Lustratio

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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Title: Lustratio

Author: Electric_blue

Rating: PG-13

Chapter Summary: Things only get more confusing...

Warnings: M/F, angst, dark themes

Disclaimer: This story is completely for fun and no money is being made off of it at all.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lustratio

Part II: Nameless

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“The facts of the present won't sit still for a portrait. They are constantly vibrating, full of clutter and confusion.

-Macneile Dixon

There were advantages to being an Auror, of course. Many, numerous, great... advantageous... advantages... Prestige. Respect. And it was fulfilling, too. Definitely fulfilling. There were a million and one reasons why it was a great job for - possibly the only job that could have fit - Harry Potter...

But at this moment, he could think of none of them.

If there was one thing that could not have been said about Harry, it would be that he didn't care about people. He certainly did care about people. Sometimes, perhaps, to a fault. He wanted to help everyone and take care of the world. He wanted to save the world. But after two hours with a man who refused to reveal his name, how he knew Mrs. Pearl, and what he knew of what had taken place the day she had been hit with the Avada Kedavra...

Harry didn't much feel like saving or helping anyone.

The 21 year-old Auror sighed and ran his hand through his dark hair - resisting the urge to take his glasses off and pinch his nose. This whole situation was a shame, really, because it was a beautiful day outside. A sunny, warm, breezy, absolutely gorgeous day... and Harry was stuck inside a dim and stuffy room, inside an ostentatiously large house, with a pounding in his head that would not be alleviated with a little squeeze from his thumb and fore finger. This was the kind of headache that threw a couple of throw pillows down in your brain and decided it was home.

“Do you understand,” Harry started from his standing position against the wall. One leg crossed over the other for balance - his arms crossed over his chest. “How important it is that I know the details of what happened that day?”

The short and pale man paced nervously back in forth in the large bedroom, glancing every now and then to the woman sleeping on the bed.

“Of course, I know!” The man exclaimed, and when the sleeping Mrs. Pearl stirred ever so slightly, the man looked at her again. When he was sure that she wasn't waking up, he turned back to Harry. “Of course, I know.” He whispered. Harry blinked once, and then twice - his face quite blank.

“Then you'll excuse me if I seem a little confused as to why you wont give me the information I am asking you for.” He said - not having to try very hard to keep his frustration and exhaustion from showing through, as he had quite a bit of experience in keeping his emotions from those around him.

“I just can't.” The man said the same words he had been repeating as though it were his mantra through out this tedious session of theirs. Harry sighed and pushed himself away from the wall with his shoulder so that he could stand up straight.

“Mrs. Pearl has no memory of what has happened to her. You're the only witness. We'll never find Mr. Pearl or the people who attacked his wife without your help.”

“You'll never find Mr. Pearl anyway.” The nameless man said sadly - his eyes becoming far away. This... was very odd. Harry, while taking a mental note of this, tilted his head.

“Just tell me what you know.” He said slowly, his instinct to help having been renewed a little by that look in the sad man's eyes. His instinct to solve problems, however, was the driving force behind this latest request.

And then the far away look, which had come so suddenly upon the man's eyes, was gone... The man ran a chubby hand over his head that was depressingly devoid of hair, and looked at Harry. A desperate expression crossed over his pale face and it looked as though he were preparing to plead.

“I can't tell you.” He nearly sobbed out. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but the man shook his head, and continued. “I can't help. I wish you and the ministry the best of luck in finding who did this, Mr. Potter... believe me, I really do - but I can't help you any more than you can help me.”

****

“Strange that he should say that.” Remus said as he leaned against Harry's desk. Harry, who had been pacing back and fourth slowly in the largish office, looked at Remus with a questioning gaze. Remus looked at him as well. “I was just thinking how it's strange that he should say you can't help him. Why would he need your help? It's all very curious.” Harry crossed his arms over his chest and nodded.

“I thought about that, too.” Which he had. A lot. In fact, he had gone over everything the chubby bald man had said to him... tossing and turning over every single word in his mind. He had wanted so badly for there to be a clue somewhere amidst all the I-can't-tell-you's and the I-just-can't's. So far, however, there really hadn't been.

“There's certainly something very important that he isn't telling you, Harry.” Remus said as he stood up and put his hands in his pants pockets. Harry let out a short - very short - laugh.

“What? You mean aside from everything?” He asked. Remus' eyes twinkled with something akin to amusement, though he said nothing in retort.

“I think the real question in all this is, why can't he tell us?”

Harry had thought about that, too.

“Maybe some kind of... binding charm? Something to keep him from telling anyone what happened that night?”

Remus thought about it, then shook his head. “No... if they wanted to see to it that he wouldn't tell anyone what happened, they'd have just obliviated the memory of that night all together.”

“Or they'd have killed him.” Harry suggested. Remus nodded.

“Which brings us to another question.” He started with a sigh. “Why was he there, and why wasn't he attacked? Mrs. Pearl was shot at with the Avada Kedavra, and it appears as though Mr. Pearl has gone off the face of the earth. Why was it that he was spared?”

“I don't know if we can rule out the chance that this man could have had something to do with it all. Maybe we should bring him down to the ministry for official questioning. Though, I didn't get the feeling that he was one of Voldemort's followers.”

“No... nor did I. I do, however, don't think that's a bad idea.” There was silence for a few moments, and then something occurred to Harry. His eyes stared blankly down at his trainers, though he did not really see them.

“Professor,” Harry started. Every once in a while Harry would slip and call Remus this, but only when he was focused very intently on something else. Neither of them acknowledged the mistake. “Where was Mrs. Pearl's scar?” And there was no need for any explanation after that. Remus looked suddenly very put out.

“We all just assumed it was the Avada Kedavra.” He started, taking one hand from his pockets and running it through his hair as realization dawned on him. “The message that Mrs. Pearl had been hit came from Mr. Pearl himself. He was screaming frantically that his wife was dead. That she'd been attacked with the killing curse... but by the time we got there he had already disappeared. Has our nameless friend ever said anything about the curse being used on the woman?” Harry thought on this.

“No.” He answered finally. “He's just never said otherwise. He let us assume.”

“Then there is no proof that the Avada Kedavra had been used.” He looked around the room, not intending to focus on anything in particular. “But the dark mark had been cast over the house, clear as day. The death eaters only cast that mark when someone has been murdered. It wouldn't make much sense for them to start casting it just for the hell of it now, would it?”

“No.” Harry said, almost becoming frustrated with himself for not being able to put any of this together. “I don't see why the Pearls would have been so special that they'd have cast the mark without cause.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe Mr. Pearl didn't just disappear. They could have killed him.” Remus shook his head again.

“There was no trace of him at all. There would have been something left behind... especially in a death eater attack. They'd have wanted us to see what they'd done.” That, unfortunately, made sense. Harry knew enough about the death eaters, and had seen enough of their carnage, to know this was true.

“And why would Mr. Pearl think his wife had been hit with the curse in the first place? He must have truly thought she was dead. How could he have been mistaken about that? How could anyone mistake it?”

“Perhaps he wasn't.” Remus answered thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked as he tried to follow Remus' train of thought - but failing. Remus met his eyes.

“Something must have happened to make him believe the curse had been used against his wife...”

“Like what?”

“Perhaps...” Remus trailed off.

“Perhaps what?” Harry asked. Remus looked at Harry.

“I have a theory as to what may have happened, Harry... but if I told you now without any proof by which to substantiate it, you might very well think me mad.”

And that had not been what Harry wanted to hear.

“We'll bring the man down here for questioning and pick this up in the morning.” Remus continued. “In the mean time, go home and get a good night's rest.”

At that... Harry sincerely wanted to laugh.

****

“All right, Harry?” Ron asked of his best friend with a knock at his bedroom door. Harry, who was sitting on the floor in the lotus position attempting to meditate, looked up. Had he actually been successful in his attempts, he might just have been annoyed at the interruption... but as it was, he had only been succeeding in staring blankly at his socks as thoughts ran rampantly through his mind. So, in this case, the interruption was almost welcomed. Harry took a breath and then shrugged.

“Just trying to clear my mind.” He answered, and there was more truth in that statement than Ron could possibly have understood. Though he did not seem completely satisfied with the answer, he nodded. He took a few steps in to the room, and shoved his hands in his pockets as he looked around.

“I, uh... helped save a Ukrainian Ironbelly from poachers today.” He said off handedly.

“That's great, Ron.” Harry responded sincerely, if not very enthusiastically, as he stretched his arms one at a time behind his neck and across his shoulders.

“Yeah.” Ron agreed. “I think, you know, after all this war is over with... I might just take up dragon keeping as a full time job.” Harry stopped stretching and nodded.

“Sounds like a good idea.” He responded blandly. He did, indeed, think it was a good idea. After all, Ron had shown quite an aptitude for Dragon Keeping in the last couple of years... but knowing Ron as well as Harry did, he knew that he was just beating around the bush. He wondered how long he would do this before he got to the real reason he wanted to talk to him. Ron shrugged.

“So... what are you doing?” He asked. Harry laughed shortly, and then stood up.

“Talking to you.” He responded pointedly. He wasn't going to get much meditating done with Ron standing over him like that.

Not that he was getting much done before, anyway...

“Cool.” Ron said, continuing his eye sweep of the room. “So... have you... noticed anything weird about Hermione lately?”

Bingo.

Harry had to force his face blank to keep from looking guilty. Just the name spoken sent his heart racing. He had, somehow, managed not to think of her much since he had kissed her - and he had managed to avoid her all together. Perhaps, though, that was made easier by the fact that she was almost certainly avoiding him as well. However, those times when Harry was unable to keep his mind from drifting in to Hermione's direction, times like these, the torment was acute.

“I haven't noticed anything.” And it was the truth, wasn't it? He hadn't noticed anything, because he hadn't even seen Hermione in at least two days. Ron finally looked at him.

“Well, I have.” He said, finally getting down to the meat of it. “She's been depressed lately... and real quiet all the time - like she has something on her mind.”

“Maybe she does.” Harry said, trying to subtly steer them off the subject.

“Don't think I don't know what's going on.” Ron said suddenly. And that statement, combined with the fact that it was so unexpected, and the fact that is held such an element of certainty, forced Harry to feel as though he had to lie. And fast.

“Nothing's going on.” He responded defensively. Ron creased his forehead.

“Yes, there is.” He said. “I'm not blind.” And here it came. Ron knew. Harry didn't know how he knew, but he knew. Was this going to change the whole dynamic? Well, of course it would! This was going to change everything.

