Title: Lustratio
Author: Electric_blue
Rating: PG-13
Chapter Summary: There's a new mystery in town, and new feelings are realized.
Warnings: M/F, angst, dark themes
Disclaimer: This story is completely for fun and no money is being made off of it at all.
A/N (06/02/06): Hello everyone! As you may have noticed, I have changed the name from "Push You Away". That was always just a working title for me, and I never really felt that it fit the story. Finally, after searching forever, something finally popped out at me. "Lustratio" is the Latin word for purification. It fits the story in many more key ways in which I hope you will come to understand in time!
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Lustratio
Part I: Darkness
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"The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, The Moon, their Mistress, had expired before; The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, And the clouds perish'd; darkness had no need Of aid from them--she was the Universe."
- Lord Byron
It was raining.
Darkness had gently and subtly descended upon number 12 Grimmauld Place... which was not unusual at all, really. It was light during the day, dark at night -- as was the natural order of things. Everyone knew that, of course. Birds flew, fish swam, hexes were unpleasant, and night time was dark. Common sense. So it would not be too outrageous a claim to say that there was nothing out of place about number 12 Grimmauld Place being dark that night. However, something was indeed out of place. Night time, aside from being the time of day where one would have to be quite skilled to find the sun in the sky, was also the time where one traded away his or her worldly problems in favor of the bliss that accompanied dreams. Anything could happen in a dream. They opened door ways to whole worlds that could not possibly exist otherwise. In a world where so many bad things happened and the possibility that you could lose everyone you loved cared about was an ominous presence that forever loomed over your life... the ability to dream was a gift. As various paintings and occupants of the dreary old house slumbered peacefully, one occupant sat at the kitchen table quite awake.
Though, for Harry Potter, perhaps this was not so out of the ordinary.
Since Dumbledore's death
Murder.
in sixth year, Harry had encountered many a sleepless nights. Well, almost sleepless. usually the night would start out well enough. He would become rather tired as was to be expected from a day's worth of war... and would lay in his bed. At first sleep would roll in like a fine mist hovering over his consciousness. He could feel himself drift off to that place where sleeping became possible. Harry wouldn't know that he was in for yet another sleep elusive night until he woke up minutes later from the very same ghost that haunted him during the day.
His mother, his father, Sirius, and Dumbledore. They weren't dying... they were dead. Harry couldn't move or speak, and he could do nothing to change the fact that the people whom he should always have been able to rely on to love and protect him were gone. This was a fact during the day and a night mare at night.
And so... Harry had lost the ability to dream.
A sigh arose from deep within Harry's chest and he ran his hand through his hair as he fought off his drowsiness. It was another of his almost sleepless nights and he had no intentions of
giving it another go. The sun would be up soon enough and then he would have his multitude of responsibilities to keep him busy. Distracted. Until then he would just have to content himself with the familiarity of darkness and the steady beat of the rain...
"... Harry?" A soft voice asked as the kitchen lights came up. Harry's pupils contracted painfully from the sudden onslaught and he covered his eyes quickly with his hands.
"Oy!" He groaned.
"Sorry!" The voice squeaked, and the lights were back off the next second. Harry rubbed his eyes for another few moments and then took his hands down. He turned around to face the owner of the voice and waited for his eyes to adjust back to the darkness so that he could make out a face.
"Hermione?" He asked - not really needing to ask. He had pretty much known by the "sorry" that it had been her. He felt the immediate urge to get up and get back to his room. He did not give him a chance to analyze what had sparked the urge. Rather, he ignored and opted instead to take a deep breath. "What are you doing up at this hour?" Hermione stood, with her hands clasped in front of her, in the doorway. She had been asleep and was wearing a simple white tank top and a pair of cotton pajama bottoms with a print that Harry couldn't quite make out -- her hair pulled back in a loose pony tail. Though she, Ron, and he had been living together since they were 17 -- 4 years now -- he very rarely saw her in her bed clothes. She looked so innocent and so very young in that particular outfit... though Harry was more than aware that she had been through her fair share during this war. He found that he liked seeing her this way. Innocence and youth were quite becoming on Hermione. Most things were quite becoming on Hermione...
