Redemption by DonovanPotter

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 17/06/2006
Last Updated: 26/08/2006
Status: Completed

Chapter 11 - the final chapter, a little bit of fluff to end the story. Harry and Hermione
return to India to say thank you to Mother Rose.




1. untitled
-----------

**A/N – so here’s my new fic. It won’t be as long as the others, I don’t think, but I hope you
enjoy it.**

Chapter 1

Hermione shut the door of her flat and wearily leant back on it, closing her eyes with
relief.

*Thank Merlin that’s over,* she thought to herself as she switched on the lights and
chucked her keys and handbag onto the empty armchair.

It was ten at night and she had just ended the most boring date of her life…

*No, Stuart Udderling was more boring,* she countered, causing a small chuckle to escape
from her lips.

Kicking off the high heel shoes (that she only ever wears when she goes out on dates), she made
her way to her room, slipped out of her pretty little summer dress, pulled on some jeans and a
t-shirt then returned to the living room. There, she put on her favourite comfortable *flat*
shoes, grabbed her bag and keys once more and left her tiny little flat.

Although it was late and dark, it was London – summer London – and for Hermione, it was a city
that always seemed to be buzzing with life. It took her only minutes to walk from her flat to the
entrance way of St Mungo’s (which is why she was renting the small, one bedroom place) and without
a second glance, she entered the wizarding hospital.

Acknowledging one or two mediwitches as she made her way through the wards, she began to relax
in the familiar comfort of the corridors, though not quite able to ignore the clump of dread that
sat in the centre of her heart. Tonight she was going to tell him.

“Hermione! Bit later this evening!”

Hermione turned and smiled as Healer Stephens made her way to meet her, hugging the young woman
fondly.

“Big date,” Hermione said as way of explanation; Healer Stephens laughed.

“Who set you up this time?” she asked as they both walked to the end of the hall.

“Ginny,” Hermione stated with a hint of annoyance, “it was a guy who supplies to the shops. He
loves Shakespeare and fishing…”

“Fishing?”

“Yeah, fishing,” Hermione sighed, “it’s a Muggle thing.”

“Not a good night then,” the Healer chuckled, stopping outside the last door on the ward.

“No, not at all.” Hermione sighed again.

“Well, I think Anna has left the gear for you by the bed,” Healer Stephens informed her, “and
don’t stay too late, young lady. I don’t want to have to fix your back again like last time!”

“Yes Healer,” Hermione said obediently, and with a parting wave, entered the room that had
easily become the most important place in the world to her.

It was just like it usually was, the way it had been for the last three years. A soft light lit
the room that housed one bed, a small bedside cabinet, some chairs, a couch and a pile of boxed
possessions. The walls were covered with Quidditch posters that zoomed around relentlessly, and
there was a lone shelf covered with photos of family and friends.

Hermione went over to the bed and looked down at the figure laying there, still and silent. She
gently reached out and moved a strand of black hair on his forehead, exposing the lightening bolt
scar that had caused his life so much pain. Taking a deep breath, she sat down in her chair that
was next to his bed and took his lifeless hand in her own.

“Hey Harry,” she started, her thumb automatically rubbing the top of his hand, “sorry I’m late
but – and I know I told you I would never go on another blind date as long as I live – but, I went
on another blind date. Can you believe it?”

No answer.

“Anyway, his name was Kenneth Boomer, he makes deliveries to Fred and George’s stores and
because he enjoys Shakespeare, Ginny thought we’d hit it off. Guess what, we didn’t. I mean, he was
nice enough, but…he fishes! Ugh! I swear I could smell fish on him. And it seems that reading
Shakespeare doesn’t automatically make you intelligent.”

Hermione paused and bowed her head in resignation. These visits were getting more and more
difficult – but not for much longer. Taking a deep breath, she looked back at Harry.

“I don’t even know why I agreed to go, considering everything. I guess Ginny was just so sure
this bloke was ‘the one’.”

Pause.

“But that’s enough about that. No more about my love life, or lack thereof, I…I have some other
news.”

Pause.

“I quit my job yesterday so no more working at Kew for me! Shocked? Well, that’s not the half of
it.”

Pause.

“I’m leaving Harry. I…I can’t do this anymore, come here and see you like this. I know I’m
supposed to move on like everyone else, but I can’t. As long as I’m close, part of me will always
be here, with you. I…I need to leave, go away, try and forget.”

Dropping her eyes to her lap, Hermione paused again, fighting back the tears that were
threatening to fall.

“Though, I don’t think I can ever forget you,” she whispered softly before looking back at his
still, pale face, “but you understand, don’t you Harry? Everyone else has managed to have a life
but me. Even Ginny...”

Pause.

“Don’t hate me Harry. I’ve tried, I really have but I think this is the only way for me. Every
time I come here, a part of me dies and I just can’t…”

Hermione stopped again, took a deep breath and swiped away the few tears that had escaped. After
another deep breath, she felt she was back in control, and decided she needed to do something
normal. Standing, she looked at the bedside cabinet where a bowl, some fresh towels and a shaving
kit sat.

From the moment they knew Harry’s injuries from the Final Battle were severe and the initial
estimate that his comatose state would only be for days was wrong, Hermione had made it her job to
see that Harry was well…groomed.

It was her that trimmed his hair when it got too long, her that cut his nails and her that gave
him his daily shave. After all this time, a routine had formed between the mediwitches and Hermione
– they bathed him and kept him clean, and every evening Hermione would come and give him a shave.
The Muggle way.

Although a slight shadow would be visible by the morning, it was always at night she came,
caring for him and updating him on her day. Sometimes she would fall asleep on the couch (one time,
leaning onto his bed, Healer Stephens having to correct the crink in her back afterwards) or be
there until very late. But she was always there.

Beginning her ritual, with a swish of her wand, she filled the bowl with warm water then took
two of the towels, laying them on his shoulders, around his face.

“Anyway,” she continued her conversation while she worked, her voice strong once more, “because
I have so much holiday leave owing to me, I only have two weeks to go at the Library. And my
landlord has let me break my lease early because I’ve been such a good tenant. Isn’t that great? It
means I’ll be able to leave sooner.”

She began to spread the shaving foam over Harry’s lower face, enjoying the feeling of his
slightly rough skin under her touch and steadfastly ignoring the coolness and lack of response.
Once finished, she wiped her hands then got the shaver. With the sureness that comes from
experience, she began to shave his face.

“I haven’t told Ron yet, I don’t know how he’ll take it. Or anyone else, really. I hope they
understand. I think Ginny and Luna will but I don’t know about Ron. His life is going so well what
with his job at the Ministry and Luna…I’m going to miss the birth of their baby.”

Pause.

“I’m going to miss them so much but…”

She stopped and sighed. Seeing that she’d finished her task, she took one of the towels from
around his face and wiped off the excess foam and moisture.

“There you go, all done,” she smiled sadly, collapsing wearily back down in her chair, “one of
the girls here will take over from me and do this for you, I’m sure.

“I…I won’t be here as much the next few weeks, there’s so much I need to do. But, don’t worry, I
will come and say good-bye.”

Pause.

“I…I don’t know if I’ll come back Harry, back to England. There’s too many memories. I’m sorry
I’m leaving you like this, but, well, the Healers tests they did last week – the results, they cam
back yesterday. Did they tell you? Probably not, they don’t talk to you like I do.”

Pause.

“The tests show that they don’t think you’ll ever come back to us Harry, that you’ll be like
this forever. Now do you understand? Now do you see why I have to leave?”

Hermione harshly swiped at her face, trying to remove the now steady flow of tears but failing
miserably. She sat there gripping his cold, pale hand as she cried, her head bowed with the weight
of her grief. She missed him, missed him so much and knowing that he would never wake was tearing
her apart. It wasn’t fair, he had done what had been asked of him, yet he was paying with his life.
And she was paying with hers.

The tears stopped eventually, and with the strength that had kept her going for the last three
years, Hermione stood to leave. Wiping her face with one of the towels before folding it and
putting it back on the cabinet, she once more looked down onto the still face.

“I better get going,” she said softly, “I don’t know when I’ll be back, I have so much to do. I
love you Harry.” She gently kissed him on the forehead, moved his hair to recover his scar, and
with a deep breath, left him lying there as she went in search for someone to tell about the change
in the care of Harry Potter – the boy who rid the world of Lord Voldemort.



2. untitled
-----------

**A/N – pretty much every comment for the last chapter was how it was so sad, which I guess it
is. In fact, when I think about this story as a whole, I reckon it will continue to be sad for a
little while longer. Sorry – but it will end up being happy! I saw it more as a story of strength
and didn’t really think it being really sad…Anyway, I hope you like this chapter.**

Chapter 2

The week was indeed busy for Hermione as she finished up at her job, booked her tickets to
France and packed her life away into three categories – what she was going to take, what she was
going to store at her parents house (that was being rented out to a nice young family in Oxford)
and what was going to be sold.

She had bought a backpack that was nearly as big as her – but she was determined that it would
be all she would take. Deciding what would go with her didn’t end up being as difficult as she
thought – the bare basics were all packed neatly and sitting in the newly purchased pack.
Everything else; all her books, most of her clothes, furniture – everything – was either sold or
boxed up.

The only things that she planned to take with her that weren’t a necessity, were three photos.
One was of her family, taken at one of the rare holiday’s she had spent at home. Her mother was
holding a squirming Crookshanks while her dad was watching, laughing. They were all gone now, all
killed in a war that they had no part in.

Another was of the Order members before the last battle – Remus, Tonks, Hagrid, McGonagall, all
of the Weasleys (except for Percy, who at that stage still wasn’t talking to his family), Moody,
Kingsley, Luna, Neville, Harry and herself with Hedwig and Pig flying over them. Hermione had
stopped the photo from moving, capturing them all when everyone was smiling either at each other or
the camera. It would be the last time; Moody, Charlie and of course Harry no longer with them.

The third photo was of the Trio – Harry, Ron and herself – taken sometime during their search
for the Horcruxes in their seventh year at Hogwarts. They were trying to smile but a tired sadness
was evident in all three sets of eyes.

She was looking at that photo now and sighed. It was Sunday, which meant dinner at the Weasleys.
Hermione planned to tell them all in one go, deciding that Ron might take her departure a bit
easier with his family around him. Though he had married Luna and they were fantastically happy
with each other, Ron clung to Hermione as if she was the last link to a life he didn’t want to
forget. Which, of course, she was.

For Hermione, it had become smothering as sitting around a table reminiscing about the good
times were just too painful for her and she found herself pulling away from him so she didn’t have
to keep reliving the life that, for her, no longer existed.

It wasn’t all Ron’s fault. She had never told him to stop, that his memories were something she
was trying to forget. It was therapeutic for Ron, she knew that, and the need for him to hang onto
the past was something he was still working through, even after all this time.

Now she was leaving him, just like Harry had, and he wasn’t going to be happy.

Sighing, Hermione put the photo back into the protective sheath along side the other two and put
them back in her bag. With only six days to go, her place was nearly empty with just a few more
things to be sold. Sighing again, she grabbed her handbag and keys and Apparated to the Burrow.

The kitchen was already bustling when she stepped through the back door – Ron and a very
pregnant Luna were seated at the long family table with Ron in the middle of a fierce debate with
the twins over some Quidditch fact. Bill and Fleur’s little boy was playing with his granddad on
the mat in front of the fire with his parents watching on – Fleur’s belly also showing her early
stages of pregnancy. Ginny was helping her mother at the sink and noticed Hermione’s arrival,
welcoming her in.

Hermione’s quietness wasn’t remarked on as she had steadily retreated into herself when
surrounded by the Weasley’s, but it didn’t really matter as the conversation never slacked. It
wasn’t long before the meal was over and people began to leave – Bill and Fleur first, taking their
little boy home to bed. Hermione knew the twins would leave early as well and stayed silent until
they too had departed.

The rest of the family retired to the living room to wind down before each returning to their
homes. Hermione knew this was her chance, and taking a deep breath, she spoke.

“I have something I need to tell you all,” she began, blushing when all eyes turned to her.

“Don’t tell me you actually hit it off with that bloke Ginny set you up with,” Ron joked,
earning a glare from his sister.

“There was nothing wrong with him…”

“I don’t think that’s Hermione’s news,” Luna interrupted, her large blue eyes boring into
Hermione. She took another deep breath.

“No, no it isn’t. I’ve decided to leave…”

“Leave?” Ron cut in, grinning broadly, “excellent, its about time you had a holiday…”

“No Ron, that’s not what I meant,” Hermione countered, “I mean, I’m leaving here, leaving
England…”

“Are you going to work at Hogwarts dear?” Mrs Weasley asked with a small frown, “Minerva didn’t
mention anything about you working up there in Scotland.”

“I’m not working at Hogwarts,” Hermione carried on, getting slightly exasperated, “I’m going
overseas, to work and travel…”

“For how long?” Ginny questioned, finally catching on.

“I…I don’t know. Indefinitely…”

“Indefinitely?” Ron repeated, “you’re not coming back?”

“No.”

Hermione watched as her news sunk in, everyone reacting slightly differently – Ron turning a
brilliant shade of red.

“When are you going?” he asked, his voice constricted.

“In six days time. Next Saturday.”

“And you’re telling me this now.”

“I only made the decision last week…”

“After Harry’s test results came in…”

“Yes.” The two friends looked at each other, ignoring everyone else in the room. Hermione braced
herself for the storm that she knew was about to come her way.

“So, you’re running away,” Ron continued, still calm and controlled.

“I’m not running away Ron,” she said back, also calmly, “I’m getting away. You all keep telling
me to get on with my life and now I am…”

“We meant find a job, find a man, settle down not leave the bloody country!”

“It’s not that easy for me and you know it,” she replied, her quiet voice contrasting with his
loudness, “I have to be there for him…”

“Every bloody day!” Ron shouted, “he can’t even hear you! He doesn’t know that you’re
there!”

“So? Are we just meant to forget about him? Let him lay there on his own because he can’t talk
back?”

“Well, that’s obviously not a problem for you, is it?” Ron snapped, “since you’re buggering off.
I can’t believe you’re abandoning him…”

“How dare you Ronald Weasley,” Hermione retorted, hurt, “how dare you pull the guilt card out on
me when Harry’s lucky to hear your voice once a month! Maybe with me gone you will pull your finger
out and actually spend time with your best friend!”

“I spend time with him, I’m just not obsessed with him like you are! Like you’ve always been! We
can’t all live up to your exacting standards, Hermione.”

“My standards? So we’re resorting to an argument we’ve had so many times, that I expect too
much? Well, Ron, that’s who I am! Harry needs us, needs me! He’s still fighting and we vowed to be
there with him until the end…”

“And you’re breaking that vow…”

“I have been by his side for three years! Three years!” Hermione screamed at him, her anger
boiling over, “holding his hand, talking to him, wishing that he’d come back. I can’t do it
anymore!”

“What do you think it’s been like for me!” Ron yelled, advancing on her, “he wasn’t there for my
wedding, my best mate! And seeing him like he’s dead – you aren’t the only one that loves him
Hermione, so do I!”

“But I’m the only one in love with him!”

Hermione froze the moment her words left her mouth and unthinkingly she looked at Ginny, who
just stared back, her eyes wide with shock. The room was silent for a moment as her confession hung
in the air.

“How long?” Ron finally asked, his voice hard.

“Since fourth year,” Hermione admitted, looking back at Ron.

“While we were dating,” Ron said harshly, his eyes never leaving hers, “while he was with
Ginny.”

“Yes.”

“Does he know?”

“Yes.”

“Have you two kissed?” The question came from Ginny, drawing Hermione’s eyes from Ron to his
sister. With a heavy heart, Hermione nodded.

“Yes.”

“Did you sleep with him?” Hermione dropped her eyes to the carpet.

“Yes,” she whispered, nodding ever so slightly.

Looking up, she saw a flash of red hair disappear up the stairs, flinching when a door slam
echoed through the house. Mrs Weasley followed her daughter in a rush, scowling at Hermione as she
passed. Hermione looked back to Ron.

“Get out,” Ron snarled.

“Ron, please…” Hermione tried to reason.

“Get out,” he repeated, “go, run away. I don’t care any more. You are nothing to me.”

Ron stormed out of the living room and out into the garden, leaving Mr Weasley, Luna and
Hermione standing uncomfortably in his wake.

“I think it’s best you leave Hermione,” Mr Weasley said softly as he made his way to her before
engulfing her in her last hug, “you take care,” he whispered, then followed his son out into the
garden.

Hermione let her tears fall, knowing she deserved it and although she hadn’t planned to confess
something she had wanted to keep so private, in a way she was glad it was out in the open. Turning
to the last person in the room, Hermione smiled sadly at her friend.

“He’ll come around,” Luna said as she took Hermione’s hands.

“I don’t think so, not this time,” Hermione replied wearily, “I’m so sorry Luna.”

“There is no need to apologise.” The two women looked at each other with fondness borne from
friendship.

“Take care of Ron,” Hermione said softly, “and the little Weasley you have inside you. And
yourself, of course.”

“I will.”

“Could you…could you make sure…” Hermione started but found her words wouldn’t come, her tears
blocking their progress.

“Harry will not be alone Hermione,” Luna stated with a hardness that she doesn’t usually convey,
“I promise you that.”

“Thank you.”

“Take care,” Luna continued, hugging Hermione firmly, “may the light of wisdom never fail you,
my friend.”

Hermione watched in silence as Luna went and joined her husband in the garden. She took one more
look around the room that had been like a second home to her after the death of her parents, and
ignoring the tears rushing down her cheeks, walked out the front door and didn’t look back.

She heard from no one during her last days in England, their silence in a way a welcome relief,
though it was difficult to ignore her sadness of how it all ended. She understood it though, the
hurt her admission had caused.

Hermione had only spent one night with Harry, the night before the Final Battle took place.
Thing was, it was the best night of her life; even though he had been technically with Ginny at the
time, which meant she had cheated on her best friend. Even though Hermione hadn’t really ended the
poor excuse for a relationship with Ron that had been bubbling on for over a year. Even though both
Harry and Hermione knew that there was a chance one, or perhaps even both, of them wouldn’t survive
the battle that had been due to take place.

It had been the first time for both of them, their first experience full of a need resulting
from uncertainty, grief and fear. But that hadn’t been the only time they had made love that night
and the times after the initial intensity had been something special for both of them. They had
explored each other with a tenderness that hadn’t been awkward or strange, falling asleep wrapped
together in a comforting embrace.

The next morning saw them part with Harry knowing Hermione loved him, that what ever happened,
she would be there for him even if it was only as a friend. He never repeated the words to her but
they knew that after the Battle was over, things could never go back to how they had been. He had
told her that she was the most important person in his life. He had told her he couldn’t imagine
living without her. He had told her everything that she had wanted to hear except that he loved
her.

Now, making her way to his room for the last time, her life in a backpack strapped to her
shoulders, she remembered that amazing night when nearly all her dreams had come true. And how,
twenty four hours later, those dreams had been shattered into a million pieces.

She entered the room and saw the second bed had already been placed there for her. The medical
staff had become friends over the years and when she had told them her plans, they had been
thoughtful and understanding – even more so than those from Hogwarts. They were going to let her
spend Friday night with him, knowing how difficult it was going to be for her to say goodbye.
Putting her pack down next to her bed, she went to his side, once more looking down onto the still,
pale face.

“Hey Harry, I’m back,” she told him, sitting down in her chair, “sorry it’s been so long, it’s
just that I had so much to do. But, it’s Friday afternoon and here I am at last, ready to spend
some time with you.”

Pause.

“I went and saw Professor McGonagall on Wednesday, she’s getting ready for the new school year
which starts in a couple of months. Can you believe it? A new bunch of first years hitting
Hogwarts. I remember when I was eleven, knowing in a couple of months I would be going to one of
the top wizarding schools in Europe – I was so excited but so scared! That seems a lifetime ago
now.”

Pause.

“Oh, by the way, Hagrid says hi, and that he’ll pop in in the next few weeks. He seems to be
doing well.”

Pause.

“Did my funeral visits yesterday, said my goodbyes to mum, dad, Crookshanks, Dumbledore. It was
hard going, but you know something? I feel better for it.”

This time her pause lasted a little bit longer as she got her thoughts together.

“Harry, I need to tell you something, and I’m really sorry that it happened but…”

She stopped again, reaching out and gently tracing her finger down the side of his face before
returning her hand to cover his.

“Ginny knows what we did, they all do. I’m so, so sorry. I know you wanted to tell her yourself,
explain everything, but it just kinda popped out. They’re really mad at me, especially Ron.”

Pause.

“I know we were wrong, that what we did should never have happened, but…”

“I’m glad it did.”

Hermione stood up suddenly and turned to the voice that came from the doorway.

“Ginny,” she exclaimed, shocked.

“I thought you’d be here,” Ginny stated, walking to the other side of Harry’s bed, “I needed to
speak to you before you left.”

“I…you…you’re the last person I thought I’d see,” Hermione stammered out, still standing
awkwardly.

“I know,” Ginny smiled, glancing down at Harry, “he looks like he’s sleeping doesn’t he?”

“That any moment he’ll wake up,” Hermione finished, looking from Ginny to Harry.

“This must be so hard for you,” Ginny continued.

“You have no idea,” was the reply. Ginny didn’t say anything and Hermione waited nervously to
see what was going to happen next.

Harry and Ginny had gotten back together during his seventh year as Harry had returned to
Hogwarts and not gone off on his own like he thought he was going to do when he had broken up with
the redhead at Dumbledore’s funeral. They had been happy, or so it seemed, until the end got closer
and closer. It had been Hermione Harry had turned to for comfort and for strength, Ginny not
understanding what he was going through. After Harry’s injuries from his fight with Voldemort were
so severe and the diagnosis was long term unconsciousness, Ginny had finally decided to move on
after a year of waiting.

Now she knew of Harry and Hermione’s betrayal.

“How many times?” Ginny suddenly asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes still fixed
on Harry.

“What?” Hermione spluttered, taken by surprise.

“How many times?” Ginny repeated, “you and Harry. How many times did you sleep together.”

“Just the once…”

“Before the last battle?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m glad it happened,” Ginny finished, finally looking at Hermione.

“I…I don’t understand.”

“Harry was lost and I didn’t know how to find him,” Ginny continued sadly, “but you could. You
always could. Even though we were together for over seven months, he was never really close to me,
didn’t really share the stuff that was important. It was like he wanted to keep all the bad stuff
that was happening to him separate from me…”

“He did,” Hermione confirmed, “you represented normality, all that was good in his life. Telling
you what was happening with him would have taken that away.”

“I realise that now. Just like I realise the reason we never went pass kissing was because the
connection he needed to give that part of him wasn’t with me. It was with you.”

“I’m sorry Ginny.”

“Please, don’t,” Ginny bit, “it hurts that the guy I cared about so much never felt the same way
about me. It hurts that he had to go to another girl to find what he needed, what I couldn’t give
him…”

“Ginny…”

“But I understand,” Ginny carried on, “I understand it all now. I didn’t love Harry, not like
you do. And he didn’t love me enough to let me see the real Harry.”

“Did you really want to?” Hermione asked.

“No, not really,” Ginny answered after a moment’s thought, “I was reasonably happy with Harry
the Hero. Harry the tragic hero wasn’t what I was after.”

“And now?”

“And now it’s our turn to take care of him,” Ginny said strongly, “because Harry is our friend
and he deserves more than what we’ve been giving him.”

Hermione didn’t answer and instead looked down at the man who had been such a huge part of both
her and Ginny’s lives.

“He truly cared for you Ginny,” Hermione said after a moment, “he would hate to think that you
hate him…”

“I don’t hate him,” Ginny replied with a wry smile, “I could never hate him, I’ve spent too much
of my life thinking that I loved him. Just like I don’t hate you either. Your news was a shock, but
also it wasn’t. I think part of me guessed it was your room he went to that night.”

Hermione just nodded.

“I better go,” Ginny carried on, “Paul is waiting for me.”

“Thank…thank you for coming,” Hermione stuttered, making her way to the end of the bed as Ginny
did the same.

“We’ve been friends too long for things to end as they did,” Ginny shrugged, “and Ron’s being
such an arse – you deserve better.”

“He’s hurt…”

“Yeah, but for the wrong reasons,” Ginny scowled, “he’s hurt because Harry took you away from
him – the git. His stupid jealousies are ruining everything.”

“I can understand why though…”

“Yeah, he has the right to be grieved,” Ginny continued, “but he had admitted you and him
weren’t working, we could see you and him weren’t working. He just didn’t want to believe that you
and Harry did work. Anyway, my brother’s a plonker and he’s going to regret not saying
good-bye.”

“I’m going to miss him,” Hermione admitted, “miss all of you. But I need to do this…”

“I know,” Ginny said quietly before glancing at her watch, “I really have to go. You take care
Hermione, where ever you end up.”

“Thanks Ginny,” Hermione replied, letting herself be drawn into a hug.

“Good luck,” Ginny whispered, her voice hitching slightly, Hermione just nodded, not trusting
her own voice. They clung to each other for a moment until Ginny pulled away and left the room with
a parting wave.

Hermione stood staring at the door for a few moments before she got herself together and went
back to her chair. She took Harry’s hand, but didn’t speak, instead she thought about what Ginny
had said, that she had guessed about the cheating, that she had understood.

Yet Ron hadn’t. Ron, who had always (well, nearly) been there had now turned his back. He hadn’t
understood and in a way, that disappointed Hermione. She trusted Ron, loved Ron and although she
knows she and Harry had betrayed him, he was now betraying them.

She sat in quiet reflection for quite a while, her thoughts lost on what if’s and maybe’s. When
a group of the mediwitches and Healers came in with her dinner and to say good-bye, she finally
moved on. It was end of shift for most of the people she had befriended over the three years and
many of them stayed, talking to her about her plans and giving her travelling tips.

The conversation soon moved onto the stories that had been previously shared, stories of the
good times with Harry and Ron. Hermione didn’t mind reminiscing with the girls of St Mungo’s, as it
was with laughter and smiles where with Ron it was with sadness.

It was late evening before she was once more alone with Harry, but sleep was the furthest thing
from her mind. She carried on talking to him, remembering times from their past with fondness.
Debate on whether she was doing the right thing hit her in the early hours of the morning as the
realisation that there was a good chance she’d never see him again became overwhelming.

However, she held her ground and when it was time to leave, an hour before dawn, she did with a
parting kiss and only a few tears.



3. untitled
-----------

Chapter 3

Hermione breathed in deeply as she watched the sun set, the sky filling with rich reds and
golds, leaving a purple-brown bruise across the line of the horizon. She loved this part of the
day, when the majesty of her new home was at its finest. The smells of spices, the noise of the
thousands of people in the village below her going to their homes – India was always so full of
life.

A small smile crossed her lips – if Ron or Harry could see her now. Tanned and toned with her
hair cropped short for ease of care, Hermione was unrecognisable from the girl that left England
two years before. After eight months of travelling through Europe, never staying in a city for
long, keeping to herself, continually searching for the peace that kept eluding her, she had
finally found herself in India.

It had been the comments of a couple of backpackers she had met in a hostel in Spain that had
drawn her to the far off country and from the moment she set foot on Indian soil, she knew it was
here she could finally stop thinking of the boys she left behind. Overwhelmed by its contrasts –
such incredible richness with its colours, smells and culture but at the same time a country of
poverty and filth – the constant activity helped her sometimes forget.

In a small village near the Pakistan boarder, Hermione had met an amazing woman who took the
young witch under her wing with little question, drawing Hermione into a world that she never knew
existed – a world of honour crimes.

She had bumped into Mother Rose on the streets of the busy village, the nun helping a woman and
her three children through an angry group of people, more nuns trying to protect the small party as
they passed. Hermione had helped the unusual group and found herself welcomed into a small Catholic
convent.

That was over a year ago and she had never left, helping the nuns in their work of caring for
women who had been maimed or in fear of their lives from the traditional act of honour punishment,
sometimes even death, due to a real or perceived slight that had dishonoured the family group. Many
of the women they dealt with were Hermione’s age, some even younger, some with horrific
disfigurements, some with nothing but the clothes they were wearing. They were all, however,
treated with dignity and respect as they were helped to regain some semblance of a life.

Hermione enjoyed the strictness of convent life and the peace and solitude that it provided her.
There were ten nuns in total, with a sprinkling of volunteers from the village while every now and
then a western girl would join the ranks for a few months then move on. Hermione stayed. She lived
and worked with the nuns, who knew her only as Jane, but she never joined in with their prayers.
Hermione had given up on praying a long time ago.

She knew Mother Rose saw her as another soul to save, that she was as damaged as some of the
young women that came through their doors. In a way, she was. Though she joined in with the nun’s
songs and their laughter, there was always a sadness within her that never really went away. She
worked hard, very hard, so she didn’t have time to think or remember, so at night she would fall
straight to sleep and not dream about a boy with emerald green eyes.

Mother Rose was English as well, leaving her homeland many years before and finally settling in
India. Hermione had listened to the woman’s story in awe, how she was so devoted to her church and
her God, that she saw life in a way that Hermione knew she never could. Tiny in size, Mother Rose
made up for it with personality – always smiling, with a hidden strength allowing her to deal with
situations that many would usually back away from. She reminded Hermione a lot of Professor
Dumbledore.

