Forgiveness

Author's Notes: Story is told in a broken timeline sequence. Read entire story from beginning to end—I promise it will all come together and make sense.

Italicized words are not my own. I am not profiting from the usage of the words.

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I hope he never hurts you like I know I hurt you

She stops and stares at a window display. A toy train goes round and round the bottom of a decorated fir tree. Tiny mechanical elves bend and lift, bend and lift, bend and lift hundreds of wrapped gifts and drop them into bulging red velvet sacks. Fat and cheerful Santa watches with his rosy cheeks and quill at the ready.

Shiny ornaments hang from silver hooks. Tinsel is strewn from branch to branch. Lights twinkle and blink to the delight of children inside the store. She can almost smell the scent of pine, the warmth of a fire.

She can't believe it's almost Christmas. She can't believe she hasn't even started shopping. She hasn't even made a list. How very unlike her.

She's a breath away from reaching her gloved hand out and pressing her fingers to the window. It's just started to snow again and flakes catch in the hair escaping from beneath her knitted cap.

“Here you go,” he says.

She turns and smiles at him. It's an instant reaction—her smile—but it's trained, learned, not felt. Not entirely.

“Thank you,” she says. She sips the coffee through a tiny slit in the plastic top. It scalds her tongue, and she winces but says nothing.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look today? Really, Hermione. I love that sweater on you,” he says. He puts his arm around her waist, and she leans into him.

But it doesn't feel the same. His arms are strong, protective, reassuring. But they aren't the same. Still, she smiles and sighs.

But it's almost Christmas, and while she smiles, she knows she's a fucking wreck inside.

On the run from myself, from myself and everyone

“Harry, did you hear me?” Ron asks.

“What?”

“Come on, bloke. What's going on with you? You can't keep staying here all cooped up. This place is a fucking mess, and it smells like dog shit. Are you bathing--?”

“—sod off.”

“Seriously. You haven't returned a single owl. My Mum thinks it isn't healthy…not after what's happened…”

“After what's happened? Is that how we're referring to it now? What's happened? How quaint. How sticky sweet. How fucking delusional.” Harry's sarcasm stings even his own ears. He grimaces.

“Listen, you weren't the only one who suffered, okay? I think it's about time you stopped feeling sorry for yourself. At least you're alive!” Ron yells. His face is blotchy and red. He looks as though he might cry but not from sadness. His fists clench and release, clench and release.

“Am I?” Harry asks. He twirls his wand for a moment and then drops it into his lap.

Ron half groans, half sighs in response. “Suit yourself. I hope you're happy with your choice, but you can't outrun the truth, Harry. You can't, and you know it.” Ron walks for the door, but not before he points his wand at a window. It flies open and a rush of bitter wind blows through the flat.

“What are you implying?” Harry asks. Now his eyes are narrowed. Ron turns around, accepts Harry's quiet challenge.

“I think you know. I know what happened that night…” Ron pauses, and Harry sees him swallow. “I know, okay? And this,” Ron motions to the space filling Harry's flat, “this might seem like the answer. But it's not. And I might someday forgive you for what you've done, but I don't know if she will—“

“—I don't know what you're talking about,” Harry lies.

“Fuck you, Harry Potter. Fuck you!” Ron says. His knuckles are white. “I know what you did with Hermione. I know. I'm not a bloody moron. And she told me, but what you've done to her now—“

Harry jumps to his feet and points his wand at Ron. “GET OUT!” he demands.

Ron's look of anger dies. His face falls, and the look of it nearly cracks Harry apart. Ron turns his back on Harry and walks out the door. Harry stares at the open and empty doorway for a long time after.

And although my eyes were open
They might have just as well've been closed

Harry grabs her hand and pulls her into a deserted home. The windows are broken. The front half of the home looks like a burned-out shell. Hermione tries not to look around her. She's afraid she might see a melted photograph, a teddy bear left behind.

Soot blackens her shoes. Boards creak beneath her feet. Harry pushes on a door at the end of a hallway. It doesn't make a sound as it swings open to reveal a square room with a single window.

With a wave of his wand, Harry rights the room, and before Hermione can say anything, the room looks like a Gryffindor dormitory.

“Sleep,” he says. “I know you're exhausted.”

“But—“ she protests.

“—sleep. There's nothing more we can do now.”

Hermione walks to the bed and sits down. She hesitates. “What are you going to do?” she asks. Her voice is quiet.

“I…I don't know,” he says. He pushes his hand through his unruly hair. There is a streak of soot on his face. There is blood on his lip.

“Do you think Ron and Ginny are okay?” Hermione asks. An uneasy feeling uncoils in her stomach. The false comfort of the room seems to suffocate.

“Professor Lupin said they would be fine. I mean,” Harry begins to pace, “I don't like being without them, but he said he'd come for us tomorrow, said Mrs. Weasley wanted her family together. And not that we weren't included, but Professor McGonagall thought it would be unwise for all of us to be together…for…”

“Obvious reasons?” Hermione finishes.

Harry sighs. He stares at the false rug on the floor. “Yeah.”

“Come here, Harry,” Hermione says.

He looks up at her. “What?”

“Come here. You have blood on your lip. I can fix it.”

Harry shrugs and walks to the four poster bed. He leans his head against a post and closes his eyes.

“You're tired. You should get some rest, too.”

Harry nods. In a moment, Hermione has mended his lip and he says, “I'll create another bed.”

“Don't bother. I don't think I can sleep anyway.”

Hermione tries to stand, but Harry pushes her back down onto the bed. “Don't be stubborn about this. We need to rest.”

