A Long Way Home

Disclaimer: All things HP belong to JKR and not me.

Author’s Note: Angst alert! Because my Muse wanted to write of H/Hr breaking up and when my Muse wants something, mine is not to question, mine is but to write or die.

Posted in 3 parts, because even though it started out as a one-shot, it ended up having a (very short) Prologue and an Epilogue too.

A Long Way Home

Prologue: Dream

Last night, I dreamed of him again.

In my dream, I saw him standing at the other end of a busy street.

People were moving past us, children laughing, adults talking, arguing, laughing, all busy and all preoccupied with their own lives and their own concerns. And in the middle of it all, there he was.

I saw him first, recognized him even from that distance, as I think I should have recognized him from any distance. There was no mistaking that unruly hair that no comb could ever make lie flat. There was no mistaking his stance either; I knew the way he carried himself, the way he walked. I recognized that tilt of his head.

Even now, after years had gone by.

I knew I would recognize him even if a century had gone by.

I had known everything there was to know about him. I knew of his dreams and his nightmares; I knew the way he woke up in the mornings, first squinting, then blinking, in that brief moment of disorientation he usually had. I knew the way he liked to be touched, knew the way he liked to touch me. I had felt the solid warmth of his back and chest beneath my hands, felt the way he trembled when I touched his erection. I had known what it felt like to have him inside me, filling me, stretching me. I had seen the look on his face when he hit his climax and heard his cries and his groans. I had heard my name on his lips at the moment of ecstasy. I knew the tenderness of his touch and the force of his passion.

I knew the intensity of all his emotions.

And I knew, too, the hurt that I had caused him.

I knew the moment he saw me because he stopped moving, his entire body stilled, and he simply stared.

For a moment, we both stood staring at each other, unmindful of everyone else around us.

I saw the beginnings of a smile on his lips and then I was moving towards him, first walking, and then running. Running, running, until I threw myself at him and felt his arms close around me with enough force to push the breath from my body.

I was crying and laughing at the same time, with a hysteria that I would have been ashamed of at any other time and would never have shown anyone except for him.

I heard him breathe my name in that way he had that I loved, that soft, husky, caressing whisper that made my name an endearment and a prayer—and just the one word gave me forgiveness and absolution at the same time. He said my name the way every woman dreamed of hearing her name spoken, with a mixture of love and longing, the way I’d dreamed of hearing him say my name for years now. “Hermione…”

And then he was kissing me and I knew that I was finally home…

Last night, I dreamed of him again and I was happy.

And this morning, I awoke, alone again.

~To be continued…

Disclaimer: See Prologue.

Author’s Note: Since I forgot to mention it in the Prologue, the first line of the Prologue was a tribute to the novel ‘Rebecca’ and to one of the brilliant Lori’s fics, ‘Caretaker.’

The entire idea of Hermione breaking Harry’s heart—and H/Hr breaking up in the first place—rather taxed the imagination to make it seem in-character. I only hope I succeeded.

A Long Way Home

My Heart Was Home Again

The first time she saw him again after almost four years, she saw only his back.

She never knew what Providence made her look up from her book at just that moment but she remained forever grateful for it.

He was moving, walking swiftly away from her, every line of his body stiff with an emotion she couldn’t quite identify but knew what had caused it anyway. He must have seen her, and now he was running away.

Immediately, her heart was in her throat, her emotions almost strangling her, (he was back, he was back, he was here, she hadn’t known he’d come back but he was… and oh God but she’d missed him so…) but she retained enough control over her muscles to rush after him, pausing to be thankful in some tiny corner of her mind that she’d already paid for her lunch because if she hadn’t, she knew she would still have leaped up and gone after him.

There was nothing welcoming about his stance or his speed and she, of all people, knew how little reason he had to welcome her but the thought did nothing to check her. She had been waiting for this, dreaming of this, for years now, and she wasn’t going to lose him again.

She had learned from her mistake.

“Harry!”

He stopped, every fiber of his being and every cell in his brain telling him to ignore her, protect the heart she’d already broken from any further hurt, and go on.

He had picked up the pieces and built himself up again but he knew his weakness. And he feared that if it happened again, this time he might not recover.

His gut clenched inside him even tighter than it already had been, just from his first glimpse of her, sitting there reading a book. The very familiarity of the position, her lower lip caught between her teeth, a slight frown on her forehead in her concentration, had torn at his heart, slashing at the wounds he’d thought were healed enough to risk returning to England.

