Winding Road

A/N: A long, angsty story of what I want to happen. Inspired by recent events. I’m sorry that I made empty promises and never found the time to update my other stories...but I am working on it, slowly. This is not the last you will hear from me. Thank you to all my readers.

~-~-~-~-~-~

Winding Road

~-~-~-~-~-~

‘Cause it’s a winding road

I’ve been walking for a long time

And I still don’t know

Where it goes

And it’s a long way home

I’ve been searching for a long time

still have hope

We’re gonna find our way home

-Bonnie Somerville

It started the way it all began. My cries echoed within the stone confines of the large, empty bathroom, head shielded in my palms as my body trembled upon the porcelain seat. I was terrified, only it seemed as if trolls and taunts and all other trivial matters were a part of a Hermione that had somehow drifted away from the frightened girl sitting on the toilet.

And I didn’t know what to do.

I took a deep, raking breath that scraped along the sides of my throat until the only sound that escaped was a whispered, “Damnit, Hermione.”

Damnit.

Suddenly, I heard steps sprinting towards the loo. Two pairs, it seemed. One more hurried, more frantic. One slightly heavier, yet more interspersed, as if setting a longer stride.

“Oi! You midgets! Get away from that door!”

Despite my tears, I smiled. Of course they would come.

Of course.

I sat up, wiping my eyes hurriedly on my sleeve as I heard the door being blasted open. A brief silence, and then the door to my stall was unhinged as Harry Potter stepped into the small space, breathing heavily. Following behind was Ron, his blue eyes wide as he swallowed upon seeing my face.

“Hermione,” Ron stated, a gurgled croak that swept a new wave of tears into my vision. I then heard him swear as he pushed Harry aside and wrapped his arms around my trembling body, his own limbs shaking slightly. Harry continued to look at me as I cried onto Ron’s shoulder, as my fingers found purchase upon the back of his cloak, as I breathed in the scent that was so undeniably Ron that I felt myself relaxing slightly, just slightly.

“Hermione,” Harry finally repeated, blinking. I detached myself slowly from Ron, trying to smile at him as I caught Harry’s eyes. He diverted his gaze after a few moments, breathing deeply still, his hands clenched at his sides. I felt the weight on my heart grow heavier as I tried to reclaim his gaze. Heavy.

Ron glanced back at Harry before cradling my face in his hands while he kneeled down on the slippery floor in front of me. His thumbs wiped away my tears as his blue eyes examined my face, his fingers gentle and warm and perfect. I loved him, in the way that I loved books and the smell of parchment and the sensation of a soft, lilting pillow. He was my comfort, my reassurance, my friend. My brother.

After all this, would he be there to run after me into a girl’s toilet and hold my face in his hands and reassure me that all would be well?

Would Harry?

I looked at him then, at his chiseled profile and deadened eyes. Every once in a while, my heart ached for the small boy that I had shared so many adventures with. Every once in a while, I offered that spiritually superior existence everything I owned to see Harry again. I saw him in my mind’s eye every waking moment, a shadow lingering somewhere behind the lost man standing in front of me. I saw him with that smile, that windswept hair, those sparkling eyes that could find me in a filled quidditch stadium and steal a little bit of everything I could give with one look.

Ron cleared his throat before saying, “You know we love you, right?” Harry bristled, his jaw set as he redirected his gaze towards me. I refused to give him the satisfaction. “You know we’re going to fucking kick his ass–” Before he could finish, I smiled and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, my hands now in his.

“I know. I’m just being silly...it’s just that it’s tomorrow...and I’m...” Scared. Terrified. Horrified. How could I tell them? How could I tell them that I couldn’t sleep at night, because all I saw behind my closed eyelids were their lifeless bodies strewn across a bloody battlefield? How could I tell them that being back at Hogwarts brought back memories, memories of laughing and frenzy and joy, memories that kept me eternally on the brink of tears? How could I tell them that the idea of losing them...that it killed me...slowly, and softly?

Ron noticed my hesitation and lowered his eyes.

“I’m...I’m scared, too.”