Hermione submits to Harry and watches as another bed appears beside her own. Harry lies down and folds his arms behind his head. He dims the candlelight. She tries to get comfortable, but as soon as she closes her eyes, tears burn behind her lids.

She's cold and alone. And she's afraid. Without knowing exactly what she's doing, she gets up and steps over to Harry's bed. She lies down beside him. She can feel Harry's body tense next to hers.

“Hermione?” he asks. His voice is unsure, uncomfortable.

“I'm afraid, Harry,” she whispers and she rolls into him, buries her face in the side of his chest. Tears wet his shirt.

He moves his arm and puts it around her back. He tries to pat her shoulder. It's awkward and unfamiliar.

“I don't want to lose anyone. I don't want people to die,” she mumbles into his shirt.

Harry pulls away from her and props up on an elbow. He leans over her and stares down at her face. “Hermione, it's going to be okay.”

“How do you know?” she asks. She opens her eyes.

“I…I don't,” he admits.

“I don't want to lose you, Harry,” Hermione says honestly. “I don't.”

Something pulls and snaps in Harry's chest. His lungs squeeze and his throat clamps shut. For a long moment, he can't speak or breathe. Then, he touches Hermione's shoulder in a gentle manner.

“We're going to make it through this,” he says. His voice sounds nervous, tight.

Hermione smiles through watery tears. She reaches up and touches her fingertips to his cheek. “All this time, I've never thought we could actually die. Even after all the `near-death' experiences we've shared, I never really thought we'd be beaten. But now…now I feel so mortal, so helpless.”

She slides her fingertips down his cheek, down his neck. Harry shivers. He can't stop himself.

“W-what are you doing?” he stammers. His heart hammers in his chest. The warmth spreads from his chest, into his stomach, and pools somewhere around his groin.

Hermione touches a fingertip to Harry's lips. “I never knew…”

Harry swallows, finds his voice. “Knew what?” Hermione drops her hand, and his face feels cold. He craves the heat of her skin.

“How much I needed you. How living beside you is all that I recall, is all that I know…is what I've grown to love so desperately,” she whispers.

Harry sits up. He sits with his back to Hermione. He can't turn around. He can't look at her because he's seeing something different. Something female. Something sexual. Something he wants.

“You-you have Ron,” he says quickly. Guilt laps at his insides, tosses around in his stomach.

“Yes.”

“And I have Ginny,” he adds.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” is all he can say. Then, through either a lack of self control or a human need for more, he turns to her.

Hermione is sitting up. Her cheeks are wet. Her eyes are large and waiting.

He needs to feel the warmth. He needs to feel something, anything. And yet, the emotion burning within him is more than that…so much more. With a slow and deliberate motion, he touches his palm to her cheek. She closes her eyes and leans into his hand. When she opens her eyes, she can see it—see his madness, see the aching within.

“You're my best friend,” he says.

Hermione nods. She places her hand over his. “I don't want to lose you.”

“You won't,” he says.

Harry's hand drifts down her neck, down her shoulder, down her arm. “I can't lose you,” she whispers.

“You won't,” he says again. Harry leans toward Hermione. “I don't know what to do,” he says, and Hermione understands.

She lies back on the bed and pulls Harry down with her. There is conflict in his green eyes, an inner struggle raging within. “Just hold me. Please.” Her voice is a question, a plea.

And Harry betrays a best friend. A girlfriend. He betrays them first with a kiss, and then with more.

I'm going home now, I've done all I can

“Where is Harry?” Hermione screams. “Where is he?!” She is hysterical. There is a new insanity in her eyes. She fights against Neville and Ron who grip her arms and struggle to hold on.

“Hermione,” Professor Lupin says as he rushes into the clearing. “Hermione, Harry is okay. You have to calm down. You must be calm.”

“Where is he?” she asks again. She is frantic.

Lupin touches her shoulder and nods to Ron and Neville to release her. Lupin grips her arms. “Listen to me, Hermione. Harry is okay. He's going to be fine. He's a little banged up, but he's okay. He's alive. Do you hear me? Harry is alive and Voldemort is dead.”

Hermione's shoulders sag. She begins to cry silent tears. “He's…he's alive?”

“Yes,” Lupin says softly.

Ron whoops loudly, and he and Neville begin to run around and shout to the others. Happy exclamations are heard. Someone shoots fireworks from a wand.

“He has to be okay,” Hermione says again. She trembles.

“He is.”

“I…I don't know what I would have done if I'd have lost him,” she says so quietly that Lupin thinks she is speaking to herself. When she looks up at him, he sees it. He sees the unchecked, uncontrolled emotions brewing in her frightened eyes. His eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to speak.

Hermione quickly shakes her head. She presses a finger to her lips. When Ron comes up to her, he lifts her off her feet in a tight embrace. She hugs her arms around his neck. She and Lupin make eye contact, and she closes her eyes tightly so he doesn't have to witness her heartbreak.

I'm goin' nowhere and I'm ten steps back

Harry pulls on an overcoat and braves the bitter cold of December. Once outside, he regrets his decision immediately. A group of carolers stroll through the park nearby his flat. They harmonize perfectly on one of his favorite Christmas carols.

Christmas. He'd almost forgotten. Merlin, he doesn't know if he can stand the cheer. The thought of it just might saw through the tiny thread holding his sanity together.

He stops on a street corner. When had the seasons changed, he wonders. When had spring died away and summer slipped by and fall disappeared? Where had he been?

He crosses the street and heads for the village. Surely the fresh air will do him some good, he thinks. Harry stops in front of a window display. A toy train loops endlessly around the trunk of a Christmas tree. Little elves do mindless labor that never seems fulfilled and never ends. Santa Claus watches and takes the names of evil children. Harry wonders if Santa has written his name over and over and over again—so often that perhaps he is the only one on the list.

