A/N: Like-finally, I get this done!!!!
Thanks to Tome Raider, I was able to even out something very important. Hopefully, this works better than the first version. ^_^
Chapter Twelve: Return of the Hero
Hermione noted the bank seal beside Mr. Safekeep's signature and knew that the document was authentic.
Without flinching, she handed the note over for Tonks to read.
Hermione turned to leave the room.
Ron scowled. "Where are you going?"
"I need to think," she said, leaving Ron to puzzle over the matter on his own.
She barged through the Ministry doors, scaring Aurors as she went. She needed air, and peace and quiet. She walked briskly to the fireplaces and Flooed to the highest level where she made her way to the lift leading to the Telephone Box.
As she entered the lift, she immediately pressed the close button to prevent anyone else from entering the car with her. She paid no attention to the complaints as she let the doors close on them all.
She stepped out of the box when it emerged on Strand and she took breaths of the London air. It was tinged with that oily, city smell, but it was better than the stifling feeling that was closing in on her down in the Ministry.
People were milling about, but everyone was minding their own business, and she found comfort in that. She could rail and scream, and no one would bother to ask if she was alright. They would all pretend that nothing was amiss and go about their way.
She set her gaze down Southhampton street. She began to walk to Convent Garden and from a block away, she could already see the street performers.
She swept past the performers and went straight for the railings overlooking the fountain. The landscaping around the fountain was lost to the dimness of the night, even if the area was relatively well lit. She watched the water's choreographed arching, the sound of it a constant rain in her ears.
Gripping the railing, she closed her eyes and breathed in and out. The air was moist with fountain mist, but it was calming. The sounds around her were constant and reliable. It helped settle her nerves.
She remembered the man in the interrogation room and she wondered what she was so afraid of.
If it was indeed Harry-
How could it not be?
--then shouldn't she be happy to have him back?
If only things were always that simple.
However steadfast her grip on Harry's memory had been in the last seven years, she had never, ever held any hope-none in the slightest, that he was alive. She had thought of him as dead, and gone forever, and that her memories of him were all she had. When she cried herself to sleep, or awoke with tears in her eyes, it was always because she was so deeply saddened by the fact that she would never have him with her again.
But like Fleur had said, perhaps she had been addicted to the drama of it all, because after all the crying and all the misery, the seemingly immovable truth that he had died being hers was a very precious memory. Whenever she thought of him, she always believed that had he lived, he would be with them, and happy. He would be a proud father, a loving husband, and a wonderful man.
"I love you," were his last words to her, and so nothing else mattered.
So to find out that he had been alive all this time, and that he was somewhere else, living another life while she thought him dead threw all those things off kilter. She was confused, if not hurt.
Where had he been? Why had he not come to them?
Those questions kept repeating in her mind.
Yet, she had to tell herself that if she really believed in Harry, she'd wait for an explanation-know that there was a good reason he had kept away.
Imprisoned somewhere, or trapped, maybe?
She shook her head, chastising herself.
Oh, honestly Hermione, surely you're not that selfish. That would've been horrible for Harry…
She lifted her eyes to the London sky.
Harry… that's Harry.
It was Harry. It couldn't be anybody else.
He was right. Nobody knew him better than she did, and she had felt him the moment she looked into his eyes on her front walkway.
Her heart began to beat wildly in her chest.
"It's Harry…" she whispered.
It was as if the realization flared to life when she said it out loud, and the horror of remembering him in those chains, in that room, thinking that she didn't believe him, overwhelmed her.
"Harry!" she gasped, breaking off into a run back to the Ministry.
She wove through the milling pedestrians, dodging tourists and sightseers fluidly.
When she reached the red telephone box, she punched in the numbers quickly, telling the box to bring her to the Auror Department.
She swung the door to the box open as soon as it came to a halt and almost crashed into Ron.
"Where the hell have you been?" Ron cried, grabbing her arm to keep them both from tripping. He ushered them to the side so that they could get out of the way.
"Thinking," Hermione said hastily. "Ron, I'm going back in there, and I'm going to have him released."
"What!" His face had turned red with outrage. "Hermione, you can't be serious!"
"It's him, Ron. It's him. I know it is-"
His lips pursed inflexibly. "Harry is dead, Hermione, and a letter from Grigotts doesn't prove anything."
She frowned. "If Gringotts is wrong, then the Hall of Records is wrong, too."