He said it with such obvious sincerity that I could feel my eyes swell with tears again. He chuckled, but that sound seemed so out of place with his pale face and defined freckles, with all the wrinkles adorning his eyes and the quivering touch of his lips as he breathed. He was terrified.

I was terrified.

Suddenly, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t hold it in. I took a deep breath and before I could stop myself, whispered, “What if we don’t make it? What if I lose you?” My gaze drifted towards Harry with my last question. He swallowed, opening his mouth before closing it and diverting his gaze once more. His fist, if possible, clenched even tighter.

“No one can make promises,” Ron finally said, looking from Harry to me. “But we...we’ll do it. Whatever it takes. We’ll end it.” He gave my fingers a small squeeze before whispering, “Someone will make it. And in the end...after all of our losses...someone will have made it. So we won’t have lost.”

Harry nodded, swallowing, as Ron leaned in to kiss my forehead.

“Merlin, poor Myrtle must have drowned again,” Ron said as he pulled back, grinning at me.

We couldn’t help but laugh. And for a moment, a brief moment that made all the hardships and troubles and tears seem behind me for a glorious instant, all was well. It was just the three of us, together. And it almost made it worthwhile.

Ron gave me one last smile before tugging briefly on my cheek. He then stood, smirking at Harry before clapping him on the back and making his way out of Myrtle’s loo. I swallowed, watching his retreading back before exclaiming, “Ron!”

Ron turned around, face still pale and body still quivering. But before I could say it, he smiled and muttered, “I know” before exiting my sanctuary.

And then, it was just the two of us.

I sniffed, wiping my nose on my sleeve before whispering, “I’m just being silly, is all.”

“I don’t think it’s that silly,” Harry said hoarsely. He had yet to move from his spot, but was once again gazing at me with such a foreign intensity that I stood up to escape his stare. “Hermione...”

“Don’t, Harry.”

“Don’t what?” he said almost angrily, taking a step towards me.

“Just don’t.”

I tried to move past him but he grabbed my shoulders, eyes peering into mine intently.

“Hermione, you found a boggart inside the clock in the Great Hall and it turned into my sprawling, dead body.”

I swallowed for what seemed like the 112^th time that day. Suddenly, the unbidden image sprang into my eyes. His glasses askew, his face pale, his scar bleeding slightly...

“Don’t,” I pleaded, my head bowed as I tried to hide my tears from him.

“I can’t,” he finally whispered, his hold on my shoulders growing tighter with desperation. “I can’t, Hermione. I can’t promise you that I’ll be okay, that I’ll defeat Voldemort, that everything was worth it–”

“I’m not asking you to!” I screamed, ripping his hands from my shoulders. “I never wanted your empty fucking promises, Harry!”

“You asked me to every day!” he screamed at me. But before I could retort, I noticed tears barely clinging to his long eyelashes, tears that screamed and waved and burned me in ways I couldn’t explain. “You look at me, and I know! You look at me with those eyes and you try to smile and...and damnit Hermione, I know!”

Silence permeated the air between us, and suddenly it felt as if there was an ocean separating our two souls. He seemed so distant in that moment, so out of reach. And all I desired was to reach out and wrap my fingers around his, reassure myself with his warm touch.

“When will you understand,” Harry finally said, eyes burning into mine, “that looking at you, more than anything else, makes me want to give up?”

I blinked. And then, before I knew it, I was crying again. Sobbing uncontrollably.

“Shit, Hermione–”

But I couldn’t hear any more. With one last sob I tried to run past him but he blocked me with his body, his hands grabbing my wrists.

“Hermione–”

“Don’t–”

“You got me wrong, you misunderstood–”

“I understand perfectly,” I whispered, closing my eyes as my arms flailed around, anxious for escape. “You avoided me for ages, shut me out, shunted me aside...because I distracted you from...from...from what you’re doing tomorrow. You don’t need me. Because I make you want to give up. I get it, okay? You wanted to go into the ring with Voldemort tomorrow with pride and confidence and love and you...you...”

“Hermione–”

“No! I thought I was helping you! With Voldemort and training and the horcruxes...I never wanted to...to burden you...especially now...”

I looked up at him then, my breath catching in my throat with the expression in his wet, tear-stained eyes.

