I Believed Her

Electric_Blue

Rating: R
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 01/09/2006
Last Updated: 11/04/2007
Status: in_progress

He has lost everyone that ever really meant anything to him, and now Harry Potter struggles to remember what he's fighting for... if only he had not believed her promise that everything would be all right. Her promise of love. If only he had been able to save her.

Chapters

1. Prologue

2. Picking Up the Pieces

3. Part II

4. Part III

1. Prologue

Title: I Believed Her

Author: Electric_blue

Rating: NC-17

Chapter Rating: PG

Warnings: M/F, angst, dark themes, character death

Disclaimer: You know I don't own this, why do I even have to put a disclaimer?

Author's Note: So you've stumbled upon this story... I promise there will be some happy moments littered through out, but you're in for a lot angst and uncertainty, too. Forgive me for what I've done in this chapter. It's sad, but had to be done.

Also, it seems to me that some people are confused as to when this is taking place. The first portion of this is taking place now - about ten years from the time Harry first discovered he was a wizard, so about four years after what should have been his final years at Hogwarts. The second portion is him recalling something about three years before. The rest of the story will mostly take place in this flashback time frame, sometimes with a portion of Harry's introspection which you see here. I probably should have explained that in the first place... but this is why anything you are led to believe happened in the beginning has not also happened yet in the flashback. Harry still has three years to catch up on with you. It's sort of a Moulin Rouge type deal...

Lastly, I am already getting reviews complaining about this being depressing. Well, yes. I don't write fluff, though I do have something strange worked out for this story to where it might not be such a sad ending. I'm one of those people who likes to put characters through hell to see if they can weather it, and then bring them back better for it. We'll see. I hope you can appreciate this story for what it is - which is certainly not a happy little fluff piece. With all that being said, I give you:

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I Believed Her

Prologue

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“A wise God shrouds the future in obscure darkness.”

-Horace

Blood. Screaming. Pain. Anguish. How is a person supposed to be able to keep doing this?

It is human nature - wizard or otherwise - to romanticize war. This is done so that the people who are not a part of the fighting will never know the horror of it all. They will only know the bravery involved. The cunning. The strategy. The heroism. They will look upon those who are fighting on the side they hold to be their own as warriors fighting to restore peace - to keep them safe. They look at us as heroes. Hero. What is a hero anyway? Someone who rides in on a white horse to save the day? To save the good guys from a horrible fate? I've been called a hero - a champion - so many times that it's lost all meaning to me. I'm starting to think it's just a word used to describe something that could never really exist. There is no wondrous being capable of saving the good guys from their horrible fate... because, in the end... nothing can do that. In the end - in war... the good guys die, too.

Ron... it's been three years now.

It becomes harder and harder to differentiate between the side I'm fighting for, and the side I'm fighting against... In battle, there is no good side or bad side. There is only people fighting to stay alive. It is only when someone has died that the sides become relevant - discernible - again. We realize that we are battling to the death in these troubled times, and it's either kill or be killed. Even then, however, I wonder... is murder ever justifiable? By killing those who threaten us, are we any better than them? Blood stains my hands the same as any death eater. If I can think of no better way to win this war other than death and destruction - am I any different? I have lost sight of what I am fighting for. I have lost sight of everything. I find it hard to call myself a good man when I have done so many terrible things. Like I said, there is blood on my hands and it will never wash away. The raging ambiguity towards myself and this fight that tears apart at my very soul is enough to make me wish I had never been born.

We are so close to ending this war. So close to victory... and all I can think is; I want no part of it. Ten years of fighting. Every one whom I had loved - gone. I have nothing left to fight for... There was a time I could have pushed myself to fight through my pain and disillusionment just because it was the right thing to do. The honorable thing. I'm Harry bloody Potter... it's what people expect from me. I just don't have that in me anymore.

Not since I lost... her.

She was the light amongst all this darkness - proof that there was still good in this world... and my last reason for fighting. How was it possible that I had loved her to the point where it unhinged my very being? She was my world - my life.

Hermione…

She's gone now... and she's taken everything that was left of the hero Harry Potter with her.

*** THREE YEARS BEFORE…

Ron was dead.

Death is such an odd thing... especially in the wizarding world. There is so much more mystery surrounding it. Would Ron show up one day smiling and transparent? Was he truly dead in the first place? Perhaps a faulty spell had been cast on him. Perhaps it hadn't been a spell meant to kill him. Perhaps he was stuck in limbo - waiting for us to rescue him. These are the possibilities that must have been running through everyone's mind... and all of them lead to the idea that we would see Ron again or that he wasn't truly dead. A hope like that, especially when deep down everyone knew he truly was gone, was just heart breaking.

I remember the day so clearly. Not the day he died, not the day of his funeral - those memories I manage to block out quite effectively with spells or alcohol - but the day after his funeral...

I sat quietly on the old dirty sofa in the den of Number 12 Grimmauld Place... thinking that the name Grim had never quite fit this place as much as at that moment. The thought that Ron would never walk through the doors of the old home was soul shattering, and I could think of no better a place to have one's soul shattered than the very place I sat...

Ginny Weasly sitting across from me.

“Ron's...” I clenched my jaw, unable to form the words - unable to believe them, even though I was quite incapable of keeping them from replaying in my mind over and over again...

Ron's dead, Ron's dead, Ron's dead, Ron's dead, Ron's dead, Ron's dead, Ron's--

“I know.” Ginny interrupted my thoughts with a deep sorrow laced through her voice

“Then why are you saying this to me? Why now?” I asked, not meeting her eyes. I kept my gaze cast safely on the old wooden floor - my gaze that threatened to turn to liquid at any moment. She was breaking up with me. Leaving me. It seemed a very unimportant thing to be so horribly heart broken over in light of my best mate's death... but I couldn't help it. The next few months were going to be hard on us all - harder than they had already been - and this was the time we needed each other. We had to stick together, not fall apart. I needed Ginny... and she needed me. I didn't understand why she was doing this to me. To us.

“Because I can't...” She stopped and I could hear her swallow... I could almost imagine her clenching her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to see the effects her words were having on me... though I would not look up. I had faced Voldemort more times than I could count on one hand and had lived through innumerable battles and attempts on my life from some of the most cruel wizards and witches that ever walked the earth - but I was too frightened to meet the eyes of the woman whom I had loved so deeply for two years. I was frightened that I would see resolve etched on her beautiful face. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle that... because then I would have to accept that it was really over between us.

“I can't put things off anymore.” She continued. “I used to think that we had all the time in the world to do what needed to be done and to say what needed to be said... but we don't.” She paused. “Harry, we just don't.” My heart constricted painfully as it occurred to me that she was pleading for me to understand.

“What are you saying?” I risked a glance up at her - and saw briefly the stricken expression that had settled over her features. The beautiful red hair that I had loved so much was bunched up in a tight braid - tied with a long black ribbon. A black ribbon for Ron. I think, maybe, that was what caused my voice to break as my next words left my mouth. “That you've been meaning to do this for a while?”

“Harry... no. God no.” She took a deep breath. “I can't spend the rest of my life waiting for you to be ready for me.”

At this, I finally looked up at her - meeting her eyes, really meeting them, for the first time that night... and I saw it. Resolve. Why I even kept speaking after that was beyond me - i knew it was a lost cause. Maybe it wasn't in me to give her up with out fighting for her.

“I love you, Ginny. I'm ready for you now. What do you want from me? I'll give you anything.”

She gazed at me sadly.

“Harry, you can't give me what I want.” She responded solemnly. “Even when we're together, you're always off some place else. The war will always come first--”

“When the war is over--”

“We could all be dead.” She said shrilly, cutting me off. I had nothing to say. “Who knows if we will even win this war? Who knows if you'll be around tomorrow to make good on your promises of paradise - and who knows if I'll be around to accept it?” She shook her head and her eyes glazed over with tears that I knew were not for me. “All we have is now... the next moment isn't guaranteed to us.”

I took a deep, quite unsteady breath.

“Do you still love me?”

Ginny was quiet for a few moments, and then she nodded.

“This isn't a question of love. I know you love me, Harry... and I'll always love you - but I have to get away from here.” She paused. “I have to live my life. Too many people are counting on you now. Especially now.”

And that was the story of my life, wasn't it? I could never have what I wanted because there was always evil to fight, and I was always being counted upon.

I sat there silently - having nothing more to say. I lost track of the time... minutes, hours, hours upon hours. Who knew how long I sat there. Ginny left at some point - maybe she's said something to me, but I wasn't listening. I couldn't listen to her anymore, no matter what she had to say. All I knew was that it was quite possibly the last time I would see her - the woman I believed to be the love of my life was - ironically - walking out of my life.

A small part of me, even in my grief, knew that Ginny was right. Life was much too short for me to ask her to put it on hold and wait for me... and that is what she had been doing. Waiting. I could never really give her what she needed. Not until the war was over... and, just like she had said, who knew if any of us would even be alive?