“Ron, what are you--”

“Hermione's in love with some wanker, that's what!” He exclaimed. Harry was silent for a moment - his heart imploding. Hermione was in love? In love with someone else? How could this have happened? She had just been in the hallway snogging him senseless less than three nights ago... and she was in love with another man? Maybe that had been what she had been trying to tell him when he walked away from her. She was trying to tell him that it was okay that he didn't want her, because she didn't want him.

That, for some reason, hurt more than anything else could have.

“And how did you come to this conclusion?” Harry asked nearly emotionlessly.

“Oh, come on, mate. Isn't it obvious? Girls only act that way for one of two reasons. One, they're, you know, doing that thing that... they do every month,” Harry might have laughed at that if the pain in his chest wasn't nearly killing him. “Or two, they're in love. And since Hermione couldn't possibly be, you know all the time... she has to be in love.”

It occurred to Harry that he and Hermione never really gave Ron enough credit.

“And how do you know he's a wanker?” Harry asked. “Do you know who he is?” This question may have come out a little too much like Harry was trying to sound like he didn't care. If Ron noticed, he didn't say anything about it. He shook his head.

“I haven't a sodding clue, but they're not together... so obviously he doesn't want to be with her. He'd have to be a wanker not to want to be with her.”

This was nearly the exact sentiment Harry had expressed to Hermione the night that her date had gone so awfully wrong... was that man the one whom Hermione had fallen in love with? The man who had been all over his ex girlfriend right in front of her?

“Well maybe he has his reasons.” He offered, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “Like being a wanker.”

“Well, why do you care so much anyway?” He asked, crossing his arms, looking back at Ron - becoming increasingly more uncomfortable by the moment. It was a hard thing; hiding heart break, trying to appear stoic about it, and solacing his best friend at the same time. Ron looked away from Harry and began scanning the room once again.

“I don't know.” He answered, then shrugged. “I just... always kind of thought...” And Harry couldn't help but dread the words that were to come next. “You know... I thought me and Hermione would end up together eventually.”

Harry's heart sank. They were both in love with the same woman... and neither of them could have her. Especially now. Harry, if for no other reason, could never pursue Hermione because it would break Ron's heart. There was already enough of that going around.

“Me too.” Harry responded truthfully, and found that his heart ached just a little when he said it. He had thought that Ron and Hermione would eventually be together, but the thought that it could still happen hurt. Though he knew it would probably be for the best. “Just give it some time.”

Ron took a deep breath. “I think I've given it enough time.” He said with a slow shake of his head. “This guy, whoever he is... if he would have wanted her, I could have lost her.”

Lost her. As though he had thought she was his to begin with.

Harry's heart sank deeper.

“I can't risk her falling in love again with someone else who isn't me.” Ron continued. “I have to do something.”

“What are you going to do?”

“... I'm going to tell her how I feel about her.” Ron responded a bit hesitantly. And why not? For Ron, that was definitely a big deal. It was probably difficult for him to even talk about it with Harry - his best friend, and someone who knew their history better than anyone else. Harry swallowed and nodded.

“I think you should.” He paused, and then thinking better of what he had just said, continued. “But you should wait.”

“Wait?” Ron asked dubiously. “Look where waiting's gotten me so far, Harry.”

“Yeah, and if you tell her now while she's still pining after some guy who doesn't want her, it's not going to get you much further.” Was Harry's sensible explanation. Later, perhaps, he would wonder about how it was possible for him to give relationship advice to Ron when it concerned Hermione... but for now, he knew it was the right thing to do.

And if only one thing could ever be said about Harry Potter... it would be that he was always one to do the right thing.

Ron looked down and thought about this.

“Makes sense.” He said almost to himself. Harry said nothing for a few moments, allowing Ron to work out whatever he was thinking in his head. Also, he really didn't have much else to say on the matter. He gave Ron the best advice he had - which was just to wait. One she over whatever prat this guy was, she might just give Ron a chance. He was a good guy, and she loved him. They would be good together. Good for each other. The only thing was...

Could he handle seeing them together?

“It's settled then?” Harry asked, quite unsettled by this last thought. Ron looked at him, and then nodded after a moment.

“I'm going to wait a few days, I guess... and then talk to her about it.” He paused. “What do you think she'll say?” Harry finally did laugh a little at this.

“It's Hermione. I don't know that I have the vocabulary to imagine what she would say.” He answered. Ron cracked a smile as well.

“That's part of what I lo... like about her.” He looked down again, though this time there was a hint of a blush playing on his cheeks. He was probably hoping that Harry hadn't noticed how the word “like” had suspiciously started out with an “L” and an “o”.

He had.

“Me too.” Harry said quietly. Ron looked over at him.

“What?” He asked. Harry shook his head.

“Nothing.” He answered. Ron tilted his head, and Harry knew they were done talking about Hermione. He would have been grateful for this, though he could tell what was coming next. There was a peculiar look that his friends got in their eyes whenever they were wondering what was going through Harry's head. When they were wondering if it would be wise to try to extract that information.

“What were trying to clear your mind of earlier?” Ron asked, taking his hands from his pockets and crossing his arms. Harry sighed and sat down on his bed.

“Just work stuff.” He answered elusively. He really wasn't in the mood to talk about Mrs. Pearl or the enigma that was her death/survival. There was that look again on Ron's face. The one that said he was not completely satisfied with Harry's answer. Mostly... Ron went through life avoiding complication and minding his own business. People kind of assumed that he was just really unobservant and absent minded. Harry, however, knew that Ron noticed a lot more than he let on. He had, for example, noticed Hermione's change of mood... and now, unfortunately, he seemed to be able to tell that Harry was holding something back from him.

Well, that's where being best friends got you.

Ron nodded. “Well... thanks for the advice, Harry.” He started, obviously deciding not to delve any further in to the matter. “I'll be around if you need... erm, anything.” It was Ron's way of telling him he'd be around to talk if Harry was ever so inclined to finally open up about what was bothering him... and Harry sincerely appreciated the gesture. Both in the fact that he was there for him, and in the fact that he knew enough to know that Harry just didn't want to talk about it.

“Thanks.” Was all he said in reply. It was really all he needed to say. Ron shrugged slightly... and then left Harry alone in his room. Alone with his thoughts. And he found that he could not keep them from turning to the painful idea he had had a couple days before. The thought of going away. Now, more than ever, it seemed to be the best thing.

For everyone.

****

She had awaken to screaming.

It had been a tough couple of days in Hermione Granger's world. It wasn't as though her life were easy by any means. Not that it had ever been. Ever since she had met up with the little red headed boy with dirt on his face, and the little raven haired boy with the curiously shaped scar on his forehead... things had seemed to get only progressively harder as time went on. Yet... one thing, through out the years, had remained good and had remained constant. As lives were stolen, as tears were shed, and as a war raged - Hermione knew she could always count on one thing.

The friendship she shared with Ron and Harry.

Except now, well... she wasn't quite sure if she could call what she and Harry had a friendship anymore. He seemed such a solitary creature recently... and then that kiss. What had he been thinking? She had only meant to hug him. It had been so long, really, since she had been able to... and she couldn't resist. But then he had gone and flipped her world upside down. He had kissed her. She had done nothing to provoke it. Nothing to suggest that she wanted it from him. Out of all the things he could have done at that moment, he had chosen to kiss her.

Oh... and how she had adored it.

She must have hidden it well, because no one had ever really suspected that Hermione had been in love with Harry Potter since late in their third year at Hogwarts. Perhaps, back then, it had been something more of a crush rather than love... but it certainly was love now, and had been for quite some time. She had tried to deny it to herself for so long, and would have denied to anyone who would dare ask her about it. Now, however, she knew that it would be impossible to fool herself in to believing she didn't have feelings for him. That kiss had ruined everything. It had shattered her peace of mind - had crushed the fragile hold she had of her emotions.

So, understandably, things had been rather... stressful for Hermione as of late.

Now, as she was brought out of sleep in the most horrifying of ways, she knew it was Harry who was crying out.

Hermione threw her blankets off of her and her feet over the bed. Grabbing her wand from the night stand, she didn't bother putting a robe or slippers on.

“Lumos!” She exclaimed as she hurried through the dark corridor to Harry's room. The tip of her wand erupted in to a bright white light that illuminated every dark corner within it's range. Hermione suddenly felt that she couldn't get to Harry fast enough...

She burst in through Harry's door, and what met her eyes... was nothing more than Harry tossing and turning in bed.

He was having a night mare.

Hermione put her hand to her heart and willed the beating to slow to a more manageable, and less painful rate. If she had been older, she was sure that she would have had a heart attack just then. She quickly extinguished her light and took a deep breath. She hadn't woken him up... but he was still calling out. Hermione creased her forehead and approached him slowly. Something seemed quite odd to her. Though he was, indeed, still calling out... it wasn't nearly loud enough to where she should have been able to hear it from her room which was several doors away.

A few moments of confusion eventually gave way to a very strange realization. She hadn't heard him from her room. She had awaken from nightmare of her own... one of Harry screaming and calling out of her to help him. It was a coincidence of the highest degree.

“No... no!” The words forced Hermione's eyes to focus on Harry - and all thoughts and confusion as to what had brought her here faded away. All she knew was that she was here now, and Harry was suffering. “If you hurt them, I'll kill you!”

The words were startling and tragic.

“Hermione... Ron! No!” And his voice was filled with such heart breaking despair, that Hermione felt as though her chest would collapse from the pain. He was dreaming about losing them. In a way... she was happy to hear it. It meant he still cared for them as much as he ever did. It meant, deep down where it mattered, he was still Harry. She swallowed and went to his side. Kneeling next to his bed, she placed her hand on his forehead, then through his hair, over his cheeks. He still stirred and moaned... but no more words.

“Shhh...” She whispered in to his ear. “No one's going to hurt us.” At first, nothing happened... but then her words seemed to calm him a little. After a while, Harry fell silent and became still - his features softening. It seemed that he had drifted off to a more dreamless sleep.

Or at least, Hermione hoped, a nightmareless one.

****

Harry's eyes opened slowly. He blinked them a couple times to focus them as much as he could without his glasses. Sunlight poured in through the windows next to his bed... so it must have been morning.

Harry looked around suddenly, then sat up and grabbed his glasses from his night stand.

Morning? He was waking up in the morning, and not some time in the middle of the night? It wasn't as though it never happened, but it was rare enough to make him wonder about it. Especially since he remembered, very vividly actually, the beginning of a particularly wretched dream the night before. But there had been no end to it... it had sort of just faded away. Something, some calming presence, had made him feel as though everything would be okay. It had lulled him in to a sleep devoid of the things that terrified him most... and he had slept through the night.

He wondered, for a moment, if it could have been his mother.