So now, with dusk coming on stronger as the huge, ruby red sun descended even further below the
dirty horizon, she leaned on the small wall of the convent garden that separated them from the
village and sighed. Things had changed. Everything had changed. The moment Harry woke up.

She didn’t know how she knew that he had gained consciousness, just that she had *felt* it.
She had been working in the small garden at the back of the convent, singing along with the other
girls when a surge of emotions overpowered her. She had fallen to her knees in pain, not knowing
why until she saw in her minds eye the image of Harry waking, his eyes snapping open.

That was six months ago and a conflicted Hermione had retreated even further into herself. Those
around her accepted that something was wrong and respected her need to be left alone – everyone but
Mother Rose.

Hermione had tried so hard not to think about Harry, or Ron for that matter, that when she had
had this *feeling* it had confused her to the point where she couldn’t think of anything else.
She didn’t even know if it was real, the logical part of her asking how could she know that someone
thousands of miles away had woken from a long term coma. It didn’t make sense.

But she knew she was right.

“Jane?”

Hermione turned and watched as the elderly nun made her way to where the young witch was
standing at the gardens edge.

“Mother Rose,” Hermione said, forcing a smile back onto her face, “am I needed to help with the
evening meal?”

“No, no, I think Sister Clare is more than capable tonight,” the nun smiled, “though what we
will be served is always a surprise with her at the stove.”

“Her cooking skills are unique,” Hermione chuckled, turning back to the vista when the other
woman reached her at the convent’s wall, also looking out at the view.

“I’m worried about you Jane,” Mother Rose said after a moment – Hermione’s laughter died in her
throat.

“I’m fine,” she said, looking back out to the now vacant sun. She found it easy to answer to
Jane after nearly a year of using her alias, but it was still difficult to lie to Mother Rose.

“No, my dear, you are not,” the nun persevered, “and my heart breaks seeing you like this.”

“Why?” Hermione asked, unable to hide the annoyance from her voice, “you see women who have been
beaten to a pulp that they’re unrecognisable, women broken so badly that they’re too scared to step
outside their door! Why worry yourself over me? I’m fine!”

“You are a young woman unable to live up to her potential due to circumstances that have caused
you pain,” Mother Rose carried on, her tone both hard and caring at the same time, “Jane, you are
just as important as any one of my girls. They let me help them, why won’t you let anyone help
you?”

“Because what’s wrong with me is my own doing,” Hermione stated harshly, “I don’t deserve to be
helped!”

“What did you do that was so terrible that you hid away on the other side of the world?”

Hermione sighed, bowing her head. She wanted to talk, she wanted to know what to do but she also
believed what she had just said – she didn’t deserve to be helped. She had made her bed, made her
choices and she should just accept them. She should just get over it. But she didn’t think she
could do that this time.

“I’m sorry for being horrible,” she said quietly, “I know you’re only trying to help.”

“I’ve had worse my dear.”

“It’s a pretty long story,” Hermione continued.

“I have the time,” Mother Rose answered, “Sister Clare isn’t expecting us.”

“You planned this?” Hermione asked, looking at the other woman.

“I must admit, I was determined to find out a bit more about why such a beautiful, intelligent
young lady is so far away from home.”

“I was the brightest student in my school,” Hermione admitted sadly, “but I’m not so smart.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I fell in love with my best friend.”

“But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? Loving a person who is also your best friend is usually
something magical.” Hermione looked at the nun sharply before realising it was just a turn of
phrase. No one knew that she was a witch.

“Not when he belonged to someone else and so did I.”

“Oh,” Mother Rose said knowingly, sitting down on one of the old chairs that were scattered
around the garden, “but something tells me there is more to your story than just a lovers
spat.”

“Yes, there is,” Hermione replied sadly, collapsing into one of the other chairs, “and it all
started when I was twelve, when I went to this exclusive boarding school in Scotland. There I met
two boys – Harry and Ron – and after they saved me from being beaten up by a bully, we became
inseparable.”

“Harry and Ron,” Mother Rose repeated, “tell me about them.”

“Well, they’re the opposite of each other as you can get,” Hermione described with a small
smile, “Ron is this gangly redhead from this huge family, him being the youngest boy of six with
one younger sister. He never thought too much of himself, his brothers were all prefects and such.
And they never had any money. He kind of always thought he wasn’t good enough but he had this huge
heart that once he got over his insecurities, he was loyal to a fault.

“Harry. Harry was rich, an only child and a confidence that just came naturally to him, so
naturally that he didn’t realise he had it. But he had this horrible, horrible past that just
followed him around. He…”

Hermione paused and looked down at her hands, trying to fight the tears that threatened to
fall.

“What was so terrible about Harry’s past?” Mother Rose asked softly.

“His parents…his parents were murdered when he was one,” Hermione continued, not trusting
herself to look up, “he saw it all, and it haunted him so much. Their murderer, Tom was his name,
nearly got caught but escaped and went into hiding. Harry was shipped off to live with his mother’s
sister and family who kept him locked in a cupboard under the stairs for the first ten years of his
life, treating him like a slave, just letting him out to go to school.”

“Sweet Mary,” the nun whispered. Hermione got her thoughts together, thinking of how she was
going to tell the story without the mention of magic. After a moment, she carried on.

“Harry thought his parents had died in a car crash and lived without knowing about his past, and
that he was destined to go to this boarding school until a staff member actually came down and got
him away from that ghastly house.

“So he met Ron and they became friends, and after Halloween, I became their friend as well. What
we soon found out was the madman who had killed Harry’s parents blamed Harry for his demise from
power and had vowed to revenge himself.”

“So Harry’s life was in danger?”

“Yes. In our fourth year, Tom returned and…kidnapped Harry and another classmate. Harry nearly
died, and Cedric, the classmate, did. It was horrible.”

“He was fourteen?”

“Yes. It was then I knew that I cared deeply for Harry, more deeply than he knew. And he only
saw me as his friend, that I was no different to him than Ron. All during our fifth year, well,
things at our school got bad, Harry started seeing this girl that was so perfect there was no way I
could compete with her…”

“But you tried.”

“The only way I knew how,” Hermione admitted wearily, “by being the best friend I could be. He
was having issues, after what happened the year before, and at times I was the only one he listened
to. I tried so hard to be there for him, at the expense of nearly everything else. And it nearly
cost me my life.”

“Your life?” Mother Rose exclaimed, “my dear, what happened?”

“Tom tricked Harry into thinking his godfather was in trouble…”

“Godfather? I thought Harry had no-one?”

“Sirius had been Harry’s father’s best friend and wrongly convicted for the death of Mr and Mrs
Potter, Harry’s parents. We found out the truth and had tried to free Sirius, but things went
wrong. So he was on the run and in hiding. Tom found this out and used Harry’s love for Sirius to
draw him into a trap where Sirius was killed, Ron was badly hurt and I nearly died.”

“Dear Lord, that poor boy,” Mother Rose cried, reaching out and taking Hermione’s hands, “and
you too child. I’m nearly afraid to ask what happened next!”

“It took a while for things to get better for me, and in a way they never did. I was scared, so
scared on so many different levels. Scared for my own safety, scared for the safety of my family,
scared for how much Harry meant to me and scared what I would do if I lost him. So I pulled away
from him and he fell for Ron’s sister, Ginny, who happened to be one of my friends.”

“Did Harry realise what you were doing?”

“No, not really. He didn’t even seem too concerned about what had happened to me at the
Min…where Tom had set the trap. That really helped me realise that I didn’t mean that much to him
and I tried to move on. With Ron.”

“His friend, his girlfriend’s brother and your other best friend?”

“Not one of my better moves,” Hermione sighed, “and then things…it all went…”

“Terribly wrong?”

“Yes. Our headmaster was killed and Harry realised he had to get Tom, that this madman had to be
stopped before he killed anyone else. He knew that Tom was doing all that he did to get back at
him. My parents were murdered just before Christmas and that really was it for Harry. Four months
later he confronted Tom, they fought each other and Tom was killed…”

“And Harry?”

“Harry was very badly injured. When I left, he had been in a coma for three years.”

“Oh my,” the nun breathed, still clutching Hermione’s hands, “but you had told Harry the truth
about how you felt before he was hurt?”

“The night before,” Hermione admitted, her tears finally falling, “I…I was Head Girl and had my
own room. I had left him with Ginny, told Ron, who I was kind of dating…”

“Kind of dating?”

“We never actually did much dating; we argued like cats and dogs but at the same time, we kissed
and hung out together.”

“There was nothing there with this young man,” Mother Rose stated with a nod, “because your
heart belonged to Harry.”

“Yes. Anyway, I told Ron that I needed some time to my self, knowing in my heart I had lost my
chance with Harry, that he would never know the truth and there was a good chance I was going to
loose him for good. I was pretty upset.”

“But he came to see you.”

“I was so surprised. I thought he’d stay with Ginny, spend his last night with her. Instead, he
came to me because he was scared and he needed to talk with me. He needed me.”

Hermione paused and this time Mother Rose didn’t ask any questions. Instead, she just pulled her
chair closer and drew Hermione into a one armed hug.

“I loved him so much and he was there, in front of me, needing me, needing comfort. So I kissed
him, and he kissed me back. Before I really knew what was happening, we were in my room…”

“Did he stay with you?”

“All night. The first time, I mean we were both…we really didn’t know what we were doing, and it
was awkward but at the same time we both just wanted it, you know?”

“So I’ve been told, dear,” the nun smiled gently, still holding Hermione in her arms.

“Oh, right,” Hermione said shyly, blushing, “sorry.”

“Don’t you worry. I may have served the church all of my adult life, but I understand what it’s
like to be young and in love,” Mother Rose grinned, “you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I thought the church didn’t approve…”

“It doesn’t, but just between you, me and God it sounds like a good bit of rompy pompy is
sometimes great for the soul.”

“I guess it is, sometimes,” Hermione chuckled before once more sobering, “but for us, well, at
least for me, it changed everything. We spent the whole night…together. We talked, we…touched,
we…connected. I told him that I loved him…” Her voice hitched as she remembered that wonderfully
special night.

“Did he not tell you he loved you?”

“No, but I knew he wouldn’t,” Hermione whispered, “but he told me he cared, and that I was
important to him, and that things had changed between us. He told me that he would break things off
with Ginny and we would give things a go. Once it was all over. Once Voldemort was gone.”

“Voldemort?”

“Tom,” Hermione hastily explained.

“But Harry never came back to you,” Mother Rose said softly.

“No.”

“Why did you leave?”

“Because every time I saw him, part of me died. Every time I looked down at his beautiful, still
face I ached to see his wonderful eyes open and smile at me. I thought, I honestly thought, that he
would hear me, hear my voice and that would be enough to bring him back. Knowing I was there for
him, every day, would be enough. That if he really cared for me, that it would be my love that
would save him. But it wasn’t, it didn’t,” Hermione cried, pulling out of the nun’s embrace and
standing, “I sat by his side every day for three years hoping that it would be that day he’d hear
me, it would be that day I’d say something that registered with him and it would be because of me
he decided to come back. Every time I went home to my empty flat without Harry, I felt like I had
failed, that my love wasn’t strong enough and it was killing me!

“Everyone carried on – Ron got married, Ginny began dating…it was like they had forgotten
him…”

“But you hadn’t.”

“No! No, I hadn’t and it wasn’t enough!” Hermione turned back to Mother Rose, her face wet with
angry tears, “and now he’s awake! He woke without me, without my help! He doesn’t need me!”

Mother Rose came over to Hermione and hugged her, enfolding her in an embrace that let Hermione
know it was alright. She cried like she had never cried before, five years of guilt, of anger, of
frustration, coming out with each wrenched sob. She didn’t know how long she cried but by the time
her tears had dried up, she was exhausted. She let herself be led back to her chair and with weary
silence, she sat.

“How long has he been awake?” Mother Rose asked after a moment, handing Hermione a clean
handkerchief.

“About six months,” she answered before blowing her nose.

“Then, dear Jane, why are you still here?”

Hermione looked at the nun with wide, watery eyes.

“What…what do you mean?” she asked, scared to hear the answer.

“The man that you love has woken,” Mother Rose said patiently, a gentle smile softening her
words, “the man that has stolen your heart, yet you’re here. What are you so afraid of Jane?”

“Afraid?” Hermione repeated, her heart beating ten times its normal rate.

“Well yes, afraid,” Mother Rose continued, “do you want to know what I think?” When Hermione
didn’t reply, she continued, “I think you’re afraid to go back in case Harry has forgotten your
night together and he still has feelings for Ginny. Or perhaps he regrets what took place between
you both and doesn’t want to see you anymore. Or maybe he isn’t the same Harry that you knew…”

“How do you know these things?” Hermione asked, shocked, the nun voicing the fears she had been
thinking for the past few months.

“Because I’m old and wise,” was the reply with a small smile, “Jane, all these things could be
true. But do you know what I think is the truth?” Hermione shook her head ‘no’, “that Harry has
woken to find the woman he loves is missing. That the woman he loves has been told he is awake but
she hasn’t come back to him. That he is worried sick that something bad has happened to you because
that would be the only reason you stayed away.”

“No one knows where I am,” Hermione said quietly, her tears falling once more.

“How do you know Harry has woken then?” Mother Rose asked, confused.

“I felt it…it’s really hard to explain, but I just…know.”

“Then you need to go home, Jane,” Mother Rose said, reaching out and wiping away the tears,
“what you have with this boy is precious, special. Don’t give up on it.”

“What if he doesn’t want me?” Hermione whispered.

“Why wouldn’t he want you my sweet. He may not have said the words, but Harry loves you more
than he knows.”

“But things have changed, I’ve changed,” Hermione stated firmly, “I’m not the same girl as when
I left. They know me, he knows me, as a bookworm, as someone who follows the rules, is the voice of
reason. The smart, sensible one. I’m not that girl anymore.”

“I think that describes you quite well,” Mother Rose smiled, “always curious, learning all you
can except instead of books, you’re learning from life. You have handled the rules and regulations
of a convent with aplomb and understanding. My dear, you have grown during your time with us but I
think the core of you is no different. You are now a young woman. We all change when we grow…”

“It’s not just that,” Hermione interrupted, “Ron hated me. When he found out what Harry and I
had done, he was so angry. If Harry isn’t Harry, then I’d have no-one…”

“What do you mean, if Harry isn’t Harry?”

“He’s been in a coma for five years, Mother Rose – so many things could be wrong!”

“Would you not love him if he wasn’t whole?” the nun asked curiously.

“I spent three years giving to him with getting nothing back,” Hermione tried to explain,
wincing slightly as the words came out of her mouth, not really believing them herself, “I’m not
sure if I could still do that.”

“Every day you give to our girls for very little reward,” Mother Rose stated firmly, “Jane, all
these ‘what if’s’, all these excuses can be overcome. Even Ron – he has been your friend for so
long, I’m sure he would welcome you back with open arms and that he has been so worried about you
over the last few years.”

Hermione didn’t say anything as she mulled over everything that had been said. She was tired but
also – lighter somehow, sharing her story with Mother Rose had helped her, she could tell. But go
back? Really go back to face all her fears? Could she do that?

“You’ve tried forgetting him, Jane,” the nun continued, “you’ve tried living your life without
him in it and although you are here with us, and we can all see what a wonderful, caring loving
person you are – you are only living half a life. You’re a smart young lady…”

“No I’m not, I’m stupid,” Hermione interrupted gruffly.

“Why do you think you’re stupid?”

“I’m supposed to be a smart, strong, independent woman,” she said, a slight hint of sarcasm
touching her voice, “able to look after myself, cope with anything. And here I am, not able to live
my life because of a boy who doesn’t even love me…”

“He loves you…”

“Does he?” Hermione shot back, “does he really? And does it matter? I mean, look at me! I’m a
blubbering little girl all because of Harry! A weak, stupid female! I should be better than this. I
should be able to cope without him, live my life without him!”

“Ah,” Mother Rose said knowingly, leaning back in her chair, “the real fear. The real reason you
work so hard in proving yourself not only with us but with everything. You need to show us you’re
not weak. Why?”

“Because my two best friends in the world are guys!” Hermione yelled, standing and pacing, not
really sure why she suddenly felt angry, “my two best friends were strong, capable! All I had was
brains! I couldn’t be a weak, emotional female – that might of got us killed, got Harry killed! I
had to be strong for him! I had to be strong…”

“You are strong Jane, one of the strongest people I know. And lucky to have a love like you do
with Harry and a friendship like you do with Ron. Don’t give up on that just to prove a point.”

Hermione stayed silent and finally realised what she needed to do – not for Harry, not for Ron,
or anyone else for that matter – but what she needed to do for herself. It was time to go home. She
sighed.

“My real name is Hermione,” she said quietly, “Jane is my middle name.”

“It’s a beautiful name.”

“If…if it doesn’t work out, can I come back?”

“You will always be welcome but I think the next time we see you, you won’t be alone.”

“Thank you for your faith in me.”

“Faith is a powerful thing, as is love. Both should be embraced with joy.” Hermione let out a
wry chuckle.

“You remind me of our old headmaster, so wise, so amazing.”

“Thank you Hermione Jane.”

“Do you think Sister Clare’s meal would be just as disgusting cold as it was hot?”

“Probably,” Mother Rose agreed as she stood, holding Hermione out at arms length as her deep
blue eyes searched those of the younger woman, “I’m going to miss you, child.”

“And I’m going to miss you,” Hermione cried, pulling the tiny nun into a hug, “but you’re right,
I need to go back where I truly belong.”

“God has given you many gifts,” Mother Rose breathed into Hermione’s ear, “life being the
greatest, with love coming a very close second. You have both in abundance – embrace them, my dear,
embrace them with faith and belief and let these two gifts enrich your life. Now, let’s go and make
ourselves a sandwich and perhaps a little hot chocolate is in order. Saving lives is exhausting
work.”

Hermione stood and watched the small woman bustle back into the convent, the small garden where
they had been talking now nearly totally dark except for the few patches of light coming from the
building. She was exhausted but for the first time in a very, very long time she felt a fire inside
her, a passion that had been missing.

It was still there when she stepped out of the gates at Heathrow two weeks later.

**A/n – I just want to say that I chose honour killings because I wanted Hermione to be
involved with something worthwhile. I had read an article about the practice a while ago, and it
had stuck in my head. In writing this chapter, I Googled it and only read two articles which told
me of the horrific things that these women (and sometimes men) go through. I’m not championing it
and I don’t really know of any way to help these women and stop it happening. It did make me
thankful of what I have. Also, I’m not religious so if there are anything wrong with the convent
side of things, I’m sorry.**



4. untitled
-----------

**A/N – hey ladies and gents.** **This is a weird chapter and I’m a bit unsure so I hope you
like it. Thanks for all your reviews. Man, I thought when the first chapter only got 15 (and Angel,
which I posted at the same time only got 10) that I was loosing my touch then you all went, in the
words of Ron Weasley, mental!! Thanks heaps. Thanks for the person with the grammar hints – I need
all of those that I can get but sadly you’ll probably find the same mistakes. And to the reviewer
who brought up that honour crimes happen more in** **Pakistan** **than** **India** **–
you’re right, but they do happen in** **India** **too. You’ll see a bit of an explanation in
the next chapter. Oh, and this shouldn’t be more than ten or so chapters, I think…thanks again
everyone!**

Chapter 4

Hermione sat at a booth in the fast food restaurant over the road from the Leaky Cauldron and
watched the entrance of the wizarding pub with surprised fascination. It was a Monday afternoon,
the perfect time – or so she had thought – to slip quietly back into her old world when the streets
of Diagon Alley would be quiet, letting herself remember the life she had left behind.

It seemed, however, that Diagon Alley wouldn’t be as empty as she had hoped. In the half hour
she had been sitting there, over two dozen witches and wizards had rushed into the grubby little
building. Frowning, she downed the last of her coffee, took a deep breath and decided that it was
time to make her move.

All through the flight from India to Heathrow, Hermione had tried to work out what she was going
to do, how she was going find out about Harry. And Ron. Every idea seemed as idiotic as the last so
she had decided on baby steps, taking one thing at a time and working her way up to going to the
Burrow…perhaps.

So, she had booked herself into a hostel just down the road from Diagon Alley and thought that
she would spend some time in Flourish and Blotts, starting at the place that had brought her so
much joy over the years as well as a place she could find out the most about what had been going on
since she’d left. She needed to catch up.

Standing outside the Leaky Cauldron, her feet suddenly didn’t want to go any further. Hermione
was about to turn away, her fear getting the best of her even though logic was telling her she was
just visiting a book store, on a Monday afternoon – she wouldn’t see anyone, they’d all be at work.
Or something.

Two more wizards pushed past her, quickly entering the pub and curiosity finally got the better
of her. Taking another deep breath, she entered the Leaky Cauldron.

The pub was empty, totally empty – even Tom, the barman, was missing. Hermione looked around in
confusion when Tom bustled back.

“We’re closed,” he said abruptly, putting on his coat.

“Closed?” Hermione repeated, stupidly – when was the last time the Leaky Cauldron closed?

“Yes, closed,” Tom confirmed, “you can stay here but the bar is warded so don’t even think of
helping yourself. I’ll be lucky if I can see the stage at all at this rate, I’m so late…”

“Late? Late for what?” Hermione asked as Tom was just about to step out of the door.

“Late to see Harry Potter, of course!” And with that, he was gone.

Hermione stood looking at where Tom had indicated with his parting wave and saw a poster stuck
on the pub wall. With her heart in her mouth, she walked over to read it.

Celebrate

HARRY POTTER DAY!!

Come and hear the famous

HARRY POTTER

Speak at

Diagon Alley

2pm

Monday, April 19

For the first time ever!!

Hermione stood and stared at the poster, not quite believing what she saw, her brain stuck on
the fact there was a Harry Potter Day on a day that had no significance that she could think of –
Voldemort was defeated in late May while Harry’s birthday is in July. It didn’t make sense.

The first year after the final battle, the Ministry had still been in reconstruction mode and
forgotten to organise any form of commemoration. On the second year, they had asked the people
involved directly, namely the Order, and were told in no uncertain terms could the Ministry
organise anything without Harry. By the third year, the answer from Ron, Hermione and the Order had
been no to any form of remembrance but the Ministry had done something anyway – a small, unattended
affair that fizzled out quite quickly.

And now Harry had his own day and somehow this irked Hermione – the Harry she knew wouldn’t have
let this happen. But he would be there, at Diagon Alley. Speaking. In ten minutes.

Standing there and debating what she was going to do, she was suddenly distracted by a harassed
looking woman and two small children running into the bar.

“Hurry Theo, or we’ll miss him!” the mother cried to the flushed little boy, who without a word,
followed her into the courtyard. Quickly, the gateway was opened, and without a second thought,
Hermione followed the family into Diagon Alley.

It was deserted, the mother and her children rushing down the empty street and around the bend
in the road. Hermione went the same way, but only at a fast walk as she looked at the wizarding
street, remembering. Many of the shops had been rebuilt after the war, but there were also gapping
holes were some places had been destroyed and left empty.

Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t notice the beginnings of the crowd until the chatter
became an un-ignorable hum, the sound of hundreds of voices talking at the same time. Drawn back
into the present, Hermione was amazed – there were hundreds of people jammed packed into a space
where three or four shops used to be. All were facing a small stage that had been set up at the far
edge, and along with everyone else, Hermione watched the stage with interest.

Soon an excited murmur waved through the crowd as some people made their way up on to the
platform. Hermione only recognised the Minister of Magic, all the rest she guessed were other
Ministry officials. After a few moments, she saw three more people make their way to the chairs on
the stage, and these people she knew. The first was Mr Weasley, who was supporting a very weak
looking Harry, followed closely by Ron. Hermione eyes became glued to the familiar black haired
boy, not quite believing just how skinny and pale he looked or, in fact, he was actually there at
all.

She watched as Harry finally looked up to the audience in front of him – and he stopped. Even
from where she was standing, Hermione saw his eyes widen in shock before turning sharply to Ron
where they had a heated discussion. Ron seemed to have been able to placate a clearly agitated
Harry, who turned back around and continued his way to his chair, a dark scowl covering his
face.

The exchange hadn’t gone unnoticed by either the officials on the stage or the people watching –
a confused hum scattered through the crowd. But Hermione didn’t really care, she kept her eyes
locked on to Harry.

The Minister finally got up and began his speech, welcoming everyone to the square and
introducing Harry. Hermione only heard snippets, and held her breath in anticipation as Harry
slowly made his way to the podium, ignoring the applause and whistles coming from the crowd. Ron
followed him, Hermione got the impression he was there to catch Harry if he fell, saying the spell
to amplify Harry’s voice very discreetly before returning to his seat. Hermione frowned.

“When the Ministry asked me to speak here today,” Harry started without any preamble and not
worrying about the noise his audience was still making (though it quietened down almost instantly
the moment he spoke), “my initial reaction was to say no. The Ministry had never done anything for
me, in fact has ridiculed me and my friends over the years, so why do something for them? But then
I was reminded that this would be the perfect opportunity to tell you the truth, let the few people
who would show up,” he glanced angrily at Ron and Hermione guessed that the audience size had been
a surprise, “what really happened from the horses mouth, so to speak, and not from the biased
slantings of the Daily Prophet or through the political distortions of the Ministry of Magic. So
here I am, talking to you all on this stupid day named after me.

“So what happened? How did Voldemort die? I killed him – that’s all you need to know about that,
really. What you should actually remember are the many that lost their lives in the battle that got
rid of Voldemort and has allowed you to live your lives in peace.

“There are so many names, but for me…” he paused, “I lost my parents, James and Lily Potter, my
godfather, Sirius Black, my headmaster, mentor and friend, Albus Dumbledore and one of my best
friends, Hermione Granger,” Harry’s voice hitched slightly and he paused again, Hermione felt the
first tear roll down her face, “my friends lost families and homes and lived through times that
no-one should ever have to live through. So remember them, remember your own losses, those who died
in battle. Don’t remember me – I was just the one chosen to finish what so many had worked so hard
to make sure happened.

“So as you have your day off work, or out of school – think of them, not me. I didn’t ask for
this, I don’t want this, all I want is to be left alone so I can heal, so I can work out what I’m
going to do with the rest of my life, and so I can grieve for people that I’ve lost. I’ve given the
wizarding community so much, including the last five years of my life which was spent lying in a
hospital bed while the world carried on without me, and all I ask of you is to leave me alone.
Thanks.”

Harry abruptly turned from the podium and stumbled a bit, Ron immediately at his side,
supporting him. The crowd weren’t too sure what to do and there was only a scattering of applause
once people had actually realised Harry had finished speaking. The Minister and his officials just
sat their in stunned silence, their mouths open in shock.

“Is that it? Can I leave now?” Harry’s voice still resonated through the crowd, the sonorus
charm not yet disabled, his displeasure of being there obvious. Hermione could see Mr Weasley say
something, while Ron tried to hide a smile, “what?” Harry asked but then was silent.

Hermione wiped away the few tears that had escaped down her cheeks and kept an eye on the group
of red heads surrounding the one messy black haired head as they made their way through the now
dispersing crowd. Pushing her way to where they were, hoping they wouldn’t Apparate before she was
able to see them all up close, she stopped short as the crowd parted and she could see him
clearly.

Harry was pale, too pale, with dark bags under his eyes. He still wore the round rim glasses
that were as part of him as his scar or his eyes – both now standing out vibrantly against his
paleness, the green of his eyes as intense as always. His robes hung off of him and his face was
hollow and unhealthy looking.

Ron was by his side, looking the same as he did before she left, with perhaps a strength and
maturity that had been missing now showing in the way he held himself. His mother and father were
there as well, Mrs Weasley fussing over Harry like she used to when they had been younger.

And there was Ginny, holding Harry’s hand tightly as they walked away, her pretty face creased
in worry as she talked to both Harry and Ron. Hermione’s heart plummeted. She realised that there
was a chance that Harry had gone back with Ginny – Ginny hadn’t been in a serious relationship when
Hermione had left and although they had spoken about ‘that night’, they were all adults now and it
was part of Harry’s past. There was no reason why the ‘perfect couple’ wouldn’t pick up where they
had left off.

Hermione’s heart began to shatter, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of Harry and then without
warning, he was looking back. Their eyes locked, ever so briefly, until a group of people passed
between them and when they had gone, so had Harry. Hermione turned away and ran in the opposite
direction until she had found a secluded spot between shops, leant against the wall and burst into
tears.

He thought she was dead. He was with Ginny now. She had nothing, no reason to stay. Mother Rose
was wrong. Angrily wiping her face on the sleeve of her jacket, Hermione straightened up and told
herself to get over it. She began to lecture her brain on the facts; that she knew there was a
chance this would happen, that she had been out of their lives for so long, she couldn’t expect
them to stop living just because she wasn’t there.

Feeling like she was back in control, she made her way into the now busy streets. She wasn’t in
the mood for the bookstore any more, so with purpose, she made her way back through the Leaky
Cauldron and out into Muggle London, walking around until she found a chapel open where she went in
and found some peace.