But now he knew that he’d been overly optimistic.

These wounds would never heal.

He had told himself he hated her, had pictured his return and being able to turn his back on her.

And now that the critical moment had come, he knew he couldn’t do it.

Even now, in spite of everything, his body, his soul, felt her nearness and reacted to it and he could no more ignore her than he could simply stop his heart from beating.

He turned and faced her and then could have laughed, a hard, bitter laugh wrung from the depths of his being, at the way his stupid heart leaped on meeting her eyes again, for the first time in 3 years, 9 months and one week.

“Hello, Hermione.”

And just saying her name again threw his mind back to the last time he’d spoken to her directly, that day she’d broken his heart and shattered his entire existence.

He stared at her, for a moment absolutely convinced he’d heard her wrong. There was an odd buzzing in his ears, an icy cold beginning in his chest and spreading outwards until it enveloped his entire body.

“You- you want to break up?” he croaked out.

She visibly flinched at the shock and hurt he knew she must see on his face and hear in his voice. “No,” she faltered and then looked away, “I mean, yes… I mean, I don’t know! Harry, don’t you see, this is too much for us? We’re only 18 and we’ve never really had a chance to live like… like normal people! We’ve been fighting a war and- and afraid we might die every day!” Her voice rose, her words coming quicker and quicker, until she was sounding closer to hysteria than he’d ever heard her.

At any other time, he would have reacted to that, would have wanted to calm her down, would have been willing to do anything to make her sound, once more, like the calm, cool, rational Hermione he knew so well. Right then, he couldn’t. He could swear his entire body had gone numb, his mind and heart especially, mercifully protected from the full extent of hurt at her words, like a dumb animal bludgeoned into unconsciousness from repeated blows.

“I mean, how do we know that this, what we think we feel and have together, is real? We were- were each other’s firsts,” she said, blushing scarlet, but continuing on. “We’ve never really been apart for the past 7 years and I just—I need to be sure that this isn’t just because we’ve been in danger. It’s not—it’s not just convenience…”

She finally looked back at him, after avoiding facing him for the past few minutes, and flinched again. “Harry, don’t look like that!” she choked and for the first time in his memory, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care that she was hurting too.

“What do you expect me to look like?” he lashed out, suddenly angry. “Hermione, I- I care about you; you’re the most important person in my life!” he stumbled over the words, the confession, as other words stuck in his throat, those three words he’d never yet said to her—or to anyone. He didn’t know why exactly but somehow, he couldn’t say those words; they caught in his throat when he tried and he wasn’t comfortable with talking about his feelings for her anyway and never had been. “You know that. And now you’re telling me you think we should see other people, that we end this and just go back to being friends again. But I can’t do that, Hermione. I can’t just be friends with you again; this- I- it means too much to me. I can’t go back. I don’t want to go back!” He stared at her, forcing himself to get up and go over to her, trying to put his arms around her. “Hermione,” he said, his voice softer, more pleading, “how can you do this? I thought—I thought you cared…”

“I do! You know I do! I just- I need to be sure that this is real, that we’re not settling.” She looked up at him with the expression that he’d always thought would make him willing to do anything she asked him to—and even now, he felt the pull of that look. “Please, Harry, can’t you understand?”

“No, I don’t understand. I don’t doubt us; I could go on forever the way we have been,” he clipped out, his words precise to keep from breaking down entirely. “But…” he paused, trying to force the words out, to keep on breathing, to keep from begging, “if it’s what you want…” He couldn’t finish the sentence but then, he didn’t need to.

He looked at her one last time, saw the tears in her eyes, but hardened his heart for the first time. “Goodbye, Hermione.”

He had once had to carve the phrase, ‘I will not tell lies’ onto his hand; the faint scars from that time still remained. Now, he felt as if those two words he’d said were carved on his heart—and he didn’t think anything could stop these wounds from bleeding.

He had no clear recollection of what they said or how he managed to Apparate without splinching himself into her flat.

But she had looked up at him with that expression he’d last seen that last day, the day before he left England for years, and all he could remember her saying was, “please, Harry.”

And even though he cursed himself for being ten kinds of an idiot, he reacted.

He had thought that if she looked at him like that, he would do anything—and he’d been right. Even now.

He really was the world’s most pathetic idiot.

“How- how have you been, Harry?” she finally asked, hesitantly, inanely.

And something inside him snapped at the question.