Harry's gaze averted to the doorway as though something interesting was going on there.
"I just came downstairs to get a glass of water." Hermione replied. Harry creased his forehead.
"Don't you have some water near your bed?" He asked, looking back at her - forcing himself to forget the reason he had looked away from her in the first place.
Hermione hesitated for a moment. "Well, yes... but then I heard a noise and thought I should see what it was."
"I see." Was all Harry said in response, though he knew Hermione's true reason for venturing out of the comfort of her cozy bed and make the trek through the drafty house to the kitchen. "Came to check up on me, then?" He asked, the earliest stages of a smile almost evident at the corners of his mouth. Hermione unclasped her hands and they hung indignantly at her sides. Sometimes Hermione could be so adorable.
Harry quickly pushed the thought away.
"What?" She asked as though the very notion were absurd. "Of course not." She paused, knowing full well that Harry could read her like an open book. That was where being best friends got you. She sighed, conceding. "Well, what's so wrong with checking on you anyway? Aren't I allowed to be concerned about my best friend when he becomes a raging insomniac?"
"Of course you're concerned about me. You wouldn't be Hermione otherwise." Harry responded, though it wasn't exactly a light hearted comment. There was silence between the two of them for a few moments before Hermione walked slowly to the table and took a seat next to Harry.
"What's wrong, Harry?" She asked -- her eyebrows knit together with decidedly Hermione-esque concern. "You can tell me." Harry swallowed and couldn't meet his friend's eyes because he knew they would be his undoing. Perhaps he could have let himself drown in the deep sympathy he would most assuredly find pooling in those brown orbs. Perhaps he could have let his millions upon millions of unshed tears roll out on her shoulder. Perhaps he could trust her with his troubles. Perhaps he could do all these things...
"Nothing's wrong." But he wouldn't. "I just couldn't sleep." Hermione knew this wasn't the truth. Though she had never been able to read Harry the way he could read her, she was at least able to tell when he was lying to her.
"I care for you... and I hate to see you this way." She said almost pleadingly.
"Exactly what way might that be?" Harry's voice did not betray the fact that he felt suddenly very defensive. This was not the first time one of his friends had approached him about the "way" he was, or the "way" he had been acting. Didn't they understand? Didn't they see? There comes a point in everyone's life when their demons begin to catch up with them. Harry had been faster than his for a long time. He just didn't know how long he could keep running. He didn't know how long he could pull his friends a long with him. He had always known that they were fighting an uphill battle... but the horrible thought that they could be fighting a losing one was slowly beginning to nestle itself in to Harry's psyche. He was terrified for it.
Hermione took a deep breath. "Distant, Harry. Cold. You're drowning in your own misery and you're pushing everyone away. People who may be able to help you."
Harry, who was - at best - surprised by what Hermione had just said, could manage nothing more than a stunned expression that the girl sitting in front of him could barely even see. Whatever he had expected her to say just then, that hadn't been it. Of course, he could not deny the truth in her words. He had, quite consciously actually, been keeping those he knew and cared for best at arms length. Ever since he had decided to break up with Ginny for her own safety, his own logic only made increasingly more sense to him. Voldemort would find and hurt those closest to him and his cause. His best chance at keeping them alive was keeping them away.
But, perhaps... there was a more subconscious reason behind Harry's efforts. If he pushed his friends away, maybe, it would be less painful for him to deal with when they were hurt. Or worse.
"I know what you're going through - what we're all going through - is difficult, but--"
"I don't want to talk about it." Harry interrupted cooly and calmly.
"But we're still here, and we still have each--" Harry stood up suddenly, his chair falling back and crashing unpleasantly loud to the floor. Hermione gasped in surprise.
"I don't want to talk about it." He asserted, again, very cooly and calmly. Disturbingly so. Harry stood over Hermione for only a short while, but no amount of darkness could have prevented her from feeling the full effects of the intensity in his gaze. Hermione swallowed and her eyes fell to the floor. Sometimes it was hard to believe that this was the same Harry she had become friends with all those years ago. War and grief had all but extinguished the old warmth that used to burn so brightly and radiate so vibrantly from within him. It was still there. Every now and again, she could feel it... but it was dying.