Pushing the thought away, knowing it was impossible - he stood up. There was probably nothing out of the ordinary going on here. He had just had a good night's sleep, was all. He decided not to over think it, because really - it was something to be grateful for, wasn't it? No reason to look a gift horse in the mouth, and all that sort of thing... But there had been a presence last night, hadn't there been?

Harry shook his head. It was an idiotic notion. Presence? Some presence had magically appeared out of nowhere to see to it that Harry had a good night's sleep?...

Actually... stranger things had happened.

Harry performed his normal morning ritual - took a shower, brushed his teeth, got dressed, looked forlornly at his hair - except this morning it was done with a sort of bounce in his step that he hadn't had in quite a while. He had forgotten how wonderful it was to wake up to a sunlit sky and not feel tired beyond words. People took it for granted, but Harry wouldn't. By the time he made it downstairs for breakfast, he actually had a small smile on his face. He supposed this was what they meant by “getting up on the wrong side of the bed”, except... the opposite of that.

Harry laughed to himself at that last thought as he poured himself some orange juice. Ron looked over at him from the kitchen table.

“What are you so happy about?” He asked. Harry looked at him over his shoulder - he hadn't noticed he was in there. He turned around and leaned against the counter.

“I'm just in a good mood this morning.” He said, then took a sip from his orange juice.

“Glad one of us is.” Ron responded, leaning his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand. Harry stared at him for a moment as he seriously contemplated saying something like, “well, that's too bad...”, patting him on the back, and leaving. He was very rarely in a mood like this and he knew that whatever it was ruining Ron's morning... it would likely do nothing to make Harry's any better either.

“What's wrong?” He asked finally. In the end, Harry would always choose his friends over himself. Ron took in a deep breath.

“You should've seen Hermione before she left for work. She looked horrible.”

Well that showed Harry for being such a Goddamn selfless person.

“... Why?” He asked tonelessly - his good mood having all but evaporated. He should have known better than to come downstairs. He should have just apparated to the ministry and locked himself in his office for the rest of the day.

“She's still hung up on that ponce.” Ron whined as he dropped his head on to the table and covered it with his arms. “She's losing sleep over him now.” He looked back over at Harry. “You should have seen her, Harry! She looked--”

“Horrible?”

“Tired. Tired and awful.” He shook his head. “The way you usually look.”

“Thanks, Ron.” Harry responded, trying to remember if he actually was in a good mood a moment ago. Surely he couldn't switch moods that fast. He had only tricked himself in to thinking he had felt good that morning. That must have been it.

“I don't know how much longer I can go on like this... watching her carry on the way she is.”

Harry set his juice down. Suddenly - he didn't really want it anymore. “She'll get over it. Hermione's a pretty resilient woman.”

“You think so?” Ron asked hopefully.

“She'd have to be... sticking with you and me all these years.”

Ron laughed a little. “That's true, I guess.”

It was true.

And then, for seemingly no reason at all, the thought Harry did his best to avoid thinking about reared it's ugly head once again. The thought of him leaving for the greater good of those around him. He had told himself that he would think about it when he was less tired and able to think more clearly. Now was that time, and might have possibly been his last chance for a while. Merlin knew when the next time he slept through the night would be. Harry sighed. He couldn't keep coming back to this. He had to either put the thought out of his mind forever, or do it. He had to decide.

Looking at his watch, Harry took in a short breath and said three words that were particularly ironic after the thoughts that had just been going through his head. “I've gotta go.”

****

“Y-y-you have no right.” The chubby man said from the seat across from Harry's in the interrogation room. Sweat beaded over his upper lip and his forehead, and he looked horribly nervous. “I've done nothing wrong.” Harry laughed shortly.

“I have every right.” He responded. “I didn't want it to come to this, but if you don't tell us what happened that day I will personally extract the memory from you and watch it for myself.” It was an idle threat at best. There really wasn't any way Harry could do this, but there was a good chance the man didn't know that.

“You can't do that!” The man exclaimed more out of outrage than intelligence. Harry remained as calm as ever.

“The ministry, particularly the auror department, has been very patient with you so far. If you refuse to help us, then we will be forced to assume that you are helping Voldemort--” The man cringed. “And you will be taken in to custody. Your memory will be extracted, and we will find out what happened. You may as well--”

“I already told you, I can't.” The man interrupted vehemently - his face turning red. “And for you to imply that I could possibly have anything to do with you-know-who is an affront to my character, Sir.” He sat back. “You have taken me from my home--”

“Your home?” Harry asked suddenly. The man went instantly still. “You live with the Pearls?” The man swallowed and shook his head slowly. Harry couldn't help but feel a little triumphant. They were finally getting somewhere. Mr. Nameless' chest began to rise and fall very quickly as he was breathing very hard. He was scared.

“Please.” He said quietly. Harry was taken off guard by that. “Please, Harry.” What a great psychological trick. Call a person by their first name and make them feel as though they know you better than they do. Perhaps make them trust you. Harry was too smart for this, of course... but he was impressed by it's use anyway. “I know about you. You help people. You're a good wizard and a good man.”

“What does--”

“If you're as compassionate as you're rumored to be, then please... listen to me.” The man pleaded, still as quiet as he was before. Harry could not deny the man's request. He nodded just twice to show he was listening, but still meant business. The man took a deep and shaking breath. “I would never do anything to hurt Mrs. or Mr. Pearl. Believe me when I say they are my whole life. Just know that they are both safe and that the reason I can't tell you what I know is a matter of life and death.” He paused, and Harry said nothing. “When I say I can't tell you... I mean I can not tell you.” Another pause. “Please. Please, you have to understand this.”

And for some reason, Harry did.

The man was nameless, but not heartless. Not soulless. He needed saving as much as anyone else, and Harry would do what he could to help.

After all, that was just what Harry did.

****

Several hours later, Harry walked through the door and in to his bedroom, ready to try and sleep the night away. The operative word there, of course, being try. He had been happy that he was able to the night before, but was not enough of a fool to think that it would happen for two nights in a row. However, he was just worn out enough to think it could have been possible... though he had thought that before, and it had not worked out for him. And so... his expectations were not that high.

Harry took his glasses off and set them down on his night stand as he sat on his bed. After a few moments, he kicked off his shoes and laid back - not bothering to undress. He was either too lazy or too tired, but whatever the reason... taking off his clothes seemed a daunting task. He closed his eyes and felt that old familiar feeling of being comfortable and in bed washed over him. The kind of feeling a person could only get when they were beyond tired and beyond exhausted...

“Harry?” The name, spoken so softly, could have been a dream. Harry opened his eyes and looked toward the doorway. Hermione's silhouette stared back at him. An odd dropping feeling in Harry's stomach made him swallow, and subsequently sit up.

“Hermione...” He said as he reached for his glasses. He put them on and focused his eyes through the semidarkness. The moon was shining rather brightly through the window and Harry was pretty much able to see everything. He was especially able to see how beautiful Hermione looked in the moon light. Her skin looked at though she had been carved out marble, and even her eyes looked brighter. Harry wished he could pull her to his bed and fall asleep staring in to her eyes... nothing more than that. The sad truth that it would never happen was almost too much to bear at the moment.

And this was why he had been smart enough to avoid her for the last three days.

“Can we... Can I talk to you?” Hermione asked, fiddling nervously with her fingers. Harry swallowed again.

“Sure. Come in.” He responded. Hermione walked in to the room, and over to Harry's bed. Hesitantly she sat down next to him. Harry moved over so that there was no danger of him touching her. Neither of them said a word for a long moment - the room becoming so silent that they could each hear the other breathe. Harry stared at his hands, out the window, out at his room - anywhere so that he wouldn't have to look at the beautiful woman who sat so near him on his bed.

“About the other night...” Hermione finally started. Harry nodded, looking back down at his hands.

“I'm sorry.” He said before Hermione could get out another word. “I don't know what came over me.”

“You regret it?”

“Of course I do.” He said - hating the question and hating himself for lying to her, and then forced himself to meet her eyes. This nearly killed him. If he had wanted her before, he wanted her ten times as much now. He had to tell himself that this was all for the best... and that she didn't feel that way for him anyway.

She was in love with some bastard wanker, after all.

“I would never want to do anything to damage our friendship.” He continued as he shrugged slightly. “I wasn't myself that night.”

Hermione hid, very well, the fact that her heart had nearly stopped beating.

“I see.” Was all she said in a very quiet voice. Harry bowed his head a little to look at Hermione's face as she was staring down at the bed.

“Would you forgive me?” He asked almost entreatingly. He had to hide his feelings from her - this much he knew... but he couldn't have her hating him or being angry with him. That would just be too much to take. He wouldn't be able to live with it. He had to know that they were okay. He knew he had been ignoring her and pushing her away, he knew kissing her had been wrong... but they just had to be okay.

Hermione forced a smile. A smile that Harry was very relieved to see, even though he might have noticed that it didn't quite touch her eyes.

“There's nothing to forgive.” She responded. “But I would enjoy it very much if we could stop avoiding one another now.” Harry laughed slightly.

“Agreed.”

Hermione sighed and was still. She stared smiling slightly at Harry for a little while as though she had forgotten what was going on... and and then stood up suddenly. “I'm glad we've sorted that out.”

Harry nodded. “Me, too.” He said. It was such a simple phrase - “me too”, but at the moment, it was the truest one. He was extremely glad. More and more he was beginning to see what Hermione really meant to him.

“Sleep well, Harry.” Were Hermione's last words to him before she left the room. He felt her presence leave the room, and he instantly felt empty. As though he had lost a whole peice of himself. Is that how it was going to feel for now on whenever Hermione was not around? How was he going to sleep well when he was hurting so much inside?...

Though... that night, for some reason, Harry did sleep well.

Hermione, however, got no sleep at all.

*****

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Title: Lustratio

Author: Electric_blue

Rating: PG-13

Chapter Summary: Theories abound, and boundaries are broken...

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: Thanks to everyone for all your great reviews! I just wanted to say that there are some scenes in this chapter that are among my favorite in the story. Hopefully you will feel the same. For those of you holding out for some Harry/Hermione action, I can only say this: soon :-)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lustratio

Part III: Alone

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Come, let us take our fill of love until the morning: let us solace ourselves with loves. For the goodman is not at home, he is gone a long journey.”

- Bible

Harry wasn't exactly sure what Mrs. Pearl was trying to tell him, but he knew that it was probably the most important thing he had heard about this particular case as of yet.

The woman could have been a model by muggle standards, and was definitely beautiful - by anyone's standards. Long blonde hair swept up in a neat braid that hung daintily over her shoulder. Glittering blue eyes. Absolutely flawless skin. And, why not? If Mr. Pearl had been as narcissistic as Harry had been told, then there was no way he would have settled for a wife any less gorgeous than the woman who stood silently in the door way of the office. Although, Harry knew that she probably wasn't looking her best at the moment. She looked tired - a look Harry knew well from looking in to the mirror (though not recently. Oddly enough, Harry had been sleeping like a baby for the last two weeks or so) - and she looked a little paler than was to be considered healthy. Thinner, too. All this was to be expected from a woman who had theoretically survived the Avada Kedavra... and whom had just lost her husband.