“Especially now,” I finally whispered. I’m sorry.

“Hermione–”

“No, Harry, I get it–”

“You don’t!” he screamed, turning us so my back was shoved against the side of the stall. “It’s...it’s things like this that I couldn’t take! Seeing you cry in Myrtle’s bathroom because your boggart turned into...into me...the idea that after tomorrow, I might never be able to read your fourteen page letters, might never be able to prod you or pester you or see your face after a long summer...that I might never enjoy your eye rolls or the way that you always smell like clean parchment, or hear you quote ‘Hogwarts, a History,’ or spend all night talking to you in front of the Gryffindor fireplace.”

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All that swam in my mind, my vision was Harry’s eyes and the way that they terrified me and excited me in ways I had yet to experience.

“It’s especially the idea that I’ll never know what you taste like,” he whispered, stepping closer to me. The stall behind my back pierced my shoulder blades as I tried to retreat, and his eyes and body and smell loomed nearer and nearer until I could count every gold fleck in Harry’s gaze. “That I’ll never know exactly how it feels to wake up to your smile every morning, that I’ll never be able to see your face when I tell you that I...”

He stopped. He stopped talking, and I saw his eyes flicker down to my lips before his gaze found my eyes once again. His grip on my wrists loosened until he was barely holding them, and I could have easily slipped my hands from his hold and escape it all.

“It’s things like that I couldn’t take,” he finally stated. “And every time I looked at you, the fact that I couldn’t promise you...that I couldn’t promise myself...it killed me, Hermione. It made me want to give up...run away with you somewhere, anywhere, away from all this. Be happy. Together.”

“I...”

“I could never not need you, Hermione. You’re...you’re the one person I need most.”

“Harry...”

We stood there for what seemed to be an eternity, his body pressed against mine, our two hearts beating fiercely in a strange tango. I couldn’t will myself to look away, to smile at him, to process what he had just confessed. All I could do was stay, in a cold bathroom stall with Harry, breathe the same mingled air and share the same exhilarating dance. Because this moment was what everything came to. This was our goodbye. And maybe...maybe it was our hello.

“I couldn’t bear it,” I finally whispered, gazing into his eyes, “if I lost you.”

He took a deep breath and his hold on my wrists tightened. Blinking, he opened his mouth and said, “I promise–”

“Don’t,” I replied sharply, untangling myself from him. “You can’t give me promises.”

“I promise I’ll fight like hell to get back to you,” he finished, gazing at me. Something was alight in his eyes, something beyond a tangible focus of vision that held me entranced until I found myself pressed even further into the contours of his body, tangled limbs and shared breaths bringing us closer.

As I pressed my cheek into his shoulder, as he wound his left hand into my hair, I wanted to beg him to never leave. But I could never give Harry that burden, that request. He would do anything to give me the promise I wanted...and he needed to leave. He needed to leave me to return to my side. I no longer had any tears left, even for Harry. But I was sobbing without the moisture, without the tangible evidence. We clung to each other desperately, and I couldn’t think of any other place I would rather be on the eve of the final battle than within his embrace.

“I’m here.”

I’m not sure who whispered that phrase, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it was in the air surrounding us, holding us.

Then, like all good things, it came to an end. Harry took hold of my hands and pushed himself away from me, staring at the missing button on my cloak as he told me that he had a meeting with McGonagall he needed to attend. I felt myself nod, felt myself smile at him as I left his hold and began to walk by him. But before I could reach the bathroom door, I felt a rough pull on my hand and before I knew it, Harry’s lips were pressed against mine.

Another tango, another dance, another perfect embrace.

He pulled away from me after a few moments, a shocked look evident on both of our faces. But slowly, slowly a smile grew upon his lips, a smile that answered my every prayer.

I saw Harry standing in front of me, the lost man entwined with the shadows.

“Sorry,” he finally said, breaking the silence. My fingers flew to my lips as I stared at him, and I felt myself begin to smile. “I just...I had to know.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I replied quickly, and his smile grew even further until I could fully recognize the boy I fell in love with.

Harry.

My Harry.

~-~-~-~-~-~

“What if he needs more?”