Ron's chin jutted out stubbornly. "The Hall of Records isn't infallible."
"The Hall of Records could only be tampered with if you use a lot of dark magic, a lot of Galleons, and oh-I'm thinking, no less than three perpetrators. No wizard, no matter how powerful, can do it all by himself!"
Ron turned red with sheer annoyance. "Then maybe he isn't working alone!"
Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. "What advantage would tampering with that record get anyone?"
"Why, Galleons! Harry's got loads of gold in his vault!"
Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head. "What are you blithering about? It's not that huge of an amount, Ron. It's considerable, but split it three ways-less the cost of actually accomplishing it-and it just isn't worth the trouble!"
"Oh, you've got that all figured out, haven't you?" Ron shot back sardonically.
The sarcasm grated at Hermione's nerves, and it pushed her temper to the limit. "And here I thought you'd only be too glad to have Harry alive. I almost get the feeling that you don't actually want him to be back."
The moment she said it, she realized the utter cruelty of her words.
She saw anger like no other spark from Ron's eyes. His shoulders tensed and his hands balled into fist. He looked so furious that Hermione actually believed for a second that he would hit her, but of course he didn't.
Ron simply turned and walked away from her, saying nothing as he stormed into the telephone box and disappeared up the lift.
Hermione found herself catching her breath as she closed her eyes and chastised herself for saying such a horrible thing. How could she have said those things to Ron when she herself had almost wanted the man in the interrogation room to be an imposter? Because Harry's return would be anything but simple. She knew it, and Ron knew it.
Even now, with the firm belief that Harry had indeed returned, she couldn't help but wonder what sort of changes seven years had wrought in him.
Does he still… feel the same way for me?
The question spun knots in her stomach.
For a moment, she considered going after Ron to apologize to him-tell him she hadn't meant what she said, but she realized that by doing that she would only be stalling for time, and that would be most terrible of her-using Ron while making Harry wait…
It was a terrible thing to think, yes, but the years had taught her all too well that Ron could never stay mad at her for very long.
Sighing at her own bad behavior, she made her way to the Auror Department, intent on freeing Harry Potter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He had been staring at the door for over an hour, praying each second that Hermione would walk right through it and knock him over with one of her bone-crushing embraces.
He supposed there were many things about this meeting that had turned out worse than he expected.
Sighing, he threaded his fingers through his hair.
I could hear Snape already. "I told you so."
He had never been good at planning things, anyway. The only one he ever did trust when it came to planning was Hermione, and she hadn't been there to plan their meeting. Snape had suggested that he actually kidnap Hermione then work on convincing her from there.
The suggestion had been vehemently rejected. Under no circumstance would Harry ever threaten her like that, not even if it was to convince her that he wasn't an imposter.
The meeting was a result of instinct-another thing he relied on, and he was so sure that the moment he touched her-held her in his arms, she would know it was him.
He hadn't anticipated that she would feel threatened by him-threatened enough to hex him. He thought he had her convinced. He had seen it in her eyes, that she wanted to believe him, but something happened-like she had remembered something, and she found the strength to Stupefy him unconscious.
She remembered that she'd lived the last seven years with the firm reality that you were dead, genius.
The fact that that misconception existed always slipped his mind, even while he had constantly worried in the last few years how terrible it would be for Hermione and Ron.
He wondered if Ron was out there, watching him.
There are a lot of things I wonder about when it comes to Ron…
Snape had stalwartly refused to give him any kind of access to news about the lives of Ron and Hermione, just that they were alive and well. To a certain degree, Harry could understand why. By keeping him in the dark about their lives, Harry could focus on what he had to do.
"If you want to see them, you have to get better," Snape had said without the slightest hint that he cared one way or the other.
Get better…
He scoffed at the thought.
On the other hand, it wasn't as if Snape liked being there, either. He was somewhat of a prisoner and Snape's release was contingent upon Harry "getting better" as Snape termed it.
Well, I'm not better, but I have to be here, or else-
The door opened and Tonks walked in with Aurors behind her. One of the Aurors approached him and began to undo his bindings. When he was free, the Aurors walked out, leaving Tonks alone, though the door was kept open.
Tonks seemed to wait for the Aurors to leave completely, the slamming of another door seeming to prompt her to continue.
"You're free to go… Harry," Tonks said, her eyes reflecting caution, as well as hope.
He would let her figure it out in her own time. He had more important things to think about right now, like why he was being released. "Just like that I'm free to go?"