The following day she returned to Diagon Alley to do what she hadn’t done the day before. There
weren’t as many people (which was what she wanted) but those who were there were still talking
about Harry’s speech. Or lack of it. The opinions seemed pretty divided – either Harry’s request
was fair enough, he had been through so much after all or he was arrogant, and that he was famous
and therefore should expect attention and be thankful for it.

Hermione tried to ignore the many often fierce conversations taking place as she made her way to
Flourish and Blotts, letting the quietness of the book shop engulf her as she walked in. She
wondered if the attendants would recognise her, after all, she had been such a frequent and
passionate customer throughout her Hogwarts years, but was thankful they didn’t.

Putting on her reading glasses (which weren’t that dissimilar to Harry’s and a reasonably new
accessory), she started to browse. There were new titles that piqued her interest, but she had no
money so they were merely looked at, skimmed through and put back. Wandering through the shelves,
Hermione smiled, her first real smile for a long time. This was home.

The smile died on her face nearly as soon as it got there as a new section had been added to the
rambling shop. A section on Harry. There had been books written about him before he had come to
Hogwarts, she had read a couple herself, and the books had kept being written through out his
school life. She had hidden this fact from Harry, discreetly steering him away from any titles that
professed to know everything there is about the Boy-Who-Lived. She had also known that many books
had been started about him after the last battle, both she and Ron had been asked to participate by
some authors. It had even been suggested that Hermione document all of their adventures – an idea
that had merit, but she had turned down anyway. She wouldn’t do anything of the sort until she had
permission from Harry.

It seemed, however, that other authors weren’t as thoughtful and there was now a whole wall
devoted to Harry Potter books. And it was very popular. Hermione sighed and left the store.

She then spent the next couple of days in Muggle London, doing some sight seeing and visiting
the great libraries and museums that she loved. By the end of the week, she felt she was ready to
go to Hogwarts, so on a bright, crisp April morning she found herself standing at the boundaries of
her old school, looking at its familiar turrets with a sense of longing.

Locating a spot between the road and the forest where she could see the castle, lake and even
the small white dot of Dumbledore’s tomb, Hermione sat with her knees pulled to her chest so she
could hug them close, her chin resting on her knees. She stayed like that for hours, watching the
students come and go across the grounds, remembering the simpler times when it was her, Ron and
Harry just making their way from one class to another.

“…and then Luna, bless her, said that she would. I mean, I just really don’t know what I’d do
without her!”

Hermione jumped up quickly at the sound of the voice on coming up the road and darted behind one
of the many trees that lined the entrance to Hogwarts gates. Peering out from her spot, she saw Ron
and Harry walking slowly towards her.

“You’re very lucky,” Harry replied shortly.

“Bloody hell,” Ron exclaimed, pausing mid pace, Harry stopping a few steps ahead, “I’m such a
git! Sorry mate, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright Ron,” Harry said, his voice not quite conveying the same intention as his words,
“I’m glad you’re happy. You deserve to be happy. It’s just…” he looked up at the castle, “I don’t
think I can do this.”

“Do you want to go back?”

Hermione could see Harry debating his options as Ron stood by quietly and waited. She once more
noticed just how skinny Harry was, and although still handsome, his features were more harsher than
before, more angular. Ron, however, looked like he had put on a bit of weight.

“No,” Harry said finally, “I need to do this. I need to see him. I think Dumbledore will know if
I’m going barmy or not and perhaps even give me an idea on what to do to find her.”

“We told you you aren’t barmy…”

“But you don’t believe me either,” Harry reasoned calmly, “it was her, I know it. Hermione was
at that stupid speech thing.”

Hermione clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle her sharp intake of breath. He had recognised
her. Ron stood looking at Harry and she could tell that they had had this conversation many times
before, which was confirmed when Ron quickly changed the subject.

“We could go to the portrait at St Mungo’s instead…”

“I don’t want to go back to that place unless I really have to,” Harry nearly growled, then
broke out into a smile, his mood changing quickly, “besides, this way we can pop in and say hi to
Hagrid.”

“True, true,” Ron chuckled, “well, let’s do this then. Professor McGonagall is expecting
us.”

“Don’t you mean Minerva?” Harry laughed as they began to walk once again, “isn’t that what we’re
supposed to call her now we’re all grown up?”

“Mate, there is no way I’m ever going to call her by her first name…”

Ron’s voice began to die away as they walked further away from her and when she felt it was
safe, she came out of her hiding spot and watched their retreating backs. Harry had recognised her
when no-one else had. Sure, he knew her better than anyone alive, but it had been just a glance
across a crowd of people. A glance that had lasted only seconds. A glance that had taken place when
he was with Ginny.

Ron and Harry disappeared from sight leaving Hermione alone once more. Still staring at the
place where they once were, she took a deep breath and tried to placate the turmoil in her mind.
After a few moments, she felt back in control and Apparated to Diagon Alley.

The next few days were…challenging for Hermione. Her magic was getting better the more she used
it, making her realise how much she actually missed it. She spent a lot of time reading newspapers,
catching up on events that had happened while she was away. And she spent a lot of time trying to
work out what she was going to do about Harry.

She was so confused. She thought he was with Ginny, but when she saw him at Hogwarts, for some
reason she didn’t think that was the case – he just seemed so intent in finding answers about
whether he saw her or not. One thing she did know was that she wasn’t going to chance seeing him
again until she was ready. So she packed up her stuff and went to Oxford.

Her family home was being well looked after with it looking the same as when she left it five
years prior. After visiting the agency that was managing the property for her, she visited the
bank, seeing that the regular payments of rent had given her a nice nest egg and although it
wouldn’t keep her indefinitely, she didn’t necessarily need to get a job straight away.

Settled in a backpackers not far from the centre of the city, Hermione began enjoying the
familiarity of living in the place where she had grown up. It had been the first real time she had
spent in Oxford since the death of her parents, preferring to spend her time in London while Harry
had been sick. She had come to see where her parents were buried, but her visits had been short.
This time was different.

After a week and a half of revisiting old haunts and saying hi to family friends, she decided
that it was time to go to the cemetery. It was difficult, it always was, but now even more so. She
walked past the gravestones of people she didn’t know until she came to the plot where her mother
and father had been buried six years before, holding on tightly to a small bunch of lavender
lilies, her mother’s favourite. Frowning, she saw a figure already at the gravesite, kneeling in
front of the two headstones. It wasn’t until she got a bit closer that she recognised the
mourner.

It was Harry.

Why he was there, she didn’t know. How he happened to choose the same day she did to visit her
parents, she didn’t know. It was just too weird, out of all the places and all the times…

The shock rooted her to the spot as she just stood, watching him. It looked like he was having a
conversation, a bunch of lilies already in the vase by her mother’s headstone while hers were
forgotten in her hand.

He began to stand, swaying unsteadily and she fought back every instinct she had to run to him
and help. She wanted to hide, to get away from him, but her feet wouldn’t move – until he looked up
and saw her. They stared at each other, immobile.

“Hermione,” he suddenly blurted out, his voice loud in the stillness of the graveyard. The spell
that had held her was finally broken, and in blind panic, she turned and ran. She could hear him
trying to catch up with her, but couldn’t as his injuries held him back. Still, she ran until she
couldn’t breathe, finally stopping and allowing her deprived lungs to grab as much air as they
could.

Why was he here? Neither Harry or Ron had known her parents that well, not even knowing where
she had lived until their seventh year. So why was Harry now having conversations with her dead
parents at their gravesites? And how did he know that lilies had been her mother’s favourite
flower?

She closed her eyes in memory. Of course he knew. When her parents were murdered, Harry had
taken it nearly as hard as her. It was the catalyst that led to the destruction of Voldemort but it
had also been so painfully personal for Hermione.

She wasn’t allowed to go to their funerals, it was too dangerous, so they had held a memorial in
the grounds of Hogwarts. As many of the Order members who could be spared were there, as were her
friends from school. But it was the presence of her two best friends that meant the most. She had
stood there between Ron and Harry, thankful for their support at a time when she desperately needed
it. She had placed a small bunch of lilies at the foot of the tree that had been planted in her
parent’s honour; explaining then they were her mother’s favourite flowers.

And Harry had remembered, years later.

She shook her head in confused frustration. This wasn’t the way it was meant to be. She was
supposed to do things in her own time – she wasn’t ready to see him, not yet. Not when he was with
Ginny.

Hermione opened her eyes and sighed. Oxford wasn’t as big as London, but it was big enough that
the chances of seeing Harry again would be slight. Even if he was staying around, which he probably
wasn’t.

Feeling a bit more relaxed, she stepped out from the wall she had been leaning against and began
walking home to the backpackers. She would go back and visit her parents another day and in the
meantime, she would use this time alone to really sit down and think about how she felt and what
she was going to do next.

Over the next few days, that’s exactly what she did. The debate within her continued – the need
to see him and just hold him or to see him and confront him about how he felt or just to stay away.
Each idea seemed right, depending on how she felt at the time, but as the days went on, logic told
her she couldn’t leave without knowing the truth.

She would have to return to the Burrow.

That thought scared her more than anything else. Her last memories of the Weasley home weren’t
pleasant and she really didn’t know how she would be able to keep her emotions in check when she
saw Harry with Ginny. But it had to be done, she needed closure once and for all.

She had now been back in England for a month, her time at Oxford being a couple of weeks, and
she found herself in no need to rush. She was living as a Muggle and enjoying it, determined not to
see Harry again unless it was on her terms and to do that was to stay away from the wizarding world
as much as possible.

Although he was never far from her thoughts, Hermione had begun to be the Hermione of old, her
confidence returning day by day. She found herself returning to the books that she loved, spending
hours at the libraries of the many universities that populated Oxford, just reading any one of the
millions of books that took her fancy.

She even snuck into a few lectures that had sounded interesting, melding in with the actual
students with ease. Being around people who enjoyed learning as much as she did at least solved one
problem for her – Hermione realised what she wanted to do with her life, and that was to become a
student. Soon she was pouring over the different subjects offered by the different universities,
not only in Oxford but the whole of the United Kingdom. So many sounded interesting that it was
becoming difficult to choose, but bit by bit she was narrowing her selection down.

Hermione had been so lost in thought, looking over a prospectus for a university in Wales as she
sipped her cup of coffee in a local café, that she didn’t notice she was being watched. It wasn’t
until she stood to go that she noticed him; hands in his pockets, wild black hair being blown by
the breeze, shoulders hunched against the cold, intense green eyes looking at her. As soon as he
saw he had been spotted, he came to her in brisk, purposeful steps even before she had registered
he was there. She turned to run.

“Hermione, stop,” Harry called to her, “please, don’t run. Please!”

Hermione hung her head and closed her eyes in weary defeat. She could never say no Harry.



5. untitled
-----------

**A/N – ah, a few mixed comments for my last chapter – all fair enough. Hopefully this chapter
will redeem Hermione for those who couldn’t understand her last time. Thank you one and all for
your fantastic reviews. Enjoy!**

Chapter 5

“Why do you keep running from me?”

Hermione didn’t turn around at Harry’s question, instead she just stood there with her head
bowed, trying to work everything out in her head – once again.

“Hermione?”

She felt him reach out to her, gently turning her to face him, his hand taking hers. It took all
her will power not to look at him, not to pull him into her arms and crush him in a hug, but she
did it. He wasn’t hers to hug.

“Please, talk to me,” he pleaded, stepping closer, “I don’t understand why you keep running
away. Hermione, tell me what was wrong. Help me understand.”

“Don’t Harry,” she said quietly, still not looking at him, “please.”

“Don’t what?” he replied back, all pleading gone, “bloody hell Hermione, I thought you were
dead! When I saw you at that stupid speech at Diagon Alley, I thought I had seen a ghost and it’s
taken me a bloody long time to prove to myself that I was right, that it was you! I’m not going to
let you push me away now – talk to me!”

Hermione sighed. He had the right to know what was going on with her, he was such a big part of
the mess that was her mind after all. But it wasn’t going to be easy. She sighed again, yet she
felt her resolve strengthen. She had to do this. There was no other way.

“Okay,” she agreed after a few more moments of thought.

“Okay?” Harry repeated, slightly stunned, “er…right. Brilliant. Um, shall we go somewhere
then?”

Hermione just nodded, took her hand out of Harry’s and began to walk to the small park she knew
was just around the corner, terribly aware that he quickly fell into step at her side.

Without speaking, she found her way to her favourite park bench that overlooked one of the many
university campuses and sat.

“Why do you keep running away from me?” he asked after a moment as he sat down next to her.

“Because I’m scared,” she replied truthfully.

“Of me?”

“Kind of,” Hermione said with a sigh, “I didn’t know how I would handle seeing you. Especially…”
she paused, wanting to say ‘because you’re back with Ginny’ but not too sure if she should.

“Especially what?”

“I can’t believe you’re alive, that you’re back,” she answered instead.

“Neither can I,” Harry admitted, “it’s been really strange. And waking to find that you had
disappeared. I couldn’t believe you’d go…”

“I had been by your side for three years Harry,” she stated, knowing he was staring at her but
she kept her gaze firmly on her hands in her lap.

“I know, Ron said. It was just…strange,” he tried to explain, “out of all the people in my life,
I always thought you’d be there for me.”

“You have other people…”

“No-one like you Hermione,” he said earnestly and for the first time since he had stopped her,
she looked at him, “when Ron told me you had left, and they hadn’t heard from you for so long, that
they didn’t know whether you were alive or dead, it felt like my life had ended. You have no
idea…”

“I sat by your side feeling like that for a very long time Harry, I think I know.”

“Right,” he replied shortly, holding her gaze, “why did you leave, Hermione?”

“Because.”

“Because? Because why?”

“Because it was so, very hard,” Hermione whispered, returning to looking at her hands.

“What’s happened to you?” Harry asked softly; she looked back at him.

“What…what do you mean?” she stammered.

“You’re this scared, timid little girl who can’t even look at me without cowering in fear…or
shame,” he stated with a hint of a frown, “not the strong, independent young woman who saved my
life more times than I care to admit.”

“Maybe she was lost during the years spent waiting…” she paused again, her words once more stuck
in her throat, not sure if telling Harry she loved him was the right thing to do at the moment.

“Waiting for me?” he asked; Hermione nodded and looked back down at her hands. Harry continued
to speak, “during the time I lay in that bed, it was like I was in this dream where it was so
quiet, so peaceful and I was happy. Every time I felt I was ready to carry on to wherever I was
going, I heard a voice that was familiar, telling me to stay. I didn’t recognise the voice but I
came to rely on it, welcoming its regular appearance into my world.

“Then the voice stopped coming. I waited for it to come back but it never did. I wanted to find
out what had happened to the voice because something inside me was missing it so much that I came
back to where the voice came from.

“When I woke up, it took a couple of months before I was really able to talk to anybody. It
wasn’t until everyone was sure I wasn’t going to cark it that they started telling me the truth;
that I had been out to it for five years, that Ron was married to Luna and they had a son, that
Remus and Tonks had also married, that Charlie and Moody were dead and that you had run away.”

“Harry I…”

“Those first few months I really didn’t know what was going on but I knew something was
missing,” he carried on, interrupting her, “and when Ron told me you’d left I spent a lot of time
wondering why and came to two conclusions – ‘because it was hard’ wasn’t one of them.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Hermione asked, still not looking at him.

“Doing this to you?” Harry repeated angrily, “doing what to you? Strangely, this isn’t all about
you Hermione! You disappeared without a trace, letting all your friends think that you had died
because there would be no other reason why you’d not contact anybody at all for two bloody years!
They’ve been worried sick about you and when you do actually return to the country, it seems that
contacting them isn’t in your list of things to do! Hell, Hermione – they’re your friends!”

“My friends?” Hermione questioned, finally looking at Harry, “did Ron tell you what happened
when I told him I was leaving? Did he tell you what he said to me?”

“He said that you had a fight, but you two are always bickering about one thing or another…”

“I don’t believe this…” she muttered, standing and turning away from him.

“So you and Ron had a row,” Harry continued tersely, “and that was the reason you fell off the
face of the planet for two years?”

“You really want to know why I left?” Hermione shouted, turning back to him, her eyes blazing,
“why I didn’t want to come back? Because of you Harry! Because I visited you every day for three
years with the hope that it would be me that brought you back, but it wasn’t and it was killing me!
Everyone carried on with their lives except you and me and I couldn’t deal with that any more, so I
left.

“And I stayed away because I didn’t know what I would come back to – Ron hated me…”

“Ron doesn’t hate you…”

“Yes he does! Yes he did! Oh, I don’t know!” Hermione turned away again, “this is all such a
mess, I’ve made such a mess of everything…”

“Hermione…”

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” she continued, more to herself than to Harry, “I want to be…I
don’t know where I stand, where I belong. Everything is just so confusing…”

“But it doesn’t have to be,” Harry said quickly, going to her side and making her face him,
“Hermione, you belong with us, with Ron, me, Ginny…”

Hermione pulled away from him as he said Ginny’s name, once more deflated and in a way,
defeated.

“I can’t go back to that Harry,” she whispered, “I can’t go back. Ron, he said…he said he didn’t
want anything to do with me. And Ginny…”

“I don’t understand,” Harry murmured, “why would Ron say something like that? I mean, I know you
two row…oh no.”

Hermione looked at Harry and met his eyes with her own, seeing the realisation cross his face.
Ron hadn’t told him, Harry didn’t know that everyone knew of their one night together.

“He knows about you and me?” Harry asked, Hermione just nodded, “does…does Ginny know too?”

“Yes.”

“They never said,” he carried on, thinking hard, “all this time, they never said a thing. Ron
just told me you had a fight, that he was really annoyed but that was it. And Ginny…”

“I’m sorry Harry,” Hermione said uncertainly, “I know you wanted to tell her yourself, but it
just…I was angry and it sort of slipped out. Ginny was really good about it though, said she
understood. But now that you and her are back together, I don’t know…”

“Hang on,” Harry interrupted, “what do you mean, Ginny and I being back together?”

“I saw you with her,” Hermione stammered, uncomfortable under Harry’s intense glare, “at Diagon
Alley…”

“Hermione, I’m not with Ginny,” he said gently, “how can I be? For one, she’s with Neville…’

“Neville?”

“Yes, Neville, and they’re really happy,” Harry smiled, “and two, you have consumed my brain so
much that since I woke, you have been all I think about. I thought that the reason you didn’t come
back was that either you were dying, dead or that you were ashamed of what we did, what happened
between us,” his smile faulted as he looked at her nervously, “you’re not, are you?”

“You…you remember?” she breathed.

“How can I forget,” he replied, taking her shaking hands in his (which also weren’t so steady),
“Hermione, for the first time in my life someone told me they loved me and made me feel the most
incredible, amazing person alive – how could I forget that? Why, do you…don’t you want to be with
me…”

“No,” Hermione said, panicked, drawing her hands away from his.

“What do you mean, no?” Harry frowned, sounding both scared and confused as he stumbled, nearly
falling, his face turning deathly white. She was at his side in a flash, all her own confusion and
fear quickly replaced by her concern for Harry.

“I’m okay,” he tried to reassure, pushing her away slightly but Hermione wasn’t that easily
deterred.

“No Harry, you’re not,” she stated briskly, for the first time really feeling his hands with
hers, “you’re freezing – why didn’t you say you were so cold?”

“Because I’m fine,” he grumbled, still trying to distance himself from her, “let me go.”

“No,” Hermione almost growled, “we need to get you somewhere warm. For goodness sake Harry, why
didn’t you say something?”

“And have you disappear from me again?” he practically spat at her, “not that it matters any
way. I can’t believe I actually thought you meant what you said, that you loved me. How stupid am
I?”

Hermione stood looking at Harry – his face pale, his body hunched over in an attempt to keep
warm, his eyes wounded and sad – and she finally realised what she had been running away from. It
wasn’t because she hadn’t been able to handle seeing him lying in that hospital bed or even because
her friends had found the happiness that had eluded her. But because she was terrified of the
intensity of the love she felt for Harry.

She knew now that she had hoped distance could lessen her feelings somewhat, but it hadn’t. She
had hoped time would make what she felt for him more manageable but instead it had made it all that
more gigantic.

She hadn’t lied to Mother Rose; she had been scared of what she was going to find waiting for
her back home. But in reality, the fears she had voiced in the convent garden in India had been put
to rest the moment she had seen both Harry and Ron at Diagon Alley. Hermione understood now that
she should’ve gone up to them all right there and then, that a month of worrying and thinking about
things that probably weren’t real would’ve been avoided.

But as she stood there, with her arms around a shivering Harry, her need to protect him and get
him to safety as natural to her as her heart beat, she knew why she had turned her back on them
all, why she was so scared.

Harry would consume her and she hadn’t been strong enough. Now she was.

“Where are you staying?” she asked him firmly.

“Why do you care?” he shot back.

“Look, you can yell and scream at me all you want once you are warm and feeling better,” she
informed him, wrapping her scarf around his neck, “Merlin knows I deserve it. But please, let me
get you somewhere warm.”

“I’m staying at the Occidental Hotel,” he finally admitted begrudgingly.

Hermione knew where that was and it wasn’t far from where they were. She looked at him with
concern as he leant on her that little bit harder.

“Are you able to walk?” she questioned gently, “would it be easier if you Apparate us to your
room?”

“I can’t do magic,” he snapped, “and yes I can walk.” As if to prove his point, he began to step
away from her, stumbling as soon as he left her supporting grasp. Quickly, she was back at his
side, and without saying another word, began guiding him to where she knew his hotel was, bracing
him as much as she could.

All the way there, she berated herself for being so selfish she hadn’t noticed Harry’s condition
, that she should’ve known better, and that really, she was a right cow. Harry kept silent and she
could feel his hurt, anger and conflict seeping out of him. She desperately needed to make it
right.

The warmth of the hotel lobby was a welcome relief and when the reception staff saw their guest
looking so worse for wear, they immediately helped Hermione take Harry to his room, asking if he
required a doctor. Hermione assured them all he would be fine and closed his bedroom door on them
with a relieved thud.

They had placed him onto the double bed that sat in the middle of the room, where he remained,
immobile, staring at the floor. She took her hat and coat off as she walked over to him, took a
deep breath and readied herself for the tirade she knew she deserved.

“Harry…” she ventured hesitantly.

“I thought you loved me,” he whispered, still staring at the floor, “I’ve spent all this time
trying to get better, trying to find you because I thought you loved me. And all this time it was a
lie.”

“It’s not a lie Harry,” she said quietly – his head snapped up as he looked at her.

“What?” he choked out.

“It’s not a lie,” she repeated, watching him from her place by the bed, “I love you so very
much.”

“I…I don’t understand,” Harry stammered, “you said no…”

“We need to get you warm,” she smiled gently, ignoring his comment as she made her way to the
heater, turning it up slightly before going to the bed to turn on his electric blanket “we can talk
about all of this when you’re feeling better…”

“I want to talk about it now Hermione,” he exclaimed gruffly, stopping her as she passed by him,
“what’s going on? Why the bloody hell did you say no!”

Hermione disengaged herself from Harry and sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed but as
far away from him as she could.

“I’ve been so incredibly stupid,” she admitted with a wry shake of her head, “and to think, I
was once known as an extremely bright witch. I guess I am, but not about life and definitely not
about love,” she looked over at him fondly, “I had loved you for so long Harry, fantasised about
you, and then given up knowing, thinking, that you’d never be mine. And then you were, for one
magical, amazing night.

“That night has consumed me ever since. I tried to forget it, to move on, but I never could. And
it scared me because I’ve lost who I was, who I am. When you told me that you remembered our night
and that it was as special to you as it is to me, a new wave of fear hit me…”

“And you pulled away,” Harry finished for her.

“Yes.”

“I’ve put you through a lot, haven’t I?” he said somewhat sadly, making Hermione scoot across
the bed and take his hands in hers, which she was happy to note were a lot warmer.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for what I’ve done and how I’ve felt,” she growled, “all of this,
all my ‘running away’ is something that belongs to me.” Hermione paused for a moment, gathering her
thoughts before carrying on a bit more gently, “when I realised that I had totally ignored the fact
that you’re not one hundred per cent, that I’ve been so wrapped up with me that it didn’t even
occur to me that you were unwell, I had an epiphany…”

“A what?”

“An epiphany,” Hermione repeated, smiling, “an amazing revelation. I realised that the reason
I’ve been so scared is that if you and I happen, I love you so much that I’d be lost in you. The
stupid thing is, I’ve lost myself anyway.”

“If you let me, I’ll help you find yourself again,” Harry offered, a half grin hitting his
face.

“I’d like that,” she replied, blushing slightly as she stared into his now twinkling eyes.

“When I woke, you were the first person I saw,” he said softly after a small pause.

“What?” Hermione asked, slightly confused.

“When I woke up. I opened my eyes and saw this beautiful woman with short, short hair, working
in a garden somewhere,” Harry continued, reaching out and running his hand over her hair, his touch
leaving shockwaves throughout her body, “I didn’t realise it was you until I saw you at Diagon
Alley.”

“I…I saw you too,” she stammered, a little bit frightened, “when you woke, I saw you in my
mind.”

“How can that be?” he asked, his hand now resting on her cheek, caressing it ever so slightly, a
frown touching his face.

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted, leaning slightly into his touch, “but, it’s a bit scary,
don’t you think?”

“There was always something special, a sort of connection between you and me,” he breathed,
leaning closer to her, “perhaps its scary in a good way…”

“Harry…” she whimpered, whatever she was about to say cut off as his lips found hers. Her brain
stopped functioning as she revelled in his kiss, feeling slightly annoyed when he pulled away.

“Your hair is brilliant, short like that,” he remarked breathlessly, his eyes boring into hers,
“I can see your beautiful face better now.”

“Thank you,” she replied, her heart beating ten times faster than it should as her face went a
brilliant shade of red. His eyes held her as they leaned towards each other – close, but not quite
touching. She had to get herself under control because she knew that at any moment, she was going
to loose it and do a bit more to Harry than just kiss, “um, can I use your…?” she said quickly,
indicating to the small bathroom attached to the main room. A little bit surprised, Harry nodded
and leaned back away from her, watching her as she left him on the bed. When she entered the
bathroom, she quickly closed the door and with a blissful sigh – leaned back on it and smiled.

He remembered the night. He wanted her still. He wasn’t with Ginny. He thought she was
beautiful. He had kissed her. She grinned.

How stupid had she been? How could she ever have had doubts? After flushing the toilet, Hermione
shook her head in disbelief as she made her way to the sink to wash her hands and suddenly
stopped.

There lined up on the counter were a bunch of bottles, potion bottles – thirteen of them, she
found out after a quick count. She washed her hands, dried them and then picked up a few of the
potions to try and work out what they were, but she couldn’t tell.

Hermione frowned – thirteen potions. This wasn’t good.

She made her way back into the main room and paused. Harry was propped up against the bed head
with some pillows, the duvet pulled up to his waist and his eyes closed. She studied him and once
again saw the dark bags under his eyes, accentuated by his paleness. Although he had put on weight
since she has seen him at Diagon Alley, he was still so very skinny.

He looked so peaceful that Hermione stood there motionless and just watched him. Even with his
ailments, she couldn’t help admiring how good looking he was – she had always thought it, but age
had made him even more so.

She sighed. They had come back to his room because he had nearly collapsed – which she had
promptly forgotten. His kiss had brought back memories of their passion of so many years ago and
she realised she was stupid, and selfish, to think it would be repeated. She sighed again.

Hearing her, he opened his eyes and looked at her standing there.

“Hey,” he said with a smile.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked in reply.

“I’m okay,” he stated firmly, his smile growing as if to convince her, “in fact, I feel bloody
good.”

“Harry, what’s wrong with you?” she questioned, returning to her spot on the edge of his bed,
not believing him at all.

“I think I just got too cold, like you said,” Harry tried to convince her, his smile not quite
as broad, “but I’m all toasty now…”

“I didn’t mean just today,” Hermione interrupted, “I mean, generally.”

“Nothing really,” he shrugged, “actually, I’m doing pretty well for a bloke who’s been asleep
for five years.”

“You have thirteen potions sitting in your bathroom,” Hermione continued, frowning, “that amount
of potions doesn’t usually indicate everything is fine, I should know. What are they for?”

“Um, lets see,” Harry replied, thinking, seemingly unperturbed about her concern, “three are to
help me sleep, one is to help my appetite, one is to help me gain weight, two are supplement type
things and the rest…” he paused.

“Yes?” Hermione prompted.

“It seems there were things they couldn’t test for when I was unconscious and came into focus
once I woke,” Harry explained casually, “so the rest of the potions are to try and heal that…”

“*Try* and heal?” Hermione repeated, “Harry…”

“I’m fine Hermione,” he tried to sooth, taking her hands in his, “I promise you, I’m going to be
fine. There are just a few things that need to be tweaked…”

“Like you not being able to use magic,” she carried on, searching his face for answers.

“Like me not being able to use magic,” he agreed.

“Do they know why you can’t?”

“No, not really,” again Harry shrugged, “it seems I’m quite complex.”

“I bet,” Hermione chuckled.

“Ah, a laugh,” he joked, smiling himself, “it’s good to see you laughing.”