Then he hears the laugh. The laugh that causes his head to jerk to the right. He sees her. She holds a Styrofoam coffee cup in her hand. A knitted cap is pulled low over her forehead. With a gloved hand, she tucks stray hairs behind her ears.

He stands there, frozen. The man she is with puts his arms around her. Had it been that long? Long enough for her to fall in love again? To forget him? To forget that night?

He watches her and aches all over again. Aches like he never stopped. Aches like he'll never be forgiven.

And I offer no sympathy for that

“It was a mistake,” Harry says in frustration.

The words carve through Hermione like jagged steel. At first, she can say nothing in response. She's promised herself she won't cry. She won't break down in front of him. So what if she can still feel his lips against hers? Can still taste him on her tongue? Can still feel his body pressed to hers?

“Is that all it was? A mistake?” she says. Her voice betrays her emotions. Her voice quavers.

“Yeah,” Harry says. He shoves his hand through his hair. “It was a mistake. We were…we thought we were going to die. I have Ginny. You have Ron. We didn't know…”

“We knew,” Hermione says. She sets her jaw. Now, he's being insulting. He's acting like they were two stupid hormonal teenagers.

“We thought we were going to die, Hermione. It's understandable—“

“—No, Harry, you're wrong. What happened happened because we love each other,” she argues.

“Of course we love each other. We're best friends. But that's it. We're just friends. Nothing else,” he says.

Hermione gasps. She feels sucker punched. She shakes her head and backs away from Harry.

“You don't honestly believe that, do you?” she whispers in shock.

“Yeah…yeah, I do. I'm in love with Ginny. You're in love with Ron. Can't we just act like this never happened? I mean, we were in a war for chrissake. These things happen.”

“You're wrong,” Hermione whispers darkly. “You're not in love with Ginny, and I'm not in love with Ron.”

Harry points his wand at her. “You don't know what you're talking about. I do love Ginny. We're great. We're perfect. Everything is great,” he says.

Hermione slaps his wand away. “Don't you ever point your wand at me again,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Listen, Hermione. It was a mistake. A bloody, stupid, mistake. That's it!” Harry says in frustration.

Uncontrollable tears spring to her eyes, and Hermione stifles a sob. “I…I don't believe you.”

“Believe it,” he says, and his voice is cruel.

I swore to God that I'd never be what I've become

Harry kisses Hermione and pulls the bed sheets over their bodies. She shivers beneath him, but she's not cold. There's a War raging outside their fake room, but inside, time has shifted, has slowed for them.

Hermione grips onto Harry like a separation from him would be fatal. They move in rhythm. They sigh. They forget to breathe. They moan and cry out and whisper forbidden words.

They fall in love. They forget they shouldn't.

Sweat slick bodies press into each other. Harry lays his head next to Hermione's. In a moment of reckless abandon, he tells her he loves her, that he's never loved anyone like this, like he's afraid his heart will burst with it. She cries and swears she'll love him until the day she dies, and if there's an ever after, she'll love him till the end of the ages, till there's nothing left but love and forever.

hey can you talk a little louder, I don't think my heart is broken enough

“I…I think I'm going to be sick,” Ron says. He pushes back from the table, and in his haste, his chair falls backwards and slaps the kitchen floor.

Hermione jumps up and follows him outside. The air outside is muggy and smells of swamp grass.

“Ron!” she calls.

“Don't. Merlin, don't say anything else,” he says. She hears the anger ridging the outer traces of his words.

“Ron, I'm sorry. I had to tell you. It was eating me alive,” she says. She's crying again.

Ron leans down and braces his hands on his knees. He gulps in air and breathes it out slowly. Slow and easy. His knees are shaking.

“I couldn't go on living a lie, Ron. You have to understand,” she pleas with him.

Ron stands up. His lip curls in disgust. He looks at her like she's a thing to be loathed. “I have to understand? What, I'm supposed to be okay with the fact that you fucked my best friend?!”

Hermione gasps. “Don't say that, Ron,” she cries. She is frightened by his anger.

“Oh, and I suppose you loved him, and it meant something? Never mind the fact that I was, am your fucking boyfriend!” Ron yells.

Hermione covers her face in her hands and cries. “I did love him, Ron. I love him so much it hurts. It breaks me apart inside. I'm sorry.” She drops onto the low stone wall surrounding the garden. She looks up at him. “I am so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, Ron. I love you. I do.”

Ron paces back and forth. He clenches his fists. He curses under his breath. Finally he stops and stares at her.

“So, what now? What happens? You and Harry run off and get married? What about me? What about Ginny? I mean, fuck, does she even know?”

Hermione shakes her head. “Nothing happens now, Ron. Nothing. Harry and I…well, we're nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?”

“He said it was a mistake.”

Ron steps back. He wants to attack her with more questions, with more hateful, sarcastic remarks, but he doesn't. She looks weary. Weary and beaten. “What else did he say?”

Hermione sighs and wipes at her tears. “He said it was a mistake. He said he loved Ginny, and he said he never loved me like that.”

Ron pulls his wand from his belt. “I'll kill him. I'll kill him!” he yells, and Hermione has to jump up and grab onto him. He tosses her off. He grips her forearm and shakes her. “He used you, Hermione. Don't you see that? Don't you see?”

She collapses into Ron. He catches her and lifts her into his arms. She lies there, limp and lifeless. Ron pulls her close and leans his head down. In his anger, he shakes, but soon tears slip through his clenched eyes.