So lost in thought and agony was I, that I never noticed Hermione take the seat Ginny had previously occupied. Not until she spoke.

“All right, Harry?” Her words penetrated through the thick haze of disorientation that threatened to engulf me, and I looked over at her. I did not know how it was possible to feel anything other than utter sorrow, but the sight of her soothed some of my over wrought nerves. I was so grateful that she was still there... one of the last people in the world whom I shared a connection with. I wanted to pull her to me and embrace her tightly until neither of us could breathe, but my weak heart would not allow it... and so I only said:

“I'm glad you're here.”

Hermione smiled wanly - though it still held a trace of her usual warmth.

“I'm not going anywhere.” She responded, reaching over and placing her soft hand over mine. Somehow, I was able to believe her... and for a few moments, things seemed almost all right again. The warmth in her eyes was almost like a promise - telling me that things would not be like this forever. The sun would come up the next day as always, and she would still be there. She would always be there...

Why... God, why had I believed her?

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2. Picking Up the Pieces

Title: I Believed Her

Author: Electric_blue

Rating: NC-17

Chapter Rating: PG

Warnings: M/F, angst, dark themes, character death

Disclaimer: You know I don't own this, why do I even have to put a disclaimer?

Author's Note: I just wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed! I try to respond to everyone personally, but sometimes time will not allow it - especially since I'm back in school. Just know that I appreciate all your feedback, no matter what you say :-) I hope you enjoy Chapter 1!

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I Believed Her

Picking Up The Pieces

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“How calm, how beautiful comes on The stilly hour, when storms are gone! When warring winds have died away, And clouds, beneath the glancing ray, Melt off, and leave the land and sea Sleeping in bright tranquility. “

- Thomas Moore

“--I said, Harry?”

I looked up to see the weathered face of Remus Lupin with a furrow in my forehead. He, along with about a dozen other order members, stared at me expectantly from their seats at the long mahogany table. Suddenly I realized how very cold it was in the small and drafty room of the house that we used for such official gatherings as these, and I shivered a little. The shiver, however, was due more to being brought back to such a cold reality from my thoughts rather than realizing I was in a cold room. I looked around at everyone seated at the table for a confused few moments, and then looked at Remus. I took a deep breath and swallowed.

“I'm sorry... wh-what did you say?” I asked a bit hesitantly. Remus sighed, and I was not all together unaware of the annoyed shifting of seats that followed my response.

“I asked if you heard anything I just said.”

I glanced around again.

“Er... yes.” I lied. Truth be told, I had taken to zoning out in to my own world at these meetings for the past few weeks. It wasn't something I did on purpose, of course... but I found that it was so much harder to keep my thoughts focused. They would say things like, “Well, if we'd have been here during the time of the attack, we most assuredly would have been able to save Ron, you see...” or “We must learn from Ron's death and not sweep it under the carpet and pretend as though it had never happened”... As it turned out, however, that's exactly what I wanted to do; pretend it never happened. So when they said things like this, when they tried to treat his death as though it was something we could use to our advantage, that was it for me. I couldn't listen anymore. Couldn't even try.

Remus looked at me wearily.

“Harry, I'm sorry,” he started with a slow shake of his head. “... I know this must be hard for you, but it's important that you stay here with us right now. You know you are integral to this fight and you need to have all your wits about you.”

“I know.” I responded shallowly.

“You know?” Moody asked - aggravation very obvious in his voice as well as his harsh features. I kept my eyes on Remus as he looked over at him and held a hand out to calm him before his annoyance got out of hand.

“Now, Moody, Harry is just--”

“I know what Harry is just.” Moody interrupted Remus angrily as he stood up. I looked over at him and met his good eye. The other swept over the room madly. “You've lost a friend, boy...” He said to me. “And we're all sorry for it... but, Harry, dammit.... we've all lost friends. We've all been through hell in this war. We've all suffered.”

I could see Arthur Weasley shift uncomfortably in his seat from the corner of my eye. Mr. Weasley's behavior since his son's death had been admirable. While it was still very obvious that he was not himself - that he was certainly grief stricken - he did not let it get in the way of what needed to be done. He showed up to these meetings, and he put his whole self in to them - setting Ron aside. I'm sure it must have been hard for him, but he did it.

It was something I could not do.

“Alastor,” Remus started reasonably. “I will ask that you please sit--”

“Let him talk.” Kingsley Shacklebolt interrupted, my eyes shot to him in an instant. “Harry needs to hear this, Remus.” My anger was now beginning to rise at this unexpected and hostile intervention. At first, when Moody had spoken up, I had been quite a bit too numb to think much of it... but now the pleasant numbness was wearing off and I was feeling the full effects of these words.

We've all suffered?

I needed to hear this?

A mumble of agreement murmured from most of the remaining people in attendance who had not yet spoken up sent a pulse of fresh anger surging through me.

Which was fine, really. Anger was so much more satisfying an emotion than sorrow.

“Why are you all suddenly attacking Harry?” Tonks asked sternly as she stood as well. “What has he done beside show some heart and grieve after his best friend's death?” Moody turned his eye on her with a jolt.

“This is ridiculous, really.” Arthur said from his seat before Moody could get in another word. I turned my head to look at him, wondering what he meant. In his eyes was the deep sadness that was always there when he was about to speak of Ron... and I knew he was not going to chastise me. “Harry was one of my son's best friend's in the world. Saved each others' lives more times than I can count. Risked them for each other, too. The fact that Harry can't seem to get over this, to me, speaks to just how deeply he felt for him.” He stood. “And I'll have no part of telling him it's not right.”

He turned to me then.

“Thank you for caring so deeply about my son, Harry. I know what kind of friend you were to him, and I'll never forget it.” He said. I swallowed and then nodded - my anger melting away... and he walked away from the table, and out of the room.

“That was over a month ago!” Moody rasped harshly. “In war we don't have the luxury of an extended grieving period. Why must we continue to make special allowances for Harry Potter? Surely we've all gotten over all this `boy-who-lived' tripe!”

It was then, when the room erupted in to a full blown war zone, that I decided to leave as well. It was strange that the argument had been started over me, but in the end they hadn't even noticed “the-boy-who-lived” leave the room.

I found Mr. Weasley in the foyer as he wrapped his scarf around his neck, and cleared my throat. He looked over at me just as he was reaching for the door. We stood there silently for a few moments before he spoke.

“I meant what I said.” He said to me with a nod.

“I know... Thank you, Sir.” Was all I could think to say in response. He grabbed the door knob, opened the door, and was gone. I stood where I was absorbed in thoughts of Ron and unfortunately of his sister, and then turned to head up to my room - but ended up halting abruptly.

Hermione stood in front of me with a nearly apologetic expression on her face.

“I heard...” She started as she gestured back toward the room the meeting had been taking place in. “I was in the library, and...” She shrugged, trailing off.

I managed a small smile and a shrug of my own. I felt the usual comfort and easiness that accompanied the site of Hermione fall over me... She was the only person who understood exactly what I was going through, and I was grateful for it. I was grateful for her.

“What are you gonna' do?” I asked nonchalantly.

“Harry...” She took a step toward me, and the scent of cucumber melon lotion floated around me. That seemed to be her favorite lately. She had gone through a cherry vanilla phase and I found that this new scent fit her better. At any rate, I preferred it. Sometimes I would be sitting next to her in the library and have a very strong impulse to pull her in for a hug just so I could breathe that scent of hers in. It never really occurred to me back then that it was an odd impulse. I never thought about it. “They had no right to say those things to you.” She finished.

I shrugged again, not really knowing what to say.

“I've dealt with this kind of stuff my whole wizarding life. You were there for most of it, so you know.”

Hermione shook her head in displeasure.

“You should never have had to deal with it, and you should not have to deal with it now. You've done more than most those wizards in there...” And she continued on, though after that I was only vaguely aware of what she was saying, because I had realized something at that moment. This woman standing in front of me was the one person who could be credited with keeping me together - sane - for the past few weeks. No, that wasn't true. It had been years that Hermione had been looking out for me and caring for me. She'd been there since the beginning. She was amazing and wonderful, and always had been. “... How dare they speak to you as though you were nothing more than a ch--”

“I love you, Hermione.” It seemed natural to say this to her, and I wondered why it had never occurred to me to tell her this before. She was my best friend, and there was no other word for how I felt for her. She deserved to hear it. Ginny had been right in that we didn't have all the time in the world to say what needed to be said and to do what needed to be done.

“Harry, I...” She swallowed - looking quite touched. “Thank you, Harry.”

I closed the space between us and wrapped my arms around her tightly, and she held me just as tightly back. We stayed there like that for a very long time, I'm not really sure how long. It didn't matter, really. All I knew was that hugging Hermione and breathing her in was the most important thing I could have been doing at that moment... and it could have been a life time.