“Though its not really that funny,” Hermione replied, trying to stay serious as looked directly
into Harry’s glowing eyes, “it’s past lunch time – have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well, which potion will help your appetite?” she continued, getting up to return to the
bathroom but unable to as Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her back to the bed.

“I’m not hungry,” he repeated before taking her face in his hands and kissing her, pulling away
from her for a moment to whisper, “all I want is you,” then returning to her lips.

It happened so quickly, but it felt great and in seconds she was responding to his kiss with
years of pent up passion. She forgot almost everything, aware only of his touch on her face. When
she felt herself being lowered down on the bed, Harry’s hands finding their way under her shirt,
her brain kicked back into gear and she broke her mouth away from his.

“Harry,” she breathed, gasping as he began to nibble on her ear lobe.

“Hmmm,” he mumbled.

“Harry, you need to stop,” she almost groaned – and he did, looking down at her with eyes so
amazingly green.

“Why?”

“Because I have been wanting you for five years,” she said breathlessly, “and if you keep doing
what you’re doing, well, I…I…er…might…um…I really *want* you Harry.”

“I’ve been wanting you for six months Hermione and trust me, for a bloke, that’s a life time,”
he grinned, beginning to undo the buttons of her blouse, his eyes never leaving hers, “I want you
so badly.”

“But, um, have you got the…er…strength?” she asked tentatively, running her hands through his
hair and bringing her face so close to his she could feel his breath.

“Strangely, I feel like I could take on the world,” he announced almost proudly before bending
his head and showering her now exposed breastbone with feather light kisses – Hermione groaned.

“I…don’t…want…to…wear…you…out,” she stammered as he moved onto the swell of her breast – he
paused and looked back at her face, grinning a dopey grin. She smiled.

“Oh, but what a wonderful way to be worn out, don’t you think?” he smirked Hermione just smiled,
took his face in her hands and kissed him with all the passion she had been suppressing, this time
glad her mind was once more consumed by Harry Potter.



6. untitled
-----------

**A/N – okay, so this chapter grew to have a mind of its own, but I hope you like it. Thanks
for all the wonderful reviews, they really make we try and get this out at least weekly (which
means the housework and gardening doesn’t get done, but, hey – what can you do?). I really
appreciate all you comments. This story seems to hit you guys in different ways, which I’m finding
really interesting, and I think the same will be for this chapter – some will think its all too
easy, and some will think its just right. Excellent. Anyway, enjoy.**

Chapter 6

Harry’s breath had a regular rhythm as it gently tickled her shoulder, telling Hermione he had
fallen asleep. She grinned contently as she snuggled herself more tightly into his body. Their
lovemaking had been as incredible as it was five years before and for the first time in so long,
Hermione was happy.

After a while, she was ready to get up though how to do that without waking Harry was another
story altogether. She gently unwound his arm from her and moved it from its spot around her waist,
laying it instead on his thigh. She then slowly edged her way from his embrace, quickly feeling the
loss of his heat and comfort the further away from him she got. When she reached the edge of the
bed, Hermione turned around to look at him, smiling once more.

Harry was still far too pale, the smudges under his eyes even more pronounced than ever. But
there was a healthiness now that she was sure hadn’t been there before. He looked adorable – his
dark lashes resting on his cheeks, his hair mussed up more than usual, his lips red and curled
slightly in a peaceful smile of his own. The need to reach out and kiss him was intense but
Hermione knew she shouldn’t. He had fallen asleep pretty much as soon as they had finished and she
realised that he needed the rest.

For a moment, Hermione’s smile turned to a frown. She knew something was wrong with him,
something he wasn’t sharing, and it concerned her. But she also knew she had no right to demand the
information out of him, Harry had to tell her in his own time. She would have to be patient.

With a final glance, she began to dress as quietly as she could. Not wanting to leave him
without saying goodbye, she got her bag and made her way to the small desk that sat in the corner
of the room. Getting out the prospectuses she had been looking at earlier that day, Hermione made
herself comfortable and began to once more ponder over the various courses at various universities
all over Britain – though there was a new debate that had begun in her head.

Harry needed her and her involvement with him would bring her squarely back into the wizarding
world. University belonged to the Muggle world. Though she kept looking through the glossy course
guides and kept on making notes, every now and then she would stop and think it was all for
nothing, that there was a good chance she wouldn’t be taking this particular path.

It was during one of these pauses when she heard the pained groans from the bed.

She had been so engrossed in what she was doing, content to let Harry catch up on the sleep she
knew he had missed, that she had tried to give him some privacy and not sat and watched him –
though the temptation to do just that was strong.

When she heard his strangled cry, she looked over to where he lay and saw that he had begun to
writhe in fear, his face no longer peaceful and serene. His nightmare had taken hold, twisting and
tangling him up in his sheets. Hermione left the desk and kneeled down at the side of the bed,
taking his outstretched hand in her own.

“Harry,” she breathed, trying to ignore her own fear, “Harry, wake up. You’re fine, you’re okay
– I’m here. Wake up sweetie.”

“Hermione…” he groaned, his eyes still shut tight, though she could see them frantically moving
under the skin of his lids.

“Yeah, it’s me, Hermione,” she continued firmly, but calmly, “I’m here with you Harry.
Everything is going to be okay…”

“No…dead…” he cried, frowning.

“No, no, I’m not dead,” she tried to convince him, trying desperately not to let the tears that
had begun to flow sound in her voice, “I’m not dead, Harry. I’m right here.”

“No…” he gasped.

Hermione wiped away her tears with a harsh swipe of her sleeve, not trusting her voice to say
anything else. She watched helplessly as his mind replayed one of the many horrors he had witnessed
in his life, his face betraying what he usually hides when he’s awake.

Without warning, his eyes snapped open as he took in a huge gulp of air. He glanced around him
in confusion, until his eyes rested on Hermione.

“Hey,” she soothed, gently moving a clump of hair from his sweating brow, “you were having a bad
dream.”

“Right,” he said dismissively, closing his eyes wearily before taking a deep breath then opening
them again, looking at Hermione, “what’s the time?”

“Er, six thirty,” she answered, slightly confused.

“Really?” he exclaimed with a weak smile, sitting up – seemingly all fear and confusion gone,
“six-thirty! That’s the longest I’ve slept without a potion since I came back!”

Hermione leant back on her haunches, frowning as Harry reached for his clothes and began to
dress, his hand still shaking from his abrupt wakening.

“Would…would you like to talk about your nightmare?” she asked, watching him put on his shirt as
if he didn’t have a care in the world. He looked at her from his seat on the bed, put on his
glasses (that had been sitting on the bedside cabinet) then gently ran his finger down the side of
her face.

“Hermione, I’m sorry you witnessed what you did,” he said solemnly, “and I will tell you about
the dreams…one day. Just not yet, not now. Are you hungry?”

“Hungry?” she repeated, startled by the shift in subject.

“Yeah, hungry,” he carried on, standing up and going to the desk to get the room service menu,
pausing when he saw the various prospectuses scattered over the desk top, “hey, what’s all
this?”

In a flash, Hermione got to her feet and desperately tried to gather all the course guides
together, not wanting Harry to know she had been planning a future without him in it.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, “they’re just…”

“University courses,” Harry grinned, reading the one he was holding out of reach from Hermione’s
grasp, “are you going to go to university?”

“I…I was thinking about it,” she admitted, giving up trying to hide the evidence, “but I’m not
really sure yet.”

“Why?” Harry asked earnestly, putting the prospectus back on the desk before reaching for the
room service menu, “it’s so perfect for you. I mean, no one loves to learn more than you do. I
think it’s a brilliant idea.”

“You do?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

Hermione blushed under his scrutiny and stayed at her spot by the desk as he made his way back
to the bed, where he sat wearily.

“It’s just that,” Hermione started, thinking about what she wanted to say, “well, they’re
*Muggle* universities. It seemed like a good idea while I was living as a Muggle. But…I
mean…it’s just that, things have…”

She paused and looked at Harry who was looking intently back.

“…changed,” he finished for her – she nodded.

“I’ve just found you,” she tried to explain, still standing next to the desk, “and, well, you’re
not well and I want to help…”

“Hermione,” Harry interrupted, putting the menu down and holding out his hands to her which,
after a moments hesitation, she took and let herself be led to the bed, sitting down at his side.
She looked down at their entwined fingers, taking a deep breath when she saw his fingers leave
hers. Seconds later, she felt his touch on either side of her face as he gently tilted it upwards,
making her look into his wonderful green eyes, “I need you to listen to me, really listen to me,”
he continued firmly, “I’m not one hundred per cent right and there are still quite a few things
wrong with me but I’m not dying…”

“But…” she cut in – Harry put a finger to her lips to stop her words.

“I’m going to be fine,” he stated with a stern look, “I can look after myself – I don’t need a
nurse…” he paused as he gently ran the pad of his thumb over her cheek, then smiled, “but I would
really like a girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Hermione repeated, pulling her face out of his hands and staring at him in shock,
“girlfriend? Me?”

“Yes, you,” Harry chuckled, taking her hands once more in his own, “how can you still doubt how
special you are in my life Hermione? There is no one in this world I want by my side than you. Five
years ago I made a promise to you that when it was all over, when Voldemort was gone, I would break
up with Ginny and be with you. Fate has already done the breaking up thing for me and now that I’ve
found you, there’s no reason why we can’t give us a go and see where we lead.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, showing her just how much by kissing her gently on the mouth, “I know you
love me, that you still love me, and there are things we need to sort out and work on…”

“The whole ‘getting lost in each other’ issue, you mean?” Hermione piped up, a grin touching her
lips.

“Exactly,” Harry smiled, “and a great way for you to find out who you are, is to do something
you love. Like learning. Everything else, well, we can just see how we go. All I know is the person
I want to get through my problems with is you.”

“Same here,” Hermione agreed, then added after a moments pause, “thank you Harry.”

“What for?”

“For forgiving me, for understanding,” she told him softly, “for giving me a chance.”

“There was nothing to forgive,” he breathed, “and I will only give you a chance if you do the
same for me. Deal?”

“Deal,” she laughed.

“Great, now what do you want to eat?” he asked cheerfully, retrieving the menu, “or would you
prefer to eat out?”

“No, here would be fine,” Hermione stated as she got up, “just let me get my glasses…”

“Glasses?” Harry quizzed, then grinned broadly when she turned back to him, her round rimmed
frames in place.

“Don’t laugh!” she pouted, returning to the bed.

“I guess all those years of reading finally took its toll,” he joked, handing her the menu.

“Exactly,” she said with an air of finality, scanning the menu for something that took her
fancy, definitely feeling hungry now, “I think I’ll have the vegetarian quiche…”

“Quiche?” Harry repeated, taking the menu back so he could make his choice, “are you sure? I
mean, what about the steak and kidney pie? You always liked that at Hogwarts.”

“I haven’t really eaten meat for the last year,” Hermione explained, taking her glasses off and
returning them to the desk.

“Really? Why?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you after dinner,” she said evasively, “what are you going to have?”

It was forty-five minutes later when Hermione leaned back against the bed head, her stomach full
and her mind floating in a blissful mush. Harry had gone to the bathroom and as she waited for his
return, she closed her eyes and thought about everything that had happened. It was all so
incredible.

“So, tell me about your life since I saw you on the grounds of Hogwarts.”

Hermione jumped in surprise as Harry grinned at her reaction, making his way slowly back to the
bed, sitting next to her and draping his arm over her shoulders, allowing her to snuggle into his
side.

“Oh, I don’t know Harry,” she said, looking at him, “you look pretty tired.”

“Believe it or not, I always look tired lately,” he shrugged, “so spill. You know what I’ve been
doing for the last five years – what about you?”

“You want to hear about everything?” she asked, “it’ll be pretty boring.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” he smiled, “but I think it will be a lot more exciting than my last five
years, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she admitted before snuggling in closer, “well, we thought you were dead when
we found you after you got rid of Voldemort, but you weren’t. From memory, I think I went a bit
hysterical when I saw you laying there…”

“Ron did say you went a bit mental,” Harry interjected with a grin.

“Did he now?” Hermione said thoughtfully, wondering what else Ron had told him, then carried on
with her story, “anyway, both Ron and I were hurt, not too badly, but we both refused to leave you
so Remus and Mr Weasley pulled some strings and they let us stay with you at St Mungo’s.

“When it became clear that you weren’t going to wake in a hurry, Ron started saying we should
begin to move on, carry on what was our poor excuse for a relationship – we had a huge row, he
shifted out of the hospital room and turned to Luna.”

“That must have been hard for you,” Harry suggested, but Hermione shook her head.

“No, it wasn’t really,” she said, “I could see straight away that Luna was a lot better for him
than I could ever have been. When Ron finally talked to me about how he felt about Luna, I gave him
my blessing – not that he needed it, but I think it made him feel better.

“So, I finally got kicked out of St Mungo’s after about two months of living there. I found a
flat not far from the hospital and a job in a Muggle library that required little thought and
allowed me to visit you every day.”

“Which you did.”

“Which I did,” Hermione confirmed with a nod, “Ginny did too, for the longest time but after a
year, she decided she couldn’t do it any more and started coming only once a week. It was kind of
accepted that I would be the one that took care of you.”

“Like you always have,” he said tenderly, kissing the side of her head.

“Um, yes,” she muttered, slightly embarrassed, “anyway, I quickly got into a routine – wake up,
go to work, come home, change and then visit you, tell you of my day and any gossip, then go home,
fall asleep and do it all again the next day.”

“So you didn’t go out? Date? Have fun?” Harry quizzed.

“After about a year, everyone kept pressuring me to move on,” Hermione recalled sadly, “so I
relented and went on these blind dates that Ginny, Mrs Weasley, even Luna set me up with. They
usually only lasted one outing and eventually they all realised that it wasn’t a happening thing
and gave up. I went out with the others from time to time but no, I didn’t really go out that
much.”

“No wonder you left,” Harry said after a moment, “and you did this for three years?”

“Yes,” she confirmed with a nod, “at first I could handle it, I told myself that at any moment
you would wake. I made sure that you would be ready when you did – I kept you hair trimmed, cut
your nails, even shaved you…”

“Healer Stephens told me about that,” Harry interrupted with a frown, “that you’d shave me the
Muggle way. You know,” he pulled back from her slightly so he could look at her, “it really annoyed
me that I didn’t need to shave, that I was supposed to get rid of this powerful, evil wizard and I
couldn’t even grow facial hair – Ron used to tease me relentlessly about it. It was weird, at
first, to think that my first ever shave was done by someone else but when I thought about it, I
was glad it was you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Hermione replied softly, glad when Harry returned to his original position and
no longer looking at her.

“So then you left,” he prompted.

“Yes, I left. I had begun to realise the only way I could carry on without you is if I was far,
far away. When the Healers told us that they thought the chances of you waking were next to zero, I
knew I had to go…”

“Where?”

“Well, I started off in Paris, found a backpackers and basically just followed the work around
Europe. There would always be a job notice board or something similar that would list work
specifically for travellers and I just found jobs that I thought would help me stop thinking about
you and what I had left behind…”

“That’s sounds pretty dangerous Hermione.”

“I had a few run ins, but lets just say that unscrupulous Muggles are nothing compared with
fighting Death Eaters and I could take care of myself. I hardly used magic though, wanting to get
out of the wizarding world completely.

“Anyway, nowhere seemed to work until I found myself in India…”

“India?”

“Yep. I meet this woman there, Mother Rose, who ran a convent…”

“You became a nun?”

“No, Harry, I did not become a nun.”

“Well, I bloody well hope not because what happened this afternoon would have been, well, a
major sin!”

“I think your soul is safe,” Hermione joked dryly, “now, do you want to hear my story or
not?”

“Sorry,” Harry apologised, “it’s just that…a convent in India – never saw that one coming.
Please, carry on.”

“So,” she continued after a brief pause, “I stayed with Mother Rose and the girls for over a
year just helping out with whatever they needed – cooking, cleaning, gardening, whatever. The
convent was well known as a refuge for women who had been tortured or abused…”

“Tortured? What kind of place was this?”

“A place where honour often meant more than human life,” Hermione answered harshly, “women meant
nothing; often they are just another possession to the men in her family. If it was felt she
dishonoured the family in anyway, she would be punished, sometimes quite severely.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry asked, confused, “women are just bought and sold? And how could
someone dishonour the family?”

“There is a strong caste system in India and many of the abuses come if a couple try to breach
the boundaries of their particular caste…”

“I still don’t understand.”

Hermione paused and thought of how she would explain this to Harry, smiling when she had an
idea.

“Okay, lets say Draco and Ginny fell in love…”

“As if that would happen,” Harry scoffed, “Ron would kill the ferret.”

“Exactly,” Hermione agreed, “both the Weasley’s and the Malfoy’s are pure blood wizarding
families yet the thought of them intermingling is disgusting. What we were dealing with at the
convent would be the equivalent of Mrs Malfoy perhaps being ‘punished’ for letting her son marry a
family that is below hers. Or Ginny being ‘punished’ because she seduced a man beyond her
station…”

“But Draco wouldn’t be blamed at all.”

“No, it is very rare that the men get punished but there are occasions when they do. It’s all
very complex and of course not all of India believe in honour crimes. But it is accepted,
generally…”

“How can they do that though,” Harry exclaimed, “I mean, that’s just horrific!”

“You’re right, it is. It took me a long time to stop getting angry – I mean, it’s such a harsh
existence and one I still can’t really comprehend. Mother Rose tried to help me see that I was
seeing it all through Western eyes, and what I saw as barbaric wasn’t seen the same way by the
people in the society we served – which is why a blind eye is turned so often, or the abuse is just
accepted.”

“That’s just wrong.”

“Yes, but the Western world has its own demons that perhaps aren’t as accepted but are no less
horrific. We have human trading, child prostitution and pornography, slavery…”

“We do?”

“Yes, we do. And sure, those who are caught doing these things are punished but is a fine and a
couple of years in jail justice to a child who has had their life ruined?”

“You’ve thought about this stuff a bit, haven’t you?” Harry asked softly.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione sighed, breathing deeply, trying to calm down, “it’s just that, I guess
I’ve seen so much now. Before, my world revolved around Hogwarts, you and Ron and Voldemort. I soon
found out there were a lot more monsters out there, and the world can be a pretty harsh place.

“Mother Rose helped me see it as a beautiful place as well. She helped me see that the poverty
that surrounded the convent had its own miracles and that what the people in our village had, they
treasured because it actually meant something, it wasn’t just a possession.”

“She sounds like a remarkable woman, this Mother Rose.”

“She is,” Hermione agreed fondly, “and she wants to meet you.”

“Me?” Harry exclaimed, “how does she know about me?”

“Because I told her about you,” Hermione smiled, “and if it wasn’t for Madam Rose, I wouldn’t be
here.”

“Well, then, I definitely need to see her and say thanks.”

She leaned back and looked at Harry, amazed. She kissed him gently, loving the way his arm
easily snaked around her waist and pulled her in closer. After a moment, she broke away,
grinning.

“I should go,” she said somewhat breathlessly, “let you get some sleep.”

“Stay,” he pleaded, holding her tighter.

“If I stay, I’m not sure how much sleeping would be going on,” she smiled, “we could meet up
again tomorrow if you like?”

“I would like but, actually, I’m off to the Burrow for lunch.”

“Oh.”

“Hermione,” Harry carried on, catching her eye, “you need to see Ron and the others, they’ve
been worried sick about you.”

“I…I know I should see them, but…”

“Ron’s picking me up at eleven. I could ask him to come earlier if you like, and you could meet
him here?”

“I…I don’t know…”

“Or you could meet me at the Burrow,” he suggested gently, “met them all in one foul swoop. I
would be by your side at all times, protecting you from the mammoth Molly hugs and the tortuous
twin’s teasing.” Hermione couldn’t help smiling.

“Did you just make that up?” she grinned.

“Yes,” Harry admitted, “the twins won’t even be there. Pretty shocking wasn’t it?”

“Just a tad.”

“So, will you come?” he persisted.

“You promise you won’t leave me?” she asked after a moments pause.

“I promise.”

“And you won’t tell Ron or anyone else before hand? That I’ll be a surprise?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Okay,” she finally said, “I’ll meet you at the Burrow just after eleven, then.”

“Brilliant.”

Hermione didn’t feel so brilliant the following day. Even with Harry’s reassurances that Ron
didn’t hate her and her own reasoning that she should’ve visited the Weasley family as soon as she
had returned to England – she was still petrified.

Sleep hadn’t been easy what with her mind going over the events of the day, the prospect of what
was going to happen at the Burrow and that her room mates had spent the night on the town and were
not too concerned about keeping quiet on their return to bed (one of the pitfalls of the
backpackers life).

At eleven fifteen, she knew it was now or never, that if she waited any longer her nerve would
give out. Taking a couple of deep, calming breaths, she thought about the place that she once
called home and departed her empty room with a crack.

Her landing spot was behind a cluster of trees a little distance from the back of the house,
giving her a chance to look at the Burrow before making her entrance. She smiled in relief as it
looked exactly how it did when she left.

She watched Ron and Harry appear in the back garden, laughing about something. In seconds the
backdoor flew open and a couple of children ran out – the older looking boy Hermione guessed was
Bill and Fleur’s son, Jacob, while the smaller boy must be Ron and Luna’s. Harry picked the little
boy up in his arms and hugged him tightly, while ruffling Jacob’s hair fondly, both children
obviously pleased to see him.

The sight was so precious that Hermione couldn’t help the tears forming in her eyes and realised
it was time.

Stepping away from her tree, she began to walk to the Burrow. Harry saw her first and quickly
passed the squirming child in his arms to Ron before making his way to her. They met about half way
and Hermione was greeted with a smile.

“You came,” he said, taking her hands in his.

“I said I would,” Hermione replied, glancing over Harry’s shoulder to see a bewildered looking
Ron before looking back at Harry, “are you sure…?”

“I’m sure,” he interrupted, “everything will be fine, you’ll see. And I’ll be right here with
you.”

Hermione just nodded, gripping his hand tightly as they made their way towards the house. Mr and
Mrs Weasley, Bill, Fleur, Ginny, Neville and a very pregnant Luna had all joined Ron, all watching
Harry and Hermione with confusion. Hermione ran a self-conscious hand over her short hair, knowing
it was the reason they hadn’t recognised her.

They were only meters away now and Hermione found herself watching Ron, waiting for him to show
some flicker of recognition, but none came.

“Harry, dear,” Mrs Weasley said from her spot on the back stair, “you didn’t tell us you’d be
bringing a guest.”

“Actually Molly,” Harry grinned, “this isn’t just any guest, it’s…”

“Hermione?” Ginny finished, taking a few steps closer as if to get a better look.

“I found her wandering around Oxford,” Harry announced proudly, squeezing Hermione’s hand.

“Hi everybody,” she said tentatively, unsure what was going to happen next.

Mrs Weasley let out a shriek of delight and practically ran to Hermione, engulfing her in a bone
crushing hug. Ginny wasn’t far behind, taking over from her mother, who had been pried off a
shocked Hermione by a beaming Mr Weasley.

Hermione, however, kept her eyes on Ron, who hadn’t moved though Luna had come to his side,
smiling serenely. Ginny paused in her million questions she had been firing at Hermione – Hermione
hadn’t really heard them anyway – as everyone stood back and let the two old friends make their
peace.

As if in slow motion, Luna took her son from her husband’s arms letting Ron make his way to
where Hermione was standing with Harry directly behind her.

“Is it really you?” Ron asked, looking at her intently.

“Yes,” she said softly, her eyes never leaving his.

“I…I thought you were dead,” he whispered as tears began to roll down his cheeks.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“No. No, it’s me who should be apologising,” Ron exclaimed, taking her hands in his, “I was such
an idiot, you know, emotional range of a teaspoon and all that,” Hermione smiled, “and when I
realised what a prat I’d been you were gone. I…I tried to find you, but it was like you vanished
off the face of the earth! Hermione, I’m so, so sorry!”

Ron pulled her into a hug, his tears wetting the top of her head, reminding her of the last time
he had held her like this; a thousand years ago at Dumbledore’s funeral.

“I should never had said what I did,” Ron continued, his voice muffled from crying, “I had no
right,” he broke the hug and looked down at her, his blue eyes still swimming, “we weren’t
together, not really. And we definitely didn’t have what you have with Harry. It took me a while to
see that, but I did…I do now. And I lost you because of my stupid insecurities!”

“I never meant to hurt you, Ron…” she said earnestly, her own tears falling.

“*We* never meant to hurt you,” Harry interjected, standing by Hermione’s side and looking
at his best friend.

“I know,” Ron sighed, wiping his face with his sleeve, “I’m such a berk. It’s just that, when
you told me,” he indicated to Hermione, “I felt that you had won again,” this time to Harry, “even
though I was happily married with a family of my own and you,” Harry, “were on your death bed, and
you,” Hermione, “had spent three years taking care of him. I mean, how pathetic could I be?”

“Any more pathetic than someone who was afraid to come home, ignoring the fact that there were
people there that loved her, that she would’ve found that out if she had only taken the chance?”
Hermione asked rhetorically, “Ron, you’re not the only idiot here.”

“You must just hide it better then,” Ron smiled slightly, “I am sorry, though, really, really
sorry.”

“So am I,” Hermione replied quietly before hugging Ron once more.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Harry said gruffly, though laughter hid in his words as he pried Ron and
Hermione apart, “hands off my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Ron repeated, looking between the two as Harry draped his arm across Hermione’s
shoulders, “how long have you been back, Hermione?”

“Um, a little while,” Hermione answered, somewhat evasively, “but Harry and I only caught up
last night.”

“Hence Harry looking the best he has done since he woke,” Ginny said with a smirk, making
Hermione blush terribly.

“So Harry did see you at Diagon Alley,” Ron deduced proudly, looking at Harry.

“They all thought I was mental,” Harry told Hermione in a loud whisper.

“No, it was when you decided to live in Oxford that we thought you were mental,” Ginny added
dryly before turning to Hermione, “so, how did he find you?”

“I…I don’t know,” Hermione answered, looking up at Harry, “how did you find me?”

“Well, Dumbledore suggested looking for you at places that you love,” Harry began.

“Dumbledore?” Ginny questioned, puzzled.

“We went to the portrait after Harry Potter Day,” Ron informed her knowingly.

“I still can’t believe you have a day named after you,” Hermione chuckled.

“Stupid bloody day…” Harry grumbled darkly.

“You should’ve heard the ribbing he got from the twins,” Neville piped up, looking over Ginny’s
shoulder, “it was hilarious!”

“Anyway,” Ron cut in, “Dumbledore’s portrait told you to go to the places Hermione loved, right
Harry?”

“Right,” Harry confirmed, glad to get back onto his story, “so I told Minerva to tell me if
Hermione showed at the school and I thought I’d have a look around Oxford, Hermione’s home
town.”

“That’s it?” Ron asked.

“Well, no,” Harry admitted after a bit, “I did do some snooping…”

“Snooping,” Hermione repeated with a frown, “what type of snooping, Mr Potter?”

“Oh, you know,” he said with a smirk, “pretending to want to rent your parents house so I could
see whether you’d been in contact or not, talking to some of your family friends, that sort of
thing. And it worked – I found you!”

“Yes you did,” Mrs Weasley finally spoke, making everyone turn to her, “and thank Merlin for
that! But now, it’s time for lunch – you are joining us for lunch, aren’t you Hermione dear?”

“Yes, thank you Mrs Weasley,” Hermione replied, leaning back into Harry’s chest as he hugged her
from behind.

“Oh tosh,” Mrs Weasley as she drew Hermione into another hug, pulling her from Harry’s embrace,
“no more of this Mrs Weasley nonsense. You’re old enough to call me Molly. Oh child, it’s so good
to have you home.”

Hermione thanked Molly and joined the other couples as they made their way into the house. Over
the meal it was like she had never left, re-telling her story for the Weasley clan who listened
intently. She noticed, however, that Luna remained silent, watching Hermione with her large blue
eyes. When the meal ended and she was shooed from the kitchen, Hermione made her way over to where
the blond was standing; her hand resting contently on her pregnant belly as she looked over the
fields at the back of the Burrow.

“Congratulations Luna,” Hermione said as way of greeting, standing along side her old friend,
“baby number two - wow.”

“Thank you,” Luna replied, turning to Hermione with a sense of calm, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Hermione replied truthfully, “I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid. I was so
scared coming here today, sure that everyone would turn their back…”

“It was a lesson you had to learn, Hermione,” Luna stated surely, “if you had stayed, things
wouldn’t be as they are. Your leaving changed more than just you, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ron finally let go of the past,” Luna carried on, “Harry woke, Ginny found happiness with a man
who truly loves her and you – you found the answers you were looking for.”

“And you?”

“I learnt to have hope…and faith.”

“You’re an incredible person, you know that?” Hermione said with a smile.

“I am me, and that’s all that matters,” was the reply.

The two women hugged, Hermione feeling the movements of the little one inside Luna’s protruding
belly as she did so, stirring a maternal feeling within her she didn’t even know she had.

“There you two are,” Ron interjected, sticking his head out of the door, “hey Hermione, want to
play with your godson?”

“Godson?” she said, shocked.