And it was killing her to see it.
"All right." She said quietly. The room was submerged in an awkward silence for a few moments that seemed to stretch out the length of an eternity before Harry finally spoke again.
"Good night, Hermione." He said in the same cool tone a moment later, turned, and was gone.
Hermione sat where she was, her heart breaking as it always did when it came to Harry.
****
The next morning, Harry was gone before anyone else got out of bed. There was no note, of course. This meant that he would probably be home sometime that night. There was always a note when he would be gone longer than that. It could be assumed, then, that if he wasn't back by sometime that night... he was probably hurt or in trouble. It was a scary system, but one that Harry obviously felt worked.
"It's not normal is all I'm saying." Ron said with a scowl. A very evidently tired Hermione sat across from him at the kitchen table sipping on a cup of tea here and there. Her hair was pulled back in to a simple and lazy concoction in which is was out of her face, but still cascading over her shoulders. Small lines were etched subtly under her eyes - dividing the part of her face that wasn't purple and puffy from the part that was. These were called bags. She knew them well. Hermione set her tea down, and pushed it away from her - not even glancing at the toast she had prepared for herself. She really wasn't in the mood for breakfast this morning. After last night's little scene, she had stayed in the kitchen by herself for quite a long while before picking up Harry's chair and heading off to bed. Actually, she had headed off to her room, but hadn't really slept. Her night had been spent staring idly at the ceiling as thoughts of Harry coursed through her brain. He was getting further and further from her reach every moment. Pretty soon, she feared, she would not be able to recognize him any longer. She sighed.
"Well, what Harry does is Harry's business." Was all her tired mind could think to say in response to her friend. Ron, who, except for having grown quite handsome in his own Ron way, hadn't changed much over the years. Hermione had come to count on his consistency when everything else in the world seemed to be spiraling out of control. She truly did love him. Best friends, people who you were close to, were so important in these troubled times.
"But he stays up `till all hours of the night and then heads off to hide at work before anyone can say a word to him." Ron said as he shoveled a forkful of eggs in to his mouth. "I think he's gone mad." Hermione shook her head.
"Honestly, Ron... You know the ministry keeps him busy. He's the best Auror they've got. He's just has a little trouble sleeping." She didn't much feel like talking about Harry at the moment, because she had spent the whole night prior thinking about him... so she would continue her futile attempts at alleviating Ron's concerns and steering the conversation in a different direction.
"A little trouble?" Ron asked incredulously. "Most nights I can hear the floors creak with his pacing, and I have a feeling that when I don't hear it it's just because he was in the place of mind to cast a silencing charm."
At first Hermione said nothing. She had been harboring the same fear. Harry had had a problem with insomnia since their sixth year at Hogwarts, but recently it had gotten so much worse - so much so that Ron had noticed. It was going to begin to affect his health. She was surprised that it hadn't already.
"You're right, Ron." Hermione said softly. Ron, who had just taken a rather large bite of his banana muffin, only stared at his friend as though she had sprouted a second head -- his full mouth sagging open very unattractively. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, Ronald. I said you were right."
Ron chewed his food only three times before forcing the lump down his throat - his eyes tearing a little at the effort.
"What--" He coughed. "What are we going to do about it?"
Hermione shrugged. "I tried talking to him about it last night. He was rather... unreceptive to what I had to say." Ron looked confused.
"Unreceptive?"
"He didn't want to listen to--"
Ron rolled his eyes. "I know what it means, I mean... how was he unreceptive?"
Hermione felt a little bad for assuming Ron hadn't understood the meaning of the word, but went on to answer his question. "He just told me he didn't want to talk about it." She said, choosing to keep out the parts where Harry had terrified her. The way he had let the chair clatter to the floor. That cool tone he had used. The look in his eyes.