Finally we pulled away from each other and wordlessly made our way back to the order meeting... together.

******

I sat breathing heavy and huddled up against the dirty wall in a dark room that wasn't my own. Number 12 had so many rooms that went empty... and I didn't want to be in mine just then. I just went to the floor at the very top of the stairs, and then to the room at the very end of the hallway. It was very possible that no one had stepped foot in here in over a hundred years, and so every breath I took contained equal parts dust as it did air.

Yet there was still enough dust to cling to my tear and sweat slicked face.

My bloodied hands worked furiously with an old and ragged piece of cloth to cleanse themselves and had been doing so for at least a half an hour. I banged my head against the wall again and again, disturbing the dust more and more. I was covered in it, but I didn't care. Dust seemed so very trivial when a person was already caked on with layers of blood and mud as though they had just bathed in it. Tears ran uninhibitedly down my face, clearing clean paths of skin only to be covered a moment later by the dust that hung so heavy in the air.

Why me?

I had never asked to be “the-boy-who-lived”. I never asked to have some sodding connection with Voldemort. I never asked for fame or this damned hero worship. I was just a boy and I had been thrown in to a war that everyone expected me to know how to win. They expected me to have all the answers... and I didn't. I just didn't. I felt that they actually believed me to be made from something other than flesh and bone - something indestructible. Harry Potter could do anything... that's what they thought. They'd confused by ability to do what was right even when it was the hardest thing with bravery. I wasn't brave, I was scared. Horrified.

All this war and death... God, I just wanted it to be over. When would I be able to live my life and be... just Harry?

The door opened from the outside and light, dim though it was, poured in to the dark little room from the hallway. I looked over at it and saw Hermione silhouetted against the light.

I looked at her only for a moment and then looked away - scrubbing at my hands with the cloth even harder than before. I wanted it off - the blood, the pain, the death. I wanted it off, and I wanted it off now... So I scrubbed until it hurt, and then I scrubbed more.

The door closed again, and I could hear the floor creak as Hermione made her way towards me in the dark. Slowly she kneeled in front of me - the smell of cucumber melon wafting toward me along with more dust. Not even that smell could calm me this time.

“... Harry.” She said softly.

“Why did he have to die, Hermione?” I nearly yelled at her. I hadn't even been aware that I had been thinking about Ron, but it had been so hard to keep my thoughts clear lately. I wasn't surprised.

“Sometimes, things happen that way...” She responded sadly. I shook my head furiously.

“I could have saved him!” I yelled again. “I should have. I was able to save him all those times before... I failed him. I let him die...” I broke off in to tears, yet still I scrubbed madly at my hands. I felt as though my heart was being crushed my the weight in my chest.

“No, Harry.” Her words were firm and definitive. I swallowed.

“Hermione--”

“No.” She repeated... and then placed her soft hands over mine. I looked down at them as, prying them apart, she took the cloth from me. “Your hands are clean, Harry.” She whispered. For a few moments I was still... and then I buried my face in my newly unoccupied hands and cried. I didn't care that Hermione could hear me... It was hard to care about anything just then.

A moment later, I was in Hermione's arms - the scent of cucumber melon as strong as ever - crying on to her shoulder and holding her as though my life depended on it. A small hand ran soothingly through my hair. God, this woman was everything to me. She was the one person who was supposed to be there for me and care for me who hadn't left me. My parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Ginny... Ron. They were all gone, and all that remained in my life was Hermione.

******

I walked out from my bathroom - rubbing my head with a towel to dry my hair. I was now thankfully devoid of sweat and mud. Hermione sat waiting for me at my desk. She had helped me back to my room and had drawn me a shower as I had been a bit too out of it to do anything myself. I looked at her and took a deep breath, throwing the towel over the nearby armchair.

“Better?” She asked as she stood up. I nodded.

“What were you doing here?” I asked quietly. I could see her swallow.

“I didn't want you to be alone after...” She shrugged. “I didn't want you to be alone.” It struck me, just as it always did, just what a good friend the woman standing in front of me was.

“How did you know where I'd be? It could have been any of a dozen rooms I was hiding in.”

Hermione looked down.

“I heard... there was a banging noise. I just followed it.” She looked back up at me and I felt a little ashamed for what I had been doing. We both knew that hurting myself wasn't going to do anyone any good and wouldn't make anything better. “Is your... is your head all right?”

I rubbed the back of my head at that question, realizing it was a bit sore - but nothing to owl home about.

“It's fine. Don't worry about it.” I said, dropping my hand back down to my side. “... Will your parents miss you?”

“My parents understand what's going on in the wizarding world. They don't ask me too many questions when I leave.”

I nodded, and then went to sit at the edge of my bed. Running a hand through my hair, I looked up at Hermione who was still standing near my desk.

“I'm glad you were here.” I said. “I don't know how long I would have sat up there... I'd probably have rubbed the skin off my bones by now.'”

Hermione flinched a little... and then walked towards the bed, and sat next to me. For a moment I thought she would take my hand or put her arms around me, but she didn't.

“You know you never have to bear these things by yourself, Harry.” She started. “You never have to shut yourself up in a dark room like that again. You're not alone. I'm here.”

I met her eyes then - and saw nothing but sincerity in the honey brown pools. I couldn't help but feel touched. I gave her a small smile and she returned it - tucking some of my wet hair behind my ear.

“I know.” I said, taking her hand that was still raised from having touched my hair. Bringing it to my lips, I kissed it softly and then held it in my lap with both of mine. She covered them with her free hand. There was more warmth in that gesture than any I could think of giving or receiving my whole life prior.

“How many times have you put me back together now, Hermione? I think I've lost count.” I said with a small laugh. Hermione laughed a little as well.

“Well what are best friends for if not for picking up broken Harry Potter pieces and gluing them back together?”

“I suppose that's true.”

Hermione put her head on my shoulder, and I found myself breathing her in again as I rested my chin in her hair.

“Everything's going to be okay.” She said. I closed my eyes allowing myself to be comforted by her warmth and scent.

“I know.” I responded quietly. “If you say it, then I believe it.”

“Oh really?” She giggled a bit. “I'm also the Queen of England, did you know?” I smiled.

“God save the Queen.”

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Hermione sighed and pulled away from me. I watched her as she stood. Placing her hands on either side of my face she pulled me to her and placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. I held on to her wrists for a moment, and then let her go as she stood straight.

“You should rest now.” She said. “I'd imagine you're quiet tired after today, and tomorrow will probably be wrought with order meetings and whatnot.”

I took a deep breath, and then nodded. She smiled at me warmly, and then turned to leave.

I grabbed her hand before she could go.

Hermione turned back to me with a somewhat confused look on her face.

“Harry?” She asked. I rubbed a small circle over her hand with my thumb and then let it go.

“Will you be... going home tonight?” I didn't know why I felt a bit nervous asking that question... I just knew how I felt when she was near, and I didn't want to lose that feeling. I didn't think I could handle it just then. Hermione looked confused for only a second longer, and then the smile returned to her face.

“I'll be here.” I could have breathed a sigh of relief at those words, but managed not to be quite that pathetic.

“Good night, Hermione.” I said.

“Good night, Harry.”

That night, I slept better than I had in years.

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3. Part II

Title: I Believed Her

Author: Electric_blue

Rating: NC-17

Chapter Rating: PG

Warnings: M/F, angst, dark themes, character death

Disclaimer: You know I don't own this, why do I even have to put a disclaimer?

Author's Note: I just wanted to thank every person who has read and reviewed this story so far. It remains to be amazing to me. I have a break coming up, so hopefully I'll be able to get back to responding to everyone personally.

Also, something that must be said - but that I will say nothing more about (as it will become clear through out the story), is this: ... I never said Hermione was dead... ;-D And sort of going along with that, while I certainly am a fan of the sadder, more angsty stuff - I prefer stories with more of a bitter sweet ending rather than just plain sappy or conversely just plain depressing. However... you're still in for some hard times if you continue to read. It's just what I do.

But there will be reprieve. Trust me.

Annnnnyway, thank you for coming this far, and I hope you enjoy:

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I Believed Her

Chapter II

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“Now conscience wakes despair That slumber'd, wakes the bitter memory Of what he was, what is, and what must be Worse; of worse deeds worse sufferings must ensue!”

-John Milton

I woke up suddenly - lightly sheeted in sweat and my breathing heavy. Gulping a bit for air, I sat up. The finer details of the nightmare that had brought me up so unceremoniously from my sleep were already beginning to fade away back in to my subconscious. The main idea of it, however, was still fresh in my mind.

Hermione... she had been killed.