“More than what?”

“More than us?”

I looked at Ron, at his pale face and frown lines. We were sitting underneath our tree next to the lake as we waited for Harry’s return from McGonagall’s office, crouched underneath whistling leaves, hidden underneath the moon’s illuminating shadows. I knew what he meant. He wasn’t questioning our loyalty, our strength. He was questioning his own.

“He has more,” I finally said, as Ron ripped grass from the ground with his trembling hands. “He has the Order, and his friends...he has more, Ron. He has more than he could ever need.”

“But what if–”

“And he has you,” I stated fiercely, taking ahold of his hand. “He has his best friend. The boy who stood up to Sirius Black and told him he would have to kill you if he wanted to kill Harry. The boy who sacrificed himself to save the Sorcerer’s Stone. The man who chose this destiny.” Ron finally looked at me then, an almost smile adorning his features. “You’re brave, Ron. And strong. And smart–”

Ron snorted.

“–and Harry couldn’t possibly need any more than you.”

Ron looked at me, gazing at me with a serious expression on his face. Soon after, he cast his eyes upon the lake and sighed deeply as he placed his chin onto his hand.

“Us,” Ron corrected, smiling slightly at me as he turned his head. “Harry couldn’t possibly need any more than us.”

“Us,” I whispered, blushing. “Yes. Us.”

Were Harry and I...were we...were we an us?

...were we?

“Yes,” Ron replied, a grin beginning to grow upon his features. “Us.”

“Yes. Us,” I muttered, blushing an even deeper rouge. “Us.”

Ron squinted his eyes at me, his mouth in a slight frown before he erupted in laughter. Shocked, I stared at him with my mouth slightly open as he continued to laugh.

“Ron, honestly!”

“Hermione,” he wheezed, hands clutching his side as he wiped away his tears of mirth. “You...you scarlet woman!”

“What?!” I shrieked, scandalized.

“You’re fraternizing with our best friend!”

My mouth moved like a fish out of water as he began laughing again at the sight of my face. After what seemed like years of embarrassment, I began smacking him on the arm, which only fueled his hilarity.

“I am not fraternizing–”

“Okay, sorry, snogging–”

“Ron!”

“Hermione!”

“You...you slug-belching, ignorant, emotionally impaired bint of a moron–”

“You over-achieving, frizzle-haired, wooly bladder sewing failure of a chess player–”

“You Quidditch obsessed fool–”

“Book-worming lunatic–”

“Bleeding imbecile–”

“Frustrating tart–”

I gasped as he cocked one eyebrow and grinned, challenging me.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!”

“Oi! That one’s below the belt!”

And then we were laughing. Gut wrenching, barely breathing, snort worthy laughter. It seemed...foreign. But similar. Like coming home after a year of absence from the muggle world. Awkward for the first few moments, but afterwards...afterwards there was just me and comfort and the knowledge that even though there’s more, more, more...this is enough.

And us, sitting beneath our tree, laughing...I almost forgot. I almost forgot about the boggart and V-Voldemort and tomorrow...and almost forgetting was...brilliant. It was a surprising breath of fresh air after ages of smog and darkness and blinding rage.

“It’s about time,” Ron said as our laughter winded down, placing his hands on the back of his head as he leaned back against the trunk. “You and Harry...it’s about time.”

“Mmm,” I replied softly, smiling in spite of myself. And that was all Ron said about the matter...I think he felt that nothing more was necessary. That was that.

It was about time.

We sat in a contented silence for a bit, gazing at the lake. It was strange to think that this was our first night back at Hogwarts since our last departure, since Dumbledore’s burial. When did Hogwarts cease to be my home? Our home?

“Remember when we finished off the last horcrux?” Ron asked suddenly, still looking up at the night sky.

“And it was under our noses the entire time?”

“Figures, that V-V-Voldemort would put 6/7 of his soul in diaries and jewelry and silverware–”

“Yes, yes, how utterly feminine of him,” I said, rolling my eyes. “And Ron, it’s not 6/7–it’s 63/64 of his soul.”

“Hermione, please don’t be offended when I tell you that you are clinically mental.”