“Yeah,” Ron confirmed with a shrug, “always said you and Harry would be the godparents of our
first child. Just because you weren’t around doesn’t mean you got out of it.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Artie is dying to try out his finger painting prowess with his Auntie Hermy.”

Hermione just smiled, took Luna’s hand and followed Ron back into the familiar walls of the
Burrow.



7. untitled
-----------

**A/N – the question ‘what is wrong with Harry’ won’t be answered in this chapter. Sorry. This
one is kinda fluff. Thanks for all the reviews, they’re brilliant, really make my day. Enjoy this
one and the next chapter we learn all about Harry.**

Chapter 7

Hermione had read how the beginning of a relationship was called the ‘honeymoon phase’ and now
she understood why. She had never smiled and laughed so much before in her life. Ever.

Neither needing to work (for various reasons), they stayed in Oxford for a while longer,
spending their days playing tourist and their nights getting to know each other – intimately. It
was bliss.

Hiarry’s health steadily improved to the point where he was a weight that was better suited and
the bags that had been such a prominent feature under his eyes were now gone. But he still had
nightmares and his magic was still absent with Hermione none the wiser as to why – it was one of
the many things Harry wouldn’t talk about.

Because even though they talked a lot, it never seemed to be about Harry. Hermione had lain
awake many nights, often feeling the comforting weight of his arm around her waist as she did so,
thinking about their conversations. They were regularly one sided, with Harry asking all the
questions and Hermione telling him all her thoughts and dreams. When she tried to draw out from him
what he wanted, the subject was changed with such skill that Hermione often didn’t realise he
hadn’t answered her questions until she lay in the quietness of the night, thinking.

It was bliss, but it wasn’t perfect.

As June began to hit them in earnest, things finally began to settle down in their relationship
and reality steadily returned. It was time to move on.

It was Hermione’s acceptance letter into the University of Wales that started the change. She
had attended an interview to plead her case to be accepted into the Celtic Studies course a week
after she met Harry, even though applications had closed months before. She hadn’t rated her
chances of getting in that high at all and was surprised when she was told she had been accepted.
Which meant that in three months time she would need to be settled in and ready to study – where:
she didn’t know.

Harry seemed genuinely pleased for her, taking her out that night to celebrate and joining in in
her excited discussion of the classes she wanted to take and the wonders of Aberystwyth, the city
where the university belonged. But she couldn’t help noticing his joy didn’t last as over the
following days he began to subtly pull away, spending more and more time alone.

Hermione knew instinctively that Harry was struggling with something and it wouldn’t serve any
purpose to try and drag what was going on in his mind out of him. She needed to be patient.

A few weeks passed before she found out the reason for his silence, his explanation being
blurted out to her after a meal of fish and chips one Wednesday night.

He told her that he had chosen to live at his family home in Godric’s Hollow rather than
Grimmauld Place pretty much as soon as he left St Mungo’s He had visited the derelict cottage on
his release from the wizarding hospital and after talking things over with the Weasley’s and Remus,
he had decided to move in once it was fixed up. He had then employed Remus to manage the rebuilding
with the instruction to make it as close to its original state as possible, with a few extra mod
cons. The building was now complete.

The significance was that Godric’s Hollow was only an hours train ride from Aberystwyth and
although he had made his plans before they had met, and she had made her choice based on course
structure more than location, it seemed too surreal. No wonder Harry was a bit scared – when she
found out, Hermione was a bit scared as well.

They planned to visit Godric’s Hollow and check out the cottage, and they planned to get there
by rail – not a small feat as it took nearly a whole day and many changes of trains to get to the
central Welsh coast town. Remus had offered to Apparate them there, but after talking about it, the
young couple had chosen to take the train – something which Hermione was extremely grateful
for.

The long ride was giving her a chance to sort some things out in her mind as Harry talked less
and less the closer they got to Wales. She had finally given up on conversation by the time they
left Liverpool and although they were holding hands, she knew he wasn’t really with her. A small
part of her was hurt – her female pride wounded that he wouldn’t share his thoughts with her
although she was his girlfriend and they should share everything.

But she knew Harry and she knew that years of abuse from the Dursley’s then having Voldemort
threaten not only him but also his friends had made Harry try to deal with things on his own.

She needed to be patient.

Perhaps it wasn’t ideal (all the books and magazines she had read on relationships over the
years stated that communication was the key to a successful partnership) but she was content to sit
in the silence and wait.

She also had to keep reminding herself that even though Harry was nearly twenty-three, he was in
fact still a seventeen year old boy unsure of the world and all that happens in it – which included
herself. Yet another reason she needed to be patient.

When the train finally stopped at the small seaside town of Borth, it was early evening and they
were both extremely tired. But Harry was determined to see the place before they relaxed so they
caught a taxi and made the short trip to a waiting Remus at number 23 Golden Snitch Avenue,
Godric’s Hollow.

Hermione stepped out of the taxi and looked at the cottage in awe. The sun was beginning to set,
giving the earth a burnt hew and making the small house seem to glow. The last time she had seen
it, it had been in ruins but now – it was gorgeous.

“Welcome you two,” Remus smiled, drawing Hermione into a hug before shaking Harry’s hand, “well,
let’s get straight into it then, while the light is still good. Ready Harry?”

Harry just nodded and with a small worried glance at Hermione, who was standing slightly to the
side, Remus led Harry towards the house.

Hermione followed a few steps behind, not wanting to intrude on something she knew was so
personal for Harry and the reason behind his silence. But she couldn’t help marvelling at the
transformation of the cottage, represented it seemed, by the stained glassed insert of a phoenix
that had been embedded in the front door. Perfect.

She made her way into the first room, the polished wooden floors, large fireplace and beautiful
bay window the only features in the otherwise empty space but her mind was putting furniture and
furnishing in it, imagining it complete.

She shook her head – this wasn’t her house to furnish.

Remus was busy explaining the features of each room and what they had done to it while Harry was
silently listening. If Remus was unnerved by Harry’s quietness, he didn’t show it, talking enough
to cover any awkwardness. Hermione guessed he understood.

Meanwhile, she stood back and made her own observations about the house, loving every inch she
saw, and listened intently to what Remus was saying. They made their way up the stairs to where the
bedrooms were (two double sized, one smaller room), the bathroom and the final room of the tour –
the library.

As soon as she stepped through the door, she knew that this was her favourite room of the house.
A large fireplace on one wall and a huge window that was nearly floor to ceiling on another, with
the view overlooking the back garden and distant ocean; every other wall was lined with bookcases.
Floor to ceiling bookcases. Many, many bookcases.

“Lily loved books,” Remus was explaining, “and had always wanted a full library that she could
call her own so James built this room for her. It was her favourite room in the house.”

Hermione barely heard him speak, her mind consumed by how many shelves she could already fill,
where she could put a desk, what rugs she could put on the floor. She walked around the room,
running her hand absently over the mantle before reaching the window and looking out. The view was
amazing although the sun was almost gone. She loved this place.

She jumped slightly when she felt Harry’s arms snake around her waist, making her turn around
and look at him – and he was smiling. Giving her a small peck on the nose, he then let her go and
turned to Remus.

“You’ve done a brilliant job,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I love it, every thing
about it. Thank you so much Remus.”

“It was my pleasure Harry,” Lupin grinned with what Hermione thought was relief, “actually, I
kind of enjoyed doing it.”

“Excellent, because I’d like to hire you again,” Harry continued, a bit more in control.

“You don’t need to,” the old wizard shrugged somewhat sadly, “you’ve paid me more than enough
for doing this, I don’t want to keep taking your money…”

“I’m not giving it to you Lupin,” Harry stated firmly, leaving Hermione by the window, “this
isn’t charity. I need another place done up and you are the perfect person to oversee that project.
So, will you take the job or not?”

“Where?” Remus asked hesitantly, already knowing the answer.

“Grimmauld Place.”

Remus and Tonks had been living in Sirius’s old house since the end of the war and Hermione
could see the disappointment in his face as he realised this meant the end of that arrangement.

“I guess it wouldn’t be far to go to work,” he said with a sad smile, “how would you like it
done?”

“In any style you like, I don’t care,” Harry replied nonchalantly, “you’ll be living in it after
all.”

“You…you don’t want us to shift out?” Remus asked, sounding confused.

“Why in bloody hell would I want you to shift out?” Harry frowned, “then the place would be
empty and you and Tonks would be homeless. That’s just stupid. So, is that a yes, Remus?”

“That’s a yes Harry,” Remus grinned, “thank you.”

Harry just nodded and gave him a small smile before striding out of the room. Hermione watched
him go with both confusion and pride, forgetting for a moment she wasn’t alone until Remus
spoke.

“Are you sure you want to stay at the Hollow and not come with me to London?” he asked, “Tonks
said she’d be back from work about eight.”

“Er, no. No, but thanks Remus,” Hermione replied, blinking her eyes rapidly to break herself out
of her thoughts, “Harry wanted to stay here. We saw the bed and breakfast on our way so…”

“Are you sure?” Remus continued, frowning slightly, “would you like me to take you there? It
would be no problem.”

“I think we’ll be fine walking,” Hermione answered, confidently, “after a day on a train, the
exercise will be good. Besides, it’s not far.”

“Right,” Remus smiled knowingly before giving Hermione a small hug, “well, I’ll be off. Harry
has the key to lock the place up. I guess I’ll see you both tomorrow at around nine.”

Hermione said her goodbye and then stood there for a moment in the library of the house that she
dreamed she’d one day share with the man she loved. Maybe one day.

Sighing, she went to find Harry.

It took only minutes as he was standing in the doorway of the smallest bedroom, the room that
had once been his. The nursery. She came up behind him and slipped her hand into his, giving him
the smallest bit of comfort.

“Has he gone?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence.

“Yes.” Harry nodded.

“Remus has done a brilliant job,” he carried on after a moment.

“Yes he has,” Hermione replied, “you have a beautiful home Harry.”

He looked at her then, his eyes glistening by the new half moon’s light coming through the
window.

“This is *our* home, Hermione,” he stated, slightly confused, “even before I found you, I
wanted to start this, to live here, with you…”

“You want me to live with you?”

“Well, yeah.”

Hermione pulled back from him, hiding herself in the shadows. Her mind screamed, telling her she
couldn’t live with a man she wasn’t married to, that it was wrong, that her parents wouldn’t have
approved, that it was against everything she believed in.

But she knew in her heart that she was practically living with him now, that she had had sex
before marriage – something she had vowed she’d never do – which her parents wouldn’t have approved
of and that it was Harry. Her Harry. The man she loved more than life itself.

“Hermione?”

“I…I need to think about it Harry,” she stuttered nervously, “I…I didn’t know…”

“Oh.”

She heard the hurt in his voice but her mind was whirling in such confusion, her heart and her
head debating so vigorously, that she didn’t have the energy to make him feel better. Instead, she
followed him as they grabbed their bags, made their way out of the house and down the street to the
small bed and breakfast, not touching, each lost in their own thoughts.

They checked in, Hermione startled when Harry gruffly asked if there was an extra room, standing
there dumfounded when he left her alone to make his way to the spare room they found for him. With
tears in her eyes, she went to her own room, waiting until the door was shut before bursting into
tears.

She didn’t sleep at all as her logic continued to hit her with questions and then subsequent
answers on why she didn’t jump at the chance to live with the man she loved.

There was a lot of fear – fear they were moving too fast, fear that others wouldn’t approve,
fear that it can’t all be this perfect, something must go wrong. Fear that she would be lost within
him, in his house.

She also was angry that he just assumed she would live with him, even though he had never
mentioned the idea to her before – he hadn’t even said he loved her! Yet he expected her to live
with him, a huge step in any relationship. And in the house his parents shared! Had he not thought
about how she’d feel about it at all?

But Hermione knew the answer to that was yes. She realised now why he had been so quiet the last
weeks, that the house at Godric’s Hollow had been on his mind for a number of reasons. Her and him
living together would have been one of those reasons.

It was three in the morning when she finally realised what she wanted to do, ending the debates
and knowing with both her heart and her head that she was making the right choice. All she needed
to do now was to make it up with Harry.

At six, she made her way to the bathroom to have a shower and change clothes, hoping she
wouldn’t wake anyone in the early hour. Her stomach was grumbling loudly, telling her the pie and
chips she had twelve hours prior had run their course and she needed more food.

Heading back to her room, she heard sounds coming from the kitchen downstairs, so with hope that
breakfast wasn’t too far away, she made her way to the dinning room – where Harry was already
sitting.

He stood suddenly when he noticed her frozen in the door way, his face blushing terribly – why,
Hermione didn’t know. She did know, however, that her heart was beating extremely fast and her
hands had become rather clammy.

“Er, good morning,” he said hesitantly. Hermione made her way to the large table.

“Morning,” she replied softly, seeing that the bags had returned to their spot under his eyes,
making him look quite worse for wear, “you look terrible,” she added.

“Thanks,” he nodded, sitting back down, “you don’t look that hot yourself.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she explained, trying to hide the smile that wanted to come out at their
exchange, sitting down a few seats away from him.

“Neither could I,” he said back. They both nodded in understanding.

“Here you go dear.” Both looked up at their host who bustled in with a full cooked breakfast,
which she handed to Harry.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, before starting to eat – Hermione’s stomach rumbled loudly. The old
woman looked in Hermione’s direction and beamed, seemingly unfazed that it was just past six in the
morning.

“I didn’t see you child,” she gushed, her Welsh tones singing as she spoke, “the same for you?”
Hermione nodded, glad there was no question to why she and Harry had arrived together, got separate
rooms but then turn up to breakfast at nearly the same time. Instead, the host bustled back to the
kitchen and soon the sound of frying bacon could be heard.

Hermione’s breakfast arrived within minutes, which she quickly devoured hungrily. By the time
Hermione had finished, other guests had come down for their own meals and she was glad to leave the
filling dinning room to find Harry – which she did, quite easily.

He was sitting in a deck chair on the back lawn, staring into nothing. She sat down in a chair
beside him, watching him as he dropped his gaze to his hands in his lap. She looked away.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said at exactly the same time. They looked at each other and smiled.

“You go first,” she instructed, suddenly feeling a bit shy.

“I’m sorry I just assumed you wanted to live with me,” he explained with a deep sigh, obviously
wanting to get out what he wanted to say before her, “it was presumptuous of me and it was wrong.
I…I should’ve asked.”

“Yes, you should have,” Hermione agreed gently.

“I had it all planned, to ask you that is,” he continued, blushing once more, “but, I don’t
know, it just…it all happened all wrong. Anyway, I understand if you don’t want to live there, with
me. As long as you and I…”

“I want to live with you Harry,” she interrupted quickly, smiling when he looked at her,
shocked.

“You do?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Really?”

“Harry!” Hermione admonished, laughing “I said yes!”

“Right,” Harry blushed (again), thinking hard before looking back at her, “what changed your
mind?” Hermione thought for a moment herself then answered as truthfully as she could.

“I was shocked,” she began, “I…I really just didn’t expect it. I thought we were coming to see
your home, where you were going to live. And then, well, you just kind of told me I was going to
live there as well…”

“I’m sorry…”

“I know. The stupid thing was, my first thoughts were ‘what would my mother think?’ In reality,
it’s a bit late to worry what my mother would think, that ship sailed the moment I lost my
virginity outside of wedlock…”

“Merlin, Hermione – I’m so, so sor…”

“Stop it Harry,” she cut in sharply, “you didn’t take something from me that wasn’t willingly
given. I knew what I was doing and you know something, I think mum would approve anyway. She knew
how important you were to me and if she were alive, she’d know how much I love you and how much you
care for me. She would be fine with the choices I’ve made…”

“I didn’t think of that…”

“…then I thought about the fact that living in the same house together could just be a recipe
for disaster, that I would get so lost in you, I wouldn’t leave…”

“Hermione…”

“…but then I realised you wouldn’t let that happen, and neither would I. We would make sure of
that. Then there was the concern that we were moving too fast, that we’ve only been together a
month until I thought about it, really thought about it…”

“And?”

“Well, you and I, we’ve been together since we were eleven really. It’s not too soon. Every
thing else, every other fear I have, we can work through. I mean, it makes sense any way –
university is extremely close to here so…I decided that I would love to live with you.”

“Wow,” Harry managed to say after a while.

“Wow?”

“Yeah,” he continued with a smile, “I mean, I thought of all that stuff too, well most of it,
but it was over the space of two weeks. You thought of it all in a night. Is that a girl thing or a
Hermione thing?”

“A bit of both,” she grinned, taking his hands in hers. He smiled then leaned forward to kiss
her, a wonderful tender but passionate kiss. Breathlessly, she pulled away, resting her forehead on
his.

“What’s the time?” he asked, panting slightly.

“About eight,” she breathed.

“Do you want to go and make up?” he asked, “we have time…”

She didn’t answer, instead grabbing his hand and practically dragging him up to her room.

An hour later, they turned into Golden Snitch Avenue – Hermione looked at the road sign and
chuckled.

“What?” Harry asked, smiling.

“I can’t believe the name of the street is Golden Snitch Avenue,” she continued to chuckle.

“I know,” Harry laughed, “perhaps there wasn’t anything available on Bludger Lane.”

“You’re joking, aren’t you,” she stopped and looked at him, “there isn’t really a Bludger
Lane?”

“Actually, there is,” Harry said, walking once more, “right next to Quidditch Road.”

“I wonder what the Muggles living here think of the road names?” Hermione mused as she shook her
head in disbelief.

“I have no idea,” Harry replied, waving to an old man mowing his lawn as they walked past, “it’s
still pretty weird to think that this is a Muggle and wizarding town. It must work though.”

They reached the end of the road, once more seeing the small cottage sitting a little back from
the roads edge, quiet and unassuming. On the front lawn, Ron, his father, Shacklebolt and Remus
were there talking – grinning, Harry and Hermione made their way to the small group.

“Here they are!” Mr Weasley welcomed.

“I don’t even want to know why you’re late,” Ron added, whacking Harry good heartedly on the
back, “the house looks wicked mate.”

“Thanks to Remus,” Harry replied, acknowledging Lupin, “thanks for coming you lot.”

“We’ve already decided on what wards are required,” Kinglsey informed them in his calming
baritone, “thought we’d add a few extra to keep the admirers away.”

“The more the better,” Harry said earnestly, “until I can do magic, I’m really vulnerable.
Though, Hermione will be with me some of the time…”

“Will she now,” Ron smirked broadly, “I guess the idea of letting the
buxom-blond-young-adult-fan-girls-who-want-to-leave-you-their-underway through the wards won’t be a
goer then.”

“No Ron, it most certainly won’t,” Hermione informed him sternly, but her own smile twitching
the edges of her mouth, knowing that Ron was only joking. Harry just laughed and put his arm across
her shoulders.

“Well, how ‘bout I show you what we were able to salvage from the house,” Remus suggested,
smiling himself, “while Ron, Arthur and Kingsley start on the wards?”

“Excellent idea Remus,” Mr Weasley said enthusiastically, “see you in a bit.”

With a parting wave, the three went into the heart of the house to begin the spell work while
Harry and Hermione followed Remus to the cottage’s double garage. He unlocked a small door on the
garage’s side, opening it to allow them entry – Hermione couldn’t help gasping as she saw what was
inside.

There was some furniture – a couple of chairs, the dinning room table, a large dresser – and
boxes of many books. But even the books were unimportant as she made her way to a desk that sat in
the centre of the carpeted garage floor.

“Most of James and Lily’s stuff was destroyed in the attack,” Remus explained, “or didn’t
survive the years of neglect although the house was pretty preserved. Anything of value had been
taken by Albus at the very beginning and placed in the family vault – jewellery, paintings, things
like that. The Potters were actually quite a wealthy family. Anyway, this is all that was
left.”

Hermione registered that Harry was wandering around, looking at the furniture and what was in
the boxes, but she was drawn to the desk and the desk alone.

It was made of a rich, dark wood, inlaid with a paler wood around the middle where the top sat.
The legs had been carved into feet of a lion while the lion’s face was in the centre, facing out to
those viewing it front on. The top had a leather writing surface embedded in the surface, the wood
surrounding it was smooth and glowing in the light of the fluorescence bulbs on the garage ceiling.
It was larger than a normal student’s desk, but not too large to be ostentatious. It was
perfect.

She ran her hand lovingly over the surface and looked up at Harry, who had come to her side.

“This is incredible,” she breathed.

“James made that for Lily,” Remus said wistfully.

“Dad made this?” Harry asked, surprised.

“Your father had many talents, Harry,” Remus remembered fondly, “working with his hands was one
of them. He loved working with wood and spent nearly a year making this for Lily. It’s made from
mahogany and willow – the same wood as his wand and hers – with the Gryffindor lion carved in for
good measure. I’m amazed it still looks like it did when he first made it.”

“I think this needs to go back where it belongs,” Harry stated firmly, which it duly was – the
first piece of furniture placed in their new home.

The next few days were spent choosing furniture and shifting Hermione’s belonging’s from storage
in Oxford to her new home in Wales.

Their first purchase as a couple had been a bed and bed coverings, which was duly christened the
night of its arrival.

Hermione lay in Harry’s arms with a contented smile on her face. The last few days had been fun
and now, laying in their new bed after just making love seemed to make it all so very real.

“You know,” Harry started, his mouth very close to her ear, “that it’s tradition that when a
couple shifts into a new house, you’re supposed to have sex at least once in every room…”

“Who told you that?” Hermione asked as she swivelled around in his arms so they were face to
face.

“Everybody,” was the reply, “and its tradition so, well, we can’t break tradition now can
we.”

“Probably a tradition thought up by a man,” she humphed, grinning.

“Probably,” Harry agreed, “but a fun tradition none the less, don’t you think?”

Hermione paused as if to think about before looking at a very pleased Harry.

“Maybe,” she answered.

“Maybe?” he groaned, feigning indignation, “come on Hermione!”

“I said maybe Mr Potter,” Hermione replied in her best ‘don’t mess with me’ voice and returned
to her original position, her back nestled into his front, the covers pulled up to her armpits.
Harry stayed silent for a moment, pulling her in closer to him – Hermione smiled.

“Can I ask you a question?” he said after a while.

“Sure,” she frowned – his tone was no longer playful.

“How…how did you know you loved me?” he asked causing Hermione to turn to him quickly so they
were once more face to face.

“What?” she blurted out, stunned.

“How do you know you love me?” he repeated, not really looking her in the eye, “I mean, we were
friends first, and…and you said before, the night before the Final Battle, that you had loved me
for ages and now you still love me even though…even though you don’t know how I feel. *I*
don’t know how I feel. So, how did you know, still know, that you love me?”

She looked at him as he rambled out his question, his face turning a soft shade of pink as he
did so (making him look absolutely gorgeous) and realised this was it. She needed to approach this
as honestly and truthfully as she could, because only then will he understand what it’s like to be
in love. She reached out and ran a gentle finger down the side of his face, her touch causing him
to look at her; his wonderful green eyes open and vulnerable and so childly innocent.

“When you and Ron saved me from that troll, I saw then that there was something special about
you – this skinny, little runt of a boy with huge green eyes and messy black hair,” she smiled with
fondness, “I already knew you were different, I read about you in books, but at that moment I saw
why. But I was twelve, you were my best friend along with Ron, my first ever real friends, and that
how it stayed for the longest while.

“Until that horrid tournament where I was sure you were going to be killed. The seeds, I think,
had already been planted when we saved Sirius the year before, but it was during that fourth year
that things began to change.”

“H…how?”

“I think it was then I started to become a woman, I guess,” she mused, “I had started to develop
physically, began seeing boys as more than just those who wore pants not skirts. And Viktor Krum
fancied me. Me. I mean, he had the choice of every girl in the school and he chose me. Then Ron had
his little jealousy spat and I suddenly had two boys interested in me. Yet all I kept thinking
about, worrying about, was you Harry.”

“You were just trying to help me,” Harry suggested, “like you always did.”

“But this time it was different,” Hermione continued, “this time I had distractions in the form
of this international famous, older, wizard who wanted to get to know me better. Who thought I was
attractive. But all I could think about was Harry Potter,” she chuckled slightly, “much to the
annoyance of Viktor.”

“He asked me about you,” Harry admitted, “just before the Mr Crouch incident, Krum was asking
what was going on between you and me. I said you were my best friend, and that was it.”

“Really? He asked you about me?” Harry nodded as reply, “wow, I didn’t know that.”

“Many people thought we were together back then,” he added as an after thought.

“Yes, yes they did,” she agreed, “and I began to think it would’ve been nice if we were.”

“You did?”

“Yes,” Hermione said thoughtfully, “here I was with this fantastic bloke and all I kept thinking
of was you. I started asking myself why, thinking that it was because I was scared for you and that
bloody tournament. But I realised that wasn’t the case, that it was because you were starting to
mean more to me. When you disappeared in that maze and then returned like you did – I knew.”

“Knew?”

“That I cared more for you than just a friend,” she explained, “but I didn’t think it was love,
I didn’t know what love felt like, not really. All during the fifth year it felt like a connection
was built between us but you wanted Cho in a way you didn’t want me. It was then I realised I loved
you and that I would never have you, that you’d never love me back.”

“How…how did you know that it was love?”

“I felt comfortable with you, I trusted you, I respected you and I thought you were rather good
looking,” Harry snorted, unbelieving – Hermione carried on, “you were my best friend – you seemed
to understand me better than anyone else, you never treated me like a freak because I liked books
and reading. You were just you.”

Hermione watched as Harry thought her words over. He rolled over so he was on his back, staring
at the ceiling, pulling away from her touch – and she just let him. She needed to be patient.

“I thought Ginny was the one,” he said finally, still staring at the ceiling, “every time I saw
her, I just wanted her, like I was possessed. But when I really needed someone to talk to, to
understand me, I went to you,” he turned his head to her, searching her eyes with his, “I lost five
years, woke to hear you and only you had stayed by my side for three of those years and to be
honest, I was impressed you stayed that long.

“I spent a lot of time as I was getting better, thinking what I wanted and I knew it was love
and a family of my own. And I knew the only person I wanted to do that with was you.

“Trouble was, we didn’t know where you were and when I did find you and you told me you still
loved me and these last months have been so brilliant, I wanted to tell you how I felt – but I just
didn’t *know*.

“I asked Ron how he knew he loved Luna and all he could tell me was that he did. I asked Remus
and he said pretty much what you just did. So I’ve been thinking, wondering, if what I was feeling
was real. Then I saw you with my mother’s desk, made by my father as a sign of his love for her and
I thought then that perhaps this glow, this warmth inside of me that gets stronger every time I see
you is actually lo…love.

“Now I know it is, that I trust you with my life, I always have. That I respect your knowledge,
your wisdom and just the way you are. You’re my best friend and exceptionally cute. When I think of
my future, you are always in it, by my side.”

“What are you saying, Harry,” Hermione whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

He turned totally, facing her, taking her shaking hands in his.

“That I love you,” he stated solemnly before letting his face break into a brilliant smile, “I
love you. That wasn’t as hard to say as I thought it would be!”

Hermione let her tears begin to fall as she leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on the lips.
When they broke apart, he frowned slightly as he noticed her tears, wiping one away softly with the
pad of his thumb.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Because I never thought I’d hear those words from you,” she admitted.

“I should have said them sooner, I…I just didn’t know how.”

“Which makes this moment even more special,” Hermione whispered, kissing him once more, “I love
you too, Harry,” she breathed into his lips, making him grin, deepening their kiss and leading the
way to a passion fuelled by love.

**A/N – I hope that wasn’t too corny…**



8. untitled
-----------

**A/N – not too sure about this one – it sounded good in my head! Thanks for the reviews – love
it, they’re fantastic. Not too long to go in this story, probably a couple more chapters but my
idea for the next one has been formed so…Oh, and I’ve finally done my housework, which often gets
forgotten so I can write, therefore my guilt trip has gone. Yippee!! :o)**

Chapter 8

23 Golden Snitch Lane was a mass of people, all happily celebrating Harry Potter’s birthday.
Hermione and Ron made sure they invited only those who meant something to Harry – which were really
only those that fought beside him. Dean and Seamus were there. So were Hagrid and Professor
McGonagall. Of course, all of the Weasley’s and their respective partners and children were there,
their trademark red hair a common feature.

Harry was having a ball, Hermione could tell. He had accepted his presents with his usual
humility, cut his cake with a laugh and watched his friends get intoxicated with open amusement.
Hermione kept a casual eye on him; making sure he wasn’t over doing things but also making sure it
would be a birthday he wouldn’t forget.

It was Luna, however, who made sure he’d always remember his twenty-third birthday as during
Seamus’s impromptu yet exuberant rendition of the Val Morrison classic, ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ she
calmly informed Ron she was in labour, and had been for the last five hours. As all those around
her flew into a panic, she told Hermione she hadn’t wanted to disrupt the party but she felt that
having the baby on the kitchen floor would’ve been a bigger disruption. Hermione tended to agree
with her.

Five hours late at four thirty four, August 1, baby Alba Harriet Weasley came into the
world.

Harry and Hermione snoozed lightly as they sat outside the hospital room and waited for their
turn to see the new born. They finally got their chance as dawn began to break, cautiously entering
the room after a weepy Mrs Weasley informed them she and Mr Weasley were going home to sleep.