"Well of course he doesn't want to talk about it. He's Harry. I'd probably die of surprise if he ever came up to one of us wanting to talk about anything." Ron, typically, had not been able to tell that Hermione was holding anything back. Perhaps that was why their relationship hadn't really gone anywhere in the romantic sense. They just didn't connect the way that she and Harry did.
Used to...
Not that Hermione fancied Harry in the romantic kind of way. They were just very close friends who had formed a very strong bond. Nothing romantic about it. Even if Harry was oddly handsome and charming... with those hypnotizing green eyes, and that beautiful black hair, and that--
"Er... Hermione?" Ron said as he waved a hand in front of her face. Hermione snapped out of whatever reverie she had just been in and looked Ron in the eyes. "I thought you'd gone and left us there for a minute."
Hermione blushed at her own thoughts about Harry, and then shook her head. "I'll try talking to him again tonight. He can't avoid it forever."
But then... all he has to do is, avoid it until one of us dies...
****
There was a distinctive crack in the air that any witch or wizard would recognize as Harry apparated on to the scene of the latest Death Eater attack. Remus and Kingsley Shacklebolt were already there and had been conversing when Harry showed up. They looked his way.
"Ah, Harry." Remus said. "We were just--"
"Where is she?" Harry interrupted. Remus met eyes with Shacklebolt for a moment before turning his gaze back to Harry.
"This is a very... strange case, Harry." Remus said almost cautiously. Harry glanced around the small house. Book cases were turned over. Drawers were turned out. The home was in an over all disheveled state... but it was nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing out of the ordinary from a Death Eater attack anyway. Your basic garden variety evil tornado had torn through this house, but it didn't appear in any way strange.
"Strange?" Harry asked very pointedly.
"Almost Unique." Shacklebolt responded from where he was standing. Harry looked over at him and was going to ask what he meant by "almost" unique, but he was already looking at Remus. "It seems that I have my work cut out for me at the ministry. I'll leave you and Potter to it." The next moment another crack broke through the air, and Shacklebolt was gone.
Harry turned an almost exasperated eye back to Remus, though he said nothing. Remus took a deep breath and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.
"Come with me, Harry." He said. Harry nodded and then proceeded to follow Remus through a small hallway. At the end of it was a large wooden door. Remus took out his wand and tapped the door knob twice, then replaced the wand in his robes. Harry watched with a crease in his forehead, waiting patiently for the situation to be explained to him.
"After you." Remus said as he gestured for Harry to go in front of him. Harry grabbed out for the door knob and immediately felt a subtle, but unfamiliar magic course through him. He opened the door and stepped through.
What met Harry's eyes was a bit surprising, but would have been much more so if he had not seen the trick before at the Quidditch World Cup. It seemed that the owners of the house had enchanted it to appear much smaller from the outside. Straight ahead of Harry was a very grand staircase with roses carved around the banister -- a long red carpet running down the length of the wooden steps. On either side of the stair case were various doors that led to various places. Light poured in from an unidentifiable source and the room seemed to almost shimmer, as though someone had dusted the place with pixie dust. Paintings lined the walls and Harry could see that they were all whispering amongst themselves... all but one painting at the top of the stair case. It was of a thin, dark haired young man who appeared to be far too preoccupied with posing to be bothered with what was going on in the house. Remus kept walking and Harry found himself following him up the steps.
Once at the top, Remus took a left and proceeded to walk down the corridor. More doors. More paintings. Harry was beginning to become impressed by the magic that was being implemented here. It was different from what he had seen before, and he couldn't exactly place why. When Remus finally stopped in front of one of the many doors they had passed, Harry hardly noticed -- so engrossed was he by the home's enchantment.
"Ah, here we are." He said. Harry looked at him - a bit of a dazed expression over his features. Remus smiled. "It's the magic Harry. This house was enchanted to give it's visitors a sense of euphoria." And then, just like that, the subtle veil that had fallen across Harry was lifted. In an instant, the house didn't seem as bright or beautiful. Harry creased his forehead.
"What was that?"
"I believe the occupants of their home were convinced that their guests would be ever more impressed by the house if they were in an un surpassingly good mood while they visited it. Simple magic, really. The effects fade almost immediately when a person is told about it." He finished, then raised his fist to the door. Harry could not help but be in awe over this magic that Remus had referred to as "simple". He had liked the feeling that had overcome him while he was under that spell. It had been... like peace.