I'm losing you and it's effortless

There's a celebration, a victory parade, a long line of handshakes, backslaps, words of praise. Harry doesn't want to go. He wants to disappear, but he feels the pull of obligation.

At the dinner ceremony, he finds his place card situated between Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. They have yet to arrive and he stands, silent and staring at his name between theirs.

Before he can pull his chair out, Molly Weasley bounds up to him and embraces him. She whispers of how proud she is, of how much she loves him, of how he will always be a member of their family. His ears burn. His throat constricts. All he can hear in his head is, traitor, traitor, traitor.

She lets him go and rushes off to find the rest of her family. Harry sits alone and feels nauseous. He wonders how he'll be able to eat at all. He forces a million smiles before Ron pulls out the chair on his right.

“Hey, mate,” Ron says.

Harry glances at him, and then watches five balloons escape their owner and float to the ceiling.

“How's the leg?” Harry asks.

Ron grunts. “Doc says I'll probably have a limp for life. Bloody nuisance, it is.”

Harry winces. He looks at Ron and smiles—as if to say, thank you for always being there.

Ron nods and looks away. He drinks pumpkin juice from a glass that changes colors to the rhythm of the orchestra.

“Hermione may not come,” Ron says. He flexes his hands under the table.

“Why?” Harry asks. He feels relieved. He feels sadness.

“We broke up,” Ron states flatly.

Harry turns his head quickly to look at Ron. “What? Why?” Harry wonders, does he know? Does he hate me?

Ron sighs. “It happens. Mum says a war makes people change. We changed, I suppose.”

“I…I'm sorry, mate,” Harry replies.

Ron's eyes narrow, and he looks at Harry. “Are you?” he asks.

Harry hears the darkness behind Ron's words. Then he hears, traitor, traitor, traitor. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, I am,” Harry says. He sounds honest, but weary.

Ron shrugs. “Me, too.” Ron looks away and sees Hermione enter the room. At once she is surrounded. She smiles in her quiet modesty. “She looks beautiful,” he whispers.

Harry watches her, too, but says nothing.

“Things change,” Ron says. “We all make mistakes.”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles. He catches Hermione's gaze, and her piercing stare is cold and unforgiving.

Ron sees this. He sighs again. “What did the Medi-Witches say about your hand?”

Harry's right hand is badly scarred and the skin is black and patchy in places. He flexes it a few times before answering. “They said the discoloration would fade, and the scars will lesson, but this,” he says as he turns his hand over to reveal the smooth indention-like scar left behind by his wand, “they said this won't go away…ever.”

Ron nods. “I have nightmares,” Ron says. He watches Hermione sit down at a table across the room.

“Me, too,” Harry replies. Hermione sits with her back to them.

Ron stands. He lifts his place card. He says nothing as he walks away. Harry watches him stroll across the room and sit beside Hermione. He watches them embrace.

At a victory celebration honoring the men and women who fought against Voldemort and his followers, Harry Potter sits alone.

You sit and watch from somewhere as one by one the lights go out

“What's bothering you, Harry?” Ginny asks.

Harry says nothing. He walks out onto his balcony. The night is dark, starless. Ginny follows him. She touches his back, and he instinctively stiffens. His flexes his right hand. It's throbbing again.

Ginny sighs and leans her arms against the railing. She peers down at the street. It's almost empty. The lights across the street begin to extinguish. People are going to sleep, forgetting their worries. She wonders if she'll ever sleep soundly again, ever forget her worries.

Ginny frowns at Harry. “Other than the obvious, is there something else going on?” she asks. She wants to hold him, but Harry isn't really there. She doesn't think her Harry ever came back from the War.

“Isn't that enough?” he asks in irritation.

“Do you want to tell me the truth,” she asks, “or are you going to wait until I cry about it?”

She is looking at Harry and his mouth is agape. She swipes at her tears. “Oh, look, too late,” she laughs sadly.

Silence drifts by like bitter fog. It enshrouds them, wraps them in ill fitted peace.

“I left my wand at home,” she says. Harry peers over at her curiously and then he turns away. “I didn't want to hurt you.”

Harry chuckles under his breath. It is a mirthless sound.

“Then, I realized,” she says, “that I could never hurt you like you've hurt me.”

Harry is stunned. He backs away from Ginny and leans against the railing. The chill seeps through his shirt.

Ginny nods. “I don't know which is worse, you lying to me or me letting you lie.”

Harry looks away. The sky is stygian and nothing feels alive. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

She stares out into the darkness. She can't bear to look at Harry, can't bear to watch him lie. “I'm talking about Hermione.”

Harry's heart freezes. Then releases. Blood pounds in his ears. Nausea rolls right through him. He clutches the balcony in his hands. Will the sound of her name ever cease to make him weak, ever cease to drain the life right from his veins?

“She left Ron,” Ginny says.

“He told me at the ceremony,” Harry says, amazed he can find his voice.

Ginny scoffs. “She left him long before that,” she says.

Harry can feel Ginny's eyes on him. He forces his throat to swallow. His knuckles are white.

“You know why she left?” Ginny asks. Her voice is pinched and skating the edge of sarcasm.

Harry says nothing.

“Because she knew things Ron didn't,” she says. “She knew where you were every second of every day. She knew what your favorite color was. She knew what you would and wouldn't eat. She knew every bloody deep dark secret of the famous Harry Potter.”

“Bullshit,” Harry spits.

“Oh, fuck you, Harry!” Ginny retaliates. “Hermione Granger has been in love with you for ages, she just didn't fucking know until she had Ron dangling from her hands.” Ginny starts to cry angry tears. “She didn't know until I was madly dangling from yours.”