“Mathematically, it couldn’t be 6/7,” I said, pulling at my robes. “He kills, and splits his soul in two, and then he kills again. He then splits that half he still holds in his physical body in half, not his entire soul, because the first split soul was already placed into a horcrux and thus could not be split along with the soul residing within his physical body–”

“It’s too easy, Hermione, if V-Voldemort only had 1/64 of his soul left.”

“Yes,” I whispered, suddenly fearful. “But numbers are not as clear as we believe them to be...they lie to us sometimes, blind us. Voldemort’s later soul is undeniably stronger than his previous, whole soul...so perhaps his remaining 1/64 is the most dangerous of all.”

“Maybe,” Ron finally said, his voice hoarse. I looked over at him and saw his Adam’s Apple bob in the moonlight, a frown replacing his smile.

“Ron...”

“Yeah?”

“What if...what if a bit of Voldemort is in Harry?”

“You mean...if Harry’s a horcrux?”

“No, no...I don’t think it’s the same...”

Ron sat up and looked at me as he frantically ran his fingers through his hair, his eyes wide and glimmering in the darkness.

“You mean, the parseltongue and the scar and...and that?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

Ron sucked in a quick breath.

“It’s...it’s not part of Voldemort’s soul, right? He’s just...left a mark. But he hasn’t like...imprinted Harry, or anything like that. Like you said, it’s not a horcrux...Harry’s not a horcrux...”

“I...yes. Yes.”

Then he looked at me, again.

“Hermione...Harry’s going to do anything, you know, to come back.”

But will that be enough?

“He will,” I whispered, nodding.

“Yeah,” Ron finally muttered, sighing. “Yeah.”

“I...I broke the mood, didn’t I.”

Ron shrugged.

“No...you just brought us back to it, is all. The laughing was the breaking. I can’t remember the last time we just...”

Ron sighed again, and began to shred grass leaves in his hands once more.

“But I suppose that’s the whole point,” he mumbled. “To get back all of our ‘last times’...”

“Ron...” I whispered, suddenly filled by the idea that this could be our last time. “I love you. You know that, right?”

Ron grinned, his eyes smiling at me as he nodded.

“I know.”

And then, Ron’s stomach grumbled. He sighed and patted his stomach.

“After this damn war, I better get my last Hogwarts feast. Imagine...living off Harry’s cooking.” Ron looked at me then, smiling. “We must really like him.”

We laughed, gently, like children.

And then I knew.

I knew, sitting underneath our tree with my legs crossed and Ron’s smile in the air, that this wasn’t going to be a ‘last time.’

That I would get it back.

And that was enough for me.

~-~-~-~-~-~

“Ron...”

“Harry...”

The two stood three feet apart in front of the fireplace, shoulders tense as they both scrunched up their faces in valiant attempts to hold in their tears. Then suddenly, they grabbed each other in a fierce hug, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Love you, mate,” Ron mumbled hurriedly, thumping Harry in the back.

“Yeah,” Harry said gruffly, and I could detect a slight trace of tears in his voice. “Yeah. Same.”

“I...well...I told Ginny I would visit the common room before...it. That. So...” then Ron gave me a significant look before exiting from the guest quarters, the portrait swinging wildly behind him.

“Harry, I’ll...I’ll be right back,” I muttered before I followed Ron, stepping through the small door that Ron could only fit through with the aid of magic. I saw him leaning against a nearby wall, waiting for me as I saw a few tears escaping his eyes.

“I must look like a bleeding girl,” he said as he wiped them away hurriedly, looking ashamed.

“No, Ron...” And he didn’t. He truly didn’t. I had never been prouder of him as I was in that moment, watching him cry against a stone wall on the eve of the final battle. I walked up to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, feeling his shattered breaths against my cheek as I laid my head on his chest. Almost desperately he held me, as if scared that I could slip through his fingers at any moment. We stayed like that for a few more moments, sharing our fears and anxieties and affection in a warm embrace.

“Hermione,” he finally muttered, pulling away from me. “I was never good with this bleeding feely shit...but...you...you and Harry...you two were the best things that happened to me. Really. I mean, even with you here I never graduated from Hogwarts...”

He smiled, almost.