"Going to do a bit of wandless magic then?" Harry asked. Remus looked at him and furrowed his forehead.
"I was just going to knock." He answered. "It's only polite, you know." Harry almost laughed at this as Remus rapped on the door three times. After a few moments, the sound of locks being unlatched met Harry's ears, and the door opened a little. A pale, short, and decidedly unattractive man man stood with his face mostly hidden behind... as though he were embarrassed or frightened to let the two men see him.
"It's all right." Remus said. "This is Harry Potter. He's another wizard with the dep--"
"I know who Harry Potter is." The man interrupted. Harry grew a little irritated. Of course the man knew who he was. He was the boy who lived, wasn't he? That was all anybody would ever see him as. The door opened wider, and the man stepped to the side allowing Harry and Remus admittance in to the dimly lit room.
Harry became immediately confused. There, huddled up and shaking on the, was the woman he had been told was murdered. He had seen a picture of her just before apparating on to the scene. She was the wife of a very prominent wizard writer named Frances Pearl. A very vain man, he was told, that would have been able to give Gilderoy Lockhart a run for his money. He turned to Remus.
"What's going on?" He asked Remus, and if he didn't get an explanation very soon, tempers would be lost. They would be lost, and they would be lost very badly.
"Harry Potter," Remus started as he stood behind him, placing his hands over Harry's shoulder in a very fatherly way. "Meet the only other person in history who has ever survived the Avada Kedavra."
****
Harry walked through the front door of his grimy old house and headed straight for the stairs. Perhaps after a nice long shower and something to eat, the events of that day would somehow find their way to the back of Harry's mind...
It had been so odd. Extremely odd. Surreal even. He couldn't be "the boy who lived" any longer... because now there was another. They would have to be "the people who lived", or something like that. Maybe they could form a club and exclude the rest of the world for being susceptible to the killing curse. Harry sighed and shook his head at the thought. He supposed it wasn't right of him to think that way, but he was just feeling so strange. He was no longer the only one. Harry Potter would no longer be special. It wasn't that he was weary of having to share the lime light with someone else... but he couldn't put his finger on what it was exactly.
And then there was the whole matter as to how it had happened.
The small man at the house hadn't been very forthcoming with the details, and the woman's husband was missing all together. Remus hadn't been fooling around when he had said this case was strange. It was, indeed, very strange.
So strange, that Harry had not been able to get his mind off of it. Not through the long shower and not through the meal that he barely picked at.
Of course, when number 12 Grimmauld Place found itself awash in the familiar darkness and silence it had become accustomed to over the years, Harry's night mares served as an efficient distraction from his thoughts. The irony, of course, being that he probably would have traded the night mares in for a life time full of the thoughts that had kept him preoccupied earlier.
This particular night, Harry had opted to stay in his room and look over some ministry documents rather than roam around the house. He hadn't see Hermione since his little protest in the kitchen, and to be honest, he was a little embarrassed at the way he had acted. He had thrown his chair back like a little child and hadn't even bothered picking it up. On his way out that morning, he couldn't help but notice that it had been picked up and pushed back under the table. Hermione must have done it before she went back to sleep. It made Harry feel even worse. What she had said to him the night before was true, and they both knew it. He was pushing his friends away... and judging from the way Hermione looked as she was saying the words to him, it was hurting them. He wished he could take back the pain he was causing Hermione. He wished he could talk to her and tell her what was wrong. The thought of hurting her, it was nearly too painful to stand.
... And Ron, too. Couldn't forget about Ron.
But he didn't know if he could find it in himself to stop. He loved his friends more than anything in any world, any time, or any dimension... but he didn't know how to stop hurting them and keep them safe at the same time. Maybe they would all be better off if Harry went off to look for the last remaining Horcrux on his own. Maybe they could all forget about him and their promise to help him fight Voldemort. Maybe they could lead normal lives. Well, as normal as normal could get in the wizarding world. Would Ron and Hermione be happier if Harry was to leave?