He had thought he was over her, had thought he was resigned, that he understood, finally, just why Hermione had needed to put distance between them. It had taken months before he’d finally been able to think about it, remember all she’d said, more clearly, without the agony and anger clouding his thoughts but he’d thought he understood. He did understand, intellectually. It was true, everything she’d said. They had been each other’s firsts; they had lived their lives together since they’d been 11 and had never really had the opportunity or the time to meet anyone else or see what society was like. They had been so young, had hardly had any previous fancies and then, what had happened between them had been so intense. He remembered it all, remembered how it had been, remembered how she could just look at him across a room (and not in anything like an invitation either) and his body would be hard. He remembered how she had taken over his thoughts until there were times Voldemort and the horcruxes and the entire War were entirely forgotten, became inconsequential; in those first few weeks after their first time, he’d felt like he was going mad. Mad for her, but mad. The madness had lessened, of course, but then there had been the emotions. Because when it hadn’t been about passionate kisses and caresses, it had been everything else they’d built their friendship on. It had been the moments of quiet humor, the moments of comfort, the moments of understanding, the moments of trust… It had been about the way he used to enjoy waking up early just so he could watch her sleep…

And then after losing Ron… He still shuddered at the thought, still had to fight back tears at thinking of him. Even more than ever, it had been the two of them. They had been the two surviving heroes of the war and they had only had each other to turn to. If their relationship had been strong, if the bond between them had been unbreakable before, after those first months after the war, the bond between them had only strengthened. She had become his entire life, he’d sometimes thought, and he knew that he had become hers.

But he knew her. He knew how she tended to shy away from emotions because of how inherently messy they were, anathema to her naturally logical nature. He knew how she sought refuge and comfort in her books and her cleverness, to hide the warmth and vulnerability of her heart.

It was no wonder that the intensity of their relationship had scared her, that she’d needed to know, for certain, that what they had was real. It had always been part of her, this dislike of uncertainty, of anything she didn’t know for certain.

He knew her and so he’d come to understand why she had asked what she had, why she had needed to put some distance between them.

He had thought that understanding would engender compassion, forgiveness—and it had.

Until he saw her again and heard her ask how he had been, as if they were simply old friends who had not seen each other in years, as if there were no hurts between them.

“Oh, I’ve been simply bloody wonderful,” he snapped, his words laced with sarcasm. “An exile from my home, wandering all over to be surrounded and lionized by strangers. It’s been great.” He paused and then added, with deliberate crudity, “I’ve shagged several witches, like you told me to. Blondes, redheads, girls with black hair, tall, short, big breasts and small.”

She grew paler with every word, flinching as if he’d struck her with every word of his laundry-list of characteristics of the girls he’d shagged—deliberately lying and leaving off brunettes when the reality was that, until he’d realized what he was doing and forcibly stopped, he’d been seeking girls out who looked like her, reminded him of her in some way. He had to bite his tongue, too, to keep from blurting out the rest of the truth, that what he’d really learned was that there was only her, that every other woman paled in comparison to her. That even while he’d been kissing, shagging others, he’d always been thinking of her, that she fit against him the way no one else ever could, that she was his ideal. That she had haunted his dreams from the day he left her to this—and he suspected she always would.

She swallowed hard and when she spoke, she managed to sound remarkably calm, too calm. He knew her too well to believe the utter toneless-ness of her voice, could recognize the stricken expression in her eyes.

He wondered rather desperately just why it hurt him still to see her pain, why in spite of the fact that she had broken his heart and haunted him these past few years, it still hurt him to hurt her.

“You- you must hate me now,” she said.

Her words broke through his anger, leaving his last defense in ruins around him. They had been best friends and so much more than that… Now… they were—what were they? Not friends, not enemies—two people with so much pain in their pasts, so much hurt each had done the other…

“No, I don’t hate you,” he finally responded, his voice gentle, and found himself adding, in spite of himself, “I can’t hate you.”

She caught her breath, her eyes meeting his and he knew she’d see the truth of his words in his eyes—as she’d always been able to.

For one long moment in which he didn’t dare to breathe and it seemed as if the entire world held its breath, time pausing at that one pivotal instant, she stared at him—and then she broke down.

She cried as he had never seen her or anyone cry before, great, gasping sobs wrenching their way from her chest and shaking her entire body, as she curled up on herself. Cried as if her heart was broken, cried as if she would never stop. Cried all the tears she had never allowed herself to cry in all these past years since she’d pushed him away.