Taking in a few deep breaths I told myself it was just a dream - though that did nothing to ease the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach away. That was when I noticed something... something very strange about my face. Usually when I woke up in the morning there was not a piece of paper taped to my forehead... and since it was not there when I had gone to bed the night before, I could only assume that it had been placed there as I slept. I furrowed my forehead and reached for my glasses on my night stand. Pulling the paper off of my face and putting my glasses on, I read:

Did you know you talk in your sleep? I found it quite entertaining. Tell me, Harry... what exactly is a Magical Tea Party? It certainly sounded lovely. Meet me in the kitchen, and perhaps you will be so obliging as to explain it to me.

- Hermione

I smiled to myself as the last bit of the nightmare slipped away from me.

And then my smile faded away as I remembered all the horrible events of the previous day, and the reason Hermione was here in the first place. Taking a deep breath, I set the note down on my night stand and threw my feet over the edge of the bed. I looked around the room as though I thought something important or interesting would be there... I supposed it had just become habit. Right after Ron died and Ginny had left, every night I would say some kind of silent pleading prayer for them both to be back the next morning, and had taken to expecting them to be there when I woke up. I made myself believe that if I wanted it bad enough I could make it happen - the way magic sometimes worked. After a while, though, I had to force myself to understand that no amount of magic would bring Ron or Ginny back. I had been able to stop hoping for Ginny, but couldn't help but still hope for Ron. Maybe he was just hiding from us. Maybe he was just playing some sick and twisted practical joke...

I shook my head. These were the things I hated thinking. No. He wasn't hiding - he was dead. Why couldn't I just accept that? Everyone else had seemed to...

Standing up, I decided to take Hermione up on her offer. I had to get out of this room.

******

Just outside the kitchen, the smell of frying food met my nostrils. I was not at all used to waking up to that smell. Mostly all I ate for breakfast - if I ate breakfast at all - was a bit of fruit. I lived alone since Ron was gone and it was odd waking up to someone else in the house. At any rate - I usually just ate my meals (if they could ever really be called “meals”) quickly in my room before heading down to the ministry for my latest assignment or to the unofficial meeting room downstairs for the latest debriefing.

Walking through the kitchen doors with a crease in my forehead, I grinned slightly at what met my eyes.

Two frying pans shifted back and fourth over the stove as four slices of toast spread marmalade over themselves above the table. A salt shaker danced with it's pepper counterpart - a bit of amusing magic that probably had gotten away from the one wielding it. It seemed like a scene straight out of Mary Poppins... Hermione sat at the table with a book in one hand and her wand in the other - waving it lazily back and fourth as she multitasked as only she could. It was all very domestic in a wizarding world kind of way.

“I feel like I should be breaking out in to song or something.” I said with a grin from the doorway. Hermione looked up at me suddenly from her book as I had startled her. The frying pans crashed down on to the stove, and the toast landed neatly on the plate they had been hovering over. The salt and pepper shakers, however, continued on dancing on the counter as though no one was watching - twirling and dipping each other with invisible hands. It was as though they had been waiting an eternity in their inanimate slumber for this moment... and they weren't going to give it up just because Hermione had lost her focus.

I felt a twinge of sympathy for them briefly... the spell that had awaken them would be broken soon enough. They'd be put back to sleep for another eternity to helplessly await the next chance they got to spark to life. Did Salt and Pepper love each other? Knowing they did no have long, did their little permeable hearts break even as they finally got the dance they had been so long denied?

These are the kind of thoughts that made me think I'd gone completely sack of hammers.

“Harry.” Hermione said, bringing me out of my odd reverie - rolling her eyes at herself for having been startled so easily, and then smiled.

“Morning, Hermione.” I said as I took a seat at the table next to her. Then, looking around, I asked, “What's all this?”

Hermione looked around as well.

“I started out cooking the muggle way.” She started with a shrug. “I've been watching my parents do it for ages... but it's rather slow, and boring, and it just seemed like the perfect time to get some research done--”

I laughed, and found that I truly was amused. It felt good. More and more Hermione had been able to make me feel like the old Harry... and I appreciated her more each day for it. How was she doing this? How was she making it possible for me to sleep well and to laugh again? Again it was apparent to me just how lost I would be without her, and how lucky I was to have a friend like her in my life.

“I don't think there's a scenario in which you wouldn't deem the perfect time to research.” I said. She shrugged and poured me some orange juice. “At least you can do that the muggle way.” I teased.

“Who are you, Daren Stevens? Would you like me to do away with magic forever and do everything the hard way even though it's absolutely ridiculous because I need only to snap my fingers to get it done?”

I laughed again. That was twice. Twice this girl had made me laugh in the span of five minutes.

“Touchy subject?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Bewitched was a horrible show and an equally horrible representation of witches and our world.... and what kind of bigot had she married in the first place? If he loved her at all he would have accepted that she was a magical being and loved that about her as well... and why did she have to listen to him all the time? Just because he was the man, he's automatically her owner?” Hermione shook her head. “Completely misogynistic if you ask me.”

I blinked.

“Too bad your parents went in to dentistry instead of psychiatry... looks like you may have some issues need working out.”

Hermione stared at me in mock offense for a few moments before a smile broke on her face, and she laughed. I found that making her laugh was just as gratifying as her making me laugh... more so even. I wanted to make her laugh all the time. Make her smile. She had done so much for me, and making her happy suddenly seemed like the most important I had to do. Winning the war came second.

I realized at that moment, quite astonished, that Hermione had managed to do in five minutes what Ginny hadn't been able to do in two years... She had somehow gotten me to place her first. Or perhaps... perhaps it hadn't been in five minutes. Perhaps Hermione had been pushing her way to the most important thing in my life since I had met her... or perhaps she had always been first. She and Ron.

That made the most sense...

It had always been Ron and Hermione, the war, and then Ginny. Maybe that was really why Ginny had needed to get away from me. She was not only competing with my inability to place her first over the fight... she was competing with a dead man and another woman...

Another woman? That had been a jolting thought. That made it sound so... wrong. Hermione wasn't another woman, really. She was just a female version of Ron. A prettier, bookish, more petite version of Ron...

“You all right?” Hermione asked with a furrow in her forehead. I looked at her, realizing that I had been lost in thought for a few moments, and then took a deep breath.

“I feel like Ron should be here.” Was what came out of my mouth. I didn't think I was even planning on saying that. Hermione looked a little surprised, and then sad. I wished that I could take that look off of her face and make it so that it would never be there again... but I knew that was impossible. I knew that she and Ron had had something that she and I had not had. Something more than a friendship. They never really spoke about it or acknowledged it, but it had been there. Something. Maybe they'd have done something about it one day... but that wouldn't happen now. Ron's death was just a plethora of wasted possibilities.

“He should be.” She responded after a moment, looking down at the table. She took a deep breath. “Sometimes when I'm... happy, I feel like I shouldn't be. How can I be happy when Ron's gone? I feel guilty.”

Somewhere inside I knew the words I was supposed to be saying... something about how Ron wouldn't want us to feel that way. He'd want us to continue on with our lives and find happiness where ever we could get it. I should have said that there was nothing wrong with us laughing even though Ron wasn't around to laugh with us. There were so many things that I knew were the right thing to say... but I could say none of them - because I felt the same way Hermione did. I couldn't force myself to say these words that I didn't really mean.

“... Did...” I started. “Did you and Ron ever...?”

Hermione didn't look up at me as she shook her head.

“No... well, yes... I mean, no. Not really.” She bit her bottom lip, and then finally looked up and met my eyes. I could see her fighting back her tears and my heart lit on fire instantly. I hated seeing her that way. “Sometimes he would say the sweetest things to me... and sometimes, when we were alone, I'd rest my head on his shoulder. He'd just hold my hand and we'd talk. Or we wouldn't talk.” She paused. “That was all we had... but during those times, it was enough.”

I swallowed - feeling a very deep sorrow for Hermione and Ron, and what they could have had.

“Did you love him?” I didn't know why I needed to know, but I did. Hermione looked back down.

“I don't... I don't know if I did. At least, I don't know if I loved him in that way.” She answered softly. “I knew I had strong feelings for him and that there was this unspoken agreement between us - when the war was over we'd see if there was more to our friendship than just friendship...”

The weight that was always crushing down on my chest intensified.

“I'm sorry, Hermione.” And I was. More sorry than I could explain, or than she would ever know.

“Well...” A familiar man's voice started from the kitchen doorway. Hermione and I both looked over in the direction of it a little startled. Remus leaned against the doorway with his hands in his pockets - staring at the stove. “Looks like someone was performing a ritual sacrifice of some kind.” Hermione's gaze shot immediately toward the frying pans which were formerly filled with cooking food, and were now filled with the charred remains of what might have been a good breakfast. Hermione grimaced a little as she let out a slight groan. “Those are frowned upon in the wizarding world, just so you know.”

Hermione looked at me and smiled apologetically. I gave her a small smile in return, and then turned back to face Remus.

“Are you the only one here?” I asked. Remus stood straight and took a step in to the kitchen as he gave me a short nod.