If he just disappeared?
Then when the war was over, when he finally defeated Voldemort,
If I defeat Voldemort...
he could come back... but how long would it take? Would he be able to reintegrate himself back in to his friends' lives after having been estranged from them for so long? Would they accept him back? Would they want him? Could he really just disappear? Harry entertained the idea for a few moments before filing it away in his mind to be mulled over later when he wasn't so tired and confused... and when he could think about it without feeling as though someone had speared a wand through his chest.
Harry took a deep breath and took his glasses off with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. He had been "looking over" documents for the better part of three hours, but had not really absorbed any of it. His mind was just too unfocused - too many things running through it. He might as well have been trying to read with his eyes closed. At least then he might not have such a headache. After a few more moments of useless pinching, Harry put his glasses back on and sat back in his chair. He glanced around the room not really looking for anything in particular. The fire he had built some hours before was nothing more than smoldering embers, and he hadn't really noticed until now. Had he really been paying attention to the ministry documents at all he would have realized that the light by which he was reading had all but faded away... Harry's eyes continued their sweep.
His bed was made... he never usually bothered to get under the blankets. The perfect unruffled comforter seemed to mock him silently.
Lay down, Harry... I'll keep you safe...
He had to get out of here.
****
Walking down the stairs (trying to be silent but failing miserably as the stairs did not care if Harry was heard - and so creaked uninhibitedly), Harry heard the front door open and shut, and stopped in his tracks. Years of Death Eater attacks and various other attempts on his life and the lives of those around him had robbed Harry of his sense of security. He pulled his wand out from his pocket and proceeded down the steps slowly avoiding the areas he knew creaked the loudest. He almost hoped it was Voldemort... then, one way or another...
This would all be over.
Harry rounded the corner suddenly - his wand out, then halted abruptly as a startled scream met his ears.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, putting her hand over her heart. "You nearly scared me to death!" Harry moved to put his wand away with an apologetic look on his face.
"Sorry." He said. Hermione smoothed her hair down a little, which was a bit more tamed than usual, then dropped her hand down to her side. Harry could not help but notice how nice she looked. He had never seen her wear a halter top, because if she had, he couldn't have forgotten. The way the silky white material hugged her every curve was something he most definitely would have remembered. Paired with the simple faded jeans... Hermione looked down right... sexy. Before Harry let that thought progress any further, he met her eyes... which were lined with some weird... black stuff. Her cheeks looked a bit pinker and shinier than normal. Her cheeks were a bit more red. Harry's eyes widened.
"Are you wearing make up?" He asked incredulously. Hermione scowled.
"I do like to occasionally indulge in the privileges that femininity has afforded me." She responded sarcastically. Harry laughed, and a little bit of Hermione's scowl seemed to lift away. Indeed, Harry didn't seem to laugh as often as he used to. So when he did, it tended to make those around him happier.
"What were you doing out this late?"
"I should think that was obvious." She said, looking down over her shirt. Harry nodded as, suddenly, it was obvious. A subtle wave of unexpected jealousy crashed over Harry.
"Date, huh?" He asked, trying to act as though he didn't care. And why did he care?
I should think it was obvious... His own mind mocked.
"If you could call it that." Hermione said as she sat down on a side table - gently scooting back a vase full of withered petunias that rested upon it. Harry leaned against the stair banister. "It was an absolute disaster. First there was this big mix up involving lingerie - don't ask," she said off Harry's look. "And then his old girlfriend showed up. Oh, Harry, it was so awkward. They were all over each other." She covered her face with her hand.
Harry crossed his arms.
"Oh well." He said nonchalantly - hiding, quite well, the fact that he was pleased the date had gone so awry. Hermione looked up at him - shocked.
"Oh well?" She asked. "Harry, I--"
"Look, Hermione... if the guy was idiot enough to take an old girlfriend over you, and bastard enough to treat you that way, he's not worth the trouble of caring." He said matter of factly, as though all this should have been apparent to her. Hermione stared at Harry for a long moment, not knowing what to say.
