

"Harry, I think we should decide what to do with Grimmauld Place."

Harry's good mood drained out of him like water and his face grew stiff as he turned away.

"I don't care. Burn it to the ground."

"Harry..."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Harry." She shifted so that she was sitting in his lap facing him, reached up and turned his face back towards her. His expression was stiff and eyes haunted. She stroked his cheek and smoothed back his hair.

"Harry, please talk to me. Let me help you."

"There's nothing to talk about. I hate that place. I hate it! I wouldn't even go back there when I was all messed up!"

"I know you do, sweetheart. I don't like it either. But... I was thinking..."

"Don't make me go back, Hermione," Harry begged. "Please. I will, if you ask me to. But I don't want to."

Hermione's heart nearly broke at the pleading, broken look on Harry's face and the trust implicit in his admission. That he would go back to the place he hated the most in the world, the place that caused him the most pain in a life filled with unfair amounts of pain, if she asked him. She wrapped her arms around him tightly. His arms came up and clutched her even tighter in return, face buried in her shoulder, reminding her that he was still fragile.

"It's ok," she murmured soothingly. "It's ok."

Harry nodded into her shirt. Hermione's mind was racing. This was the most naked, the rawest emotion she had seen him display. That meant it was also the closest to unlocking however he had bottled up his feelings. Could this help in some way to fix whatever was wrong with him? She chose her next words very carefully.

"Sweetheart," she said for the second time, a warm fuzzy feeling filling her at the way it rolled off her tongue. "I was thinking... I was thinking, what if we cleaned it up? What if we cleansed it, and stripped everything out? Re-finished and redecorated it, made it plottable again and opened it up as some kind of- some kind of place for children. You know, for children from bad or poor families, where they could come and have a square meal and meet other children and have safe things to do. Maybe even a school of sorts."

She waited breathlessly for his reply; she was sure he had a soft place for children. She knew he had a big heart overall, but especially on this. He drew back, took a deep breath and seemed to be composed once again, only betrayed by the fact that he still held her hand so tightly his knuckles were white.

"That's a wonderful idea, Hermione," he said quietly. "But I still don't think I can do it. Not now."

"It's ok, I understand," she said gently. "I do. And I'd never make you go there. But would you mind if I did? And maybe Ron and some of the other Weasleys? We could start cleaning it out."

"Of course," Harry agreed, subdued. "Anything that's mine is yours too. If anyone could turn that... place into something good, it would be you."

Hermione felt another thrill go through her and she went boneless and slushy.

"You don't even know what it does to me, do you?" she whispered. "When you say something like that. You're clueless, aren't you?"

"What?" Harry said, alarmed. "Did I say something wrong?" He tried to draw back, distance himself, but Hermione was having none of it.

"No! No, you didn't, you silly boy. You said something very right."

"Oh," Harry said, confused. "Ok..."

"I- I think I'm going to go to bed," he said a minute later. Hermione reluctantly let go of him and stood up.

"Good night, Hermione."

"Good night, Harry," she whispered, watching his form shuffle off to the bedroom, somehow seeming smaller and weighed down.

What did I do? she thought, stricken.

That thought, and variations, kept haunting her as she climbed into her own bed and turned out the lights. Try as she might, she couldn't get to sleep. So when she heard a muffled cry from Harry's room she was out of bed and into his room so fast one might think she apparated. Harry was asleep, thrashing around and tangled in his sheets, muttering in a hoarse voice. As she watched, horrified, he curled up into a ball and held out an arm as if to shield himself, uttering another despairing cry.

"Sirius!"

"Oh my god, Harry, I'm so sorry! What have I done?" Hermione cried softly. She laid a soothing hand on his forehead and he quieted a bit, but still struggled feebly. Biting her lip, she crawled under the covers and held him in her arms, stroking his hair. Slowly, he calmed and began drawing deep, even breaths. It's ok now, she thought. He's ok. I should go back to bed. But instead she held Harry tighter and tears slipped off her cheek to mingle in his hair.