Lost... in the most literal sense of the word, of course.

“You've never met the man who's been sitting in your room before?” Harry asked with a very concerned crease in his forehead as he stood up from his desk. The woman took a small step further in to the office, and then looked around nervously.

“Never.” She responded. Harry walked around his desk, and past Mrs. Pearl to the door. He shut it, and turned around to face the woman. She clasped her hands in front of her, and it reminded Harry so much of Hermione that he could actually feel his chest constrict. He shook the feeling off and knew now was not the time to think about that.

Mrs. Pearl looked around the office, and appeared to be a but surprised by what she saw.

There was a desk - a chair behind it, two in front - a sofa, and a cage. No other furniture.

“I would have though you'd have pictures of your friends plastered all over the walls.” She said with a shrug. “You seemed like that kind of person.” Harry looked around at the walls that, indeed, had no pictured of his friends - but rather of newspaper clippings and wanted posters. It had not always been that way. This room had started out filled with pictures of Ron and Hermione - and even of his parents... but slowly, picture by picture... he'd taken them down. He'd never really stopped to think about why.

Though, perhaps, it was because he wanted to keep his friends as far away as he could from the horrible things he dealt with here at work.

“Take a seat, Mrs. Pearl.” Harry said as he gestured toward one of two comfortable looking chairs in front of his desk. The woman shook her head.

“No... I can't stay.” She responded. “I just wanted to... to tell you what I know. I'm not sure if it will help you at all, but--”

“Any information would be helpful.” He certainly meant it. After weeks of getting nowhere at a firebolt pace, this was almost like receiving a gift.

Mrs. Pearl nodded.

“The man who has been watching over me...” She took a deep breath. “I've never met him before in my life. At first I thought it was the amnesia... that I was just forgetting him, but that I would remember eventually. That's what he told me anyway.”

Harry had a very horrible feeling that he had been a fool to trust the nameless man.

“But things have been coming back to me, Mr. Potter.” Mrs. Pearl continued. Things from that day. I remember... what happened.” It wasn't Harry's imagination when he saw that the blue eyes he had been very near admiring moments before... were now beginning to fill with tears. He did not remember the day his parents were stolen for him - the day he became “the boy who lived”... but he knew if he did, he might well have cried about it every night.

“It's all right, Mrs. Pearl. Take your time.” Harry tried to sound comforting, but didn't know how well he was pulling it off. He just didn't know what to say to a person in this kind of a situation. Again, she shook her head.

“No... I have to say this now.” She ran her hand over her hair, pushing up a loose tendril that had fallen over her eyes. “They... th-the death eaters... they broke through the enchantment in the downstairs hallway closet. You know the one.” Harry did. The one that opened up in to the real house. The one that had impressed him so much. That magic had been among the most amazing he had experienced. He remembered how it had made him feel as though nothing could ever hurt him or anyone he loved ever again. It made him feel at home.

And, he remembered thinking... at peace.

Harry nodded.

“After that, my husband and I hid in the nursery. We were planning on having a baby, you see...” Her eyes teared up some more. Harry felt only the deepest and sincerest sympathy for her, but knew she had to continue, and he had to hear it. “Frances had put... very strong barriers up over that room. He wanted to make sure the baby would be safe no matter what.” She paused, attempting to swallow back her tears. “At first we thought we were going to be okay... but somehow they managed to break in. I had never wanted to believe that they were powerful. I had always told myself that they were just a band of idiots following you-know-who - doing his bidding out of fear. But they are powerful. The magic they broke through should have been near impenetrable. They got through like it was nothing. And they were laughing, Mr. Potter. They... enjoyed it.” At this, the woman turned away from Harry completely.

There was only a brief silence.

“After that,” She continued again. “One of them pointed a wand toward me - the other two held my husband. He looked so terrified, and he struggled so hard to get to me. I thought, `dear God... they're going to make him watch them kill me...'. The one holding the wand at me looked at Frances... and sneered. She said... she said, `this is where fame will get you...'” She paused. “'Make sure to pass the message on to Harry Potter'.”

Harry felt numb for a moment... before the wretched feeling of guilt fell upon him. All this had happened to this couple because of him. He would never bring anything but pain to those around him. Even if he didn't know them.

One more reason to leave and never come back.

“I'm... sorry.” He somehow managed to say - and even as he said it, he knew the word was completely trivial. It meant nothing. It would not get this woman her husband back, nor would it ever erase the memory of what had happened to her from her mind. In fact, there was nothing he could have said at that moment to make any of this easier or better.

“I don't blame you.” Mrs. Pearl said quietly, and then turned back around to face Harry. “You're a good man, and a good wizard. My husband always said so. He always had a very deep respect for you. A man apart... someone who set himself aside to help the rest of us pitiful creatures.” She took a deep breath. “He didn't speak that way of many people.”

You're a good man, and a good wizard...

Something about that statement had rang very familiar in Harry's mind, though he wasn't quite sure why.

“After that...” The woman took a deep breath. “After she said that, I mean... she looked at me. Looked me right in the eyes. I've never seen evil before, but I knew that's what she was. She spoke the Avada... I remember it very clearly. I remember thinking that my husband would have to live with the memory of watching me die for as long as he lived.” Tears finally fell from her eyes at that. “However long that might have been...”

“He's alive, Mrs. Pearl.” Harry said firmly. He had already caused her so much pain just by being himself, and he couldn't stand her to feel any more. “We will find him.”

Mrs. Pearl wiped her face. “When I woke up, he was gone... and that man was there, holding me to his chest. Crying. I've never heard a man cry so brokenly. I don't understand it. I know I've never met him... but I feel as though I know him. I trust him.” She looked down, and folded her arms across her chest. “That's all. I... I don't know anything else.”

Harry stood quite still for a few moments.

“Thank you.” He said finally. And he meant it.

*****

“Your theory... out with it. Now.” Harry said not a moment after Remus stepped in to his office. Remus chuckled a little himself as he shut the door.

“Hello to you, too, Harry.” Was his response.

“You have a theory as to what happened to Mrs. Pearl. I have a theory as to what happened to her husband. I have a feeling that my theory is just as insane as yours, so we can't judge each other on them.”

Remus was silent only for a few seconds as he placed his hands in his pockets and stared Harry in the eyes. He decided Harry was far too determined to hear what his theory was, and it was best just to tell him what he wanted to know. He sighed.

“I don't believe that Mrs. Pearl survived the Avada Kedavra as you did.” He said evenly. Harry nodded. “That much is evident by the fact that the curse had not left her with a scar.” He took a hand from his pocket and scratched the side of his nose. “I think what we have here is, perhaps, the first case of a person being brought back from the dead.”

If Remus had expected a big response to that, he didn't get it.

“I agree.” Was all Harry said. Remus shook his head and held out his hands as if surrendering.

“Harry, I know it's hard to...” He paused. “Pardon me? You agree?” And Remus looked quite confused.

Harry shrugged. “Well... yeah. Like you said, there was no scar... and after the conversation I had with her, I was more than sure she had been hit with the curse. The only explanation was that she hadn't survived it, but had been brought back after being killed by it.”

“You do understand this wont go over well with the ministry.”

“I know.”

Remus nodded.

“Well... I suppose it's time to reveal your theory, then.”

Harry nodded and took a seat behind his desk. “What if... Mr. Pearl hasn't disappeared?” Remus took a seat as well - the same one Mrs. Pearl had been sitting at earlier. “What if he's still here? Only we didn't know it, because... he's sort of hiding.”

“Hiding? Why would he do--”

“I don't think he has a choice.” Harry interrupted. “Two weeks ago, when we brought Nameless in for questioning, he had called the Pearls' home his home. He also called me a good man, and a good wizard.”

“Well I don't see what that tells us other than the man's possessive and a good judge of character.”

“But then today... Mrs. Pearl said those same words to me. That I'm a good man, and a good wizard. She said her husband always said so. At first I didn't remember why it sounded so familiar. When I realized why... well, everything seemed to make sense. A mad sort of sense, but sense none the less. It explains why Mrs. Pearl feels like she knows Nameless and why he called her home his home.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying... I think Mr. Nameless is really Mr. Pearl.” Remus opened his mouth to speak, but Harry held up his hand and continued. “I know it sounds like I've lost my mind on this one, but think about it. Mr. Pearl disappears, and this guy just appears? Mr. Pearl was - is - a very powerful wizard. We felt his magic ourselves at his house. The spell that lifted once you told the person about it. He's obviously very good with those types of spells. That would explain why Nameless can't tell us anything, and why he told me it was a matter of life death. If he did, the spell he used to bring back his wife would be reversed, and she would die. It would explain why he told me we would never find Mr. Pearl. It would explain why Nameless knows their safe. It explains everything.”

By now, Remus had a very deep furrow in his forehead.

“But why would he change his appearance? Why not just stay the way he was?”

Harry sighed. “That's the only part that I haven't figured out. I don't know why... but there must be a reason.”

“But, Harry... if what you're saying is true, then our just speaking about it would reverse the spell.”

Harry shook his head. “I don't think so. I think Mr. Pearl was smart enough to make sure that it couldn't be reversed that way. I think he, himself, would have to tell us what happened in order for it to come undone.”

Remus still didn't look quite convinced.

“I'm not sure.” He said. “It's shaky reasoning.”

“But a sound theory.”

“That contradicts what I just said.”

“Yeah, well... what I just said makes more sense.”

The room was quiet for many minutes as Harry allowed Remus to think it all over. It certainly was crazy... but no more crazy than Mrs. Pearl having been raised from the dead. When Harry had first apparated on to the scene of this attack and they had told him this was a strange case... he didn't think any of them really knew just how true that was going to turn out to be.

“All right...” Remus said finally as he stood up. “I'll think your theory over. It's a bit too much to process at the moment.” Harry stood up as well - and in his eyes was something that Remus might have never seen in them before. It worried him, and he hoped to God he didn't know what was coming.

“You know what this could mean.”

“It could mean a great many things, Harry.” He answered with just a slight shake of his head, and his next words were said cautiously. “But none of them good.”

“All this time, Remus...” Harry started, and his words sounded just a little too excited. “All this time, it's been possible to bring people back. We just never knew how.”

That had been exactly what Remus had been afraid of.

“Now, Harry--”

“Remus, my parents--”

“Are dead. Have been for quite some time. It's something we've all had to deal with.”