"Right... well," She stood up and pulled her shirt down a little so as not to expose her stomach. Harry found himself feeling a bit disappointed at that. "I guess I'll write this one off as a win and go to bed." She started to walk passed Harry, but he grabbed her gently by the upper arm. He hadn't known he was going to do this, but once he had... he knew that there were things he needed to say to her, and he needed to say them now. Now before too much time passed and he could never say them. Hermione stopped and looked at him. He took a deep breath and let her go.
"I'm sorry for..." He looked down. "For what happened last night."
Hermione swallowed. "It's all right." She responded quietly - quite taken back by his apology. "I shouldn't have pried." Harry looked back up, meeting her gaze - his eyes intense green orbs. This was something that Hermione had not been expecting at all.
"You have every right to pry." He said. "You're my best friend, Hermione. I know you only said those things because you care about me. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. I just... I'm just..." He shook his head, unable to find the words he was searching for - not even understanding why he had chosen this moment to say all this. "I'm sorry." Hermione, unable to deal with the sadness in Harry's eyes - and yet so happy that he was finally opening up to her again - threw her arms about his neck and hugged him tightly. His arms were around her back in a moment, and the two of them sunk in to the embrace. Harry closed his eyes and let himself feel Hermione's warmth. He could have stayed this way forever, and he would have been happy. He suddenly believed that Hermione could take away his pain and emptiness. She was always there for him, always holding out her hand. He couldn't push her away, he needed her. This just felt so right.
It occurred to Harry, with some shock, that it felt too right.
Harry pulled away suddenly, and swallowed. Hermione's hands were up as though she were prepared to ward off someone's blows, and she looked painfully surprised.
"What's wrong?" She asked - something too much like fear lacing her words. Though Harry wanted to pull her to him again and tell her everything was all right, he backed away a little and took a deep shaking breath.
"Nothing." He answered a bit too quickly. Hermione reached out for him and took his hand - a bolt of electricity shot through out Harry's body at the contact.
"You can tell me." She said.
No. He couldn't tell her. He couldn't tell her - his best friend - that he had suddenly realized he was falling in love with her.
Falling in love? Harry's mind exclaimed. This is Hermione, we're talking about here. Get it together, Potter!
It was the stress. It was all the stress that he had been suffering through lately. It was making him feel crazy things. Think crazy things. He had been lonelier than he had thought, and Hermione had offered him a way out of that. That's all.
"Harry, please--" And that was really all Hermione could get out before Harry's lips crashed on top of hers. It was about the moment his name had left her lips in such a desperate tone that he had lost all rational thought. All he knew was that he had to kiss her. He had to stop the sadness from pouring from her mouth and her eyes. He had to help her. He had to fill the emptiness inside of him with something warm and soft. He needed her.
He loved her.
The thought scared him to death.
Hermione's tongue moved softly in time with Harry's. She had seemed confused at first, but never attempted to move away. Her hands slithered over Harry's back and he let out a low, quiet moan. Her lips were so soft and full. It was beyond him how he had deprived himself of this for so long. How could he have been living with such a beautiful creature for so long and not realize he wanted her until now?
But that wasn't true, was it? He'd loved her for a very long time, hadn't he? Isn't that why he had been pushing her away for her own good? Isn't that why he avoided her whenever possible? It was also why he had stopped hugging her. Stopped looking at her. Stopped being Harry around her.
He loved her... and he was going to get her killed.
Harry pulled away from Hermione for the second time and put some distance between them. Hermione's chest rose and fell quickly as she tried to catch her breath - her lips red, and her eyes dazed.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that." Harry stammered out, trying to slow his own breathing. Hermione moved to take his hand again, but he moved back further before she could make contact.
"Harry, talk to me." The pleading way she looked at him sent shards of glassy pain through his heart, but he couldn't talk to her. He had to get back to his room where he could think through his emotions and push them away. He had to keep Hermione safe.
"I can't..." Harry said as he stepped on to the stairs. "I'm sorry, Hermione." And though he wanted to run, he tread slowly up the steps to his room.
His heart breaking as he left Hermione alone in the darkness.
*****
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