“And...you know I...thank you, Hermione. For everything. For fighting and pushing and never letting go. You saved me and Harry more times than I even know, and...”

“I know,” I whispered, finishing his words with a smile as I held his hand. “I know.”

“Take care of Harry,” Ron answered, swallowing heavily. “I’d do it myself, but he doesn’t want me by his side tonight...” Ron raised his eyebrows and smirked, and I blushed profusely before smacking him on the arm.

“Prat.”

“Tart.”

I watched him walk away, hands in his robes as his hair slumped forward dejectedly. It had always been the three of us, even when we were bickering or fighting or alone. And that was what I loved the most about our relationship. We were stronger because of it...and we were never truly alone. Even now, when Ron had somehow grown the intuition to give Harry and me our last precious moments together...it was still the three of us. Even with him walking away, it was the three of us. And it was comforting, even in this time of chaos and trepidation, to know that my two boys were always with me.

I reentered the private quarters to find Harry watching the fire, his back to me. It was strange how everything had changed and yet everything felt the same. Maybe it was that way because nothing had really changed...we had kissed and professed, but our feelings had always been suspended there above our heads. It was nothing new. I walked up to him then, pressing my hand into his as I laid my head on his shoulders. I felt him take a deep breath as he turned to look at me, the softest glance in his eyes as his gaze found mine in the dancing light of the fire.

Nothing more needed to be said as I took him by the hand and laid down on the sofa. He followed suit, climbing in behind me so that we remained entwined with both our backs to the cold shadows of the room and our eyes still on the fire. I felt his arm around my waist, his breath on my neck, and nothing, not even Voldemort or the promise of death, could take that comfort away from me.

“When I was little,” Harry finally said, breaking the silence, “I used to catch fireflies in the backyard of the Dursley’s. I had this old jar I found in the street, and I used it to run across the lawn with my arms outstretched and the moon smiling at me from the bottom of it. There was this bedtime story I once read that said life was light and that if someone could capture it, they could hold the world in their hands. I used to think that I was holding the world in my hands, what with all those lights flickering on and off. I remembered someone telling me that I was supposed to let the fireflies go after I caught them, but I didn’t want to let the world slip through my fingers. I wanted to hold it, and jiggle it a little, and find it again the next night. But when I looked the day after, they were all dead, and all that I had in my hands were an old, rusty jar and some dead fireflies.”

His hand moved to hold mine, his grasp steady and firm.

“I never caught fireflies after that. I thought I had murdered them, enslaved them and killed them. I think...I think the world is really like that. You can’t hold it in your hands for more than a few moments, or else you’ll lose it irreversibly. You can catch it, but then you have to let it go to regain it. You can’t jiggle the world all the time.”

“Harry...”

“I’m not saying I don’t want you to hold me forever. In fact, it’s probably the one thing I do want more than anything else in the world. But maybe...maybe I’m supposed to leave you to come back. Maybe the fact that I can escape from Voldemort...from thinking about him and obsessing...maybe the fact that I can be with you and have these moments of brilliant clarity and forgetfulness means that I have the power, really. Voldemort’s the selfish kid with the dying fireflies, and I’m the one that lets them go every night to find them the next day.”

He then reached over to lightly trace my chin and pull my gaze towards him.

“You’re the one who has saved me all this time, Hermione. You’re the one who unscrewed the jar cap.”

“I love you,” I finally said, feeling my heart swell as I watched him smile at me with a bittersweet tenderness. “I feel like we’ve been on this winding road, all this time, and now there’s this bend that I can’t see past and I don’t know what’s going to come when we finally...”

“Whatever it is,” Harry replied firmly, a gentle fierceness in his eyes I had never seen before, “we’ll find it together.”

And I was afraid, even as we held each other that night in front of the blazing fire, that we wouldn’t. But...in that moment, we shared a sweet embrace and as we both looked to the fire, we could almost see the flickering light of the fireflies in the dancing sparks. And the knowledge that tomorrow, tomorrow with its unforseeable bend...the knowledge that we would still have those flickering lights to share, regardless of what occurred...

It was enough. For the two of us.

For the three of us.

The end.