“But if I'm right, we might have finally found a way--”

Remus slammed his fist on the desk and Harry was silent. Remus stared at him with the most intense gaze Harry had ever seen come from his eyes, and then stood up straight.

“You listen to me now, Harry... because this might very well be the most important thing I ever tell you in your life.” He said very sternly, and for a moment Harry was taken back to third year when the professor had found him with the Marauder's map. “Your mother and father gave up their lives for you.” If Harry had felt that he was back in third year before, he really felt so now. “Their love for you created the strongest magic imaginable, and you were spared. Their death was the consequence of that. I'm sorry, but it was. I'm sorry for you because you never got to know them, and I'm sorry for me because I was their friend...

but all magic has it's consequence.” He took a deep breath, and by now Harry was staring down at his desk.

“We don't know,” Remus continued. “How Nameless performed the spell - or even if your theory is correct. And if it is... we don't even know if what he did was right. There are reasons why reanimation spells aren't recorded.”

After a moment, Harry nodded.

“I understand.”

Remus didn't even blink.

“Do you?”

Harry looked up at him and nodded again. The truth of the matter was, he did understand. He understood everything Remus was saying. Pretty little letters and vowel sounds tied together to make words. Harry had been speaking the English language for quite some time now, and he liked to think he understood it very well.

“I should hope so.” Remus responded. “You're an old enough man and and an experienced enough wizard to know that it's wrong, and against the laws of nature... not to mention the laws of our world. If the ministry catches wind of this--”

“Remus...” Harry interrupted. “I understand.”

Remus was still as he stared in to Harry's eyes, and then he nodded. He took a deep breath, and then turned to go. Harry stayed where he was - the slightest bit tired from the conversation. Remus opened the office door, and Harry was about to sit again - when Remus turned back around to face him.

“By the way,” he started. “We may have found the last horcrux.”

*****

Harry walked in to his kitchen, his spirits down even further than they had already been lately. Which was odd, really. He should have been a little on the happy side that he and Remus had cracked the un crackable code. Solved the insolvable mystery. Almost, anyway. They were still just “theorizing” at this point. But Harry was more or less convinced that they were right...

And then there was the horcrux. The last horcrux.

Pulling up his sleeves, Harry observed the scars slashing every which way over his arms. A souvenir from the previous horcrux. Mostly, they had healed - leaving the skin white. Marked. That would never go away. He supposed he had gotten off easy as he remembered the way Dumbledore's hand looked before he died. The one that remained forever burned, and never seemed to heal. Only get worse.

Harry would leave in the morning to go follow up on this latest lead. Who knew how long he would be gone this time. If it ended up being true - that they actually had located the last horcrux... Harry didn't know what he thought.

Ron sat glumly at the table, a plate of cold food only getting colder in front of him. That's when Harry knew Ron was upset. What a sad lot they all made.

“Ron...?” Harry started from just inside the kitchen. Ron didn't even look at him.

“Yeah?” He asked forlornly.

“Let's go get really... really drunk.”

A beat.

“Okay.”

*****

Harry and Ron had only been here once before... neither of them really remembered when it was. Some time after they had destroyed the second to last horcrux. They hadn't been themselves for weeks, and finally decided to do the very muggle thing and drink away their problems. When they woke up the next day with roaring headaches that Hermione's pain relieving spell only took the edge off of... they more or less decided drinking wasn't their thing.

This night, however, drinking was their thing. If they remembered one thing from their previous night of drunken foolery... it was that, at least for a few hours, they hadn't been bogged down from the depression of every day life.

Harry sloshed back another shot of whisky as a group of tipsy university students sang very out of tune karaoke, and slammed the empty glass back down on the bar. Ron giggled as though something was extremely funny. Nothing was. Not really, anyway. The two had been playing a relatively ridiculous drinking game where Harry would take a shot when a brunette walked in to the bar, and Ron would take one when a blonde came in. It wasn't the most genius game given the fact that they had come up with it it when they were already drunk.

“I say,” Harry started, imitating a snotty upper class man - no one in particular. “I do believe that was my twenteenth shot.”

Ron burst in to another unfounded fit of laughter.

“You're completely zonked!” He exclaimed, then proceeded to fall out of his stool. Harry didn't even spare him a glance as he beat on the bar a couple times.

“Bar keep! Another round for me and my mate, directly, sir!” He said - a subtle slur in his words.

In typical bartender fashion, the tall and lean man was busy wiping out the inside of a beer bug with a white rag. He set it down next to others, placed the rag over his shoulders, and leaned on the counter in front of Harry.

“I think you and your mate have had enough.” He said, casting his eyes at Ron who was climbing back to his seat. Harry laughed.

“No... no, you see...” He pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket and threw it on the counter. “I have money... and you have the lovely alcohol. We exchange one for the other. That's what we do.”

The bartender glanced down at the money very pointedly, then back at Harry.

“It's time for you to go.” He said flatly.

“Do you know who I am?” He asked incredulously as he pulled Ron to him by the shoulder. “Who we am?”

“I really don't care...” And by now, the bartender was looking extremely annoyed.

“We're wizards. Powerful wizards who could turn you in to something very unpleasant with only the flick of a wand.”

“Like a tampon.” Ron interjected. Harry looked at him, and began to laugh.

“Ron, you said tampon.”

“All right, boys... that's it.” The bartender said as he gestured to a particularly large man who was dressed in black, standing in the corner of the room. Harry nor Ron noticed.

“I know!” Ron exclaimed through his own laughter. “I couldn't think of anything worse to be turned in to.” Moments later the big man dressed in black was behind the two of them.

“Get these two out of here.” The bartender said. The man pulled Ron and Harry up by their shirts very easily, and escorted them through the crowded bar to the doors. The two wizards found the whole thing very humorous, indeed.

“This guy would be a big tampon.” Harry giggled out.

Then Harry was thrown out - Ron right behind him.

When the two boys had calmed down enough to think straight - or as straight as they could as they were both appallingly drunk - they began walking down the sidewalk.

“What now?” Ron asked.

“Dunno...” Harry said as he looked around. “Do you suppose we should get home before Herminnoney starts to worry?”

“Yeah, we were very irresponsible not leaving her a note.”

For some reason, they laughed at this. Actually, there really was no reason to laugh.

Harry and Ron started home. Since their sense of direction was extremely impaired... it would be another hour and a half before they got there. Many funny things would happen to them a long the way, but they would wake up the next morning and remember none of them.

*****

Harry burst through the front door first, and then looked around.

“Coast is clear!” He stage whispered behind to Ron. Ron pushed forward, and Harry stumbled in the house. Considering how agile they were not being, they weren't really making that much noise. Harry looked at his watch. It was 3 in the morning. Hermione was definitely asleep. Because that's what people did late at night and early in the morning. Even Harry. Recently anyway. Because his mother was watching over him at night now. He wondered why she hadn't started earlier.

Oh well.

“Ron, we should be quite going up the...” He turned around with a crease in his forehead. Ron was already slumped over the couch and very much asleep. An hour or so before, Harry might have started laughing at this... but the effects of the alcohol had worn off enough for him not to think that absolutely everything was hilarious. He looked at Ron for a few moments, then shrugged... and began his ascent up the stairs.

Harry stopped at the end of the hallway that led to his room. He would have to pass Hermione's to get to it. Though when he found himself walking past her door, he also found that he wasn't walking past it. He was walking through it.

There she was.

God, she was beautiful. All she had to do was lay there and be asleep, and Harry couldn't get over how he had never seen anything more perfect or gorgeous. She was like... some kind of angel or something. Some wonderful creature that had no place on earth except to make it a better place to live in. Who would ever want to hurt her? What bastard had broken her heart? Merlin, he could kill him! Harry knew heart break well and Hermione didn't deserve that kind of pain. She didn't deserve any kind of pain.

With that thought in mind, Harry walked slowly over to Hermione's bed and sat down beside her. He ran his hand through her hair softly.

“I love you, Hermione...” He whispered. “Even if that other bloke doesn't.”

Hermione stirred. Harry pulled his hand back suddenly.

“... Harry?” Hermione asked drowsily as she opened her eyes.

Harry swallowed, and just knew this was a bad situation to have put himself in. He just wasn't in the right state of mind to think of a good excuse for being there. So he did the only thing he could think of to do at the moment... and it wasn't exactly to improve the situation.

Harry's lips were upon Hermione's in an instant. No, this certainly wouldn't improve the situation. It would more than likely prove to worsen the situation... but it felt so damn good that Harry couldn't really force himself to care. This is what he wanted. This is what he needed... he loved Hermione so much, and for once he was going to do something for himself.

He put his arms under Hermione's torso, and pulled her up toward him in a very firm embrace. The soft cottony material of her sleep shirt felt nice against his skin. At some point when Harry somehow managed to break through the haze of pleasure Hermione's tongue was causing... he realized that her arms were around him as well. He pulled away from her mouth and began trailing kisses down her neck and over her collar bone. She smelled subtly of fresh fruit and flowers, and tasted just as sweet. It was so wonderful.

“Harry!” Hermione gasped as she clutched a handful of his hair, and his lips were back on hers. He laid Hermione back down and followed her, gently laying his weight on top of her. Hermione groaned in to the kiss, and her hands roamed all over Harry's back, through his hair, holding him down to her.

Harry pulled away again... only this time it was to pull off his shirt. When he returned to Hermione it was to begin kissing her neck again. He had realized he hadn't spent nearly enough time doing that. And, oh, did she have the most beautiful neck imaginable! He was so overjoyed. He had the whole night to kiss that neck. To kiss that mouth. To love Hermione. To make love to Hermione.

The whole night.

*****

Harry woke up to a sunlit room that was not his, and headache that was what he deserved...

What happened last night?...

Oh yeah... Hermione happened last night...

...

Oh, God! Hermione happened last night!

Harry shot up in Hermione's bed and looked around. Even though everything was blurred, he could see that Hermione was not in the room with him. He searched around frantically for his glasses, and when he found them on the night stand next to the bed, he put them on quickly and got up. Trying to head out the door, he had to stop and lean against Hermione's dresser for a few moments as he clenched his eyes shut to the headache, and then left the room.

How could he have done this? What kind of a man was he? He had gotten drunk and allowed his emotions to take over. Poor Hermione! Had he forced her to kiss him the way she had? Oh, God... what else had they done? He couldn't bloody remember! He remembered kissing her for a good long time, and then nothing.

Ah... kissing her. Kissing Hermione. She has such a warm soft mouth...

Focus, Harry!

Nothing after that. Everything went black. Had he slept with her? Had he slept with Hermione while he had been drunk? That was horrible. Too horrible. Completely and utterly wrong.