* * *

"Hermione?" a voice murmured in her ear, waking her. "What's going on? Why are you in my bed?"

Hermione jerked into wakefulness in a fraction of a second and saw Harry's face looming above hers; he was propped up on an elbow.

"Oh! Harry! I'm sorry... you were having nightmares and I heard you stirring..." she trailed off, not sure how to explain it. Harry's face crumbled and he turned away.

"Sirius."

Hermione pushed herself up and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. She realized it was shaking.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry," he said brokenly. "I'm so sorry."

"Harry, what are you taking about? Why are you sorry?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"It's my fault," he whispered, turning to face her. She was shocked to see tears on his face. On any other person she would have expected it long since, but Harry had seemed, like he said, immune to it.

"It's my fault. It's not fair," he babbled. "You're amazing. You're so wonderful, and caring, and perfect. You've given me so much, and what do I give you in return? Nothing! Nothing but pain..."

"Shhh, Harry. That's not true at all," Hermione denied vehemently, visibly upset.

"It is!" Harry insisted. "It is! There's something wrong with me, and I can't fix it. I tried. I tried so hard, I swear! But I'm not whole. I can feel all the bad things; hate, and fear, and anger, and grief, and pain. But not the good things. I can't give you what you deserve, but you still stay with me..."

He broke into great, racking sobs. Distraught, and relieved in a way that he was finally letting his it out, Hermione drew him close, rocking him back and forth as he cried himself out. He didn't clutch her closer, or try to draw away, or do anything. He just lay there limp and cried.

Eventually Harry ran out of energy and reached the point beyond tears; the point where you were too tired and numb for grief. Hermione cradled his head against her chest and ran her fingers through his hair, murmuring comforting nonsense. She was supposed to be getting to work, but at the moment that was the farthest thing from her thoughts.

"It was you," he finally mumbled into her hair. "You made it go away."

Hermione instinctively knew that silence was the proper action and didn't say anything, just kept running her fingers through his hair. She couldn't help it; she couldn't have stopped if she wanted to.

"I was back in the Department of Mystery," Harry continued quietly. "And Bellatrix killed Sirius. She used Avada Kedavra on him. But then he got up and told me it was all my fault. He said- he said that my parents would be ashamed of me. They were both laughing at me."

Harry's throat grew tight and he couldn't say any more.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered, feeling it was safe to speak now. "Sirius loved you more than anything. He was so proud of you; as proud as if you were his own son."

"I know," Harry croaked. "Then something changed, and everything was better. Sirius turned into Voldemort and Dumbledore chased him away. The veil opened and the real Sirius and Mum and Dad came out and told me everything was ok. They were looking behind me and smiling; I could feel someone behind me and then I woke up and you were there."

Harry turned his tear-streaked face up to look at Hermione. She was transfixed by those prematurely old, haunted, bright green eyes.

"Thanks, Hermione. For everything. Maybe it was me that saved the wizarding world. But you saved me. You're the real hero."

Hermione's lip trembled and she couldn't hold it back anymore; she started crying as well, soundlessly.

"I'm always here for you, Harry. Always," she swore, holding his face between her hands and tasting salty tears on his lips as she kissed him.

"Don't cry, Hermione," Harry said, reaching up to wipe her tears away tenderly. "It's ok."

"You're amazing, Harry," Hermione smiled tremulously.

"Me?" Harry hiccuped, wiping his nose. "Hermione, I just spent the last half hour crying like a baby."

"As you should have! Anyone else would have broken down long ago," Hermione said baldly. "You have every right to feel sorry for yourself! But even after all the horrible things you've gone though, the first thing you do is try and comfort me."

"I don't like to see you upset," Harry explained uncomfortably, looking down. "Anyone else would have done the same."

"But that's just it!" Hermione said sharply. "Anyone else definitely would not have done the same!"

"Of course they woul-"

"No they wouldn't, Harry! That's why you're so special!" Hermione burst out. "One of the many reasons. You're so good, you don't understand what a normal person is like. You do it without even thinking. That's why I lo-"

Hermione swallowed; Harry was staring at her with wide eyes.