Hermione popped her head in to see Luna sat propped up in the bed, looking tired but happy while
Ron stood at her side with a bundle of blankets in his arms, looking down within them tenderly.
That sight alone brought tears to Hermione’s eyes, but when Harry passed her and went directly to
Ron to see the tiny baby, she the tears really began to flow.

Ron offered Harry a hold of his little girl and the exchange was made as gently as possible, so
not to wake her. She sat comfortably in the crook of Harry’s arm, his size dwarfing the infant. He
tentatively reached out a finger to clear away some of the blanket covering her face, and this tiny
little hand reached out and grabbed onto nothingness. Harry smiled.

“You have a little girl Ron,” he stated softly, looking at the proud father.

“I know,” Ron replied, gently stroking the little hand, “we had hoped but kinda thought my
family history would be against us. But I think she’s a Lovegood, this one. Not a red hair in
sight. She’s perfect, just like her mother.”

Hermione quickly wiped away her stray tears as Ron and Luna exchanged a kiss while Harry
continued to stare in wonder at the small bundle of life in his arms.

“Would you like to hold her Hermione?” Luna asked, drawing Hermione’s attention back to the
blond.

“Oh no,” Hermione said hastily, “she’s probably been passed around enough. I can wait…”

“Don’t be silly,” Ron admonished with a smile, “Alba needs to meet her aunt.”

Hermione nodded and took the few steps to Harry, looking at the baby properly for the first
time.

“She’s perfect,” Hermione breathed as Alba blinked open her blue eyes and squinted up at those
looking down on her.

“Here you go,” Harry whispered as he passed the slowly waking child over. Hermione had never
held babies that much before going to India where she learnt quickly how to handle newborns. It
seemed natural to her now, and as she stood there with the little bundle of new life in her arms,
Harry standing beside her, one hand around her waist while the other playing with the baby’s hand,
she wanted this for herself.

She looked up at Harry at the same time he was looking down and could see in his eyes he wanted
the same thing. She smiled at him before glancing back down at baby Alba, who was waking with
vengeance.

“I think she wants mummy,” Hermione said softly, handing Alba back to Luna, “she’s
beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Ron replied absently, his attention captured by his wife and child.

Harry and Hermione left them then, tired but contented as they made their way to the floo
fireplaces at the end of the ward. They were nearly there when a very familiar voice called out to
them – Harry cringed and closed his eyes, but Hermione grinned and turned to the woman making her
way towards them.

“Mr Potter! Mr Potter,” she called out quite authoritvely before shrieking, “oh my –
Hermione!”

The two women hugged as Harry stood awkwardly by, but Hermione didn’t care.

“Hello Healer Stephens,” she gushed, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh tosh, call me Stella,” the Healer replied, holding Hermione out at arms length, “I didn’t
recognise you! Your hair, it’s fantastic! And look at you, tanned and toned! Not the pasty young
girl I once knew – where have you been?”

“Here and there…”

“Oh, I can only imagine,” Stella Stephens interrupted, “and I desperately want to find out but
you both look exhausted. Weasley number two has arrived I take it?”

“Yep, four thirty this morning,” Hermione stated as Harry didn’t seem to want to talk.

“And young Mr Potter here was able to celebrate his birthday at last,” she looked at Harry, who
looked embarrassedly back, “we always had a cake on your behalf while you were with us.”

“Right,” Harry replied shortly, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else but where he was –
Hermione frowned.

“I haven’t seen you for a while Harry,” the Healer continued, returning once more to her
professional mode.

“I’ve been busy,” he told her, indicating with his eyes that Hermione was the reason for his
absence.

“Ah, I understand,” Healer Stephens smiled, “but we need to check that everything is still
working as it should and if there has been any developments…”

“There hasn’t…”

“We still need to che…”

“There has been no changes,” Harry spat angrily – Hermione put a comforting hand on his arm.

“Harry, I understand your frustration and your dislike of this place,” Healer Stephens said
calmly, “but you still need to let us try and help you. I’d like you to come in for an
appointment…”

“I can’t…” Harry started to say.

“When?” Hermione asked at exactly the same time, ignoring Harry’s angry glare, “we have nothing
planned and can easily work in with you. I can drop Harry off here whenever you like.”

“That would be brilliant Hermione,” the Healer carried on, “shall I owl you?”

“That’s fine.”

“Perfect,” she nodded with agreement, “and we’ll sort out a time to get together and catch up as
well. Well, must dash. I’ll see you soon Mr Potter.” With that, she was gone leaving Hermione alone
with a very angry Harry.

“Harry,” she started, wanting to explain that it was for his own good, that she wouldn’t come in
with him if he didn’t want her to, that she was only doing what was best for him. But she didn’t
get a chance as he had turned on his heel and disappeared down the floo before she could even take
another breath. With a deep sigh, she closed her eyes wearily before following him and flooing
home.

He was already in bed when she arrived; his clothes quickly discarded into a pile on the floor,
his back facing the door as she popped her head into the bedroom to see where he was. She sighed
once more.

Returning downstairs, she looked at the mess left by the hastily exited party and decided she’d
clean up a bit before going to bed – one and a half hours later she had finished, all traces of the
party gone. Dawn had already arrived, and with a weary groan, she slumped down onto the couch and
closed her eyes, listening to the chorus of birds outside the window. Her twenty-four hours without
sleep was finally catching up with her and she knew she should go to bed, but getting up seemed
like such a chore. So she gave herself a few minutes just to rest her eyes before going upstairs
and getting really comfortable…just a few minutes….

It was that odd time between being awake and being asleep, where the remnants of her dream was
still fresh in her mind, the dream where she was standing there with Harry and it was their little
girl in her arms, a mop of black hair already visible on her tiny little head. But the dream
suddenly changed and Harry was gone, she could hear his voice calling out to her from somewhere –
he sounded afraid.

With a start, Hermione opened her eyes, squinting frantically at the bright sunlight streaming
through the windows.

“Hermione!”

She sat up and leaned over the back of the couch, fear making her heart begin to beat rapidly as
she heard the anguish in Harry’s voice from the stairwell. She saw him then, bounding down the
stairs, dressed only in his pyjama bottoms, his glasses forgotten – probably still sitting on the
bedside table.

“Harry, what is it?” she asked worriedly, “what’s wrong?”

He turned to her when he heard her voice and the look of relief that flooded his face really
scared her. He didn’t say anything, but made his way to where she was kneeling on the couch, taking
her face in his hands while he searched her eyes with his as if to make sure it was really her.

“You’re here,” he stated and then Harry Potter did something that she had never seen him do – he
began to cry.

“Harry…” she breathed, her voice catching in her throat. He just stepped over the back of the
couch so he was at her side before crushing her in a hug, his body shaking as he tried to stop his
tears. She held him tightly, knowing that all he needed from her was her touch. After a few
moments, he pulled away from her and sat back sheepishly on the couch, wiping his hand over his
face to try and remove any trace of his outburst.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, not looking at her.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“No.”

“You know this isn’t fair, don’t you,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What do you mean?” he questioned, looking at her with glassy eyes.

“Harry, just now, the way you called out my name,” she tried to explain as gently as she could,
“I was terrified because you sounded so scared. And I have no idea why – that…that isn’t very
fair.”

Harry sighed deeply as he looked down at his lap, thinking hard. Hermione reached out and took
his shaking hands in hers as she waited, the midday sun streaming onto them.

“I can never remember what I dream about,” he said after a while, “all I know is that they’re
bad, that I see terrible things and that I wake up scared shitless.”

“But you don’t know why?”

“No, not really,” he continued, “all I’m left with is the feeling.”

“What happened just now?”

“I had a nightmare, a really bad one…”

“You forgot to take your potions…”

“Yeah. Anyway, I woke needing to see you. I…the dream, it must’ve been about you I think because
I was…I needed to make sure you were alright. When you weren’t there, beside me – I panicked. Then
I remembered ignoring you when you came in last ni…this morning and I thought…I thought you had
left me.”

“Oh Harry,” Hermione sighed before taking his face in her hands, making him look at her, “I’m
not going to leave you, you plonker, and I’m especially not going to leave you over a stupid
argument. I love you, remember?”

“But…”

“There’s no ‘buts’,” she interrupted, “you’re not going to get rid of me that easily. In fact,
if you ever *want* to get rid of me, the only way would be to tell me face to face. Otherwise,
I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t want you to go anywhere,” he whispered, finally smiling before drawing her into another
hug, “I love you so much Hermione. And I’m so sorry about what happened with Stella…”

“You need to see her Harry,” Hermione reasoned as she pulled away so she could look at him once
more, “she’s trying to help you.”

“Help with what?” he asked with a shrug, “nothing’s changed. My magic hasn’t returned, I still
can’t sleep without dosing up with potions first and all she’ll say is they don’t know why.”

“But now I’m here and I don’t know if you know this, I was once called the brightest witch of my
age.”

“I had heard that once or twice,” Harry smiled.

“Well there you go,” she replied, also grinning, “honestly Harry, you don’t think I would just
stand by and let someone else find the cure for you without putting my own few galleons in, would
you?”

“No, I guess not,” he admitted.

“All you need to do is let me,” she added quietly but firmly – they locked eyes for a moment as
he debated within himself what he wanted to do.

“Okay,” he agreed finally, “okay. You and Stella can talk and see if you come up with something
new. But only until you go to university, after that you focus will be your studies, not me.”

“But that’s only a month and a half away!” she complained.

“They’re my terms Hermione,” he stated, standing up as he did so, “you hungry?” he asked.

“What?” she asked, confused by the quick change of subject.

“Hungry,” Harry repeated, “it’s nearly one and I’m starved…”

“Oh, er, yes I am…”

“Right,” he grinned, “I’m making you some lunch!”

“Harry…”

“You tidied up so I’m going to cook you some food,” he interrupted, making his way to the
kitchen, “you just lie back there and relax.”

With that, he was gone. Hermione shook her head in wonder and did what she was told – leaning
back on the couch and putting her feet up. The events of the last twenty four hours ran through her
head: Harry’s birthday party, the birth of baby Alba, meeting Healer Stephens, the argument (which
wasn’t really an argument as nothing was said, but…), the nightmare, the admission of not knowing
the subjects of his dreams and then finally the permission given to her to help him get his magic
back. Her brain hurt just thinking about it all.

Massaging her temples, she closed her eyes in concentration. She had already thought of a couple
of theories of what was wrong with Harry after watching him and reading up on the potions he was
taking. She had many questions though, questions that could only be answered by a Healer and it
seemed she was finally going to get her chance.

The owl came from Healer Stephens the following day and Harry asked Hermione if she would come
with him to St Mungo’s. She said yes, he had nodded his acceptance then walked away. As she watched
his retreating back she understood that he was so used to doing everything himself, coping on his
own, that this first step of letting her into the private part of himself that was so carefully
hidden from everyone, was extremely difficult for him. She needed to be patient.

She went to her desk in the study and glanced briefly out of the window before sitting down.
Harry was standing in the middle of the back lawn, hands in pockets and shoulders hunched, looking
at the sky. Hermione took in a deep breath and watched him, silently praying that in the next few
months she will be able to help him become whole.

Two days later they were back at St Mungo’s, making their way to Healer Stephen’s office. They
had come early to visit Luna and Alba, who was still there but ready to go home. Hermione felt the
now familiar tug at her maternal heartstrings once more, all thoughts of babies clouding her mind
until they were outside the Healer’s door. Seeing Stella Stephens again brought everything back
into focus.

“Harry,” the Healer greeted, guiding them both into her tiny office, “Hermione, glad you could
make it.”

Harry just grunted his hello and sat down, Hermione smiled her welcome and sat next to him, both
watching Stella with interest.

“Well,” she continued with her usual enthusiasm, “since it’s been three months since I saw you
last Harry, I need to check you out.”

“Do…do you need me to take my clothes off?” he asked tentatively, standing and blushing at the
same time.

“Only if you really want to,” the Healer joked, making Harry blush deeper, “I’m sorry, that was
un-called for. No Harry, dressed is fine. Just stand still here for a moment.”

Hermione watched as the Healer performed various diagnostic tests over Harry, recognising many
from her years of being by his side during his stay at St Mungo’s but also noting a few that were
new.

“How much do you want Hermione to know Harry,” Stella asked as she worked.

“Everything,” Harry replied shortly, his face still drawn into a scowl.

“Brilliant,” Stella enthused, “and do you mind if we talk about you and not with you for a
while?”

“Guess not,” he mumbled, resigned.

“I promise, it will be painless Mr Potter,” Healer Stephens said kindly, “what does Hermione
know?”

“That I can’t do magic and you don’t know why, that I have nightmares that I can’t remember and
that I take some potions,” Harry listed, sounding slightly bored.

“That’s it?” Stella asked, looking at Harry with a small frown before continuing her tests and
glancing at Hermione, “anything to add?”

“In the three months I’ve been here,” Hermione started, ignoring the intense stare from Harry
and instead concentrated on Stella, “Harry has continued to gain weight and his energy levels have
also increased. He is now exercising on a regular basis although he does tire sooner than perhaps
he should…”

“Do you know the reason why?” Stella asked, making her way to her desk after indicating that
Harry was now free to sit.

“Well, I noticed that some of the potions concentrated on the internal organs and their
functions,” Hermione recalled, “and I remember one of your major concerns while Harry was
unconscious was the effects the long term comatose state was having on the liver, kidney and heart
functions…”

“And?” the Healer prompted.

“And the tests you’ve just performed indicate that the kidney and liver functions are now
working properly but there is still some weakness within the heart muscle,” Hermione answered
promptly.

“Correct,” Stella confirmed, leaning back in her chair, “when Harry woke, we could see that the
core functions found it difficult to go from such little activity to normality quickly and for the
first few months, it was touch and go for a while. When we were finally able to stabilise the liver
and kidney functions, the heart wall had been damaged slightly, causing a new concern. The progress
in the last few months has been outstanding, but the heart damage is taking a bit longer to heal,
hence the tiredness.”

“But it is healing,” Harry asked with concern, “it is getting better. I mean, I can do stuff now
that there was no way I could do before.”

“Yes Harry, its healing,” Stella smiled, “in fact, physically you are nearly back to one hundred
per cent health.”

“Except for the whole ‘can’t do magic’ thing, you mean,” Harry nearly spat, his scowl
returning.

“Well, yes,” Stella agreed, “no change on that front then?”

“Nope.”

“Want to elaborate?” the Healer coaxed.

“What more is there to say?” Harry responded with a sneer, “my magic has gone…”

“It’s not gone Harry. It’s just hidden…”

“Whatever,” he snarled, “all I know is that I can’t do it. I can’t fly, I can’t even light my
way in the bloody dark! And you have no idea why.”

“We’re trying…”

“What’s the bloody point!” he shouted, standing so suddenly his chair fell backwards, “I’m
defective! I’m no longer a wizard but a Muggle! The Boy Who Saved The Wizarding World is no longer
capable of saving anyone anymore! And the best Healers in this bloody place have no idea why!”

“That’s not entirely true…”

“Yes it is! You had no answers for me three months ago and I bet you have no answers for me
now!”

“Harry…” Hermione started, standing and going to his side as he stormed away from his overturned
chair and glared out of the window, “this isn’t helping…”

“Of course it isn’t helping!” he shouted at her, “I knew it wouldn’t but no, you wanted me to
come here – and for what? To know that physically I’m fine so the only reason why I can’t do magic
is because I’m mental! Is that it? Is that the conclusion that you’ve come up with as well?”

“Mental?” she repeated, her own anger firing in her eyes, “there has been no mention at all on
your mental state though the fact that you’re acting like a childish prat does bring your maturity
into question!”

“Childish prat?” he roared, “do you know what they’ve done to me? Do you know what ‘tests’
they’ve performed? Because, evidently, it’s all in my mind!”

“No Harry, I don’t know what tests they’ve done because you have never told me!” she yelled
back, “and quite frankly, you’re attitude since getting here has been rude and disrespectful! You
treat the people that are trying to help you like they are causing you personal injury! Why can’t
you take your head out of your arse and actually assist Stella instead of blaming her! Sweet Merlin
Harry, grow up!”

They stood glaring at each other, Hermione standing her ground stubbornly.

“You have no idea what I’ve been through,” he said after a while, his voice back at its normal
tone.

“You’re right Harry, I have no idea,” Hermione replied, just as quiet, “and there are parts of
what you’ve dealt with that I will never be able to comprehend. But there are also things that I
will be able to understand, if you just let me. You need to let me in Harry.”

“I know,” he sighed, dropping his eyes from hers, “it’s just…I don’t know how.”

“Step by step, my love,” she breathed, making him look at her once more, taking his hands in
hers, “letting me come here is a step, talking with Stella is another. We can do this as slowly or
as quickly as you’re comfortable with, as long as you let us take you forward. You need to trust me
Harry, trust us.”

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

“I know,” she whispered back, “but I’ll be here with you, all the way. You won’t go through this
alone, do you hear me Harry? I love you and you are no longer alone.”

Harry just nodded and thought her words over while she stood and waited. Stella stayed quiet,
for which Hermione was grateful, and after a few moments, he looked up at Hermione, his eyes
showing a glint of determination, before taking her hand and returning to the chairs facing the
waiting Healer.

“Would you tell Hermione the stuff you’ve done on me before?” he asked as he up righted his
chair and sat down. Healer Stephens smiled.

“From very early on we ascertained that there was no physical reason for Harry inability to do
magic,” Stella began to explain.

“It wasn’t a residual effect from whatever happened in the last duel with Voldemort?” Hermione
asked, leaning forward in her chair, listening intently.

“I can’t remember the duel so I don’t know what spells he used,” Harry said, shrugging when
Hermione looked at him with concern.

“What is the last thing you remember?” she asked.

“Splitting from you and Ron in the forest,” he answered.

“You lost two days?” she exclaimed, shocked.

“We found this out from the information given to us by Ron,” Stella continued, “and we soon
realised that the two days missing was really the key to everything.”

“But in the wizarding world there are many ways to retrieve memories, even suppressed memories,”
Hermione thought out loud, “surely…”

“We tried them all,” Harry interjected wryly, “Pensieve, veritaserum, legilimency even Muggle
hypnotherapy…”

“Hypnotherapy?” Hermione repeated, looking back to Stella, “you hypnotised Harry?”

“Yes,” Stella nodded, “we even tried a psychologist – nothing worked.”

“How could they not work?” Hermione asked, frowning, “both legilimency and veritaserum are
extremely powerful…”

“But Mr Potter here is more powerful,” Stella stated as she leaned back in her chair; Hermione
looked at Harry.

“It seems I’m able to block it all,” he explained with a shrug; Hermione turned back to
Stella.

“I don’t understand,” she said as she thought over all the facts, “you said Harry hasn’t lost
his magic, that it’s hidden and what’s hidden is extremely powerful.”

“Right,” the Healer confirmed.

“So powerful that a skilled legilimens and a truth serum can’t penetrate his magic to find a
missing two days that is the key to allowing him to regain use of said hidden magic?”

“Yes.”

“Even use of Muggle forms of analysis, which is usually extremely skilled in probing the mind,
was useless?”

“Correct.”

“There must be something else we could do,” Hermione insisted, “I mean, the magic is there – we
just need to get access to it, right?”

“But we can’t,” Harry reminded her, “they’ve tried everything and nothing works.”

“Actually, I have a theory,” Healer Stephens stated, getting both Harry and Hermione’s attention
– she leaned forward, looking at them intently, “the brain is an amazing organ. It has safety
mechanisms within itself that goes into place instinctively to ensure its survival. Harry had to
face a monster, to commit an act that was against everything he truly believed in – killing another
human being. It didn’t matter that by that stage, You-Know-Who was really no longer human and that
he had killed so many already and would still go on killing unless he was destroyed.

“No one knows what went on during that last battle. Well, that’s not exactly true – Harry knows.
But his brain needed to shut that information out for some reason, to ensure Harry survived. So it
built a wall.”

“A wall?” Harry repeated, confused.

“The magical energy that surrounds you Harry is immense,” Stella continued to explain, “when
Auror Shacklebolt performed legilimens on you, he was thrown to the other side of the room with the
force of the barrier that has been built around these memories. Your brain spent five years
building this protective barrier around itself that is nearly impenetrable – but it has its
weaknesses.”

“Harry’s dreams,” Hermione said thoughtfully.

“Yes, Harry’s dreams,” Stella agreed, “the dreams are a window into the memories we need…”

“But I can’t remember them,” Harry frowned.

“No, and we tried to find out what was going through your mind when you were having them but we
were shut out.”

“So, what’s your theory?” Hermione prompted, “it sounds like you’ve done everything
already.”

“Not everything,” Stella replied, cryptically.

“What else is there?” Harry asked.

“When you woke, your condition was critical and we spent those first couple of months fighting
for your life,” Stella said, matter of factly as she looked at Harry, “then you left St Mungo’s to
live at the Burrow, where you didn’t worsen – but you didn’t get better either.

“Each time I saw you, your body told me it was doing just enough to survive. Then you thought
you saw Hermione. You came in for your check-up and I was amazed by the change in you. Everything
had improved ten fold and more importantly – there was life in you.

“And now, you are a different human being than the one I saw in May. Not only has there been
significant physical changes, there is a fantastic improvement in you whole wellbeing.”

“It’s because I’m happy,” Harry explained, looking at Hermione, “for the first time ever,
really.”

“I can see that,” Stella smiled, drawing the couple’s attention back to her, “and I think that
is wonderful. Which brings me to my theory.”

“What’s that Stella?” Hermione asked, clasping Harry’s hand.

“That you are the key Hermione,” Stella said at last, “you are the key to bring back Harry’s
magic.”

“Me?” Hermione exclaimed, “how? Why?”

“Because the wall was built to hide something horrific, something fuelled by hate. What you have
with Harry is the total opposite of that, what you have is love – pure, complete love.”

“No.”

Both women turned to Harry, whose eyes were lit with fire.

“What do you mean, no?” Hermione asked, ready for the fight that she knew was coming her
way.

“Exactly what I said,” Harry shot back, “if what is hidden behind this wall of mine is so
horrific that it is taking all of my magic to keep it there, there is no bloody way that I’m going
to let you experience it.”

“But Harry, it’s the only way…”

“Then it’s not going to happen.”

“Can’t we at least talk about it? Discuss the options?” she ventured, pulling her chair around
so they were face to face, “you can’t keep living like this Harry, and you know it!”

“I know that this choice is mine. I’m not going to use you to regain my magic.”

“Suppressing all this power is going to eat you up Harry,” Hermione tried to reason, “and I know
that whatever you’re holding back, we can handle it together. You and me.”

“No.”

“Let me do this for you,” she pleaded, “let me stand with you during the final battle like I
promised I would. I need to do this Harry, I want to do this. Please.”

They looked at each other and she could see his resolve weakening, the debate taking place
behind his eyes. She knew his concern was for her state of mind, but she was frantically thinking
that could he be damaged by the memories he was trying so hard, and succeeding, to repress? She
needed to know more facts. She needed to sit down and go through all the options and possible
outcomes. But firstly, she needed him to say yes.

“We will explore all scenarios before we even think about doing this,” he said after a
while.

“Yes,” Hermione responded, trying hard not to smile.

“Ron will be involved – he’s part of this too.”

“Right, the three of us – like it should be.”

“I don’t want you or him being in any type of danger.”

“The same goes with you too, you need to be kept safe.”

“Okay,” he finally agreed but no smile crossed his face and with a curse nod in Stella’s
direction, he stood and left the office.



9. untitled
-----------

**A/N – okay, big warning here. I had to think of something happening that was so bad that
Harry could no longer do magic so, well, this is the chapter that explains it. So, there are
implications of bad stuff but hopefully I’ve done it in a way that won’t offend. And hopefully it
doesn’t get too confusing**. **Oh, and I’ve never been hypnotised or seen it done so…**

Chapter 9

Hermione slipped into research easily and without a second thought. Given access to all of
Harry’s medical records, from the moment he arrived at St Mungo’s to the present day, she spent her
days ploughing over piles of parchment describing every test, every result, every minute change in
Harry’s condition.

And she learnt a lot.

It seemed that Harry’s magic was horrendously powerful to the point that the information was
kept confidential from pretty much everyone.

It seemed that Luna had kept her promise with someone being at Harry’s side for at least an hour
every day during the time Hermione was gone.

It seemed that Harry’s dreams were so severe that sometimes he had to be restrained until they
found a potion strong enough to calm him.

It seemed that they had tried every possible way to help Harry remember the final battle with
Voldemort – not just for his own peace of mind but because the wizarding world wanted to know –
with absolutely no success.

It seemed that it hadn’t been an entirely pleasant time for Harry during his stay at St Mungo’s.
No wonder he didn’t like going back.

So Hermione made sure he didn’t, letting him spend his time researching with Ron, though how
much actual researching was going on, Hermione wasn’t entirely sure – there seemed to be an awful
amount of time spent playing with little Artie, or playing chess, or just playing.

In fairness, Hermione didn’t really mind as it meant that Harry was happy. She sometimes looked
out of the window of her study and saw them, Ron, Harry and Artie, mucking around in the back
garden while Luna looked on with the baby, and it was a beautiful sight. Harry had a natural way
with children that Hermione knew she didn’t have and every time she saw him with Artie or Alba, her
heart swelled with pride. It made her love him even more.

She also spent a lot of time with Stella, talking over the best way to do things and after a
week of discussion, it was decided to use a mixture of hypnosis and legilimency to try and enter
Harry’s mind. She passed this information onto Harry and Ron and it was met with the amount of
resistance that she was expecting and countered all their arguments with thought out answers. After
a couple of hours of heated debate, Harry reluctantly agreed.

So Hermione began to learn legilimency from the Auror instructor on the topic and worked hard
with Stella to combine it with hypnotherapy. The plan was for Hermione to enter Harry’s mind but
instead of just seeing random images, as is usual with legilimency, she would be able to control
where she was to go as if in a Pensieve. She would still just be an observer, but she would be
active in combating any barriers in her way.

It was Ron’s job to make sure both her and Harry were kept safe. No one was quite sure what
Harry’s magic was going to do once released or if, when it felt its defences under attack, it would
strike back to protect itself. And it would be Ron’s job to bring Hermione back while Stella kept
an eye on Harry.

All in all, there were still many unknowns and dangers that Harry was not entirely comfortable
with. But they covered every possible scenario, thought of every possible reaction and after a
couple of weeks, they were as ready as they’d ever be.

There was a room at St Mungo’s that was used for patients with uncontrollable magic. It was
protected by a variety of wards and safeguards – but now it had a few more. The trio sat in the
middle of the padded floor, all crossed legged and all looking extremely serious. Beyond the
spellbound walls was a nervous audience – Luna (the children were with her father), Ginny and
Neville, Arthur and Molly, Remus and Tonks, Shacklebolt, Hagrid and Minerva – all watching with
concern. But none were as concerned as those in the padded room.

“Are you all ready?” Stella asked, entering the room and sitting next to Harry.

“Sure,” he replied shortly, his eyes never leaving Hermione, who was sitting opposite him.

“Yes,” Hermione said, holding Harry’s gaze.

“Let’s do this,” Ron answered, sitting between his two friends and the only one to look at the
Healer.

“Right,” Stella agreed, looking between the three, “Hermione, Harry – hold hands and remember to
keep contact at all times. That is vitally important.”

“We know Stella,” Hermione stated as she took Harry’s hands in her own.

“Excellent,” Stella carried on, ignoring Hermione’s sharpness, “Ron? All set?”

“You know me,” he said wryly, placing his wand across his knees, resting his hand on top, “I was
born ready.”

“Of course you were,” Stella smiled before sobering quite quickly, “Harry, I need you to look at
me.”

With a last long look at Hermione, Harry turned his attention to the Healer, who gave him an
encouraging smile.

“Great,” she said, “now, hand me your glasses.”

Harry did as he was asked, taking off the round rimmed lenses that were so much a part of him.
Hermione thought he looked so much more vulnerable without them, so much younger, and she gave his
hand a small squeeze when he returned his hands to hers. He glanced at her briefly and smiled
before looking back to Stella.

“Close your eyes Harry,” Stella said softly; he did so, “breath deep, through you nose so the
air reaches the bottom of your lungs then slowly release it through your mouth. Slowly now.”

Hermione watched as Harry started to relax, breathing deep and slow. Stella was giving him more
instructions, her voice low as she lulled Harry deeper into his trance, but Hermione was as alert
as she could ever be, watching out for anything that was amiss with him, any sign that he was in
danger.

She glanced at Ron and saw he was doing the same, the red head also tense and aware, ready to
act if needed. Hermione smiled then looked back to Harry, just in time to hear Stella give her next
command. She told Harry to open his eyes.

Hermione couldn’t help herself as she let out a small gasp – his eyes were still the brilliant
green that she was so familiar with, but they were unfocused and no longer had the gleam of life
that usually sparkled there. And he was staring directly at her.

“Harry,” Stella continued, “I want you to think of a happy place for you, a place where you feel
safe, where you have no worries or stress. Can you picture that place Harry?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

Hermione expected him to say Hogwarts, the place he always called home and was surprised, nearly
to tears, with his answer.