Another reason to leave.

This was not the way to convince himself or anyone else that he wasn't in love with her. Merlin, what the hell happened last night? How was he ever going to be able to explain himself? How was anything ever going to be all right again? He never thought he would be the kind of man to do something like this. He hated himself.

Harry hurried down the stairs as fast as he could and searched around the house for the woman he hoped so whole heartedly did not hate him. Finally, he ended in the kitchen, where Ron sat in quite the same position he had the night before when Harry had come home.

“Have you seen, Hermione?” Harry asked, not even bothering with a good morning. It wasn't a good morning. Ron immediately held a piece of paper out toward him. Harry furrowed his forehead and took it. He read:

Ron and Harry,

I am spending the weekend with my parents. No need to worry.

- Hermione

That was all it said. Very short and to the point. Harry felt his heart crack right down the middle. She had left because of him - he was sure of it. She hated him. And she had every right to, didn't she? Of course, she did!

“Oh.” Was all Harry could say as he handed the paper back to Ron.

“She hates me.” Ron responded miserably. Harry was surprised by this.

“... Why do you think that?”

“Isn't it obvious?” He asked, dropping his head on to the table. “She knew I was going to finally tell her how I felt about her, and she went and left on me. She's using her parents as an excuse to get of the house.”

Harry sat down across from Ron and could only sigh. He had nothing to say. Except... he did. He did have something to say, and it had nothing to do with Ron or Hermione. He wasn't going to put it off or wait for Hermione to get back.

“I'll be gone for a while, too.” Harry said. Ron looked at him with confusion plastered over his face.

“What--”

“We've got a lead...” Harry said, and then took a deep breath. “We may know where the last horcrux is, and I've got to go.” Ron stood up.

“Not alone!” He exclaimed. Harry stayed where he was and shook his head.

“I've got to do this alone, Ron.”

“Since when did the battle against evil become a one man show?”

“Listen, Ron...” He paused. “If this lead turns out to be a good one, and we've actually found it... it could mean the end of the war. I'll need your help to destroy it, but I've got to look for it on my own. It's my job, and I wont drag you away from your life to help me.”

And for being hung over, Harry managed a very determined expression. One that Ron, in his state of being hung over, could not match. He looked down.

“Fine.” He said, then made a point of showing Harry that it really wasn't fine by leaving the room. Not that he had to make that clear. Harry knew it was dangerous going by himself, and he knew this was just pushing Ron further away...

And he knew that his best friends felt exactly the way he did.

Alone.

*****

-->

Title: Lustratio

Author: Electric_blue

Rating: NC-17

Chapter Summary: Admissions of love, a broken heart, and a new piece of the puzzle...

Warnings: M/F, angst, dark themes

Disclaimer: This story is completely for fun and no money is being made off of it at all.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lustratio

Part IV: Revelations

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“But who alas! can love and then be wise?”

-John Byrom

Hermione had known that he was drunk.

The scent of whisky was prominent, though the taste was somewhat masked by some minty flavored gum Harry had - thank God - been chewing. She wasn't exactly sure how to respond to it all - all her senses being bombarded as they were. A moment later, Harry's arms were underneath her and pulling her in toward him. In a moment of weakness, Hermione was unable to pull away from the wonderful things Harry's mouth was doing to her. She knew he was drunk - drunk beyond reason. Otherwise, there was no way he would be kissing her this way. He didn't feel anything toward her besides friendship.

Though, she didn't see him doing something like this with Ron - no matter how drunk he got.

This was not just Hermione's moment of weakness; it was Harry's, too. It was obvious to her now that she filled some kind of need for him at times. Times when he was feeling “not himself”, vulnerable... alone. She understood the feelings quite well, herself. Perhaps that was why she could not force herself to stop what was happening. She knew it was wrong. He was drunk - not thinking straight. She loved him. What she was doing right now would certainly be classified as taking advantage of him, wouldn't it?

But this is what she wanted. What she always wanted. Harry's arms around her. Harry's mouth worshiping her as though she were the last woman on earth. She wished that she could be awaken from sleep this way every night. Not that she was sleeping much lately, though. Her nights had been spent calming Harry down from his nightmares so that he could rest peacefully through his. She just felt that him sleeping was so much more important than her sleeping. He had that whole saving the world thing to deal with, and she just had her little job researching for the ministry...

But where was she? Oh yes... Harry. Harry and Harry's mouth. Harry, and Harry's mouth, and Harry's bare chest...

And Harry's bare chest?

Now it was going too far. Much too far. Kissing was pleasant and, well, a little humorous. Kissing she could forgive herself for later. Kissing - Harry would be able to forgive himself for later. But when clothes started to be shed, that was heading down a path that no one would be able to forgive themselves for.

Hermione turned her head away from Harry as he leaned in for another kiss, and struggled out from underneath him. He didn't try to stop her or anything. How could he have when he had fallen asleep?

Hermione ran her hand through her hair and bit down on her teeth.

What

an

idiot.

This was, perhaps, one of the most embarrassing moments of her life, and she was sort of the only one there to witness it. It wasn't as though Harry would be able to remember any of this. It was strange how a person could be humiliated even when there was no one around to see just what exactly was so humiliating. It could have been that she just felt so utterly ridiculous and pathetic in this situation... and then there was the horrible fear that Harry would remember all this in the morning. How could she face him? How could she talk to him about it? Would he want to talk about it? Would he be ashamed of himself? Of her?

There was no way Hermione could be there when Harry woke up. She had to get out of here.

****

Sometimes it was easy for Hermione to forget that she had not always lived in a world where magic existed. She had, in fact, been just a normal girl for ten agonizingly average years of her life. Of course... she had always been interested in things that others thought her odd for. Magic, strange creatures, and witchcraft being among them. She always felt that there was something different about her, and when she had gotten her invitation to attend Hogwarts in Scotland... she couldn't actually say that she was surprised. It was almost as though she had been waiting for something like that to happen.

Her parents, however... her parents had been surprised.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were the epitome of muggle. Dentists - the both of them - they had built themselves a pretty nice and normal life. Their house in Oxford was not quite to be envied, but not to be looked down upon either. Three substantially sized bedrooms where there was only need for two, a large backyard complete with a particularly nice garden that Mrs. Granger tended to meticulously. It was a quiet and calm neighborhood. The Grangers had always thought they led somewhat of a charmed life. Everything was perfect in their world... even if they're daughter was proving stranger and stranger as the years went on. There were of course the... incidents where things would seem to just happen for no reason. Times, especially when she was younger, w she would be having a tantrum and things would just fall off shelves and fly across the room by themselves. However, this may have been perfectly normal for a toddler. The Grangers had, after all, never had a child before Hermione. Who were they to question her development? She was still their daughter, and they loved her and would be proud of her no matter what.

That didn't mean that they had to like it when she apparated out of nowhere in to their living room.

Mrs. Granger let out a high pitched scream, and Mr. Granger came running from the kitchen in to the room.

“What? What happ--” His hands went to his hips as he saw his daughter standing in the middle of the room and his wife looking quite annoyed with her hand over her heart. “Hermione Jane Granger... you know better than to do that to your mother.” He said sternly.

Hermione smiled, and then... he couldn't help but crack a smile himself.

“Come here.” He said, holding out his arms toward her. Hermione dropped her bag and ran toward her father, wrapping her arms around him and embracing him tightly.

“What am I now?” Mrs. Granger said with a short laugh. “Chopped... pumpkin?” Hermione laughed at her mother's effort to use references from her life, and then pulled away from her father.

“Mum...” She said, walking to her and giving her a hug. The embrace lasted a good long time, and Hermione was just so happy to be home. She was amazed at herself for not having found the time recently to visit. Perhaps she just hadn't wanted to. Her parents just worried so much about her that it was easier to stay away from them... to not let them know how bad things were getting in her world. Her mother pulled away and held Hermione by her shoulders at arm length.

“Let me look at you.” She said, then looked at her husband. “Oh... she looks just beautiful!” She said, putting her hand to her mouth. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“You two act as though I haven't been home in years.” She said.

“It might as well have been. Not one phone call in three months.” Her father said as he leaned against the doorway connecting the kitchen to the living room. Hermione felt instantly guilty.

“It's not that I haven't wanted to call or visit... it's just that things are becoming quite heated in the wizarding world and--”

“Heated?” Mrs. Granger asked, eyeing her husband worriedly. “What do you mean?” Hermione took a deep breath.

“Oh, you know... I've been extremely busy. My job at the ministry, and helping Harry with--”

“The war.” Her mother interrupted, then sat down. She pat the cushion next to hers - indicating she wanted her daughter to sit next to her. Once Hermione was seated, her mother took her hands and looked her in the eyes. “Perhaps... would it be so terrible for you to take a break from all that and come back home for a little while?”

Hermione looked down. “You know I can't do that.”

“Why?” Mrs. Granger asked pleadingly. “I'm not asking you to leave that world behind or to leave your friends behind. You know very well that your father and I support you and always have... but you belong to this world just as much. You were born here. You lived here. All I want is for you to--”

Mr. Granger cleared his throat.

“How about we have some dinner, and talk about all this later?” He said. Hermione looked over at him and gave him a slight smile. A father always knew when to get the mother off of his child's back.

And, but for the moment Hermione was terrified that she was going to spend the weekend explaining why she could never truly belong to the world she had been born to, Hermione could not have been happier to be home. Here she would be able to think and sort things out. A safe place where she wouldn't have to think of war...

And she wouldn't have to see Harry.

****

Harry was in pain.

It was dark... a little moon light shone in to the cave, but not much. Beads of sweat ran down his face, mingling with the blood that dripped steadily from his eye. He couldn't see out of it. It was closed... either because it was swollen that way, or he chose to keep it shut to keep from getting blood in it. His burned arms throbbed, and a head ache the size of London had crashed over his head.

The lead that had sent him to Thailand was wrong. There was no horcrux here.

However, Harry had managed to find a pack of death eaters... or rather, they had found him.

It had been his own fault for cornering himself in that cave, but Harry had to do what Harry had to do. The clues he had collected in the village had lead him to that spot and he had to investigate. Of course, by the time he got there... it was rather apparent that he had come all this way for nothing. He just... felt that he would find nothing inside. However, Harry was nothing if not meticulous and the cave would be searched thoroughly. How was he supposed to know that five death eaters were going to walk in after him?

He had been taken by the arms from behind and spun around to face three black cloaked figures standing ominously before him.

Shite...

“Imagine meeting you here...” The one in the middle started. It was a woman.

Horrible thoughts ran through Harry's head. They knew about the horcrux search. They knew! Voldemort had set this lead up as a trap, and he had fallen for it. How had he been so blind? Why did he not sense that something was not right?