For the space of one heartbeat, he was frozen from shock and dismay and pain and then he reached out for her, moving to hold her.

And after a fleeting second when her sobs caught in her throat and he sensed her hesitation, she all but melted against him, her hands reaching for him, clutching him, as she continued to cry.

He hauled her into his arms until she was half sitting on his lap and half simply leaning against him, his arms closing around her, as he rested his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes against the tears pricking at his own eyes. He still couldn’t bear to see her cry; every sob tore at him, causing a pain so intense it was almost physical. With a long sigh, he accepted the truth he should have realized long ago, that in spite of everything, he could never get over her. For better or worse, his heart was hers.

She had begun to babble, wailing into his chest, but it was only now that he was able to decipher the words, when her sobs were quieting somewhat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Can you ever forgive me? I- I was such an idiot; I- I can’t believe I did that! Oh Harry… I’m so sorry…”

I’m sorry… Sorry, sorry, sorry…

The words echoed in his mind and seeped into his heart, soothing the gaping wounds she’d inflicted, as he finally began to heal.

For a long minute, he wavered between wanting to punish her and wanting to give in to the plea in her voice.

He had trusted her more than anyone, had trusted her with his life and his heart. He had built his entire existence, it seemed, on his trust in her, that she, of all people, would never hurt him and when she had hurt him, she had taken the ground on which his life had been built and he’d been lost, left desolate. Alone in a suddenly foreign, hostile world.

“You broke my heart,” he heard someone say and belatedly realized the words had come from him, his voice hardly recognizable.

Her breath hitched and her hands clutched at him tighter. “I know. I’m sorry… I broke mine too.”

“I do understand why, though,” he admitted in spite of himself.

“I was such an idiot! I- I thought I was being smart, thought I needed to be sure—and instead I made the biggest mistake of my life.” She moved away from him, sitting up, and met his eyes.

Her skin was pale and blotchy, her eyes red and swollen from all her tears. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Harry, can you- can you forgive me for being such an idiot?”

For a fleeting moment, he remembered another time, years ago, when he could have responded to such a question with humor, teased her for her uncharacteristic admission of having made a mistake, and wished with a desperate longing that he could do so now. Not for the sake of being funny but for what it would mean about their friendship, their relationship. But he couldn’t; the moment was too somber for that. There was too much hurt between them to make light of it. Some tiny, vindictive part of him even wished he could say no, hated himself for this weakness—but even as he thought it, he knew he couldn’t do it, knew what he would say.

“Yes.”

It had never really been a choice, anyway. He knew that, knew he would always forgive her, always love her… She was, as she’d always been, his weakness—but, paradoxically, she was also his strength. She was the one who’d always given him hope to face the next day—and, in defiance of all, she still was.

He closed his eyes, letting his head fall, drained from all the tumult of emotions he’d been through, but he opened them again, looking back up at her, when he felt her fingers touch his cheek lightly, in a tentative gesture that was almost, but not quite, a caress.

“I love you, Harry.” Her voice was soft as she said the words she’d never said before. “I’ve always loved you. I always will love you.”

The words were both a declaration and a promise and with those words, he was healed.

He let out a shuddering sigh, his eyes meeting hers, as the last tattered remnants of his defenses and his doubts and his fears disintegrated. If the eyes were windows to the soul, he could see all he needed to see in her eyes, all the apology, all the poignant regret, all the yearning and all the love…

“I love you.”

With the words he’d never said before, she was forgiven and she was healed.

And when his hands cupped her cheeks, his touch was gentle, almost tentative, as if she were a dream and might vanish at a touch.

Her eyes fluttered closed a moment before his lips touched hers. And he kissed her as if she were a miracle.

He kissed her and they both knew that they were home…

~

Should I climb aboard, risk everything, and ride it to the end?
Watch the hills like roller coasters up against the sky
And wish that you were here by me, so close that I could die
You said love wrecks everything and none of us survive
So I got over you last night and I'm still alive
Then I saw your face across the street, and my heart was home again

And I remembered everything and every window pane
Every word came back to me, the way it used to be
And then I saw your face across the street, and my heart was home again

~ “My Heart Was Home Again” by Josh Groban

~To be continued, with the Epilogue…

Disclaimer: See the Prologue.

Author’s Note: The Epilogue—and the end of this fic, for real. Thanks, everyone, for reading and reviewing. I hope you enjoy this!

A Long Way Home

Epilogue: With You

That night, she dreamed of him again.