"Hermione arranged it," Tonks said evenly. "She submitted some paperwork… lots of red tape. I'm also working on keeping the press out of this. You ought to be free of 'em in the next few days as long as you lie low… Harry-if you really are Harry-"
"I am," he said quietly. His heart was thumping in his chest-excitement, maybe, that Hermione was, just like old times, getting him out of trouble, because she believed him. She must. She must.
Tonks's eyes amazingly began to tear up, though she blinked quickly, and the glassy look in her gaze was gone. "I'm only letting you go because I trust Hermione's judgment. She would never put An-anyone in danger by setting you free, she trusts that you will do no one harm."
Harry wasn't quite sure what to say.
Tonks wasn't expecting a response. She turned and led him out of the room and through the Auror department. He got a few curious stares from the personnel, but they didn't seem overly astonished by his appearance. A few onlookers shrugged casually, and signaled that he was some crazy person. He found that he much preferred no one else believed he was back. It would make things less complicated, at least for the first few days.
Tonks stopped them at a door and she held its knob tentatively. "I'd like to bring Remus to see you, if you don't mind. Tomorrow, perhaps. Day after that if you prefer."
Remus…
Of course he would like to see Remus. "Tomorrow would be fine."
Tonks nodded and pushed open the door.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Harry walked through the door, Hermione stood from her cushioned seat, her hands fidgeting nervously. She never thought she would ever feel like she was eighteen again, uncertain of where she stood in the heart of Harry Potter.
It had been seven years since he last saw her, and many things had happened between now and then. She found that in spite of her certainty, in his absence, that he would love her-well, forever, she realized that it was all very different when faced with the reality that they had actually been separated by distance, not death, for seven years.
How did she look to him? What did he think of her? Had he kept his feelings for her all these years like she had for him, or had he been so occupied with whatever his ordeal had been to be thinking of silly notions of love? Or worse, maybe he had found someone else…?
He had said the thought of her had gotten him through all these years, but had he thought of her as a lover, or his best friend?
That he had gone through something, she did not doubt. Harry was of course older than when she last saw him, but he was still young being in his early twenties. Still, when she stared into his eyes in the interrogation room, saw the details of the shadows on his face, she could see how exhausted he was-worn. There were fading scars on his arms, and his hands were rough with use. His body, though broader, was lean, like the muscles had been stretched tight over him. His shoulders were slightly hunched.
He had reminded her of Remus, long ago, when no one cared for him, when the toll of his lycanthropy seemed to wear at him day after day after day.
She suddenly wished she didn't look so-as Fleur would term it-unglamorous.
It was difficult to stand there and look confident in old jeans, sneakers, and a plain blue v-neck tee shirt.
His penetrating gaze did nothing to ease her uncertainty.
"Thank you," he said, his voice sending her insides in turmoil. "Tonks said you processed my release. Y-You didn't have to."
It sounded too formal in spite of the warmth in his voice, and it broke her. She remembered the boy who didn't think he deserved anything good because he had been raised to believe he had been a burden. She saw the boy who talked about being made to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, and she remembered the boy who had never received any kind of human affection before she came around and embraced him, telling him to be careful.
She didn't even think about it when she launched herself into his arms, stifling her tears, and whispering, "I can't believe it. I can't, but it's you, isn't it? You're back! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hex you. Oh, you're back! You're back, Harry!"
For a moment, it was all her arms, and her murmured words, but then she felt his arms, and they were around her, embracing her so fiercely that she felt herself lifted from the ground.
She didn't know why she was so surprised. She had felt his arms around her before, and she believed she would never forget what it felt like, but the impact of reality left her blinking from shock, and she realized that memories could only recall so much.
His embrace was warm. It was a hundred times better than she remembered.
She felt his breath on her neck, and she heard the gentle timbre of his voice.
"It's alright. I'm alright. It's going to be okay…" he murmured.
His voice rippled down her spine, like satin threads spindling down her body.
It was unnerving, the way he affected her so quickly, and she pulled away from him slowly, but surely. She turned to lead him to another door. She was already asking him if he had a place to stay when his hand slid into hers. His grip was strong and reassuring.
"Do you really believe it's me?" he asked. There was no demand; just complete surrender.
Her heart wrenched. "Yes, Harry. I know it's you."
He smiled, and it was just as she remembered it.