“You look so frightened...” The woman continued - her voice betrayed how so very pleased she was. A kind of laughter emitted from the other two at her side, and the hands at his arms squeezed harder. “And here I thought the great Harry Potter was fearless...”

And at that moment, for some reason, it was very clear to Harry that they knew nothing about the horcruxes. They were just happy that they had found themselves some Potter blood to spill.

Well, that made the situation considerably less consequential. They were no longer dealing with a scared young boy who didn't know how to take care of himself. He'd been dealing with attacks such as these for years, and if they were unaware of the horcruxes... this attack was no more significant than any other.

“Voldemort will be very displeased that you killed me.” Harry had started. “I'm sure he'd want the prize for himself.” The woman cackled shrilly as she took her wand out from her robes and pointed it at Harry.

“Scindere...” She incanted, and Harry felt a very sharp pain slice across his left eye as though someone had just taken a razor to it. He winced in pain, but let out only the slightest groan. “I think he will forgive us when we bring him your head.”

Harry bit down on his jaw as blood clouded his vision. “I think you put too much faith in your master. You bring him my head, and he'll hand you yours.”

Another shrill cackle. Harry wondered briefly if the muggle image of a green witch with warts on her nose had come from the death eaters. “And you put too much faith in how highly the dark lord regards you. A dead Harry Potter is a dead Harry Potter regardless of how it came about.” She paused. “But first... there's the matter of your visiting Thailand... what is so important that you had to travel here to see?”

“Why - I came to see you, of course.” Harry responded bitingly.

“Oh...” Harry could hear the smile in her words. “A sarcastic one. Brave words from someone who is about to die.”

Harry raised his chin defiantly. “I'm not dying tonight.”

“You've managed to escape with your life on too many occasions, Potter....” One of the figures beside her started, and the voice was eerily familiar. “Tonight will not be one of them... and your friends will be next.”

There was nothing after that but hate that blinded Harry to everything else.

Harry shut his eyes tightly and didn't stop to think about what he was going to do. His arms caught fire just where the two death eaters held them. They shrieked in pain and released him instantly. The fire extinguished itself leaving behind burns that Harry could feel... but the pain was minimal. He had never done that before - had not even known he was capable of it... but he would think about that later.

“Grab him!” The woman called out as Harry lunged for the owner of the voice that had spoken the words. The words that would drive Harry to kill if he had to.

Your friends will be next...

He pulled down the figure's hood and nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

Harry's eyes widened. A pair of steely blue eyes sunken in to a sharp and ghostly pale face stared back at him. A crooked smile mocking him.

“Malfoy?” A set of hands at his back forced Harry to spin around and summon his wand.

“Glacio!” He yelled, and a deep rumble emitted from the ground as a flash of blue light filled the cave only for a long few moments as head splitting agony tore through his brain... Harry fell to his knees and cradled his head. He felt as though someone was ripping him apart from the inside out.

After a few moments Harry managed to force himself to look up, and when the blue light had completely faded away he was quite surprised at what he was seeing. The glacio spell appeared to have knocked all of the five evil imps back... but they were falling very slowly - as though time had been slowed for them. Harry creased his forehead. What the hell was this?

Glacio?

Harry had not been aware that such a spell existed.

The next second, the death eaters vanished... out of thin air as it were.

What had he done to them? Had he killed them? Had he completely destroyed them? How had he known to cast a spell he had never heard of?... and how had he caught himself on fire? What was going on?

Harry picked the pieces of himself up from the ground and leaned against the wall. Through all the pain and confusion, one thing did make sense. The lead. The clues. Everything that had sent him to this spot... it had not been for nothing after all. There was something here. Not a horcrux, but something important enough to need protecting... something that the death eaters had obviously thought he was there looking for.

Harry stumbled... and passed out.

****

Hermione walked in through the front door of the dreary abode she shared with her two best friends, and dropped her small ruck sack to the ground. Ron appeared moments later in the door way that led to the sitting room. It was as though he had been waiting for her to return. Hermione shut the door behind her.

“You're back.” Ron said, a little surprised. Hermione smiled at him.

“I love my parents, but there's only so much a girl can stand.”

Ron nodded. “How was it?”

“Just what I needed.” She answered... more like lied. It hadn't done her the good she had hoped it would. The time spent at her parents house was spent mostly being reminded (by her mother, of course) of all the reasons living at home would be extremely beneficial. If it was not that... it was being miserable at thoughts of Harry. As these thoughts faded away, Hermione became aware that there was silence between the she and Ron... and an awkward silence at that.

“I'm glad you're back.” Ron said finally. Hermione opened her mouth to respond - and perhaps to ask why Ron was acting so oddly, but was cut off. “Can I talk to you?”

Hermione furrowed her forehead, becoming instantly worried.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No...” Ron said with a quick shake of his head... and then looked suddenly confused. “At least I don't think there's something wrong, that is. I mean... I might think it's fine, but you might think--”

“Ron,” Hermione interrupted. “What is it?”

Ron swallowed.

“Maybe you should come sit next to me in the--”

“Ron.”

Ron gulped.

“All right...” He took a deep breath. “As you might have noticed...” He paused, and then uncrossed his arms... using his hands to gesture, he continued. “Sometimes... when two people...” He paused again. Hermione was very confused at this point. “You and I... well, we're best friends.”

Hermione nodded slowly. “Of course we are...”

“Well, sometimes... the best friend type of love can... turn in to... a different type of love?”

Hermione could not help feeling as though she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole. Out of all the things he could have said that she would not have been prepared for, this was perhaps the worst. She had thought that all romantic feelings he felt for her had dwindled to nothing after Hogwarts. He had given no indication since then... why now?

Why now?

“Ron, I--”

“I love you, Hermione.” He said it. He actually said it... and he looked horrified. Hermione's heart broke for him. This was a huge step for him. An enormous risk. How could she tell him she didn't feel that way about him? How could she hurt him that way? She knew what it felt like, and she never wanted Ron to feel that. Never. “...Erm... I think it's your turn to say something.”

Hermione met Ron's eyes and bit her lip.

“I don't... I don't know what to say.”

Ron took a few steps toward her, then stopped. “Well... how do you... how do you feel about what I... you know. What I just said?” Hermione held back her tears at the look of fearful hope in her best friend's eyes. It was just such a Ron way of expressing his emotions.

“I... have to think about this, Ron.” She shook her head. “I'm sorry.” It was all she could say before she ran up the stairs to her room where she shut herself in and burst in to tears. If she could have seen the broken look on Ron's face as she ran past him, she would have known that she was not crying hard enough.

Was it possible that any one else in the world was feeling worse than her?

****

It was morning.

Harry woke up to a burning pain in his arms... feeling unpleasantly dazed - the after effects of possibly the worst head ache he had ever had making his head throb and feel as though it had blown up to ten times it's size. He groaned as he sat up.

As Then the memory of the events of the night before rushed at him from all sides, and he felt suddenly very weak again. He straightened his glasses, and winced as he shrugged off his jacket. Looking down at his black and red arms he sighed to himself. He would have to get these tended to... and then there was his eye. He would have to face the very real possibility that he would never see out of it again.

But that was neither here nor there... there was something in this cave. Something important.

Harry stood up with some effort, and picked up his wand from the ground.

“Lumos.” He said thickly, and limped further in to the cave. He didn't know what was wrong with his leg, but was sure it had something to do with his passing out the night before... which brought up more questions, but he would have to think of those later.

Steps?

Harry pointed his wand at the ground. Yes. There was a set of steps leading down in to the darkness. It might not have been the smartest thing for Harry to venture down there by himself, but he had come this far on his own... and so he followed them as far as they would take him. It hadn't ended up being a very long trip. There had only been 12 steps.

There... just a few feet in front of him... floating over a large basin full of some kind of liquid, was an orb about the size of his fist. Inside the orb an assortment of colored mist swirled around aimlessly. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“You've gotta' be kidding me.” He said out loud, then looked around. “It can't be that easy.”

Harry spotted a pebble on the ground and picked it up. He threw it up in his hand a couple of times before aiming and throwing it at the orb.

The pebble exploded inches in front of floating ball - the mist inside turning dark green - and the remnants went flying out in every direction. Harry put up his hands to shield himself from the blast.

Of course it wasn't that easy.

Harry sighed, and then sat down on the bottom step as he stared at the colors. He would have to get home and tell Shacklebolt and Remus about this. He knew he would have to set up some barriers of his own to keep it out of the wrong hands... and then he would head home.

*****

Harry sat silently in the sitting room of his dark old house, staring off in to space. He had just gotten home that night and had spent the better part of the last five hours explaining what had happened to the ministry. About being attacked, about Malfoy, about the Orb. It was decided that a team - led by Harry - would be sent back to the cave after having enough time to prepare. After that he was sent to the medical ward and was promptly poked and prodded at until a conclusion was reached.

The spell the woman had used to cut Harry's eye was quite hard to reverse. He would have to take a healing potion for the next few nights and recite an incantation. His vision would return eventually. As for the burns on his arms, they were healed quickly enough... but left pretty noticeable scars. Harry didn't really care. The pain was gone, and there was too much going on in his life to worry much about aesthetics.

“What happened to your eye?” Hermione said as Harry was just getting comfortable in the silence of the sitting room. Something in his chest sank, and he wondered why he hadn't expected this from her. Of course she would want to talk the moment she realized he was home. It was Hermione. She had to know everything. Understand everything. She wouldn't just let it go. She wouldn't let Harry let it go.

Harry looked up at Hermione was standing a few feet away from him. He hadn't even noticed her walk in to the room.

“Got hurt.” Was all he said in response. Hermione took a deep breath.

“We have to talk.”

“Can it wait?” Harry asked, not meeting her gaze. He could feel it burn in to him anyway.

“I think it's waited long enough.” She answered determinately. Harry swallowed, and then took a deep breath. He didn't know how he was going to avoid it this time. Could he throw his chair back again? No, he supposed that trick was only good once.

“I--”

“Look at me.” Hermione interrupted softly. her voice didn't sound as determined this time, but rather... pleading. Harry's heart constricted painfully and he hesitantly did as she asked. His eyes met hers for the first time that night, and the connection was undeniable. Something, a very strong magic, surged between them and Harry found it suddenly difficult to breath. It was as though everything he felt for her was being forced toward the forefront of his mind and body. It felt amazing and horrible at the same time.

“I can't do this.” He said as he stood suddenly, breaking whatever bond had just been formed - careful not to knock over his chair. Hermione stood as well.

“Wait!” She said, holding out her hands - tears just beginning to brim her eyes. Harry couldn't look at her. Seeing her that way was bad enough, but knowing he was the cause was torture. “We didn't... nothing happened, Harry.”