Harry can't look at her cry. He can barely stand to hear the sorrow lacing her words. He looks down at the street. He wonders if he would survive if he jumped. Would the pain go away?

“Don't you dare,” Ginny hisses. Harry snaps his head in her direction. “Don't you dare think of taking the easy way out, you bastard.”

“I don't have to stand out here and listen to this bullshit,” Harry says. Ginny whips out her wand and points it at Harry's chest. “You said you didn't have your wand.”

“I lied,” she says. “That makes two of us. Aren't we a fine pair?”

“I don't know what you want,” Harry says.

“I want what everyone else wants,” she says. “I want the truth. I deserve it.”

“What do you want me to say, Ginny?” Harry yells. “What do you want me to tell you?” He throws his hands up in the air in exasperation.

“I want you to tell me that you love Hermione Granger!” she yells back. She is almost hysterical. “I want you to tell me that you've loved her and lied about it! I want you to tell me that you love her more than you ever loved me!”

“I won't tell you that,” Harry shouts.

“Why?” she cries into her hands.

“Because it isn't true,” Harry answers. “It isn't true.” His voice is a whisper, so quiet it is almost lost in the wind.

Ginny looks up. Tears run down her cheeks. “Then it's worse than I thought,” she whispers to him. “You're lying to yourself as well.”

“Ginny,” he stammers, “I'm—I'm not in love with Hermione.”

“Merlin, Harry, I'm not stupid. I saw the two of you in St. Mungo's. I saw the way you ran to her and held her. I saw it!” Ginny says. Her hands are shaking so badly she clasps them together. She doesn't look at Harry as she speaks.

“She's—she was my best friend. I was worried—“

“—don't. Don't insult my intelligence. I'm a woman. I know what it looks like to be in love. I know the desperation, the need. I saw a lover's relief on your face that day. I saw the same reflected on hers.” Ginny pauses to press her hand to her heart. “And since that day…you and I, well, we've been passing time.”

“Ginny, I love you,” Harry says. Even to his own ears he can hear his words are lacking. Not lacking honesty, exactly, but lacking something.

“I know,” she whispers. “But I deserve more. I've never been much for second place.” She walks for the door but turns to look at Harry one more time.

He doesn't turn as he speaks to her. Another light goes out. “I'm…I'm sorry, Gin.”

“I know.” And she is gone.

But she smiled at me so sadly that my anger straightaway died

Harry paces the floor wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. He runs his hands through his hair over and over again.

Hermione opens her eyes to find Harry gone from bed. In a panic, she sits up. Then, remembering she is unclothed, she pulls the sheets up and holds them to her collarbone. She sees Harry pacing the floor. It is still dark outside and one candle burns near the end of its life.

“Harry?”

He stops and looks at her. His hands are gripping his hair. There is a wild look in his pale eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asks with caution.

He laughs a crazy, bulleted laugh. “No, I'm not okay!”

“What's—what's wrong?” The bed feels cold and empty.

“Are you serious? What did we—what have we—what are we doing?” he yells. His words sound accusatory and angry. She tries to say something, but Harry continues ranting, “It's a War. There's a War going on and we're here…we're doing…we aren't supposed to be doing this! We're supposed to be loyal!”

“You are loyal,” Hermione interrupts.

Harry throws his hands up in frustration. “No, I'm not!” he yells. “Look at us! Look at me—“

“—you're not perfect,” Hermione says. “But you are loyal and brave, and I'm so proud to know you.” She smiles even though her tears return.

She looks so sad that Harry can't possibly stay angry. He rushes over to the bed and sits beside her.

“I'm sorry, Hermione. It's just…I feel…” He searches for the right words, the words to explain the jumble inside him.

“Do you—do you regret it?” she whispers, half choking on her words.

Harry touches her face, wipes away a falling tear. “Never.” But it's only a half truth.

She holds him, afraid to let go, afraid he'll disappear.

Harry lays her back on the bed. He smoothes her hair away from her face. “I don't know how to stop this,” he whispers.

She touches his face and tries to smile past the inevitable heartbreak. “So don't,” she says.

Harry kisses her and soon the gentle comforting embrace becomes a wild passionate need to live and breathe another's broken breath.

I ain't that scarred when I'm covered up

The door to the Burrow opens. Molly stands with her hands in a towel, and her apron spotted with flour and jam. Her face lights up into a welcome smile.

“Hermione, how great to see you,” she says. “Come in, come in.” She ushers Hermione in out of the rain. “Ron's upstairs, dear. Go on up. He's in his room.”

Hermione stands awkwardly in the kitchen for a moment. She contemplates bolting back out through the door and drowning herself in the rain. She feels she should explain herself, but Molly gives her a gentle shove toward the staircase.

“Go, on, dear. It's okay. He'll be glad to see you.”

Hermione ascends the stairs slowly. When she finally reaches the top, she hears music coming from behind Ron's closed door. She knocks. No answer. She knocks again.

The music lowers, and the door opens. He is surprised to see her. Then, he smiles.

“Hi,” she says quietly.

Ron opens the door for her to enter. She stands in the center of his room. She feels uncomfortable and unsure.

“How've you been?” he asks.

“Okay,” she lies.

He nods and rocks back on his heels. He shoves his hands into his front pockets. “Did you come for dinner?” he asks.

He's joking, she knows, making light of the emotions weighing heavy in the air.

“I don't want you to hate me,” she says.

“What?” he asks and laughs in surprise.

“I won't be able to stand it if you hate me,” she says. She walks to him and stands before him.