She smiled right back, tearfully. She couldn't help it. "And you're coming home… with me."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione pushed her front door open, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. She was about to deal with Fleur and it was not going to be easy.
Fleur was asleep on the couch, paperwork scattered on the coffee table right next to Draco's manuscript. The paperwork was filled with curse breaking spells.
Julien was probably already asleep in the guestroom.
Hermione owed Fleur one. She hadn't realized her trip to the Ministry would take so long, and she knew Fleur and Julien must be exhausted from their trip to France for the Beauxbaton fair.
She turned to Harry who was stepping across the threshold, his eyes roving to his surroundings. He hitched his backpack higher, as if he wasn't willing to let it go.
He had been quiet as they traveled. When they stepped out of the telephone box from the Ministry, he had taken her hand, and while that had given her numerous flutters, he hadn't said anything-hadn't even looked like he was thinking anything. He just walked beside her, his hand in hers, as they made their way to the Apparition point together.
She had Side-alonged him. He didn't have his wand, and when they appeared on the other side, he had simply given her a tiny smile before going back to surveying his surroundings.
She had a feeling he was doing it to avoid conversation. It wasn't as if it was the first time he saw her street, but she didn't push. Besides, he was still holding her hand, and that made up for a lot of things.
Now they were in her house, and he was still looking around him.
"Um, Harry?"
His gaze fell on her expectantly, and she felt undone all over again. She was brought back several years, that first time he ever laid eyes on her on the Hogwarts Express. She remembered the open curiosity in his eyes, like they said, "Whatever you have to say, I know I'll find it interesting," because everything else around him had been one amazing thing after the next, and that she couldn't possibly be any less fantastic. She could tell by his eyes that she hadn't disappointed him. It had felt good, and now she was reliving that feeling again, though she couldn't imagine that what she had to say next was anything as closely fascinating.
"Give me a moment, won't you?" she whispered, closing the door behind him and turning the locks.
He nodded, the corner of his lip lifting slightly as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Slightly flustered, she hastened to go to Fleur.
She gently nudged Fleur awake.
Fleur cracked open her beautiful blue eyes. "You are back…" she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "'Ow did eet go at ze Ministry?"
Hermione chose her words. "Very confusingly. Ron and I fought again."
Fleur rolled her eyes and pushed herself up to sit. "Floo me when you 'ave shagged. Zis fighting is getting tedious."
Hermione felt her face grow hot, hoping to God that Harry hadn't heard that. "Oh, Fleur, really! Where's Julien?"
"In ze guestroom. I will get go get 'im. If 'e was not so tired, 'e would 'ave insisted on staying up late wiz Angelica. I cannot believe I was able to send them off to bed so early."
"Thank you for this, Fleur. I know you have better things to do with your time-"
Fleur waved off her words as she got up to head for the guestroom. "You would 'ave done ze same for me." She disappeared at the bend, and from the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Harry discretely making his way to the kitchen and behind its swinging door.
Hermione hadn't told Harry to do that, but she was grateful he had the sensitivity to lie low for the meantime.
Fleur came back out with Julien sleepily rubbing his eyes.
Hermione smiled at him apologetically. "I'm sorry I interrupted your sleep, monsieur. I didn't mean to stay out so late. Thank you for keeping Angelica company."
Julien yawed. "You're very welcome, Aunt Hermione. "
Fleur nudge her son gently. "Now go kiss Auntie goodbye and goodnight."
Hermione leaned over for the kiss and Julien pecked it on her cheek.
"Bonne nuit, tantine," murmured Julien.
"Bonne nuit," Hermione replied, ruffling his hair affectionately.
"I shall see you, cherie," Fleur said, exchanging cheek kisses with her. "I 'id a jar of bonbon au chocolat for you and Angelica in your kitchen cabinet. Tell 'er it is a reward from me for serving 'er detention well."
Hermione kept thanking her and she saw them to the door.
When she walked back into the living room, two things happened.
One, Harry walked out of the kitchen, and two, Angelica appeared at the top of the staircase.
Hermione had intended to talk to Harry about Angelica, of course, but she had hoped she could do it carefully-with proper deliberation, but now she saw that plan detonating before her very eyes. She panicked, and just stood there, watching it unravel at the seams.
Angelica rubbed at her eyes sleepily. "Mum, did Aunt Fleur say chocolate bonbons?"
Hermione saw Harry freeze mid-step, then he looked up, and Angelica looked down.
For several seconds, they stared at one another wordlessly.