Harry had to look at her at those words.

“I thought--”

“I know what you thought.”

“But you left. You left and didn't say anything.”

“I had to leave, Harry. I couldn't face you the next morning. I knew I wouldn't know what to say. I just had to get out of here for a few days.” She paused. “I didn't know you would be gone when I got back.”

It took a few moments for Harry to take the information in. Nothing happened. He hadn't slept with Hermione. The feeling of relief was short lived as he could tell that Hermione was not yet done talking. He knew she had much more to say. He didn't know how long he would have stayed relieved anyway. Too many bad things had happened lately for him to feel any kind of happiness for very long.

“Hermione, please...” he started. “Don't do this.” And suddenly, there was a loud shattering noise, and Harry looked up and then around. It took him only a few seconds to realize what had happened. Hermione had thrown a glass full of water - that he hadn't noticed she had been holding - against the wall. He looked at the water dripping to the floor, meeting back up with the broken pieces of the cup it had been in moments before - then he looked at Hermione with a deep furrow in his forehead.

“What did--”

“You did this to me, Harry.” Hermione started angrily - tears still in her eyes, but not falling down her face. Harry tilted his head, immediately on the defensive. “I was fine. I... could have gotten over you. Do you understand that? A girl knows that when she falls in love with Harry bloody Potter that she essentially signed herself up to get her heart broken... and I had reconciled myself with the fact. I was going to be okay.” She shook her head, the first tear spilling slowly down her cheek. “But when you kissed me, you ruined everything. You can't just play with people like that, Harry. Who are you to--”

“You think I want to hurt you?” Harry asked incredulously - angrily. How could she think that of him? No. How dare she?

“What am I supposed to think? You kissed me, you told me you don't think of me that way, and then you get drunk and kiss me all over again. You can't just use me every time you're feeling vulnerable.” Harry could say nothing, his mind was racing much too fast to catch a coherent thought. “What have you become, Harry? Ron and I don't recognize you anymore. You're a completely different person. You've turned selfish!”

Selfish?

And for that moment - Harry truly, sincerely, honest to God... hated Hermione.

“How dare you use me that way? Who do you think you are? You can't just kiss me to ward off your own self inflicted loneliness, and cast me away!”

And it went on. The yelling. The accusations. All from Hermione. Harry listened - his eyes melting in to bright green pools of anger. There was a buzzing, a whirring, a cracking in the very fabric of what made up everything. At least, that's what is sounded like to Harry. As blood rushed madly through his veins, the swishing of it was nearly deafening. He was this close to losing it. If she didn't stop, he didn't know what he would do.

And she had no clue what she was getting herself in to.

“Harry Potter, are you even listening to me?” She asked a bit too much on the condescending side, and that was it. “I--”

“Shut up, Hermione!” He bellowed as he slammed his fist on the coffee table, the anger that had been pooling and simmering in his eyes boiling over in a wave of white hot fury over his nerves. “Just shut up!” Hermione, who had been in the middle of starting another sentence, stood shocked - her mouth hanging open as proof. A moment later, she closed her mouth and knit her eyebrows together - her eyes becoming clouded with hurt. She knew he was getting angry with her, she had even been deliberately provoking it. Anger was emotion, and she damn well preferred it over that blank mask that he had taken to wearing when ever he was near her. But this? She had never expected him to yell at her like that. Had never even thought he was capable.

“You yelled at me.” She said quietly. Harry bit down hard on his teeth.

“And what do you think you've been doing to me for the past half hour, Hermione? I'm not a fucking child.” Usually, when it came to hurting Hermione, Harry's stand on the subject was: don't. If he could avoid causing her pain, he would do everything he could. Apparently, though, the tendency was that he would cause her pain whenever he was around her, so that made for another good reason to stay away from her. However, at this moment, he didn't care how much he hurt her with what he said. She was hurting him, and now she had to hear everything he had refused to tell her for the past... he didn't even know how long he had loved her.

He couldn't remember a time when he didn't.

Now he would tell her. All of it. All the pain. All the suffering. All of it for her. Because of her.

“I love you.” He said through grit teeth as he gripped the edge of the table, and it was clear that he wasn't saying it to make the situation better between them. Hermione was struck. Plain and simple. “I love you so much it hurts.” He put a fist to his heart to emphasize the the word “hurts”, and then returned it to the table. Hermione could only watch, wide eyed and speechless. “You think you're the only one who suffers around here?” Of course, Hermione was going to try to answer the obviously rhetorical question. For such a smart person, it was truly a stupid thing to do.

“Harry, I--”

Harry waved his hand abruptly, and an antique vase went flying across the room - shattering to a million pieces as it met it's untimely end against the same wall Hermione had thrown her glass of water against. Although, in retrospect, that hadn't been nearly as effective as what Harry had just done. Hermione gasped in surprise as her eyes shot to the broken chair, and then looked at Harry as though he had gone absolutely, stark raving mad. He stared back at her for a few moments in silence, and she couldn't help but notice how white his knuckles were as they clutched the table separating the two of them from each other.

“You. listen. to me now.” Harry said slowly in a voice that was low with anger. Hermione was too shocked to protest. Harry continued. “Do you know what it's like to have to push you away? Do you know how much it kills me to see that look in your eyes? You couldn't possibly know what it's like to have the weight of the world on your shoulders, and to fear that the people you love most in life are going to die... and that it'll be your fault.” By now, Harry was forming tears of his own, and Hermione's hands had found their way to her face as she stared at Harry in horror. “Selfish? I do everything for you. To keep you safe. I push you away... because I would die if anything happened to you.” A beat. “I can't live without you.”

Hermione shook her head, and took her hands down from her face. “It's my decision to be here... and Ron's, too. We're not children either. We know what we're doing.” Harry rounded the table unexpectedly, and before Hermione knew exactly what had happened, she was pinned between the wall and the very imposing mass that was Harry's body. He stared down at her fiercely, his hands on either side of her head. She could feel the swell of his chest and stomach each time he took in a breath.

“You have no idea what you're doing.” He nearly whispered, and nothing about that statement indicated that he was talking about Ron as well... though Hermione wasn't exactly sure what he had meant. Was he talking about the war... or was he talking about him? She had never seen Harry this way. This intense and angry. Was this who Harry was hiding from everyone all the time? Hermione took a shaking breath.

“Let me go.” She said. Harry didn't move.

“This is what you wanted, isn't it? Me? Harry bloody Potter?” He asked in the same low angry voice he had used earlier. He waited a few moments before continuing. “You wanted the boy who lived. The hero. But he doesn't really exist. This is all there is. I'm. just. Harry...” With that, he finally backed away a bit, and Hermione could finally breathe properly. “I'm not perfect or brave... I'm messed up and terrified. People close to me die, Hermione. It's been true all my life. All I can do is try and protect you and do what I think is right.” Hermione wiped her eyes furiously - refusing to let the flood gates go. What kind of sense did Harry think he was making?

“How are you protecting me?” She asked. “If we went by your logic, then just living in the same house as you puts me in danger.” Harry swallowed. She was right... living in the same house as him did put her in danger. He had been a fool to let her and Ron risk their lives that way. He had to leave... and he knew this was the time to tell her. “What difference would it make if--”

“I'm going away.” He interrupted quietly. Hermione's eyes widened, knowing full well what “going away” meant. He was going to disappear and she'd never see him again. That's what he thought he had to do to keep his friends safe. That's what he felt was right. How long had he been tossing the idea over in his head? How long had it been hurting him?

“What?” She asked. “Harry, no...” And where Harry's cracking point had been many minutes before, this was it for Hermione. The tears that Harry had been watching build and recede in her eyes finally gave way, and she broke down. Harry's heart softened instantly and he regretted breaking the news to her that way. This was no way to treat the woman he loved. More than that... this was no way to treat Hermione.

Harry pulled the sobbing woman to his him, and she cried in to his chest.

“I'm sorry.” He rasped as he rested his head on top of hers. “Hermione, I'm sorry.” He held her tightly as though it would take all her pain away.

“You've never been anything but just Harry to me.” She responded. “I don't care about anything else.”

“I know.”

“Harry, please don't go...”

They were kissing... neither of them knew who had initiated it, and neither of them cared. There would be no more lying, and there would be no more holding back.

Tongues tangled passionately as Harry's hands roamed over every inch of Hermione's body. She felt so wonderful to the touch. Soft in all the places he was hard. Delightfully warm. There was something so beautiful about that. His heart ached at being so close to her. Feeling her. There was just so much pain in the last few weeks - the last few years - that feeling this good nearly seemed impossible.

Hermione's hands slithered under Harry's shirt, and the feel of her hands against his bare skin sent shivers all through out his body. He ran his hands through her hair and threaded it through his fingers, groaning in to her mouth. He was painfully hard for her... all he wanted was to be inside her. To be close to her. To fill her up. To be a part of her. He wanted to melt in to Hermione. He loved her so much.

Hermione pressed herself against Harry and he moaned at the unexpected pleasure. A moment later his shirt was flying up and over his head and two small hands were working furiously at undoing his pants. The kiss broken only long enough for Harry's shirt to pass over his face. The question “are you sure?” was never asked. There was no need.

Harry slipped his hands in to Hermione's pants and gently pushed them down her legs as his own pants pooled around his feet. The kiss was broken only once more as Harry pulled Hermione's blouse over her head. After a few moments of fiddling futilely with the clasp on her white satin bra, he ripped it apart from the front. Hermione gasped, but didn't protest. Harry slid the ruined bra down her arms, and pressed his chest against her breasts. That was nearly too much for him to take. He wanted to step back and look at her - to bask in her perfection, but there would be time for all that later. Right now he had to be inside her.

Harry pulled down his boxers and helped Hermione out of her panties... not a moment later he lifted her in to his arms and pressed her up against the wall.

“I love you, Har--” His name was lost in a gasp as he entered her. Her warmth encircled him like a blanket and he felt peace... even though his heart raced at a million beats per second. He watched Hermione's face contort with delicious expressions of pleasure as he pumped in and out of her. It was amazing to behold... beautiful, perfect, wonderful Hermione was losing herself to him.

She wrapped her legs around his back and began to thrust back as he pushed in to her. Harry called out her name loudly and she pressed her lips against his.

He loved her. She loved him. They were together. There was no pain. No sadness. No war. For the time that they remained there making love, there was nothing else but them. This was their world, and it was beautiful.

Harry thrust one last time in to the woman he couldn't live with out... and thinking became impossible her inner walls tightened around him as her whole body trembled. He watched her climax with a silent scream and followed her over the cliff.

The two collapsed to the floor wrapped in each other.

There was no going back now.

*****

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