In her dream she looked up and she saw him, their eyes meeting across all the distance that separated them.

Her heart stopped in her chest, squeezing painfully, as she stared, longing, willing him to come closer, willing him to have forgiven her.

Then he turned and walked away.

And as it sometimes happens in dreams, she could not move. Her feet had taken root, her body refusing to obey her commands. She could not cry out his name, could not beg him to come back.

She could only stand there and watch as he left her, watch as her heart broke yet again…

~

She awoke with a start and a gasp, to find tears running down her cheeks, her heart aching with the old, familiar pain of knowing he was gone.

But this time, she awoke to see his face.

Moonlight was streaming through her window, leaving a swath of light that lit his face, sleeping peacefully, and part of his chest, covered in a t-shirt.

They had talked for hours, it seemed, about all they’d endured and survived in the last few years, confessing the truth of the other people they’d dated (a grand total of 2 for her, 5 for Harry) but how they’d each realized that it wasn’t good enough. None of it had been real, had meant even a fraction of what they had always meant to each other. Talked until they’d finally fallen asleep, lying next to each other on her bed that had been so lonely these past few years.

Now, finally, he was here and she knew she’d never let him go again.

He awoke to feel her eyes and her hands on him, her fingers lightly tracing patterns over his chest in a movement that wasn’t technically supposed to be arousing but then, he knew better than anyone that Hermione never had to try to arouse him. He awoke to see the dream that had haunted him since the day he’d left England come to life, to the wonderful consciousness that all that had been so wrong, so lacking, in his life since then was now put right.

He tugged her closer to him, reaching for her, his lips finding hers and let the familiar passion, the familiar lust, engulf them.

And she responded with all the pent-up desire of years, glorying in the familiarity of it all.

And every kiss, every touch, every caress, was forgiveness and absolution, apology and celebration, remembrance and discovery, so achingly familiar and yet so wonderfully new as well.

She knew the taste of him, the way his hands wandered over her body, touching, exploring, and managing to divest her of her clothing almost without her being aware of it. She knew the weight of him on top of her, the feel of her breasts flattened against his bare chest.

She knew the feeling of his mouth on her body, knew the way he could send her soaring into another universe of searing, shattering pleasure, until her world ended and began with him and he became her reality.

She knew the places to touch him to make him tremble and to groan, knew the way he would look at her, his eyes burning with so much want it could make her tremble.

She knew the feeling of him inside her, filling her, until she could swear he was touching her heart, and she blinked back tears as she clutched him tighter to her.

“I missed this,” she gasped.

“I know. I missed you,” he responded, his voice hoarse and raspy with need.

Then there were no more words, no more need for words, as he began to move and she met his every motion, in the timeless, endless dance of love and lust that was somehow unique to them.

And when she hit her peak, she knew the glory of ecstasy that only he could give her, the burst of pleasure that stole her breath and her heart and her very soul. And when he, too, reached his climax, she knew the way he cried out her name in that guttural tone.

She knew it all—and knew, too, just how special, how unique, it was.

When he rolled over and drew her in tightly against him, her body fitting against his as they’d always been meant to be, she discovered the newer, deeper, more poignant joy of intimacy.

They had loved before but now they had also suffered. They had known all the pain as well as the pleasure of loving as deeply as they did. They had known it all—and now they knew it would be forever, that no one and nothing would ever be able to separate them again.

She could hear his heart beating as she rested her head against his chest—the heart which she knew beat for her, just as hers beat for him.

His arms were wrapped firmly around her; he would never let her go again and she was perfectly fine with that.

“I love you,” she breathed against his chest, dropping a kiss on his skin, before snuggling against him again.

His answer wasn’t in words; he only tightened his arms around her, brushing his lips against her hair.

It was sometime later, when she was nearly asleep, that she heard him breathe just one word before he, too, drifted into sleep.

“Forever.”

Forever… She smiled and drifted into happy dreams this time.

They had been through the shadows and now they were home—for good.

Sometimes I remember reasons I let you go
Inside them I see your face and all I really know
I was scared to share the love I had inside of me
Through all the heartache I know that I was meant to be
With you
I have everything I've ever wanted
Simple and true

…

In the dark I'll still be here
Forever in your arms where I belong
With you
I have everything I've ever wanted
Simple and true

With you
Loving eyes so beautiful
It's you
Who always knew our love would see us through

~ “With You” by Josh Groban

The strongest steel must go through the hottest fire. –Charles Dickens

~The End~