“I've arranged for you to have the day to yourself, Harry.” He started. I looked at him confused.

“Day to myself?” I asked. “I don't understand. The order will want to know--”

“They'll want to know a lot of things... but they'll just have to wait. Today is yours.”

It wasn't as though I never had days where I could do as I pleased - but I never had them after having been involved in a fight. The night before had been horrible... gruesome. There had been an attack in Muggle London. I don't think I had ever seen that much blood. That much pain. Voldemort and his followers were taking our war to streets that had no place in it... and innocent people were dying. Innocent people who had no part in what was going on. A fighting wizard at least knew what he was getting himself into. A muggle was oblivious and defenseless. It was the worst kind of war tactic I had seen... it was something done just to be cruel - sending the message that they were in control now. They're darkness wouldn't just mar the skies over Hogsmeade anymore...

And since this attack had taken place in a heavily populated muggle city, the ministry was going to have a hard time covering it up... and I was one of the key players in the defense and clean up the night before. The ministry and the order wouldn't have let me go for the day without a fight.

“How did you...?” I asked as I shook my head slowly.

“I simply explained to them that you had been through enough last night, and that it would be beneficial to all of us if you had a few hours to regroup before going through a tedious debriefing process.” I raised my eyebrows incredulously. As though it had been that easy. Remus looked from me to Hermione - who must have been making the same expression - then back to me again. “... Well, the words I used were more colorful than that as I'm sure you both can imagine, but the idea was something along those lines.”

I looked down and thought about this for a moment, and then took a deep breath. I shook my head, and met Remus' eyes.

“No.” I said. “I can't. People died last night, Remus... I was there and it was terrible, but that's no reason for me to go on some holiday. The order'll need me--”

“The order is always going to need you for something.” Remus interrupted, taking another step toward me - looking very serious. I almost thought he was going to lecture me... it wouldn't have been the first time. “None of us can say why some things happen the way they do, so I can't explain or even understand why such a young boy has been handed the weight of the world. You have so much responsibility and a lifetime of terrible things have taken the place of your childhood. So, I'm not asking you to frolic madly through great grassy meadows while singing show tunes... but I am telling you, today, you take some time and try not to think too much about the things you saw last night. Sadly, there will be plenty of time for that later.”

I bit my lip, and still was intending to argue the point... when a soft hand on my forearm caused me to look away from Remus and in to the eyes of my best friend. Her eyebrows were knit together in an expression of worry that I had seen so many times before on her face.

“Remus is right.” She said. “I saw you last night... you need this, Harry.” It wasn't exactly what she had said that made me concede... it was more the fact that she could have said anything at that moment and I would have agreed with her. There was something in her eyes that would have made it impossible for me to argue. Something beyond worry that I couldn't place.

After a moment, I nodded. Hermione gave me a small smile that didn't exactly reach her eyes as she pat my back.

“Good.” Remus said. “As for me, I've got a lot of work ahead of me at the ministry.” He looked at Hermione. “I don't think I have to tell you that I will be very perturbed to see Harry there at all today.” I looked over at Hermione as she nodded.

“I understand.” She responded. I felt like this should have made me mad. As though they could keep me from going to the ministry if I really wanted to - Remus' anger be damned... but it did not make me mad. I felt an odd sort of detachment from everything other than Hermione's soothing hand on my back at that moment. The notion the Hermione was using some kind of magic on me swam vaguely through my head, though I knew it wasn't true.

“Wonderful.” Remus put his hands back in his pockets. “I'll see you two a little later then.” He turned around and was about to leave, but stopped. “Oh,” he said and turned back to us for a moment. “Enjoy your sacrificial breakfast.” He said with something akin to a twinkle in his eyes before leaving Hermione and I alone. She looked over at the stove.

“Sorry about the food.” She apologized.

“Don't be sorry.” I said. “It's the thought that counts... and besides, I'm not exactly hungry right now anyway.”

Hermione sighed.

“You've lost weight.” She said with concern lacing her words as she gently nudged the plate of toast toward me. I looked down at it and then up at her with a nearly amused expression on my face. I took a piece and tore it in half.

“So have you.” I spoke - handing a half of the toast to her. She looked at it for a moment, and then let out a short sound from the back of her throat that constituted a laugh, and took the bread from my hand.

“I miss Hogwarts.” She said as she took a bite of the toast. “At least there we got three proper meals a day.”

“Yeah... and those were edible.” I remarked.

Hermione and I laughed together... after a few moments, the laughter died away and our smiles faded. We sat silently, staring in to each other's eyes. I wanted to ask her how she did that; made me feel like everything hadn't gone to hell around us. Had she always been able to do that?

Hermione cleared her throat, and then looked around the room. I blinked a few times - realizing I had been zoning out again.

“So... what are you going to do today?” She asked. I shrugged.

“I still don't know how I feel about taking the day off. It doesn't seem right.” I responded, feeling just a bit uncomfortable with the subject. It looked as though there was really nothing I could do about this little vacation of mine seeing as how I had been banned from the ministry that day and Hermione had been assigned to the task of seeing to it that I didn't disregard the fact. Everyone else around me seemed to think they knew what was best for me... so, in that way at least, it was no different than every other day of my life.

That thought lightly sparked something inside of me that I couldn't exactly control. The irritation that had not been present as Remus had told Hermione that he would be “perturbed” to see me at the ministry seemed to awaken and realize it had missed something before.

“Harry... what happened last night...” She shook her head. “It wasn't your fault.”

And at this, for some reason unknown to me, my irritation seemed to build upon itself.

“I know it wasn't my fault...” I said as I stood up and turned away from her, not really stopping to think why that had annoyed me. My moods had been very hard for even myself to predict or control for some time now, so I didn't bother trying to understand why her words had gotten to me the way they had. I just knew that they had, and I didn't have the grace just then to hide it. “Just like what happened to Ron wasn't my fault. What happened to Dumbledore and Sirius wasn't my fault either.” I shook my head and turned back to her, becoming more irritated as I spoke. “That doesn't mean that there isn't evil to be fought and that I don't have an obligation to fight it.”

Hermione looked upon me with an affected expression, and then dropped her gaze to the floor.

“You're not responsible for every bad thing that happens.” She said - her voice a bit strained as it had the tendency to become when she was upset. “And you're not responsible for stopping them from happening, either.”

Perhaps this should have made sense to me... but it only served to send my mood from irritated to mildly angered. I let out a laugh that wasn't really a laugh at all and shrugged largely.

“You know...” I started - my voice rising a bit. “I wish everybody would make up their mind about what they want from me. I'm either being asked to save the world, or being told that the fate of the world isn't my responsibility.” By the time I was finished speaking, I was nearly yelling. Suddenly Hermione stood up - her chair screeching against the floor as it slid back, the toast she had erstwhile been holding falling to the floor. The chair hit the counter - knocking the salt shaker that was still dancing with Pepper off of it's balance - wobbling once, then twice, then three times before plummeting to the floor with a resounding crash. Hermione's eyes locked on to mine. They were near angry and did not hold their usual warmth and compassion that I was used to from her when she looked at me. All at once my anger melted away leaving me to wonder why I had become so upset in the first place. Nothing was so worth getting riled up over if it was going to take the warmth out of Hermione's eyes.

“I've never expected anything from you, nor have I ever asked anything of you... “ She started - her voice becoming even more strained than it had been before. I could only imagine how I must have looked - staring at her; horrified at how I had spoken to her. “I've done nothing but support you, and I don't know where this is coming from, but I don't deserve it.”

And she didn't. She didn't deserve it.

“Hermione, I--” I reached out to her, but she pulled back before I could touch her. This sent a wave of pain crashing against my chest and I stood with my hand outstretched towards her for a few moments before I let it drop back down to my side. She stared at me with an emotion in her eyes and on her face that I couldn't read, but that I knew I was the cause of, opened her mouth to speak... but then said nothing, and closed it again.

Shaking her head - perhaps in disappointment - she walked passed me to the door. I turned around to look at her, not knowing what to do or say to keep her from going. She stopped - her hand on the door frame - and turned her head only slightly toward me. It looked like she was going to say something, and I wanted her to. I wanted her to turn back around and allow me to apologize to her. She had to say something. Anything... I couldn't handle her not letting me touch her, and then not speaking to me. It was too much... all because I couldn't control my temper. Didn't she understand that I was sorry? Didn't she understand that I needed her, and her not letting me close to her was like spearing glass through my heart? She had to let me apologize. She had to turn around.

The next moment Hermione walked silently away...

And if I didn't know better, I'd have sworn the Pepper shaker was trembling slightly as it gazed over the cliff that was the counter at the shattered remains of his dance partner.