Hermione had to remind herself to breathe.
Hastily, she made her way up the staircase and ushered Angelica back to her room. "I'm sorry sweetheart. Did we wake you? Aunt Fleur did indeed bring bonbons, but you can't have them until tomorrow. Back to bed you go."
"Mum, who's that man downstairs?" Angelica asked softly, trying to get another glimpse of Harry. "He looks an awful lot like-"
"We'll talk about it tomorrow, darling. Mum's a little out of sorts right now and must not be trusted to speak sense at the moment."
Angelica shot her mother an odd look but said nothing.
Hermione tucked Angelica into bed.
"Mum?" Angelica asked as Hermione pulled the covers over her.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
Angelica started for a bit then pursed her lips. Her eyes roved to the picture of Harry on her bedside table and Hermione held her breath, seeing the intelligence in her daughter's eyes gleaming brighter than ever.
She knows, thought Hermione wearily, and suddenly, she wished she could talk to her daughter about Harry now, but she had too many questions of her own, and she might give Angelica the wrong answers. Nevertheless, she didn't want Angelica to feel like she was being shut out. "Angelica? Something you want to say? You can tell me. I'll listen."
Angelica shook her head. "Nothing, mum. I want to go to sleep now."
The sigh that escaped Hermione was equal parts weariness and relief.
Tucking the covers more snugly around Angelica, Hermione sang a simple lullaby, running her fingers lightly in Angelica's hair until clear green eyes disappeared completely behind fluttering lids and her breathing rose and fell to an even rhythm.
Quietly, Hermione crept out of Angelica's room and braced herself for her meeting with Harry downstairs.
She saw that Harry had seated himself on the couch, hunched over with his elbows on his legs and his fingers laced behind his head.
Crookshanks sat at his feet staring up at him and mewling quietly. His tail whipped back and forth. Harry reached out and petted him and Crookshanks rose on all fours, rubbing his furry head against Harry's hand.
She wondered how she should approach it and decided she would start by making tea.
"She nodded right off to sleep," Hermione said nonchalantly. "Right considerate of her, I think. Let me make us some tea and we can talk, alright?"
He looked up, his eyes filled with confusion and amazement, but he said nothing, and she thought perhaps he would let her make tea.
She had just put the kettle on the fire when the kitchen door swung open and he was there.
For a moment, all they could do was stare at one another. She didn't quite know what to say.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, fidgeted, and said, "You call her Angelica?"
For a moment, Hermione wondered if he knew about Angelica the whole time he was gone.
"I heard Fleur mention the name," he explained, possibly seeing the question in her eyes. "Then you mentioned it, too. Just guessing…"
He didn't know, then, which brought a bunch of other questions to mind.
She fidgeted and replied. "Her name's Angelica Grace Granger."
He seemed mildly surprised. "Granger?"
That jolted her. She didn't know what he was asking. Was he… surprised that Angelica didn't have someone else's last name?
"Well… she's my daughter," she explained lamely.
He shrugged. "Yes, well… took you and I to make her, didn't it?"
She needed to take a seat, realizing that the only surname he had expected Angelica to have was his own. What was she going to say to him? "Sorry, we weren't married when I had Angelica,"?
Even if she tried to make it sound like a mild joke, she'd probably mess it up and sound as un-funny as she felt, because the brooding Harry Potter seemed to have complete control of this damnably serious conversation.
A look of uneasiness fell on his expression. "I am her father, aren't I?"
That shook her out of her daze. "Yes. Of course you are, Harry. There was no one else…"
Silence fell upon them once more.
He reddened. "She got her hair and eyes from me."
She nodded.
"But she's prettier. She got that from her mother," he added.
The compliment was oddly unsettling.
"I'm sorry," he said hastily, seeming frustrated with himself. "That was completely inappropriate. I'm just-I'm a little-bit much to take in, you know?"
Her hands curled on her lap and she didn't know why, but something inside her clicked, like a trigger, and the bullet shot out before she knew it. "You're overwhelmed? Harry, I've lived the last seven years thinking you were dead! I-it was beyond the realm of hope to think that you would ever come back. I plotted the rest of my life thinking that you were-you were gone. I feel like I've woken up from some strange alternative reality and here you are, and you hadn't been dead at all!"
She had to breathe. She hadn't realized she had said all that in one go. And she didn't know if she was angry. It didn't feel much like anger. It just felt very intense.
He lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry."