He hates the defeat he sees in her eyes. “I don't hate you, Hermione,” he says. “Sure I was pissed off for a time, but not now. I think we've suffered enough.” He pulls Hermione into a hug. She squeezes him tight.

“Oh, thank you, Ron,” she says as she wipes at her tears.

Ron pulls far enough away to look down at her. “Did you really come over for my forgiveness or did you know Mum was cooking bangers and mash?” He winks at her, and she laughs. It sounds foreign to her ears. It's been so long.

“I shouldn't stay. It'd be…awkward,” she says.

“Nah,” he says. “Just because you aren't trying to ravage me around every corner doesn't mean you aren't still one of my best girls.”

Hermione blushes. “I didn't try to ravage you around every corner, Ronald Weasley,” she argues.

“But it doesn't mean I didn't dream about it,” he laughs. “Come on, let's go eat.” He puts his hand on her lower back and pushes her toward the stairs.

She sighs and feels one wound has mended. She smiles so the other wounds don't show.

If he says he loves you like I know I loved you

Hermione laughs at his joke, and it's genuine. There are moments when she is no longer Time's prisoner and she moves forward, her heart stops aching, and she feels almost free.

“I love to see you laugh,” he says.

She sips her coffee with a grin on her lips.

“What did you decide? About my parents and Christmas?” he asks.

A crowd of holiday shoppers hustle passed, and she moves closer to the sweets shop. Her smile falters.

“I haven't,” she says.

“You know I'd love for you to meet them, right? You do know that?”

She can see the honesty and sincerity in his eyes. He already cares deeply for her, perhaps even loves her. Yet, she wonders how to love with a heart that's not whole.

“It's Harry Potter, Mum! I know it is!” a young girl squeals.

The coffee slips from her hand. It drops to the sidewalk, the lid breaks free, and coffee gushes over her feet. She spots him across the street. She forgets to breathe.

Their eyes meet.

There's a way to trust him, and I'll get over you

Harry barely registers the first person to shout his name, but it's hard to ignore the hoards of others. In barely a minute's span, he is surrounded by strangers asking for an autograph or even a handshake.

He tries to keep an eye on Hermione through the crowd, but he loses sight of her. Somehow Ron appears out of the masses and drags him away with offhanded apologies to the crowd.

Harry thanks him. Then, he opens his mouth to apologize to Ron.

“Don't, mate. It's fine.”

Harry pulls Ron down an alleyway. “No, it's not fine,” Harry says. “You were my best mate...and…and I betrayed you. I betrayed your trust and our friendship. I even betrayed Ginny.”

“Let's not forget Hermione.”

Harry sighs, runs a hand through his black hair. “Somehow defeating a dark lord seems easier than repairing this.”

Ron laughs an honest to God laugh. It rattles around in his chest and causes his cheek to dimple. “Look, Harry,” he says, “I don't really want to talk about this. Hermione and I have made our peace.”

Harry shuffles his feet. “Did you…did you know she was dating someone else?”

“Yeah,” Ron answers. “An okay bloke.”

“Is he good to her?”

“Sure,” he says. “She says he is. He treats her like the bloody Queen, she says.”

Harry glances up at Ron. “Jealous?”

Ron smiles. “Only slightly. I was jealous of you for a while, too,” he admits.

Harry doesn't respond.

“Not anymore,” Ron says. “But there was a time when I always wanted what Harry Potter had.” Ron shakes his head and watches Harry. “But now, I wouldn't trade my life for yours for anything.”

“I don't blame you,” Harry mumbles. “I'm sorry, Ron. I wish I could take it back. I…I don't know why I did what I did.”

“I do. You loved her,” Ron says seriously.

Harry shrugs.

“But she's moved on and so should you,” Ron says.

Harry nods.

“I've got more shopping to do. You?” Ron asks.

“I…I don't know.” Harry taps his wand against his leg. “Will we ever be right again?”

Ron shrugs. “Don't know. Why don't you come over for Christmas and we can go from there.”

“Okay.”

Ron slaps Harry on the shoulder and walks out of the alley.

I was feeling kinda seasick

But the crowd called out for more

“Hermione, are you okay?” he asks.

Crazed fans push and shove past her in a rush to meet the famed Harry Potter.

He looks thin, she thinks. Too thin. His cheekbones are sharp and his green eyes a bit too dull for her liking. His skin is sallow and his smile isn't real.

She sees a redhead push his way through the crowd and drag Harry away. They disappear down an alley.

“Are you okay?” he repeats.

“Yeah,” she says.

“Poor bloke,” he says. “His life will never be normal. How'd you like that? A life where you can't even be alone?”

“Oh, he's alone,” she whispers.

“What's that?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she says. “Let's go home. I'm not feeling well.”

The crowd of shoppers chant Harry's name. They are an ocean of smiles and excitement. Hermione wants to drown in it.

I'm becoming the part that don't last

Hermione says goodbye to the Weasleys and she pushes the door open. The ground is wet but the rain has stopped. Her boots squish down into the mud. She pulls out her want to Apparate home, but the door behind her opens. She turns around.

Ginny stands, outlined by the kitchen light. “Got a minute?” she asks.

“Sure,” Hermione says.

Ginny closes the door and hugs her arms to her chest even though it's not cold outside. She walks to the low wall and sits down. Hermione walks over and sits beside her.

“You okay?” Hermione asks.

Ginny shakes her head. Hermione barely sees it in the starlight.

“What's wrong?”

Ginny sighs. “I wanted to apologize,” she says.

“For what?”

“For hating you,” Ginny admits. “For wishing you had died in the War.”