******

I often think of that moment... the moment Hermione pulled away from me - not letting me touch her. I can remember the distinct sensation of not being able to breathe. I felt dizzy; sick. Up until that moment if I had wanted to hold her, I could. If I wanted to feel her, I could. If I wanted to talk to her, I could. At that moment, I knew I could do none of these things that I had grown so fond of in the months prior. It was as though I had lost something - something essential to my being - and it was horrible.

I did not know it then... but that would become the moment that I would later look back on and recall as the moment Hermione Granger became my whole life.

******

“If a man proves too clearly and convincingly to himself . . . that a tiger is an optical illusion--well, he will find out he is wrong. The tiger will himself intervene in the discussion, in a manner which will be in every sense conclusive.”

- Lord Bryon

I stood alone in the old cemetery - surrounded by nothing but old gothic statues, and a sense of death.

The scent of grass and wild flowers was not at all unpleasant and the day was cool but not cold - overcast but not exactly gloomy. Somehow... this was not an ugly place. Except for the gravestones, one could almost imagine they were in some old unkempt garden. That didn't take away from the almost eerie ambiance, however. Oddly enough - it really just seemed to add to it. It didn't matter how many wild flowers bloomed here, how good the grass smelled, or how nice the day was... death was still death. There was no changing that.

“Tell me what to do.” I whispered as I stared down at the graves of my mother and father for only the second time in my life - a cool breeze ruffling my collar a bit.

This is what I had chosen to do on my “day off”.

I had never asked my parents for anything - due in large part to the fact that they had not been around for the better part of my life... but I felt there was more to it than that. I had never been the type to look up at the sky and speak as though I felt someone was listening. Mostly this was out of fear that I would not get a response and consequently have to deal with the fact that, no - no one was. If I just closed my eyes long enough and focused hard enough... I could imagine they were with me. My parents, angels... God. Someone. Some higher being. I believed that they were guiding me in ways that I couldn't exactly understand, and had made myself think that I didn't need to ask for help to get it from them. In this way, I never truly was able to feel alone. I knew that once I tried talking to them, if they didn't answer - if they didn't help - that feeling would die.

But since Ron and Ginny... that feeling was long since dead anyway, and now I had nothing much to lose.

“Please...” Another whispered word - this time with a tinge of repressed agony, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. Hardly breathing, I waited. I waited for something; anything... anything to let me know that there was someone on my side. Someone guiding me along the way.

But for the sound of rustling leaves, and the steady beating of my own heart... there was nothing.

It occurred to me then... that there really was no great mystery surrounding death. There were two paths a person could choose - continuing on as a shadow of themselves, or letting go completely. Ghosts were just people who were too afraid not to exist anymore and who thought existing as a mere suggestion of who they once were was better than nothing. Some people, I supposed, knew that it just wasn't worth it. They accepted death and allowed themselves to become apart of the great nothingness that eventually engulfed everything in it's turn. My parents were not watching over me as I had let myself believe so many times before... they were just gone. Just like Dumbledore, just like Sirius, and just like Ron. They were gone. Of course they were. They'd all have been brave enough to see what lay beyond... even if it was nothing.

I let out a shaky sigh. Taking my glasses off, I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. Coming here had been a dumb idea to begin with and had yielded disappointing results to say the least. If I had felt alone before - that feeling was intensely punctuated now.

Harry...

I creased my forehead, and opened my eyes immediately. The word - my name - seemed to float at me on the breeze. So soft and light that it was very possible that I had imagined it... Almost as though the wind had howled in just the right way to trick my mind in to believing I had heard Ron's voice calling out to me. It had been his voice, hadn't it? I may have been depressed, but I wasn't crazy... and I'd know my own best friend's voice if I'd heard it. Was this the sign I had been looking for? Had Ron - wherever he was - heard my pleading prayer and sympathized enough to give me just a glimmer of hope? Was that even possible?

So I stood - quite still and as silent as I could manage... waiting to hear it again and wishing with all that I was that I would. If I could just hear it again I would have been certain that it was real. My mind and the wind couldn't conspire to conjure the same trick twice, could they? No. If I heard it for a second time then I would know that Ron was there with me - standing at my side the way he always had. Helping me in the seemingly most miniscule - but ultimately momentous ways. That's how Ron had worked; subtlety. Though I doubt he had done that on purpose. Ron had been every bit the bumbling sidekick on the surface... but beneath that he was so much more. His heart was in the fight and his bravery surpassed that of most others. After all, he had been one of the first to join me in the quest for the horcruxes even though he was terrified and despite his claims that the whole thing had been “mental”. He'd always been there. Right there. It made sense that he would be the one to try and alleviate the anxiety I was having that I was alone in the universe.

He'd been my best friend, after all.

But when I didn't hear the sound again... all I felt was a fresh wave of disappointment and a very raw tenseness. So tense was I that I had managed to bend the glasses that I still held in one hand to a useless bit of wire - and dig the nails of the other hand in to the defenseless flesh of my palm. Wincing at the suddenly realized pain, I unclenched my hand.

“Bloody...” I muttered as I surveyed the damage done to my glasses. It wasn't so much the fact that they were completely destroyed that annoyed me - that was an easy fix... it was more the fact that I had destroyed them. I had been standing in the middle of the cemetery waiting to hear the voice of my dead best friend calling out my name like a git, and had ruined my glasses in the process.

But then...

Harry...

Dropping the mangled wire and plastic to the ground, I looked around frantically - everything blurry and confusing.

“Ron?” I called out loudly. There was no mistaking it this time... and as there had been no wind blowing at that particular moment, it was impossible to blame it on that. It had been his voice for sure. I was certain... but it had been so faint. It was as though he were a million miles away - a world and a lifetime away.

There was no answer to my call.

“Ron, if you're here answer me, dammit!” I took in a sharp breath and then swallowed - adrenaline pumping madly through my heart. The thought that I might possibly see Ron again was almost overwhelming... and the fear that I wouldn't; heart wrenching. My head began to swim from both the lack of oxygen and the invariable headache that accompanied my un glassed eyes.

“Answer me!” I cried out in to the seemingly empty cemetery - my voice breaking. “Please...” Was added softly.

I breathed out a deep shuddering sigh and covered my face with my hands.

“You all right?” The deep voice so solid and real as opposed to the faint whisper that I had thought had been Ron's voice, combined with the fact that I was already extremely on edge - startled me to the point where I thought I may have a had a mini heart attack. I turned around quickly to face the owner - though I was unable to make out a face through the blur. At any rate, I didn't think I knew the person who stood in front of me anyway.

“Uh, yeah... fine.” I answered a bit too fast. Kneeling down I began patting around the floor for the wreckage that was my glasses. My hands came in to contact with them, and I attempted to adjust the mangled mess to my face as I stood. I couldn't risk doing the repairo spell on them just then as I wasn't sure if the person whom had just asked me if I was all right was muggle or wizard. I met the person's dark eyes warily - though one of the lenses of my glasses had fallen out... so it was with a half blurry gaze that I finally saw his tanned face. I was certain I had never met him before in my life. “Just lost my glasses is all.”

The man, who looked to be about my age, raised an eyebrow.

“Looks like you did a lot more than that to them.” He responded in an easy American accent. I briefly noted that, yes, he was much too tan to be exactly British... his skin color spoke of Summers on the California coast line or something like that. The man was also quite tall and lean with long brown hair pulled back in to a pony tail... I hadn't met many surfers - or Americans for that matter - but he certainly fit the physical stereotype.

I shrugged, not exactly knowing what to say or what to make of my new American acquaintance. I could see his eyes glance upwards toward the scar on my forehead, and then he met my eyes again. A sigh escaped him and he nodded slightly as though I had said something that made sense to him.

“Harry Potter, then?” He asked nonchalantly. I tilted my head - very confused.

“Who--” The man held out his hand.

“Daniel Blake.” He said. “I guess I'm here to help you...”

-->

4. Part III

Title: I Believed Her

Author: Electric_blue

Rating: NC-17

Chapter Rating: PG

Warnings: M/F, angst, dark themes, character death

Disclaimer: You know I don't own this, why do I even have to put a disclaimer?

Author's Note: Well... it seems to have taken me forever to get to this. This story was probably thought left for dead, or something to that effect. Rather a gloomy fate I should think... Or you should think. We should all think. I'm not sure exactly what it is I am saying, though I am happy to finally present to you all the next installment of this story. I do hope that it conforms to all prior needs and stipulations. The next chapter shall be out much sooner than it took me to write this one!

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed - I sincerely hope you keep reading and enjoying these simple words that I write!

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I Believed Her

Chapter III

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“Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Making it momentary as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!' The jaws of darkness do devour it up: So quick bright things come to confusion.”

William Shakespeare

I looked around the small studio flat that belonged to a man named Daniel Blake. Having been acclimated to the wizarding world for so long now, it was a bit odd sitting in an apartment that so obviously belonged to a muggle. Car keys hung on a hook by the front door, a telephone on the small table next to the couch (that I was sure doubled as a bed) that I was seated on, framed pictures that remained still. These were things a person would never really see in the apartment of a wizard. I was wondering to myself what train of thought had led me to think that following some odd man whom I had never met in my life to his apartment was okay. Sure, he seemed to know me... but a lot of people knew me, and that didn't necessarily make them friends of mine.