"That's why I love you," she finished softly.

"You- you love me?" he croaked.

"Yes," Hermione said quietly, her eyes downcast. "Oh, Merlin, yes. Don't you understand anything I've said and done?"

"I- you- I- I thought," Harry stammered. "I thought you were, um; I thought you felt sorry for me..."

"Harry James Potter! You listen to me! You listen to me well!" Hermione commanded, grabbing him by the shirt and shaking him. "You are one hundred percent lovable! You're sweet, and kind, and thoughtful, and brave, and loyal, and clever, and adorable. You will get that through your skull! You will admit that you are worth loving! We want to be around you because we love you, not because we pity you! I won't have you thinking awful things about yourself any more! D'you hear me?"

Harry was gaping at Hermione like he'd never seen her before; all the while his teeth being rattled.

"H-h-hermione," he tried to say.

"Any witch would give her right arm to be with you!" she rolled right on. "But they're not. I won't let them have you! You're mine!"

"Hermione," Harry cried finally. "I can't feel love; how am I supposed to recognize it?"

Hermione stopped shaking him. Her endless brown eyes were full of emotion as she gazed at him mutely. She didn't believe him. He could tell. She thought he was lying. He looked away.

"I believe you, Harry," she said earnestly, reading his mind. "I do."

"Sure."

"Harry, look at me. Look in my eyes and tell me I don't."

Unwillingly, he raised his eyes to hers and he couldn't deny it anymore. Her eyes were warm and sincere and contained all the salvation in the universe.

"Harry, I believe you. Now believe me. We're going to fix it. Ok?"

Harry shook his head helplessly.

"Believe in me, Harry! When's the last time I was wrong?"

"You're never wrong," he said softly.

"That's right. We. Are. Going. To. Fix. It."

Harry's face screwed up and he fought for words. Fought against himself.

"Yes," he sighed finally. "We will."

Hermione threw her arms around his neck and pulled him as tight as she could. Even tighter, as if she was trying to pull them into one body.

"Hermione," Harry managed as he was being strangled. "Do you try to strangle everyone you love? I think it might be safer if you just like me."

After everything they had just gone through, the emotional wringing, that was just too much for Hermione. She started giggling. Soon she was laughing so hard she couldn't sit up straight and collapsed onto Harry, giggling madly. Even Harry was smiling sheepishly.

"I- don't- know- why- that's- so- funny-" gasped Hermione, pushing herself up into a sitting position.

"I'm just a funny guy, I guess. At least you're not wearing that sleeping gown," Harry made another weak attempt at humor. "I don't think my heart could take it right now."

"Boys!" Hermione said in mock exasperation, throwing her hands into the air. But it was spoiled by a heartbreakingly sweet smile.

"See, Harry! You can feel good things. You can laugh, and feel happy!"

He smiled shyly.

"I guess you're right, Hermione," he said. "I've been an idiot, haven't I?"

"Yes," she said fondly. "But you're my idiot."

"I can live with that."

"Good," murmured Hermione, leaning forward with a smoky look in her eyes.

"Now, weren't you saying something about my sleeping robe?" she said against his lips, busily kissing him.

"Ermph," Harry managed.

"Oh no!" Hermione suddenly leaped up and Harry really did do a face-plant this time. "I'm late! I'm really really late!"

"I'm late!" Hermione wailed again, running for the door. Seconds later she dashed back in and planted a long kiss on his lips, then fled again.

Sighing, Harry scrubbed a hand through his hair and then across his face. Just as well, really. It didn't feel right to go any further if he couldn't really feel the right emotion. Absently he waved a hand and his guitar came soaring over and he started to play.

She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah
And with a love like that
You know you should be glad.

In the other room, Hermione paused in the middle of throwing her robe on and listened. Slowly she finished and tiptoed to Harry's room; his head was bent and the music and words rolled out of him as he poured everything he had into it.

"I love you, Harry," she whispered under her breath. "I'll be home really soon."

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