Hermione gasps and it takes her a moment to gather her wits. “What?” she roars.

“Sit down, Hermione,” Ginny says. “Let me finish.”

Hermione, not even aware she had leapt to her feet, sits down again but further away this time.

“If you had died,” Ginny says, “then Harry would have stopped wanting you.”

“I don't know what—“

“—let me spare you the opportunity to lie,” Ginny interrupts. “I'm not stupid. You know I'm not stupid—“

“—I've never thought you were stupid, Ginny,” Hermione argues.

“If you had died,” Ginny continues, “then Harry would have had to give up. He wouldn't have held out for you—“

“—Harry isn't holding out for me,” Hermione snaps. The words burn her tongue like acid. Harry hadn't held out for her. He had told her she was a bitter mistake. He had shattered her heart, tossed her aside like she was expendable. Even now her heart burns.

“Sure he is,” Ginny says. “He's been lying to himself since the day he realized it.”

“Realized what?”

“That he couldn't live without you,” Ginny answers.

“In case you didn't notice, Harry is living without me.”

“Not by choice,” Ginny says. “Harry is living without you because of his guilt.”

“You're wrong,” Hermione says and she stands up, unwilling to hear any more. As if her heart hadn't been abused enough.

“I wish I was wrong,” Ginny says. “But I'm not. I've talked to Harry. He can hardly breathe when I mention your name. It sends him into a mental panic attack.”

“Well, isn't that nice,” Hermione spits sarcastically.

Ginny stands up. “Only because it's a reminder that he doesn't have you,” Ginny says. “But I can guarantee you that he thinks of you every day. He always had you, Hermione.” Ginny reaches up and wipes at tears. “You were always there when he needed someone, and he needed you like he needed air.”

“That's bullshit,” Hermione says, but deep down she wishes it was true.

Ginny laughs sadly. “Don't I wish it were so?” she says. “I loved Harry. Badly. He was everything I wanted. With the exception that he was in love with someone else.”

“Harry wasn't in love with me, if that's what you mean,” Hermione argues.

“Harry was so in love with you, he didn't even know it,” Ginny says. She twirls her wand with her fingers. “It was so fucking normal to him he thought it was just every day feelings. Until he almost died. And he didn't know if you had died. And when he saw you in St. Mungo's…” Ginny's voice trails off and Hermione closes her eyes. A moment captured in time flits across the backs of her eyes. For a second, Hermione can feel Harry's arms wrap around her and hold her like he would die if he let go. Ginny sighs. “I wanted him to look at me like that. I wanted him to hold me like that. I wanted that. And then I wished you were dead.”

Hermione nods in the darkness and she doesn't even realize she's crying till she tastes the salt on her lips.

“I left him,” Ginny says. “But you know, he left me during the War. Harry never came home to me. He was racked with guilt…how could he ever by my Harry again?”

“I'm…I'm sorry,” Hermione whispers. Shame blooms in her chest like poison.

“I often wondered about the source of his guilt,” Ginny says. She shoves her wand into her back pocket. “I wondered if he felt guilty for simply loving you or if he felt guilty because something happened. Did it? Did something happen during the War?”

“Lots of things happened.”

“That's not what I mean.”

Hermione sags onto the low wall. “It was an accident,” Hermione whispers.

Ginny sits down beside her. “Did you love him? Tell me you loved him. Tell me it wasn't an act of desperation. Tell me it wasn't the last hoorah before everyone possibly died.”

“I loved him,” Hermione answers. She releases a shaky breath expelled by a wave of sadness. “I'll love him till the day I die…”

“…for forever…”

“Yes,” Hermione says.

“And if there's forever…will you love him even after that?” Ginny asks.

“Yes.”

“Me, too,” Ginny says. “Only differently now.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“I'm sorry for wishing you'd died,” Ginny says. “Although it might have been easier than living.”

“It seems so.” And Hermione covers her face and cries.

I was feelin' bout half past dead

Hermione unlocks her flat and walks inside. She shrugs out of her winter coat and reaches out to hang it on the hook. Her reach is two feet too short and the coat falls to the floor. She doesn't notice. She keeps seeing a vision of Harry standing amid a crowd of Christmas shoppers, staring over at her, looking at her with those green eyes.

She steps into her living room and sees a man sitting on her couch. She screams until she realizes it's Harry and then the air is sucked from her lungs.

Harry stands. He looks even thinner up close. His features are gaunt; his eyes are hollow.

Hermione presses a hand to her hammering heart. “What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I saw you today,” he says. He fidgets with his wand. “In the village. With someone.”

Hermione can't even think of a proper response. Her head is dizzy and she sways. Harry rushes to her side and helps her to the chair. She shakes his hand off like he's a leper. His touch sears her skin.

“Don't touch me,” she snaps.

Harry looks wounded. He shakes his head and moves for the door. “This was a mistake,” he says.

“That's not the first time I've heard that,” Hermione lashes out.

Harry stops mid-stride, frozen in place. Hermione blinks away the tears, and guilt rises in her chest like the tide. She stands up, afraid to let him leave, afraid to let him stay.

“I—I didn't mean that,” she says.

Harry doesn't turn. “Yes, you did.”

Hermione swallows. “Maybe I did.”

“I deserve it,” he says.

“Why are you here?” she asks again.

Harry turns and looks at her. “I—I don't know.”

Hermione nods her head sadly. “Then, you should probably go,” she says.

Harry presses his lips together, looks at her with his pale green eyes, and Apparates out of her flat.

Hermione bends over, afraid she's going to hyperventilate. She sucks air. She thought she couldn't cry over Harry anymore. She was wrong.