Blake stood against his kitchen counter facing me with his arms folded across his chest. An uncomfortable silence hung heavy around us as I waited for him to say something.

He didn't. He just stared at me with a curious sort of expression on his face as I attempted to pretend I was interested in what color his walls were - or the drawing of the Beatles that hung over his heater. Actually, that was quite good...

“D'you draw that?” I asked, not meeting his eyes, as I gestured toward the drawing. The silence was finally broken, but a sizable amount of awkwardness remained - reminiscent of an uninvited guest who just wasn't taking the hint that no one wanted him there. Blake leaned forward and turned to look at the drawing, then leaned back against the counter again.

“Me?” He asked, then shook his head. “Nah... a buddy of mine back home - he's the artist. It's music for me.” He gestured with his thumb back toward the drawing. “Great band though. One of the only good things you people ever did.” I raised an eyebrow and looked over at him. Us people?

“My country used to own yours, Mate.” I started thickly. “I'd think about that before the next time I decided to mouth off over whose country did what.”

Blake stared at me for a few moments looking only mildly amused.

“Sure...” He said as he shook his head. “That's not what I meant, but sure... I was talking about how John was a wizard.” I said nothing - my face blank. “Oh, come on. You didn't know that? What else would explain how popular they were? Genius like that doesn't spawn from a muggle mind.”

That made an odd sort of sense to me.

“Still doesn't explain why they were one of the only good things we've ever done.” I said monotonously - feeling a bit affronted. Wizards, while being eccentric and occasionally evil, were the people who really took me in and gave me the only real home I'd ever known. I couldn't pretend that there hadn't been some very bad things done in the wizarding world, but there had been a lot of good as well. So much good, in fact, that people were willing to sacrifice their lives to protect it. Great people...

And so, I could not help but feel offended. Blake took a deep breath - his face becoming serious.

“If you ask me... nothing good will ever come from magic. Only wars, power struggles, and jealousy. Human kind is better off without it.” He shook his head, but said nothing more. I did not pursue the subject as I, begrudgingly, understood his point of view.

“How do you know so much about my world?” I asked - eyeing him with just a bit of suspicion.

“The same way you know so much about mine.” He responded with a shrug. “I was raised in a wizarding family - the way you were raised in a muggle one.” Which explained a lot, really. Well, it explained why he knew about me, anyway. Actually... that was really all it explained. Perhaps sensing that I was only confusing myself further, Blake went on. “You've heard of psychics, haven't you?” He asked. I shrugged.

“Yeah...”

“Well... that's kind of like what I am. I can do things that usually require magic without using magic. I was given up for adoption as a baby and was adopted by a wizard and his wife. They sensed my magical potential... at least that's what they told me when they I thought I was old enough to understand. Except, well... there was no magical potential. There was only paranormal ability... see what I'm getting at?”

“What kind of things can you do?” I asked - my curiosity getting the better of me.

“I can... see things.” He answered a bit evasively.

“What... like dead people?” I cracked. Blake only stared at me blankly for a moment as though he didn't understand the reference, and then waved the comment away dismissively.

“I see peoples' thoughts sometimes... and get visions of-- well, not necessarily of the future, though I get those, too. It's really a variety of things. Sometimes I see things as they're happening... and other times I see things after they've already happened.”

“Well, what good does that do?”

“None at all, actually.” He responded with out missing a beat. “... Which is why these `visions' are more a curse than a gift. Head splitting migraines that come with pictures.”

I wanted to laugh at this, though something inside me wouldn't allow me to. The whole day was proving to be quite a strange one. Dancing condiments, order reprieves, strange seer muggles, going crazy... because, yes, at that point I was relatively certain I had lost my mind at some point that afternoon. Thinking this, I could not help but recall something Hermione had said to me during our second year at Hogwarts...

“Even in the wizarding world, hearing voices isn't a good sign...”

And that's exactly what had happened in the cemetery. I had heard voices. Ron's voice. As I contemplated this more and more it occurred to be how ridiculous that really was. Ron was dead. Gone. It didn't matter how badly I wanted that to be him calling out to me... it just wasn't so. So, really, the idea that I was driving myself mad with grief was the only thing that made sense...

And then there was Hermione. Something had changed in my attitude toward her that morning in the kitchen as she walked away from me... though I could not place what exactly it had been. I just knew that I had to get out of the house and away from her. I couldn't be so close to her and unable to speak to her and tell her I was sorry. She had been so upset... and with good reason. How could I have spoken to her that way when she had done nothing but be there for me? When she had done nothing but put me back together time and time again?

“I don't know where you went just now,” Blake said as he waved a hand at me. “But if it's better than this place, can I go with you next time?” I focused my eyes on him and was silent for a moment.

“It wasn't better.” I said simply. My thoughts never really were. The strange American man nodded. For some reason, I got the distinct feeling that he knew exactly what I had been thinking, though I didn't exactly understand why. I shook the feeling off and took a deep breath.

“You said you were here to help me.” I continued as I stood up. “But so far all I've gotten from you is bored and vaguely insulted. Unless those things qualify as help by your definition, I'd say you've thus far failed in your mission.”

Blake merely laughed.

“Okay.” He said. I shook my head and let out a sigh as I began toward the door - having nothing more to say to him. I knew that I would think about this later and be bothered by the mystery that was Daniel Blake and just what exactly he meant when he said he was here to help me... but at that moment, I didn't care. Too much had already happened that day and it was barely passed noon. I couldn't take any more hazy ambiguity. I just wanted to go home where I could rest peacefully in Hermione's arms... where she could tell me that everything would sort itself out without ever even speaking a word.

Assuming she'd still be at number 12 when I got there.

“She's still there.” Daniel spoke as I reached for the door knob - my breath catching in my throat. I didn't turn around - just slowly dropped my hand back down to my side. When he spoke again, his voice was serious and devoid of all laughter. I knew the tone well. “Odd thoughts to be having toward your best friend... ”

Odd.

Up until then I had never really stopped to think about my thoughts because, well... they were my thoughts. I'd never had an outside perspective on them. It didn't really disturb me so much as intrigue me... I'd, after all, seen much worse things. What bothered me was the fact that, for the first time, it was pointed out to me that the things I thought toward Hermione really weren't the type of things you would think toward a best friend.

I pushed the thoughts away and ignored them. I didn't want to know that. If my feelings for Hermione were turning in to something else, I couldn't deal with it just then and I just didn't want to know.

“We got in an argument.” I responded blankly after a long silence.

“Oh, is that all?” He asked - the amusement returning to his voice. I finally turned to look at him, but said nothing. He shrugged. “Okay.” He repeated in the same way from earlier. “But you should probably get back now anyway. You've got friends to make amends with... realizations to come to. You'll come to me when you're ready.”

I tilted my head, not really understanding what he was talking about... and then shook my head, realizing I didn't care.

Without another glance backward, I turned toward the door and left.

*****

“Where have you been?” Hermione asked almost shrilly with her hands placed firmly on her hips before I even had a chance to close the door behind me. I tilted my head, shut the door, and took my jacket off before I was able to think of anything to say - just happy that she was speaking to me. I finally just decided on the truth as I met her worried eyes.

“Went to see my parents.” I responded on a sigh. Hermione's eyes softened immediately, and she took her hands off her hips in favor of letting her arms droop at her sides.

“Oh.” She said quietly, and then with a bit more force. “You could have told me.”

“I thought you'd left.”

Hermione crossed her arms.

“Well... I didn't.”

I smiled just a little at that.

“I can see that.” I said as I pushed phantom glasses up my nose - forgetting for a moment that the mess of wire still resided in my pants pocket. Hermione noticed the gesture.

“Can you? Where are your glasses?” She asked like an annoyed older sister. I pulled them out of my pocket and showed them to her. She took a deep breath and rolled her eyes... perhaps making herself feel better by being an almost maternal nag.

“Not so much glasses anymore, I suppose. I don't even think magic will help this time.”

“Nonsense, Harry.” She said with another exasperated sigh as she took her wand from her side pocket and pointed it at my glasses. She muttered the familiar incantation and the thin metal and plastic twisted immediately back in to something recognizable as spectacles again. I let out a small laugh as I put them on my face.

“Thanks for that.” I said. Hermione dismissed my gratitude with a shrug as she replaced her wand in her pocket. I took a deep breath. “Look, Hermione... I'm sorry about this morning. I shouldn't have spoken that way to you.”

Hermione's honey colored eyes met mine once again and I saw nothing but understanding there. Of course I would see nothing but understanding there. I didn't know how I had ever let myself believe that Hermione would stay angry with me. She smiled softly.