"No," she wailed softly. "Don't be sorry. Just explain to me how this happened. How-did you know about Angelica at all?"
"No," he said without pause or hesitation as he looked her straight in the eyes. "I didn't know. I swear. I had no idea."
She paused to consider. "Would you have shown up if you had known?"
He tore his gaze away. He reddened, and he seemed to tense, but slowly, he nodded. "Yes…" he whispered.
Hermione breathed and there was a quiver. That, perhaps, made up for many, many things. She felt that whatever his reasons for his absence were, couldn't possibly hurt her so badly anymore. He was still Harry, and just like she always thought, he would have been a caring father, even if by some tragedy, he didn't love her the way she felt he used to.
She leaned back a bit, getting her emotions under control. She didn't want to be a babbling mess. She had things to ask him, and she needed herself to be level-headed, no matter how glad she was at the confirmation that Harry would care for Angelica.
"I know I should be happy you're back, Harry," she said carefully. "I am. I swear, but there's so much confusion, too. So much of it…"
Before Harry could say anything, the kettle began to whistle.
Hermione hastily attended to it, putting off the fire and gathering the cups and tea set. She fished his wand from one of the utility drawers and set it on the tray with the rest of the things.
She worked quite mechanically, and when she turned to set the tea on the kitchen island, she found that he had shifted seats, choosing a stool nearer hers. Her grip on the tray between her hands tightened.
He looked sheepish. "I can't promise to answer all your questions, but I'll answer all I can."
She didn't move. She wasn't sure if she was ready for the answers.
"Please," he whispered.
It was hard to say no to him when he looked at her that way. It always had been.
She set the tea on the table and took the stool near him, handing him his wand. He gave his thanks softly, pocketing the wand at his back.
He had his forearm on the table, and he leaned a bit toward her, but he wasn't touching her.
No distractions, she thought as she fixed their tea.
She set his tea in front of him when she was done.
A small, almost melancholy smile lifted his lips. "You still know how to make my tea."
She felt her face flame. "Yes, well… I'm still a Know-It-All even after all these years, unfortunately."
He shook his head, though he looked quite amused. He said nothing, though, and opted to have some of his tea, waiting for her to speak.
She summoned her courage and asked the question. "Where have you been these last seven years?"
He paused. "I've been in Avalon."
Her breath caught at that, and before she could stop herself, she had whispered, "Avalon… all this time?"
He seemed pained all of a sudden, and it took another moment for her to realize that it was because he was looking at her, and that her eyes were filling.
She blinked back her tears. She didn't want them to fall.
His hand fidgeted, and it looked like he wanted to take her hand to bridge the distance between them, but he didn't, and he just kept his hands around his teacup. "That's what the priestesses tell me."
That surprised her. "You-You didn't know how long-?"
"I didn't," he replied quietly, his fingers tracing the patterns on the cup and his eyes following it. "I don't-beyond the last two and half years everything was a blur…"
She tried to understand what he was saying. "Like amnesia?"
He paused, giving it a moment's thought, then his fingers began tracing the patterns again. "I suppose you can say it was something like that."
"Not amnesia, then?"
"Not… exactly."
She was getting a bit more confused, and his sparing use of words, something she remembered Harry tended to do, was not much help. "So it isn't that you forgot? Just that you… can't make sense of the things you remember?"
"Yeah… something like that."
He didn't sound like he was convinced of the explanation himself, but he offered no corrections.
She let it go. If he can't explain it himself, then there was little point in prodding, for now. "But you remember the last two and a half years clearly?"
He nodded.
"Then why didn't you come back to me-to us?" The question had stumbled out of her before she could give it some thought, and now she had to face his answers.
His brows knotted behind his glasses. "It's-It's complicated. I wanted to, but I couldn't."
She frowned. "They kept you there? Like a prisoner?"
He finally looked at her, and he seemed shocked by her assumptions. "No. No, it wasn't like that. I wasn't a prisoner. I was free to come back any time, but I-"
She couldn't speak. She waited for him to go on.
He did, but his answer confused her even more. "I just couldn't. It was for your own good. It was better for everyone that way."
This time, she could not hold back her tears. "No. You got it wrong. How could you say that? I watched you die, and I had to relive that moment every single time someone said your name, and whenever I read about what happened in the papers, and all those nine months I carried Angelica… I needed you, and when Angelica was born, she needed a father, and there was nothing I wanted more than to have you back, but you were gone. Do you understand what I'm saying, Harry?" She wept, and she didn't care if he saw.