On a night like this I could fall in love

I could fall in love with you

Ron pulls Hermione to him and laughs. She shoves him off and pretends to pout. Hermione's never been good at pretending. And she can't quite pull off a believable pout.

“You said you wanted those,” she says, and her face burns red.

“You keep giving me boxers,” Ron teases, “and I'll think you want to see them on.” Fred and George roar with laughter. Ginny snaps a picture while Molly doles out the next Christmas gift.

Hours slip by and find only Hermione sitting in Arthur's favorite chair with her knees up to her chest and Ron staring at the fire. She watches the Christmas lights flicker on the tree. She cradles cold hot chocolate in her hands.

“It's late,” Ron says. He crawls away from the fire and kneels at her chair. “You can stay if you want.”

“I should get going,” she says.

“I'm not surprised he didn't come,” Ron says. “I'm sorry.”

Hermione stares down into her cup. The familiar ache swells.

“Stay,” he says. “You can have my room.” He yawns.

Hermione puts her hot chocolate on the side table. She folds her hands in her lap. “Go on to bed. I'll clean up and get going.”

“Don't bother,” Ron says. “Mum will tidy up in the morning.”

“Thanks for my gifts, Ron,” she says. “They're lovely.”

Ron reaches out and rubs her leg with his fingertips. “You're worth it.”

She looks down and grins shyly.

“I've never stopped loving you, Hermione,” he says.

“Ron—“ she says in shock.

He holds his hand up to stop her from continuing. “I know things will never be like they were,” he says. “And I'm thankful for small blessings, but I really loved you. No, don't apologize. That's not why I'm telling you this. I just…watching you tonight…with my family…it just reminded me why I loved you…and that I still do.”

“I love you, too, Ron,” she whispers.

He gently knocks his fist against her chin. “Not like I wanted you to.”

“I…”

He smiles and she thinks about how handsome he looks. She desperately wishes she could love him the way he deserves to be loved. “You'll always be one of my favorites,” he says.

“And you mine,” she replies.

He winks at her. The seriousness has vanished. “Let me know if you change your mind about me displaying those boxer shorts for you.”

Hermione laughs. “Get out of here.” She swats at him playfully.

Ron climbs to his feet. He kisses the top of her head and shuffles up the stairs. Hermione slips out of the chair and eases down beside the Christmas tree. One present remains under the tree, still wrapped in gold paper and tied with a maroon bow. Hermione sighs and holds it in her hands.

A tiny pop startles her, and the present drops from her hands. Harry stands in the doorway.

Even the best fall down sometimes

The first thing Harry notices is the way her face is haloed in firelight. He stares down at her, and she gapes at him wide-eyed.

Harry crosses the room and kneels beside her. “I can't,” he says.

“Can't what?” she asks in a tiny, fragile voice.

“I can't go on. I need you to forgive me,” he says. He reaches out and grabs her hands. She tries to pull away but he is stronger than her.

“Please, Hermione,” he begs. “Please.”

Her hands are cold and he can feel her trembling. He wants to take her up in his arms, but he doesn't want to terrify her.

“I…I…” she stammers.

Harry forgoes the voice of reason in his head and he buries a hand in Hermione's hair. He pulls her to him and presses his lips to hers. She is too shocked to respond, but then her senses react. She jerks away from him, falling backwards onto the hearthrug.

She presses her fingertips to her lips. She can feel the heat left behind by Harry's mouth. Desire flames in her belly, but fear stabs in her chest. “It's been too long,” she breathes out.

“No,” he argues. He moves closer to her. She slides away from him. He backs her into the couch.

“It's been months, Harry,” she says. “Long, long months.”

“Please,” he begs. His green eyes are aflame.

Hermione trembles at the longing she sees in his eyes. “It isn't fair,” she says. “You can't do this. Not after what you said, not after what you did.”

Her resolve is weakening. Harry can see the panic on her face. He reaches out and brushes the backs of his fingers down her cheek. She closes her eyes and shivers. It's all Harry needs to scoop her up in his arms and Apparate them away.

We've already confessed and we were blessed

Everybody needs a little forgiveness

Hermione opens her eyes to darkness. She's afraid until she feels Harry's hand in hers. But still she trembles.

“Where are we?” she asks.

She hears a sizzle and a candle lights between two beds. Hermione inhales sharply. It's the room. Not any room. But the room. The room Harry conjured during the war. The room that looks exactly like a dorm in Gryffindor Tower. The room where he first held her, where he stole her breath and she begged him to steal it again.

“What—why?” she asks.

Harry pulls her body against his. He looks down at her. “Second chance,” he whispers.

His breath is warm on her face, and he smells just like she remembers.

“A do-over,” he says.

“We can't,” she disagrees.

Harry leans down and kisses her neck. “Please?” he whispers against the sensitive skin just below her earlobe.

Hermione's eyes roll back in ecstasy. It's been too long. Too long without desire, without heart. She caves into Harry. Like lightning, Harry moves her to the bed.

Sometimes when Hermione was alone, she would imagine a second chance with Harry. She would imagine it slow and sweet and full of sighs. That's not how this second chance unfolds.

Clothes are torn off and buttons bounce across the floor and roll beneath the bed. A hunger so powerful shakes Hermione to the core. Harry's hands are everywhere and she can hardly breathe, and yet she finds herself moaning into his mouth. As he leans over her, she begs him to never stop.

He tells her he loves her, that he's never loved anyone like this, like he's afraid his heart will burst with it. She cries and swears she'll love him until the day she dies, and if there's an ever after, she'll love him till the end of the ages, till there's nothing left but love and forever.

And she forgives him everything.

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