“I'm sorry, too.” She responded. “It took me a few moments to realize that I may have overreacted it bit. It's just that I care for you, Harry, and sometimes it's hard not to bombard you with unsolicited advice.”

“I know.”

“I don't want you to feel alone - like you have the whole weight of the universe on your shoulders. The more you believe that, the more you pull away - the more I can't reach you. And I...” She looked down, trailing off. I took a few steps closer to her and reached out to hold her chin in my hand.

“You what?” I asked quietly as I tilted her face back up. She hesitantly looked up in to my eyes. The emotion that reflected back at me was nearly overwhelming.

“I can't lose you, too.” Came her words in a strained whisper. There was nothing to do after that but pull her in to my arms and hold her to me as tightly as I could without hugging her in to unconsciousness. Her hands clasped at my shoulders and her head came to rest against my chest. This was the warmth that I had been so afraid of losing that morning... and I understood how Hermione felt. I couldn't lose her, either.

I couldn't ever lose her.

“I promise that will never happen.” I said in to the top of her head, and planted a soft kiss there. “As long as you promise the same.”

“I promise.” There was no hesitation in her response - only a need to drive away to hurt that would always be present when we thought of being separated.

“I love you, Hermione.” I spoke the words without much thought; just knowing that I meant them... Yet as soon as they left my lips - I had to wonder for the first time how I meant them.

I did not let myself think about it long. Hermione was my friend and I loved her as a friend - I had to leave it at that. Anything more would complicate things beyond recognition. I was still getting over Ginny. Hermione was still mourning over Ron. We both were. This was not the time to start realizing hidden feelings for her. I loved her as a friend. Nothing more.

And that's what I kept telling myself.

*****

The room was dark, lit only by a few floating candles. There were only four of us this time. Remus, Mr. Weasly, Tonks... and me. The silence that sat between us was nearly painful as I waited for a response from someone. Anyone. The three others only sat staring at me through the barely lit darkness. I felt as though I were a man on trial awaiting judgment. Guilty or not guilty...

In my case - crazy... or not crazy.

Remus looked at his clasped hands. There - movement! That was something. He sighed and looked back up at me.

“You believe it was Ron?” He asked gravely. It was not really a question I thought myself ready to answer, but I was quite relieved that someone had finally spoken. I looked around at the other faces - consciously keeping myself from lingering on Mr. Weasly's for too long - and thought about the question for a long moment before I spoke.

“I don't know what I believe.” I answered truthfully. And I didn't. My desperation battled with my sensibility. It had to be Ron because the coincidence was too great to have been possible... but it couldn't have been Ron because that was just impossible. “Could it have been? I mean... is it heard of?”

Remus arched his eyebrows briefly with a sigh.

“Well, it's certainly not unheard of.” Tonks answered - receiving a wary look from Remus. She shrugged. “It's possible, Remus.” She said off his look, then looked back at me. “It's certainly possible, if that's what you're asking.”

Remus shook his head. “But very unlikely, Harry.” He said.

“Then what else could it have been?”

“Many things... the least of which being your imagination.”

“My imagine--” I cut myself of with a shake of my head. “No. I couldn't have imagined it. I know what I heard.” Remus sat back.

“Then you do believe it was Ron.” Mr. Weasly asked quietly. I looked at him hesitantly. I could not read his expression - due either to the fact that it was too dark to properly see him, or just that it was plain unreadable.

“I...” I started, and then shook my head. “I'm just not willing to rule out the possibility just yet. But I know what I heard wasn't my imagination. I heard something, whether it was Ron or... something else.”

“What about the boy?” Remus asked - I looked back over at him, thankful that I did not have to meet Mr. Weasly's eyes anymore. How must he have felt about all this? I was reopening old wounds to be sure... for everyone in the room. “Seems strange that he just appears out of nowhere after all this transpired. We know he knows a lot about you and that he has exhibited magical traits. Do you think it possible he had a hand in this?”

The question sounded more like an accusation that was aimed in the general direction of Daniel Blake.

“I don't think so.” I said. “I didn't get that feeling from him... He was cheeky and irritating, but he didn't seem to mean me any harm. I've come to trust my instincts when it comes to people.”

Remus let out a short laugh that sounded more to me like a grunt.

“Have you? And was it those same set of instincts that told you it was perfectly all right to follow the young man back to his home?” He asked pointedly. I sat back in my chair, hardening my face. There it was again. Everyone seemed to expect such greatness from me... yet no one ever seemed to want to trust me. How many times would I have to prove myself to the very people who wanted me to fight for them?

“Well here I am in one piece,” I started almost coldly. “So if it was the same set of instincts - they weren't particularly wrong, were they?”

“I don't think he meant to offend you, Harry--” Tonks started looking back and fourth between us.

“And perhaps I did.” Remus interrupted. I narrowed my eyes a bit.

“Of course you did.” I said.

“Harry, for quite sometime I've watched you. I've watched you be the hero and I've seen you do amazing things. Amazing things.” He shook his head. “But of all the things you are, perfect is not one of them. You can be quite irresponsible and dangerously rash. Sometimes situations call for quick action but there are other times when situations call for time and thought.”

“You treat me like a child, Rem--”

“You act like a child, Harry!” Remus exclaimed as he stood up - his chair falling back and clattering loudly on the hardwood floor. Anger flared in his features as I had seen only very few times in him. He was mad. Tonks and Mr. Weasly seemed very calm at his outburst... but for my part I was, very simply, stunned quiet. “You have been through a lot but you still have much to learn, which is why we must watch over you and try to help you make the right decisions.”

“You ask so much of me, yet when I try to do something you question my actions.”

“Because you are still so young.” He took a deep breath and looked down - seeming to collect himself before he looked back up at me. “We recognize great skill and power in you, Harry... but that power is nothing if you do not utilize it properly. We need your help but you need ours, too. This whole war does not revolve around you.”

I was silent.

The whole war did not revolve around me?

“The next time your forehead lights on fire with visions of the dark lord... tell me that again.”

Remus shook his head again at that. A gesture I knew so well.

“Pretentious and misguided.” He said, then met my eyes dead on in the darkness. “It's thinking like that which got Ron killed.”

“Remus!” Tonks and Mr. Weasly said in unison as they both stood in shock. I stood as well - but not in shock. Not in anger either. Not sadness. Not hurt or grief.

It was hatred.

“You weren't there.” I spat through clenched teeth.

“No, Harry... I wasn't there.” He said with a tone sounding almost of resignation. “I wish to God I had been there... perhaps I could have done something to prevent it while you were busy fighting a war all by yourself.”

Tonks put a hand on his shoulder.

“Remus...” She said quietly. Remus never took his eyes off of me.

“Or perhaps,” he continued. “That's just the kind of thinking that leaves you feeling as though you are alone in the world... and so guilty for things that might have been beyond your control that you are too blinded by pain and anger to see it.”

I blinked once... then a few more times. His words had hit their mark. How had he known just what to say? How had he known that I blamed myself for what happened to Ron? How had he known that the guilt was nearly killing me?

Remus turned from me and left the room.

I could feel Mr. Weasly's eyes on the side of my face. I know he wanted answers... answers to questions that I did not want to be asked. I swallowed and tried to meet his gaze, but could not bring myself to do it. There had been few times in my life when I had felt like a coward, and that was one of them.

“I'm... I'm sorry.” I stammered out before walking out of the room myself.

Remus stood with his back to me in the corridor. I had not expected that... I had not wanted that.

“You are very headstrong and stubborn, Harry.” He said, and then turned around to face me. “I know that you do not like to be told things contrary to what you think or believe. I know you would alternately just think or believe what you want without anyone else's input. But there is a word for that, Harry, and that word is ignorance.”

Ignorance. The word hit me hard... just as hard as though he had slapped me in the face.

“I do not deny that you are very powerful - very necessary to our fight...” He continued, though he must have known the effect that word had had on me. He must have seen it on my face. “But when will you understand that under all the layers and layers of lost childhood years and frightful experiences, that you are still only human?”

I swallowed and had only one thing to say in response.

“When I die.” I said.

Remus nodded... a frown settling heavily over his features. His eyes glanced toward the end of the hallway briefly, and then back to me.

“Perhaps it is not your death that will bring you to terms with your limitations.” He said with a slow, sad shake of his head before striding away. I swallowed and stared straight for a long moment before turning my head slightly to see what it was Remus had glanced at.

Hermione stared, brows knotted together in concern, toward me. I clenched my jaw. What had he meant?

“I wont let you die.” I said angrily. Hermione shook her head and took a step toward me. Just one step.

“I--”

“No!” I shouted, she jumped back a bit. “It wont be like Ron. I wont let you die!”

I must have shouted that at least three more times before collapsing to my knees in tears - Hermione's arms around me in an instant.

Remus seemed to always know just what to say to get to me.

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