“Wherever Hermione is; she is my happy place.”

“I want you to hang onto that Harry,” Stella nearly whispered, “because there may be times when
you start to loose yourself. When you do, I want you to think of Hermione, to grab onto Hermione
and the happiness you have with her. Do you understand Harry?”

“Yes.”

“Now, I want you to remember May 19, 1998 – can you remember back that far Harry?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“I woke up with Hermione,” he droned, a smile crossing his face, “we had had sex. Many times,
the night before. It was brilliant.”

Hermione blushed slightly but saw the signal given to her by Stella, immediately stopping any
other thought other than her purpose. She stared at Harry’s dull eyes and began to think.

She heard Stella continue to talk, but no longer understanding the words. Instead, she began to
witness the images the Healers questions were conjuring up – she was in Harry’s mind.

The memories were of moments she didn’t recognise – Harry arriving back at his dorm to be
grilled by Ron, sure that his friend had spent the night with his little sister. Harry felt relief
when he told Ron that he hadn’t, and that it wasn’t a lie. When he saw Ginny for the first time,
Hermione could feel Harry’s unease while Ginny herself seemed totally oblivious that her boyfriend
had totally pulled away from her.

The images then became ones that Hermione herself remembered as she had joined them in the Great
Hall. But now she realised just how many times Harry had looked at her during the plan making, and
how many times he hadn’t see her looking at him.

Harry’s memories soon turned to the battle that had arrived at Hogwarts castle and the sights
they both saw that fateful day five years before. The trio had remained together for the longest
time, fighting side by side as they struggled to help those around them, knowing they had another
goal they were heading towards.

Ron had been struck down first, Harry’s anguish nearly petrifying until he found that his friend
wasn’t dead. The decision was made to go on without him and the trio was now a duo. Hermione
remembered the events herself, her fear of what they had left behind, the outcomes of their
friends, and what lay ahead.

She knew the moment she was separated from Harry, the guilt of that moment very hard for her to
forget. But seeing it though his eyes made her see that what she felt was nothing like the pain
Harry had gone through. He thought she had died, that he was alone and it wasn’t until he saw her
rise unsteadily, that he carried on.

Harry had looked over his shoulder at her, stopping only briefly when he saw she was no longer
at his side. When he saw she was still alive, he had turned back to where he was going – where he
faced nothing but un-endless grey. This was it, Hermione realised, the barrier that Harry had
built.

She was watching through her own eyes now, not his, and she turned around searching for him,
knowing he was there, somewhere.

“Harry?” she called, her voice sounding hollow, echoing slightly in the emptiness around her,
“Harry, where are you?”

“What are you doing here?”

His voice came from no where and although she recognised it as his, it wasn’t the Harry she knew
now – it sounded like a Harry she once knew, many years ago.

“I’m here to help you,” she told the nothingness, “please, let me see you.”

He didn’t answer, his silence making her continue to look around frantically. And then she saw
it, a movement that grew into a shape. A little boy stepped towards her – he was skinny,
accentuated by the extra large clothes he was wearing (obviously two or three sizes too big), a mop
of unruly black hair fell over his forehead while a set of brilliant green eyes sat behind a pair
of broken, round rimmed glasses. There was no mistaking it was Harry Potter, except it was the
Harry she met first, on the train, when they were both eleven.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said sullenly, his voice still high, not yet broken.

“You said I could come,” she countered, trying hard not to feel weird talking to a…boy, “you
want me to help you, to see what’s beyond this…” she indicated to the blankness surrounding her,
“grey.”

“I don’t want you to see,” he shot back, “I don’t need your help. I don’t need to remember
this.”

“Yes you do Harry,” she replied, trying not sound like she was pleading, “you need to remember
so you can move forward, move on…”

“But I don’t need to,” he pouted, “I have you back, I’m happy, I don’t need to remember….”

“Yes you do,” she said back, but paused as she looked at him – the little boy who seemed so
hurt, the abuse that he had had over his years at the Dursley’s reflected in his face, stared at
her, scowling. She needed to get through to him and she knew that although it was an eleven year
old looking at her, he had a twenty-three year old soul. She came up to him and knelt down, taking
his hands in hers as she looked up at him.

“What are you doing?” he asked in surprise, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

“I’ve seen you Harry,” Hermione began, ignoring the fear in his eyes, “I’ve watched you with
Artie and baby Alba. I’ve seen the longing for a child of your own, for your own little boy to play
with. For a family. You told me that you want to have a family with me, that you and I will be
together forever, that one day we’d get married and then try and have a baby of our own…”

“Don’t you want that any more?” The words seemed strange coming out of a child’s mouth, but
Hermione ignored the strangeness and carried on.

“I want that more than any thing. But I think both you and I know that it can’t happen until you
release these memories. Harry, I love you more than life itself, but I can’t have my child have
only half of a father.”

“So, having no magic makes me less of a man?” he spat.

“Magic is a part of you and can’t be separated from who you are,” she explained softly, “and
these memories, these horrific memories – Harry, they’re part of you as well and as long as you
hold them back, you will always be incomplete. Our child deserves more than that.”

He looked down at their hands and seemed to think over what she had said while she waited. When
the greyness began to shimmer, ghostly images appearing around them, she hoped that meant she had
made him see.

“Will you stay with me?”

“I will never leave your side.”

“Even if things get pretty rough?”

“Harry, we will get through this together.”

Something caught her eye, and she turned to see two figures fighting in a clearing through the
trees. She knew it was Harry and Voldemort, that she was beginning to see what she so desperately
needed to see. She looked back at the Harry that was still holding her hands and saw that he was no
longer a skinny, awkward eleven year old but a handsome, strong young man. He helped her up so they
were once more standing.

“Ready?” he asked in his striking baritone.

“Yes,” she said simply and together they made their way towards the battling figures only a few
yards away.

The sight before her made her gasp – seventeen year old Harry was on the ground, battered and
bleeding. Voldemort also looked worse for wear, but he was still on his feet, swaying slightly.

“You fought well Harry,” the older wizard sneered, “but not well enough. Though I think it’s
only fair that I have some fun with you before I kill you.”

Harry didn’t say anything as he tried to stand. Before he could move, however, Death Eaters
began emerging out of the forest. Two went to Harry and dragged him to his feet, taking his wand
then binding him to a tree where he slumped forward, raising his head only so he could stare at
Voldemort.

It was then that two more figures were brought to the party – herself and Ron. Both were
struggling with their capturers and both looked quite badly beaten.

“No,” Harry groaned, the real Hermione frowned.

“This is a lie,” she breathed, “they never got us, we were never captured…”

“I didn’t know that,” said the Harry by her side.

“Your friends Harry,” Voldemort drawled, trying to swagger towards the bound prisoner but
instead just stumbling, causing a Death Eater close by to steady him, “the last of them. There is
no one left, you see, they’re all dead. I thought I’d save the best for last.”

“You’re lying,” Harry cried, spitting a wad of blood to the ground in front of him.

“No, I’m not,” Voldemort hissed, standing close to Harry now, nearly face to face, “you’ve lost.
You and that pathetic Order are gone. Well, nearly gone,” he turned to the Death Eater holding Ron,
“bring him to me!”

Ron struggled with all the strength he had left, but it got him no where. Hermione could see it
was Dolohov that was holding him, and her stomach plummeted. She expected Ron to say something to
Harry then, telling Harry to stay strong, that he could still do it – but he was silent. It was
then Hermione remembered it wasn’t the real Ron, it was a trick of some sort and this Ron couldn’t
talk.

“The blood traitor,” Voldemort sneered, “how do you want to die? Actually, I think you should do
something for me first. I don’t want to waste my time and energy on killing a mudblood – I think
you should do it.”

Voldemort turned his wand on Ron and Hermione knew the curse being used was the Imperius. She
watched as Ron accio’d a wand from one of the surrounding Death Eaters before pointing it at the
fake Hermione still being held by…Bellatrix Lestrange. The real Hermione held her breath as she
expected Ron to fire a killing curse her way but watched in horror as he turned the wand on himself
and blasting a hole in his chest, soundlessly falling to the ground.

“No,” Harry moaned again, his eyes glued to the crumpled form of his best friend just meters
before him.

“How very noble,” Voldemort remarked, his strength seemingly returning, “rather kill himself
than the piece of trash…”

“Let her go,” Harry pleaded.

“I don’t think so,” was the reply, “boys, I think its time for some fun.”

Bellatrix sneered, making her face seem even more ugly than it already was. The captured
Hermione was pushed roughly forward while the eight or so Death Eaters that were there came
forward, forming a sort of circle. Voldemort and Bellatrix hung back, but the real Hermione began
recognising faces, frowning when Lucius Malfoy was among them. Some started taking of their robes,
while one purposefully walked forward to the cowering girl in the middle of ring of men, unzipping
his fly of his pants as he did so.

Hermione looked away, knowing what was going to happen next. She turned to Harry, forced to
watch from his position on the tree, tears streaming down his face, trying to look away but
continually forced to watch. Hermione then turned to the Harry standing at her side and saw the
pain and horror that was a reflection of his counterpart. She now understood why he had hidden this
moment away.

The girl in the circle stopped screaming after the third man, but still they continued until
they all had had a turn. Even Malfoy pleasured himself but had given her a hard kick in the ribs as
he was doing up his pants. Voldemort was watching the scene with detached interest, seemingly
enjoying the show.

No one was looking at Harry any more, except for the real Hermione, who was watching every
reaction. She saw his look of horror turn to one of anger, his eyes hardening into a need for
revenge. It happened so quickly that Hermione wasn’t even sure if she saw it happen at all. Harry’s
bonds broke, his wand shot into his hand as he dived to the ground. Harry then quickly transfigured
a branch that his hand had grabbed into a sword and with a speed that surprised all, drove it
deeply into Voldemort chest – all before anyone had really noticed he had moved.

But Harry hadn’t finished. As their leader fell to the ground, Harry shot curses at all those he
could, not really caring about those who ran away. Lucius wasn’t that lucky and was felled by a
wayward shot from one of his comrades.

Harry stumbled over to where the broken Hermione lay and took her limp form in his arms, taking
one of the discarded robes and covering her up so the cause of her death was hidden. He was sobbing
as he rocked her back and forth, not seeing Bellatrix return.

“You killed him,” the Death Eater growled, getting Harry’s attention in time to see her wand
pointing at his head. He didn’t flinch, and only barely acknowledge Lestrange’s presence. Instead,
he looked back down to the girl in his arms, laid her gently down on the ground, and then
stood.

Bellatrix was transfixed. The spot where her Dark Mark had been etched into her skin was
bleeding and raw, the shock of watching her master die temporarily stunning her. But seeing Harry
stand brought her back and with a swish of her wand, she fired her first curse. Harry deflected it
with ease, no sound coming from him as he advanced on the witch, repelling every thing she fired at
him with a casual wave of his hand.

Hermione watched in awe as Harry used wandless magic, a shimmering glow emanating out of him,
his power nearly visible. She could see Bellatrix was afraid and finally he over powered her; she
tripped and fell and in an instant, Harry was on top of her, holding her down.

“Are you going to kill me Harry?” she asked him, her voice not betraying her fear.

“You deserve to die,” Harry snarled and Hermione gasped. He sounded nearly inhuman.

“You are powerful,” Bellatrix continued, going down a new track, “more powerful than the Dark
Lord. I could show you what he had begun, I could help you continue where he left of. Together, we
could rule…”

“There is no together, Bella,” Harry interrupted, his face drawn into an ugly scowl, “you have
taken away those who would be at my side and now you pay.”

“You can’t kill me Potter, you haven’t got the courage,” she spat before adding, “or perhaps you
would like to do what was done to your little girlfriend. I could please you in ways you could only
imagine.”

Hermione watched in horror as Harry ripped open the shirt of Bellatrix Lestrange, exposing her
small, barely visible breasts, his face alien and hard as he glanced over the now naked chest of
his enemy – Bella looking up at him with a proud smirk.

“Why would I want this?” he snarled, “you make me sick.”

“But you still want me,” she nearly purred, “you have to admit, watching your mudblood be taken
by real men must have turned you on…”

Bella never got to finish her sentence as Harry’s hand wrapped itself around her throat,
squeezing tightly.

“No!” Hermione screamed, starting to make her way to where he was, wanting to stop him but the
hand of her companion held her back.

“You must stay here,” he informed her, his green eyes still dull and lifeless.

“But…”

“You must stay here.”

Hermione looked back to the teenage Harry and saw that he had stopped, stumbling off the
unconscious Bella with a new horror on his face. He frantically covered her chest with her ripped
shirt before trying to find a pulse, anything that told him he hadn’t killed her.

“No,” he sobbed, scrambling back from the dead body only to bump into the lifeless body of the
girl he thought was Hermione, before looking over to where Ron lay. He then pulled his knees to his
chest, hugging them tightly as he began to rock back and forth, quietly mumbling to himself.

Hermione couldn’t handle any more, the pain masking Harry’s face too much for her to ignore. She
went to go to him, needing to hold him in her arms and tell him it was alright – but she couldn’t,
her hand was tightly clasped in the grip of the Harry that stood by her side.

“Let me go,” she told him.

“You must stay here,” he repeated, his voice hard.

“I can’t leave him like this!” she exclaimed, frowning, “this is where we’ve lost him, lost you!
I have to go to him!”

“You must stay here!”

“No!”

Hermione stamped hard on Harry’s foot, hoping the fact that she could feel his hand in hers
meant that she could also inflict him pain – it worked, and the split second it took for Harry to
cry out in surprise, Hermione snatched her hand from his loosened grip and ran over to where
seventeen year old Harry sat, rocking slowly back and forth.

But Hermione never reached him as the world began to swirl in an angry blur around her, twisting
like if caught in a hurricane, trees already breaking and being swept up in the turmoil. She
watched the bodies of Ron and Voldemort disappear as the world outside the core of herself and the
despondent Harry began to vanish. The girl that looked like her was the next to go, her hair
floating around her head like a grotesque veil.

She turned in alarm to where the other Harry had been standing along side her, seeing his
clothes dancing in the wind.

“What’s happening?” she screamed at him, hoping he could hear her above the noise.

“You did not stay here,” he explained, with no emotion, “you let go.”

Hermione watched as he was swept away from her, his body limp. She turned back to the boy still
sitting on the ground, hunched and haunted, seemingly unaware of what was taking place around him.
Fighting the tug of the air that kept dragging her up wards, she made her way to where Harry was
sitting, struggling to keep herself on the ground.

She reached him, falling to her knees in front of him as she continued to look around at the
devastation that was taking place. She was scared, she knew she had broken the rules by letting go
but she couldn’t let Harry, her Harry, sit there in his pain. She reached out for him now,
breathing a sigh of relief when she found out she could touch him. He didn’t react, however,
ignoring her embrace when she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.

“I’m here Harry,” she whispered into his ear, closing her eyes at the sight of Bellatrix’s body
being sucked up into the vortex in the sky, “I’m right here, with you. I’m not dead, that wasn’t
me. It was all a lie.”

“No,” he groaned, shaking his head, his eyes still staring into nothing.

“Those horrific things you saw, it wasn’t real,” she continued, holding him tighter as she felt
the earth beneath her move, “I don’t know how he did it, but it wasn’t real. I wasn’t raped…”

“No, no,” he cried, unbelieving, “he…they…took you. They killed Ron…”

“No they didn’t mate,” Hermione’s head shot up as the familiar figure of Ron stepped through the
angry wind, his red hair standing on end as the air licked it. He struggled his way to where they
were and knelt down at Harry’s side, looking at Hermione, “I’m not dead, I’m here. And we need to
get you home.”

“I…I can’t leave here,” Harry continued; Ron took Hermione’s hand in one of his while his arm
snaked around Harry’s back, holding him like she was – Harry carried on oblivious, “I killed her!
I’m a monster, like him, like Voldemort. I deserve to die!”

“You are nothing like Voldemort Harry,” Hermione growled, “he killed without remorse, for the
fun of it. What happened with Bella…her death was a part of war. You have to listen to me, you are
nothing like Voldemort!”

Harry looked up at her then, his eyes searching hers. The dullness had gone, but they were full
of pain and anguish.

“How can you love me now?” he whispered, as he grew older before her eyes, returning to the
Harry of the present, “I killed someone with my bare hands, Hermione.”

“And look at you,” she said back, “you felt so much guilt for you actions that it took away your
magic. You are not a murderer Harry. You’ve killed, yes, but you are not a murderer. Now, let’s get
you home.”

“I can’t,” he breathed, “I’ve failed you, I’ve failed you both.”

“Harry, listen to me…” Ron started, getting Hermione’s attention while Harry went back to
looking at the ground, “we can’t get back without you…”

“I can’t go back…”

“Listen to me!” Ron shouted, Harry looked up, “we need you to get us back, to get us all back.
You need to save us Harry, like you’ve always done.”

“Save you?” Harry repeated, frowning toward Ron while around them the wind still swirled
angrily, taking the world away from them bit by bit.

“You’re loosing your mind,” Ron told him matter-of-factly and Hermione realised with a sinking
heart it was her fault, she had let go, “bit by bit, it’s going. And we’re here with you now…”

“I don’t want to go back,” Harry mumbled, dropping his gaze once more.

“Well I do!” Ron yelled, “I have a baby girl Harry! Remember? Alba? I want to see my daughter
grow up and I can’t do that stuck here in your disintegrating mind!”

“Alba…” Harry repeated thoughtfully.

“And Artie too,” Ron carried on, looking desperately between Harry and Hermione, “he wants to
play Quidditch, he wants to be a keeper, just like me! Harry, I need to go home!”

“You can go back without me…” Harry said weakly.

“No,” Ron shot back, “no, it’s either all of us or none of us…”

“Harry,” Hermione interrupted, drawing his haunted gaze from Ron to her, “think of your happy
place, think of me and how much I love you. Think of us – we were going to start a family of our
own, remember? Please, it’s my fault we’re here, lost. Please, help us get back.”

He stared at her as he began to cry, large unhindered tears rolling down his face.

“But I remember, I remember everything…” he whispered.

“I know.”

“You still love me, even though…”

“I love you more than life itself Harry.” He nodded ever so slightly and unwrapped himself.

Ron quickly took Harry’s offered hand in his own while Hermione took the other, completing the
triangle, and with a thought, they were gone.



10. untitled
------------

**A/N – firstly, this chapter was very hard to write and I’m not entirely happy with it. It was
hard to know how someone would react to what happened in the last one when I have never, ever been
or known anyone in a similar situation so if some of you find it a bit…unbelievable, I’m sorry. I
tried.**

**Secondly, I don’t think I have thanked you, my faithful readers and reviewers, for a few
chapters now, so I’m sorry. I read every review and wish I had time to reply (but unfortunately I
don’t) – they really mean a lot so thank you, thank you, thank you.**

Chapter 10

Hermione blinked hard and the world came into focus, though it took a moment for her to
understand what had happened, what she had witnessed. The image of Harry sobbing in the middle of
the forest, surrounded by bodies, flashed before her eyes.

She felt like being sick.

But she wasn’t, instead she looked to the Harry who was sitting opposite her, his eyes closed
and the small smile on his face contrasting harshly with the run of tears that continued to flow
from his closed lids.

She let out a sigh of relief, knowing that at least one of the safe guards she and Stella had
put in place worked – Harry was under hypnosis now, her invasion into his memories held at bay
until his trance is broken. For the moment, he was at peace.

She turned to her right to see Ron opening his eyes and looking straight at her, his face
sporting a large angry bruise just above his right eye.

“What happened?” she asked with no preamble, continuing to look around and not liking what she
saw.

The room was a mess with bits of the walls and ceiling littered around the floor. Stella sat
propped up against one of the walls, obviously unconscious, a trickle of blood escaping down from
her mouth.

It was then Hermione realised she too was bleeding, tasting the bitterness of her blood as it
slowly dripped from her nose into the edges of her mouth. Ignoring it she looked back at Ron.

“It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” he started, reaching out to wipe away some of her
blood with the corner of his shirt, then looking at Harry, who alone seemed unscathed, “is he
alright?”

“He’s still in a trance,” Hermione explained, taking one of Harry’s cold hands in hers, “at the
moment its best to leave him there until everything is sorted. What happened? Is Stella…”

“She’s alive,” Ron answered quickly, “Harry hit her with this huge force not long after you went
in. Shoved her back into the wall real hard. I checked her out though, I’m sure she’s just knocked
out.”

“Merlin,” Hermione gasped.

“It was like there were ten wizards in here Hermione,” Ron carried on, unable to hide the awe in
his voice, “when you…you let go of his hand, things were exploding all over the place. He started
fires out of no where, conjured up creatures just to have them snarl and disappear…”

“What happened to your head?” she asked, trying to ignore the knowledge that it had nearly all
failed because she had let go, even after her reassurances that she wouldn’t. It was her fault.

“Harry kinda hit me,” Ron explained with a shrug, “when I knew I was loosing you both and went
in to bring you back...I… I don’t think he wanted me to. That’s when your nose started bleeding
too.”

Hermione sighed and looked back at the serene looking Harry, knowing that his peace was soon
going to end. She was dreading the next step, which was to break him out of his trance, remembering
everything. It was the most dangerous part for both Harry and those who could be affected by his
magic – which meant her and Ron. If he was able to cause so much mayhem while supposedly safe
within his unconscious, God knows what was going to happen when it all comes rushing back.

“Hermione, what went on? What…what did you see?”

She closed her eyes at Ron’s question and immediately the image that Harry was forced to watch
ran through her head. With a deep breath, she turned to Ron, knowing that the three of them had
agreed previously he would see Harry’s memories through Hermione, and that she had known this was
going to happen. It didn’t make it any easier though.

“Are you ready?” she asked simply – Ron just nodded.

Hermione felt Ron enter her mind roughly, his legilimens skills only developed for retrieving
Harry and Hermione back if something went wrong – and for this moment. Hermione let him see what
she had from the moment the grey had turned into memories to when Ron had arrived. He retreated as
soon as Hermione told him he had seen it all and they sat staring at each other, lost in their own
thoughts.

“Bloody hell,” Ron uttered after a moment, “Hermione, what are we going to do? He saw…he
thinks…bloody hell.”

“I know,” she whispered, fighting the tears that were threatening, knowing if she let them
start, they wouldn’t stop.

“No wonder he didn’t want to remember any of this,” Ron said softly, looking back at his
friend.

“But he has to,” Hermione stated firmly, also turning to Harry, “and we have to help him get
through it, both of us, because I know…I can’t do this on my own…”

Her voice cracked slightly as one tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. She wiped it furiously
away, took a deep breath and got herself under control in time to feel Ron reach out and hold her
hand.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked. Hermione turned to him gratefully, glad he hadn’t tried
to comfort her at a time when all it would’ve done was help her break down. He had really grown
up.

“I’m going to have to bring him back,” she explained, thinking hard, “with Stella incapacitated
at the moment, I’ll have to break the trance. He…it will hit him, what he saw, it might go a bit
crazy. If he did all this when he’s not fully aware, it’s going to be worse when he wakes…”

“If it’s worse than what he’s already struck us with, it isn’t safe,” Ron replied with a frown,
“I don’t think there’s anyone alive who will be able to control him…”

“Maybe…maybe you should go then,” Hermione said, hesitating slightly, “I mean, you have a
family…”

“I’m not leaving,” Ron stated, his frown growing into a scowl, “I wouldn’t *have* a family
if it wasn’t for Harry and I’m not leaving him now. Besides, you need me.”

“Thanks,” she replied thankfully, “because I really, really do.”

“Right, let’s get this over and done with then,” Ron carried on, “what shall we do?”

“Tread very carefully,” Hermione said with a wry smile.

She then turned her attention back to Harry who continued to sit oblivious to all that was
around him. Taking a deep breath, she began.

“Harry, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Hermione.”

“Harry, I need to bring you back to us, bring you home. Will you let me do that?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember what has happened today? Where we have been?”

“Y…yes.” Hermione cringed as a light above them exploded.

“Are you still at your happy place Harry? I need you to hang on to your happy place but you also
need to remember…”

“Okay,” Harry interrupted, sounding slightly panicked – a small fire started on the far wall;
Ron quickly put it out.

“I’m going to help you wake now, but first tell me…tell me about your happy place.”

“I’m sitting next to you on the couch at our house, you…you are reading, leaning onto me.
I’m…holding you…”

Hermione paused and took a deep breath. Harry’s happy place was something so simple, so
*boring,* but it shook her to her core. It told her more than anything what his deepest desire
was – normality.

“Hold on to that Harry, don’t let that go.”

“Okay.”

“At the count of three, you will wake up and you will remember all, including how much you are
loved, do you understand Harry?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Hermione paused and looked at Ron, who nodded that he was ready, “one. Two. Three.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open – but that was all she saw. In a flash, she was hurled backwards,
hitting the wall with a heavy thump. She felt all her air push out of her as she landed in a pile
on the floor and along with an intense, sharp pain in her side, she guessed she’d probably damaged
a couple of ribs.

Trying to fight the pain, she raised her head in time to see Ron fall to the floor against the
one of the other walls, the crack of bone breaking audible. He didn’t move, his arm stuck out in a
grotesque angle.

Hermione then looked at Harry, who was shuffling backwards madly, his eyes wide and full of
fear. She could hear him mumbling ‘no’ over and over, frantic looks darting between Stella, Ron and
herself.

Gritting her teeth, she struggled to get up, wincing as pain shot through her body. The room was
buzzing with so much magical energy, she didn’t want to chance using her wand so she held her
damaged side with her arm and made her way slowly to where Harry was.

“Harry?” she called out tentatively – he turned and looked at her, his eyes growing ever
wider.

“Get away from me!” he yelled, scrambling back faster, only stopping when he hit the wall,
“you’re not real!”

“Yes I am,” she tried to soothe, still making her way to him, ducking as a piece of the wall
went flying over her head, “what you saw, what Voldemort made you watch…”

“You’re dead!” Harry interrupted, the tears that had briefly dried beginning to flow once
more.

“I’m not Harry,” Hermione continued, stopping inches in front of him, “remember? Remember your
happy place, the place with me in it. Remember our home at Godric’s Hollow. What you saw, Harry –
that was a lie.”

“No,” he groaned, shaking his head with confusion before looking back at her, frowning, “no…this
is a trick! You sound like Hermione but you’re not her! You’re the lie!”

She couldn’t help letting out a scream as she was picked up by some unseen force and pinned
against the far wall, several feet above the ground. The pain in her side was getting unbearable
but soon that wasn’t her major concern – she was loosing her ability to breathe.

“Harry!”

The grip on her lessened slightly allowing Hermione to frantically drag in some air to her
protesting lungs. Still hanging and pressed against the wall, she looked down and saw Ron move as
he called out, his arm held loosely at his side. Harry had turned his attention to the redhead, who
was making his way cautiously toward him.

“Ron?”

“Yeah mate, it’s me,” Ron said quite casually, “you need to let Hermione go.”

“This…this isn’t her,” Harry stuttered, glancing between Hermione and Ron before settling on
Ron, “you…you’re dead.”

“I’m not dead Harry,” Ron stated, “bloody sore, but not dead. How can I be? I mean, I married
Luna and have two nippers, remember?”

“Married?” Harry repeated; the grip on Hermione lessened even further, letting her slip down the
wall slightly.

“Yep,” Ron tried to laugh, “ages ago now. I mean Artie is, what, two? Three?”

“Artie,” Harry frowned, thinking hard, “Artie is my godson…”

“That’s right,” Ron agreed, “you and Hermione, you’re his godparents.”

“Hermione…” Harry groaned, looking back at her.

She felt herself be gently released, falling on the floor only because her legs could no longer
hold her up. The air around the room began to lose its magical spark as things started to return to
normal, but now she didn’t have the energy to use her wand to take the pain away so she just lay
there and gasped in air.

“Hermione,” Ron exclaimed as he hurried to her side, “are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” she tried to say, but only a whisper came out, “you?”

“I’m alright,” he informed her with a small smile, “arm’s broken and a headache you wouldn’t
believe but other than that…”

“What about Harry?” she croaked, trying to at least sit up right – Ron gave her a hand before
they both looked down the room at their friend. He had gotten to his feet but was standing stock
still, watching them, “help me up,” Hermione told Ron.

Leaning heavily on Ron’s good side, Hermione got shakily to her feet as he helped her walk down
the length of the room so they could stand before the unmoving Harry.

“I…I didn’t recognise you,” he tried to explain, “I still had the you from school in my
head…your hair…I didn’t…”

“It’s okay…” Hermione tried to say but he quickly cut her off.

“It’s not okay!” he shouted, making the hairs on her arms quiver with the rush of magic, “I
nearly…I…oh God…” He racked a trembling hand through his hair.

“At least we know you’ve got your magic back,” Ron joked, trying to smile – Harry just looked at
him stunned. But he seemed to relax a bit, the fear abating slightly from his eyes and Hermione
could tell he was thinking. Hard.

“I…I need my glasses,” Harry said after a while, barely above a whisper.

“I’ll get them,” Ron quickly answered before turning to Hermione, “can you stand.”

“Yes,” she said, ignoring Harry’s guilty groan, “thanks.”

Hermione watched as Harry’s eyes followed Ron to the slumped figure of Stella and saw whatever
colour left in his face disappear as he staggered slightly backwards. She was about to reassure him
that Stella wasn’t dead when Ron returned.

“Here you go mate.”

Harry took his glasses from Ron and shakily put them on. Now able to see properly, he looked
around himself and saw the destruction he had caused, his eyes finally resting on Ron, then
Hermione. He took a deep breath.

“I can heal you,” he stated simply.

“Heal?” Ron repeated, looking between Harry and Hermione, “Harry, I’m not sure that’s such a
brilliant idea. I mean, you haven’t used magic for over five years…”

“Thanks Harry,” Hermione interrupted, holding his gaze, “I’d really appreciate that.”

She knew she was taking a risk, that there was a chance he won’t be able to control his magic,
but she also knew that there was more of a chance that he could indeed heal her and Ron, even
Stella. And there was a bigger chance he could do it without a wand.

“Hermione, I really don’t think…”

But neither Harry nor Hermione really heard Ron’s protest as she was transfixed by Harry who had
raised his hand, the palm flat towards her body. She felt a tingle pass through her, and then a
warmth that began in her lower trunk area and then spread throughout her being. The pain in her
side was gone and the ability to breathe was once again normal – he had fixed her.

She turned to Ron, who was watching with his mouth open, his surprise obvious – Hermione
smiled.

“Bloody hell,” Ron gasped, staring at Harry, “how did you…?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged, “I just did. Do you want me to…?” Harry indicated to the useless
arm hanging at Ron’s side and Ron just nodded his acceptance. Hermione watched with interest as
Harry re-set Ron’s arm and healed the wound on his head, all in a matter of seconds. She could see
the energy transfer from Harry to Ron, making her realise that normality was never going to be
there for Harry, not if this gets out.

“Thanks mate,” Ron enthused, testing out his newly fixed arm.

“I’ll…I’ll go and see if I can help Stella,” Harry continued absently, as if on automatic pilot
and without a second glance, made his way to the slumped Healer.

“Have you got any idea what’s going on?” Ron urgently whispered to Hermione as they both watched
their other friend.

“I have an idea,” Hermione replied with a frown, “but…”

She didn’t finish her sentence as saw Stella waken, look at Harry with shock, listen to whatever
he was telling her, then leaving with only a small glance at them. Harry then walked back to where
they were standing, his face grim.

“We need to talk,” he muttered as he made his way to the wall, sat down with his back against
it, rested his arms on his bent knees and hung his head wearily down, his shoulders slumped.
Hermione looked at Ron quickly before joining Harry on the floor, sitting crossed-legged in front
of him, Ron following her.

“Perhaps we should get Stella back…” she began tentatively, but was quickly cut off.

“I don’t want to talk to Stella,” Harry nearly growled, “I want to talk to you, both of you! I
don’t want anyone else involved!” He looked angrily at her before suddenly averting his eyes,
hanging his head down once more. Ron and Hermione exchanged looks.

“No problem,” Ron tried to say as if it really wasn’t a problem, but Hermione could see his
unease, “so I guess we should talk.”

“Harry,” Hermione began, reaching out to take his hand, frowning when he recoiled at her touch,
“what can we do to help?”

“Get rid of the images in my head,” was the reply, full of anguish.

“Would you like us to obliviate you?” Hermione asked, dreading the answer. Harry was silent as
he thought.

“I thought you said it was important Harry remembered,” Ron quizzed, not really a question but a
statement of fact.

“It is,” Hermione explained quietly, “and Harry has remembered, releasing the magic that we knew
had been held back. But we…we saw what happened…”

“…and it was all a lie,” Harry whispered, “everything, it was all a lie.”

“Yes,” Hermione sighed.

“But how?” Ron asked, thinking, “I mean, how did he do it? When we found Harry, there were no
bodies other than Death Eaters and Voldemort.”

“I buried them,” Harry groaned, closing his eyes, “I dug two graves…”

“Oh God…” Hermione cried suddenly, making him look at her, understanding instantly why she
sounded so horrified.

“He used someone else,” Harry frowned, sounding sick, “the bastard made two innocent people look
like you and Ron and then tortured them to get to me.”

“Who…who do you think they were?” questioned Ron glumly, looking between his two friends.

“There were twelve students unaccounted for,” Hermione told them, trying desperately not to cry,
“chances are it was two of them.”

Harry hung his head as Hermione and Ron sat in silence, each lost in their thoughts. But
Hermione’s brain was anything but silent as a million questions buzzed around. The horror of what
Voldemort had done nearly overwhelmed everything else, but there were so many issues that needed to
be addressed, to be fixed because she knew she was loosing Harry. The logical part of her
understood that when he looked at her now, he saw her being taken by those monsters in the forest
and that was the reason he wouldn’t look at her for any longer than a few seconds, and why he
pulled away from her touch.

But that didn’t make things any easier.

“We need to find them,” Harry said after a long while, finally breaking the silence, “we need to
find them, find out who they are and give them a proper burial.” Ron agreed and turned to Hermione
as he did so.

She, however, kept looking at Harry as he removed his glasses before holding his head in his
hands. For all his desire to talk, Hermione knew that he wasn’t going to, not really. She and
Stella had discussed in length what was needed and how to obtain it. Hermione realised it was time
to put one of those plans into action; she just hoped it would work.

“Look at me Harry,” she instructed briskly. He put his glasses on and glanced up at her for a
moment before quickly dropping his gaze once more at the floor.

“Hermione, what are you…”

“He can’t look at me Ron,” Hermione interrupted harshly, “can you Harry? You can’t bear to look
at my face for even a minute – is it because I repulse you? Is it because what you see now is
someone soiled by other men? Did you think that it looked like I was enjoying it? Or was Bella
right…”

“Shut up,” Harry growled ominously.

“But I can’t shut up Harry,” Hermione carried on, starting to feel scared but knowing she had to
do this, “because we have to get rid of the images out of your head and we can only do that by
obliviating them or talking about them, so I’m talking about them. About how you saw Ron die, how
you saw me…”

“Shut up!” he yelled, standing and storming away from them. Hermione took a deep breath, tried
to reassure the worried looking Ron that she knew what she was doing then got up and followed
Harry.

“You saw me Harry, saw me be violated again and again. You watched as men abused me until I
could no longer scream…”

“No…”

“When you look at me now, all you see is them and me; me …”

“You were enjoying it!” he screamed, finally facing her, the air once more charged and bristling
with magical power, “the night with me, you never…not when I was in…you only…when I did…”

Hermione gasped as Harry exposed his reasoning. She tried hard to remember what she had seen and
grimaced when she realised the poor girl who had been in her place had done what sometimes happened
during a sexual attack – she had climaxed. Harry’s point of reference was the night they had spent
together, their first night, where they had both been nervous and unsure. He was right; he had
pleased her but it had been through their explorations of each other and not because of the same
thing that pleased him.

“Harry…”

“How can I touch you!” he carried on, his tears starting once more, “how can I be with you
knowing that what was once so special is so horrible for you now! I’m no different than them!”

“Don’t you dear say that Harry Potter!” she yelled back, “you are nothing like…”

“They did to you the same as what I did, the night before,” he scowled angrily, “and I wanted to
make Bella pay for what they had done to you, make her suffer like you did! I’m no better…”

“Harry,” she began, edging closer to his glowering form, “when you and I are together, it is
because of love, of respect and our sleeping together is a reflection of that. What happened to
that poor girl, was something of hate and dominance, of power…”

“I nearly…Bella…”

“You didn’t and you wouldn’t…”

“I killed her…”

“You did what you had to do.”

“I dug your grave with my hands,” he sobbed quietly, his tears now falling freely.

“I’m not dead Harry,” Hermione soothed, standing only inches away from him, “it wasn’t me. You
are the only man that has ever had me, and the only man that ever will.”

He looked up at her then, staring at her with an intensity that made her shudder. But he didn’t
look away, he just kept looking at her, and she could see at last he knew what was real and what
wasn’t.

“We need to find them,” he stated, his voice hitching with emotion.

“We will,” Hermione replied, knowing that it was the two who had been killed in the forest all
those years ago that he was referring to.

“It’s nearly over,” he breathed, his emotions finally catching up with him as his body began to
shake with his cries. She took him in her arms then, holding him tight as he sobbed on her
shoulder. Ron joined them and wrapped his arms around them both, his tears joining in Harry’s and
Hermione’s.

It was an hour before the three left the room hidden in the bowls of St Mungo’s. When Ministry
official’s swarmed the magical room to verify the rumoured power that Harry was supposed to have,
they found nothing, all evidence hidden easily away. When they tried to find out more information
on how Voldemort died, he gave them nothing more.

When the trio joined their family and friends, who had waited patiently for them outside, they
told them that Harry had his memories and his magic back. They said that it seemed the previous
tests were wrong and that his power was no different than anyone else’s. They also said that what
he had seen the night Voldemort had died didn’t need to be shared any further. The secret remained
with the trio.

A week later they were in a clearing in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, all signs of the
event that took place there hidden by nature and time. Hermione and Ron waited as Harry once again
let his memories take over and it wasn’t long before they found the make-shift graves, shallow but
hidden by a barrier of magic Harry had left. They put names to the two set of bones that they found
– Tania Smith, a fourth year Ravenclaw and Jack Howath, who had been a Hufflepuff – then, with the
help of the Order, re-buried them with their families.

For Harry, things took a while to improve as at times he was still haunted by the images he had
been forced to watch. But Hermione was there, as she always was, ready to help him whenever he
needed it. And although there were still many hurdles for the young couple, they were happy.
Contentedly happy.

Hermione’s twenty-fourth birthday was one of the best she had ever had. She and Harry had gone
to the Burrow and been spoilt by Mrs Weasley with her cooking and by everyone else with their
presents and good humour. However, Hermione didn’t realise the best was yet to come as they flooed
home that evening full of food and perhaps one or two too many glasses of wine.

It seemed, however, that Hermione’s night wasn’t yet over as with a wave of his hand, Harry lit
a number of candles that had been strategically placed, started some soft music and began a homely
fire.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked her gently, offering her his hand. She smiled and took it
gratefully, letting herself be drawn into his embrace.

“What a perfect day,” she sighed, loving the feel of him in her arms.

“Molly definitely puts on a brilliant spread,” Harry smiled.

“She sure does.” Silence.

“Hermione, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure Harry,” Hermione answered, pulling away from him slightly so she could look at him, “what
is it?”

“Well,” he started, softly running the pad of his thumb down her jaw, “you know that I love you,
that you are everything to me. I would’ve died so many times if you hadn’t been there, worrying and
caring…”

“I love you too Harry,” she interrupted, suddenly nervous.

“I know,” he smiled, “it’s just that, I can’t imagine my world without you in it. Ever. So I was
hoping that you’d agree to make what we have, you and me, permanent.”

“What…what are you saying?”

“I’m asking you to marry me, to be my wife, forever. I want to have a family with you, I want to
grow old with you – I want you Hermione, I *need* you. Will you marry me?”

She stopped and looked at the man standing in front of her, so different from the boy she met on
the train all those years ago but strangely, still the same. He still had the wild hair and green
eyes; he still had the scar in the shape of a lightening bolt on his forehead; he still had a look
of cheeky innocence even after all he had been through and seen. But he also had strength,
intelligence and understated power emanating from him without him even knowing. There was no
mistaking he was a man, a man she loved, faults and all, with all her heart.

“Yes,” she finally replied, letting a lone tear escape and roll down her face and laughing as he
smiled the most amazing smile before wrapping her up tight in his arms.

**A/N – one more chapter of lovely fluff coming up next week…**



11. untitled
------------

**A/N – here you go, the last chapter. It’s just a bit of fluff – gentle and unassuming. Hope
you like it. Sorry it took so long but my mum’s in hospital and visits take it out of you
so…**

**Before I leave – I’d like to thank you all, lovely readers and reviewers.** **I wish I
could answer all your comments, but time just won’t allow it. I appreciate all your kind words, I
really do. I must admit, I got my first real flame a few weeks ago for ‘Battle of Light’ and it’s
taken me a lot to remember that I had 649 reviewers loving the story and only one telling me I
should re-write it. Nearly gave up but hey, why give him (or her) the satisfaction.**

**Anyway, it might be a few short stories for a while – I really need to re-decorate the
bathroom and my mum will need care for a bit and these multi-chaptered fictions do take a lot of
time and effort. But I love Portkey, I love reading the other fictions and I love getting my ideas
on the screen so you will see me around. Thank you all once again – you guys are the best.**

Chapter 11

“Harry, come on!”

Hermione stopped yet again and waited for her husband of eight months to drag himself away from
a small roadside vendor who was selling a multitude of different spices. Ever since their arrival
in India a couple of days ago, it had been like this for Hermione – Harry enjoying his first ever
overseas experience with the enthusiasm of a child while she patiently stood by and watched. She
loved seeing him like this though, carefree and relaxed, a smile never far from his face.

But sometimes her patience ran out.

“Sorry,” he apologised as he caught up to her, readjusting the back-pack on his shoulders, “but
the smells…did you smell them? Amazing.”

“I know,” she smiled, taking his hand in hers as she felt the need to keep hold of him so he
didn’t run off again, “but we’re really late and I’d like to get there before vespers…”

“Vespers?”

“Evening prayer,” Hermione explained as she continued to briskly walk along the nearly forgotten
path that she had trodden so many times what seemed such a long time ago.

“I still can’t believe you lived with nuns for two years,” Harry admitted, shaking his head with
wonder.

“And I still can’t believe you can’t believe I lived with nuns for two years,” she teased before
pausing as the road rounded a corner and the convent lay before them, “we’re here.”

“Blimey,” Harry gasped, staring at the little piece of England sitting in the sweltering heat of
India. Hermione smiled a small smile before turning to Harry in a slight panic, a little bit unsure
how this was all going to work.

“Now Harry,” she started, frowning slightly, “ these are nuns, so you need to treat them with
respect – no swearing, no pretending to swear, no jokes about nuns or religion or…anything….”

“Hermione…”

“Also, the women in here,” she carried on, lost in her thoughts, “well, their experiences with
men are normally quite negative so they may not be that welcoming to you…”

“I kn….”

“And don’t mention magic or do any magic! They are all Muggles…”

“Hermione….”

“Oh, and they know me as Jane…”

“Jane. Right.”

“And put your t-shirt on! Honestly Harry, you’re going into a convent!”

Hermione finally stopped and looked at Harry, who was smirking back at her as he put a white
cotton collared shirt (that he had bought just a few moments ago) over the singlet he had been
wearing.

“Better?” he asked, doing up the buttons.

“Yes,” she stated as she straightened the collar, frowning once more when he chuckled,
“what?”

“Hermione, sweetie,” he tried to reassure, “we’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. And more importantly,
I promise I won’t embarrass you…”

“Oh Harry,” she cried, horrified, “I know you won’t! You’ll be the perfect gentleman. It’s just
that…”

“You’re nervous,” Harry finished for her, still smiling.

“Yes,” she admitted with a wry smile of her own, “how did you know?”

“Because you’re babbling,” he grinned before leaning closer and whispering in her ear, “and
you’re being a bit bossy.”

“I am not being boss…” she exclaimed, leaning away from him slightly so she could slap his arm,
full of indignation before smiling and nodding slightly in acknowledgement, “you’re right, I
was.”

“Of course I’m right,” Harry joked as he took her hand and started to walk towards the Victorian
styled building, “I’m always right.”

“Always right,” Hermione repeated with a smirk, “I’m afraid not, Mr Potter.”

“Well, okay, I admit, maybe not always right,” he carried on with a laugh, “but I get the
important things right. Like marrying you.”

“Granted, that was one of your better decisions,” Hermione said thoughtfully as she stopped
outside the front door and turned to him, “some may say your best.”

“And I would agree,” he replied tenderly before kissing her gently on the lips.

She smiled at him then turned back to the door, ringing the bell with the chain that hung next
to the door frame. She waited nervously, wondering whose job it was to monitor the front entrance
today. When the rectangle-shaped peephole was pulled open, exposing a familiar face, she let out a
sigh of relief.

“May I help you….oh my! Jane!” The peephole was slammed shut and Hermione could hear the heavy
locks (that kept out angry family members from forcing their way in) frantically be turned and
opened. In moments, the door was flung open and a very flushed Sister Clare stared at her in wonder
before shrieking and engulfing Hermione in a hug that easily could’ve rivalled one of Molly’s.

“Oh my! Oh my,” the nun kept crying, not letting Hermione go, “you’re back! Mother Rose always
said you’d come back! And look at you,” she held Hermione out at arms length, “you’re with child!
Oh, that is…wonderful!” she exclaimed before pulling her back into a tight embrace.

“Now, now Sister Clare, let the young woman go before you suffocate her.”

Hermione smiled as she heard the soft yet still commanding voice of the head of the convent,
making her look over the small courtyard that the front entrance opened up to, to see the tiny,
stooped frame of Mother Rose walking towards her, a couple more nuns trotting closely behind.

The old woman stopped a few paces away from Hermione and looked at her, smiling. She then
stepped closer, took Hermione’s face between her arthritic, wizened hands and pulled her gently
downward so the two women were eye to eye. Hermione felt slightly uncomfortable as the old nun
studied her, but she stayed silent and waited. After a few moments, Mother Rose’s hands moved from
Hermione’s face, down her arms to clasp her own slightly trembling hands.

“I see you’ve found your smile Hermione Jane,” the nun said with a smile of her own.

“Yes, yes I did.”

“Are you happy?”

“More happy than I ever thought possible,” Hermione replied, tears coming to her eyes, “you were
right, about everything…”

“I just acknowledged what you already knew in your heart, my dear,” Mother Rose interrupted
softly before smiling broadly and spreading her arms wide, “now, give an old lady a hug.”

Hermione chuckled as she embraced the small woman fondly. When they parted, the nun turned to
Harry.

“My,” she exclaimed with a grin, “and who is this handsome young man?”

“Mother Rose, this is my husband…”

“Husband?” Mother Rose quizzed, looking between Harry and Hermione, “child, you’ve been gone
less than two years and already you’re married? And with a little one on the way too, I see.”

“Um, yes,” Hermione said, blushing slightly.

“Good for you!” the old nun cried, “can’t let a fine fellow like this escape. Now, I’m hoping
you’re Harry.”

“Er, yes,” Harry replied, already blushing from the earlier comment.

“Hermione Jane never mentioned how striking you are,” Mother Rose stated, causing Harry’s blush
to deepen, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The honour is all mine, Mother Rose,” Harry replied sincerely, shaking the nun’s offered hand,
“I think, in fact, I owe you a debt of gratitude. If it wasn’t for you, Hermione may have never
come home.”

“Oh, I think she would have, even without my help,” Mother Rose smiled as she looped her arm
around Harry’s while mirroring the action with Hermione, guiding the couple towards the convent’s
garden, a small entourage tagging closely behind, “after all, look at what was waiting for her,”
she winked conspiratorially – Harry blushed once more.

“Mother Rose,” Sister Clare called out as she jogged up to the trio, “will Jane and her young
man be staying for dinner?”

“Oh, I hope so,” Mother Rose replied, pausing and looking first at Harry then Hermione, “it is
close to prayers but I do want to hear all that has happened since you left these walls. Will you
stay?”

“We don’t want to be a bother…”

“Pish posh, it is no bother at all,” the nun fussed while indicating that the convent will have
guests for dinner, watching as her charges skittered off to get things ready, “as you can see,
Sister Clare isn’t cooking tonight so it should be fine,” she added with a smile.

“Her skills haven’t improved then,” Hermione laughed, walking once more.

“No, they haven’t,” Mother Rose said with a shrug, “but she tries hard, the dear. Will you two
be alright waiting here in the garden until we have finished vespers?”

“We’ll be fine,” Hermione assured and watched fondly as the small woman hurried away to the
chapel.

“She reminds me of Albus,” Harry said wistfully – Hermione turned to him.

“She does, doesn’t she,” Hermione replied with a sigh, “I thought that too.”

“No wonder you stayed here,” Harry carried on, draping his arm over her shoulders and bringing
her in close, “this is an amazing place. Peaceful.”

“I know,” she agreed, resting her hand on her protruding belly as the life inside it moved, “I’m
glad we came. And so, it seems, does our little guy.”

“Yeah?” Harry grinned, placing his hand over hers, his grin growing when he too felt the kicks,
“probably the smells,” he deducted.

“I think he’s just eager to get out,” Hermione laughed, “though he still has three months to go,
the little tyke. Impatient, just like his…”

“Mum,” Harry cut in, smiling as his wife playfully slapped his arm.

“You better be careful, Mr Potter,” she warned before once more looking out at the very same
view that she had been looking at when she had made the decision to return to England. Again, the
sun was setting, filling the sky with an orange-red glow.

“This is beautiful,” Harry breathed.

“Isn’t it?” Hermione replied, falling into his embrace, her head resting on his chest as his
arms wrapped around her expanded waist. They stood there silently, watching the sun continue its
journey downward, only moving when Sister Clare came and told them dinner was ready.

The meal was slightly awkward as the women in the convent were unsure of Harry’s presence and
although the nuns treated both Harry and Hermione warmly, it wasn’t until only Mother Rose, Sister
Clare and the three other nuns, Mary, Louise and Frances – all who knew Hermione as Jane –
remained. Talk soon turned to Hermione and Harry’s story, which they told from the moment Hermione
landed back on English soil.

It was quite late when the subject of the wedding was broached, but no-one seemed to want to
move as they waited to hear the details.

“We got married in December…” Harry started.

“…during the school holidays, since we wanted to have the ceremony at our old school…” Hermione
continued.

“…and even though Hogwarts wasn’t empty, it was close enough…”

“…because everything was such a huge secret, no-one knew the wedding was taking place except our
friends…”

“…who are very good at keeping secrets…”

“…anyway, I stayed at the school with Ginny and Luna, who were my bridesmaids…”

“…while I stayed at home with Ron and Neville…”

“…it was amazing, we had the best time. Minerva, that’s the headmistress, she let us stay in my
old dorm room…”

“…while we mucked around, had a few bu…beers and just laid back…”

“…then all the woman came to help me get ready. I felt so special. It was perfect…”

“…and the Great Hall, I couldn’t believe it when I first got there. Everyone had done such a
brilliant job, it looked beautiful. But nothing compared to Hermione, when she walked through those
doors…”

“…Harry was so handsome, with his hair sticking up every which way making him look even more
gorgeous…”

“…my heart stopped. When I saw her, this vision in white, coming towards me. I had never seen
anything so beautiful in all my life…”

“…oh Harry!”

Hermione leaned towards her husband and hugged him tightly, blinking back the tears that had
begun to gently fall. They had started telling their story to the nuns, ping ponging between each
other like they did so often. But when he had described her, they had looked at each other and she
could see his love deep within his eyes. Her heart had nearly burst.

“It’s true,” he continued tenderly, momentarily forgetting they had an audience, “you were
dressed up and a, well, bride. But you were still Hermione, my Hermione, in your eyes and your
smile – the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Thank you Harry,” Hermione breathed as she leaned forward, giving him a chaste kiss, “I love
you so much.”

“I love you too,” he said back, wiping away a few of her tears. Suddenly, a loud sound of
someone blowing their nose shattered the relative quietness of the dinning area causing both Harry
and Hermione to turn to the nuns, startled.

“Sister Louise!” Sister Clare admonished, “could you disturb the moment any worse with your
noise!”

“I’m sorry,” the young nun wailed, “it’s just that, Harry and Jane, I mean Hermione…oh dear,
that was just so lovely!”

Hermione smiled shyly as she looked around the faces of the women she had shared a part of her
life with, a part that had seen her sad and half a person. They were all looking back at her with
watery eyes and expressions of delight – none more so than Mother Rose. Hermione held the old nun’s
gaze as those around them said their goodnights, obtaining promises that the couple will return and
say goodbye before leaving.

Mother Rose stayed sitting, however, her eyes never leaving Hermione. After a few moments, she
took Hermione and Harry’s hands in her own.

“I am nearly eighty four,” she began, her tone sombre, “and in all my years I have never seen a
couple so connected as you two young people. You may well still be in your honeymoon phase but I
feel that what you have, this thing you have, will be with you forever. You are both incredibly
lucky.”

“Thank you Mother Rose,” Hermione replied softly.

“You know something,” Harry said as both women turned their attention to him, “if I look back on
my life, it hasn’t been that great, you know? An orphan raised by a family who didn’t want me,
bullied, picked on, nearly killed more times that I care to think about, watching people I love
die. Yet, I see myself as one of the luckiest people alive. I have married my best friend,
literally. I’m surrounded by those I consider my family and I’m soon to have a family of my own.
Life is good.”

“Life is good,” Hermione repeated, looking at her husband.

“Life *is* good,” Mother Rose copied, accentuating the statement with a nod while patting
Harry’s hand fondly, “you’re a good man, Harry and I think well worthy of our Hermione Jane.”

“That’s high praise Mother Rose,” Harry smiled, “thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome,” the nun acknowledged warmly before standing up stiffly, “now, I’m
afraid I have to escort you off the premises so I can catch up on my beauty sleep. I’d offer you a
bed here, but, well, the rules can’t be broken I’m afraid.”

“That’s fine,” Hermione assured hastily, also standing, “we’ve booked a room in the town…”

“We’re so sorry,” Harry added, following Hermione, “we didn’t mean to keep you up so late!”

“When one of our girls comes back successful, it’s never too late to hear her story,” Mother
Rose stated, once more drawing Hermione into a hug, “and your success, Hermione Jane, is heart
warming. I always had faith that your path would be a happy one. Now, you will come by before you
leave, won’t you.”

“I will Mother Rose,” Hermione promised, and with a wave goodbye, she and Harry left the
confines of the convent and made their way back down the still bustling street.

Hermione was lost in her thoughts, remembering what Harry had said and the way that he had said
it. His love for her is never in doubt – as is hers for him – but the way he spoke of their wedding
had been so…reverent. Yet there was something that was bothering her...

“Did you really mean that?” she blurted out.

“Mean what?” Harry asked with a frown.

“When Mother Rose said you were worthy of having me,” Hermione continued, her pace slowing down
then stopping altogether, “and you said it was high praise – did you mean that?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

Harry stopped, looked at her and smiled his crooked, disarming smile that makes her weak-kneed
every time. The fact he was holding both her hands in his was the only reason she remained
standing.

“Growing up, I didn’t deserve you,” he began earnestly, thinking hard, “all throughout Hogwarts,
I took you for granted. I just expected you to always be there to help me with my homework, to find
out all the answers and to keep me out of trouble. I didn’t even acknowledge the fact you were a
girl until the Yule Ball, where you showed me quite spectacularly that you were beautiful. Yet you
continued to look out for me, continued to help me, continued to love me even though I really gave
you no reason to…”

“Harry…” she interrupted but he stopped her with a finger gently placed across her lips.

“You sat by my bed for three years when everyone else had given up. You put your life on hold
for me for a love that you didn’t even know was going to be returned. You are the most intelligent
person I know, you are kind, you are caring and you are beautiful. You continue to give without
expecting to get anything back – how can you not see that you deserve the very best that love can
offer? And that I am so honoured to be chosen as being worthy of giving you that love?”

“But it’s me that’s honoured Harry,” Hermione interjected with a frown, “you are an amazing man
for so many reasons! You’re incredibly good looking, what with that hair and those eyes, not to
mention you body. And you saved the wizarding world! You’re famous! You could’ve chosen anyone, any
woman, anywhere…”

“And I chose you.”

“Yes.”

“Hadn’t we already agreed that was one of my better decisions?”

“Well, yes. But…”

“There aren’t any ‘but’s’. And you’re wrong, I couldn’t have chosen any woman, anywhere because
my heart had already been given to you. No-one else ever came anywhere close to how I felt about
you. How I feel about you. And no-one ever will.”

She looked up at him in wonder, remembering the little boy she once knew that had found it so
difficult to express how he felt, who now was able to make her feel so incredibly loved with his
words. She grinned

“You’ll need to remember this day Mr Potter,” she said cheekily.

“Why?”

“Because I’m accepting the fact that I was wrong about something.”

“You’re kidding!” he exclaimed in mock shock, “that must be a first!”

“Don’t push it,” she laughed, starting to walk once more, “now, let’s get to bed…”

“Why, Mrs Potter, that’s a bit forward, isn’t it? Oh well, a husband’s got to do what a
husband’s got to do…”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, you,” she growled playfully, “I’m the size of a small
hippopotamus, been on some form of public transport for what feels like days, I’m hot and dirty
therefore the idea of letting you have your way with me is the furthest thing from my mind.”

“Really?” Harry questioned as they entered the foyer of the small hotel they had booked into,
“oh well, I’d hate to make you wrong twice in one day so I guess I’ll…”

“…help me take a bath,” she interrupted nonchalantly as Harry opened the door to their modest
but comfortable room. Harry paused at the door jam as Hermione manoeuvred past.

“Really?” Harry repeated, obviously shocked.

“Close the door Harry,” Hermione instructed, taking off her top and kicking off her shoes, “we
don’t need to shock the other guests.”

“But…” he stuttered as he quickly did what he was told.

“Come and prove me wrong.”