Maybe she longed for him to put his arms around her; comfort her like he used to, but he didn't. Instead, he watched her cry with his own secret pain hiding behind the shadow of his eyes.
He reached out, and he squeezed her shoulder. He handed her his handkerchief as he softly whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to hurt you like that, I swear…"
She took the offered handkerchief, using it to dry her tears.
"So now you just decided that it would be alright to show up after all these years?" she asked, her voice gone nasal.
He paused again, considering. He caressed her arm. "It was time. I-I felt I had to, no matter what."
She couldn't even begin to comprehend what that meant, if it meant anything at all. "So you never knew about Angelica?"
He shook his head. "Never. News about you and everyone else was kept from me, and this is the first time in seven years I've ever set foot outside of Avalon."
She raised her eyebrow skeptically. "Ever?"
"Yes, ever. The first time was this evening, when I got rid of Malfoy for you."
"Never before that?"
He shook his head.
"You were never outside my bedroom window? Never followed me around London?"
He actually smirked. "No. Never. Imogen and Hedwig were the ones following you, and they were outside your bedroom window that one time, I think."
She shook her head. "I believed there was someone outside my house the other night and he was human-"
"He?" Harry frowned. "Malfoy, then. Creepy little bugger-"
She scowled. "It wasn't Draco. He's an arse, but he's not crazy. He wouldn't be stalking anyone, much less me. His ego wouldn't let him."
This did not seem to improve Harry's disposition, but he didn't seem to want to argue it further. "Then I have no idea who it was. I was in Avalon. I couldn't have been anywhere near your house."
Hermione gave it serious thought and realized that explained why the Gringotts letter stated that he "gained corporeal existence as of half past the nineteenth hour" and no sooner. Avalon existed in a different plane. It didn't exist within the synchronized network of the Hall of Records, Gringotts, and Wizarding Schools. If anything, his story was consistent.
She sighed, hating that she kept thinking when maybe she ought to be feeling.
Finally, she took some of her tea.
"Did the papers give you a hard time?" he asked. "When they found out you were… pregnant?"
It was interesting, having to explain it to him. When all of if was happening, everyone knew on some level what she was going through. She never had to explain.
She shrugged. "It wasn't quite so bad for me. The Daily Prophet churned out quite a bit of bull crap about who the father was. You wouldn't believe their guesses. Rita Skeeter kept naming Death Eaters, and a few nutters cropped up claiming they were the father. I never gave out interviews, so many readers got tired of it all, eventually. I didn't let it bother me. Ignoring them worked best, and I spent most of my leisure time in Muggle London when I was out, so people didn't stare at me."
He kept staring at his hands, glancing up briefly just to indicate that he was listening.
She went on. "When I gave birth, we managed to keep Angelica's pictures off the papers. Luna and her father helped a lot with the press. I'm still very grateful to the Lovegoods for staying out of the circus. They had to publish something, of course, but they didn't buy into the intrigue of it all. And then all the others started saying the baby was Ron's, and that the only reason he hadn't come out and said it was because he was denying that the baby was his."
Harry's brows knotted. "How did Ron take it?"
"He was livid, of course. The worst part was that of course he was going to deny it was his baby, because it really wasn't his, but he was willing to lie to the press, tell them that Angelica was his and that he wasn't going to deny it to anybody… you know how he gets when he's protective and angry, he gets silly notions in his head. I told him to suck it up and he really had no choice but to do as he was told. It was quite hard for him, the poor dear. A lot of people didn't like him for the stories they were telling about him, but the Quibbler helped. They finally came out with a 'gossip' column and they published many pictures of Ron keeping me company through most of my pregnancy. I think that warmed Ron to the public quickly enough."
Harry didn't say anything for several seconds, fiddling with the teaspoon and staring at it quite thoughtfully. "Ron took good care of you, didn't he?"
"I suppose he did, in his own way. He's always around when I need him, and he helps me take care of Angelica. She adores him…"
"Are you and Ron together?"
She felt her face grow hideously warm. "No, we aren't."
"He tries, though, doesn't he?"
Her lips pursed. "Ask him. That's not for me to say."
He seemed unfazed when he nodded. "Does Angelica know who her father is?"
"Yes. She knows everything. She has your picture on her bedside table and she has a Muggle picture of you that she brings around with her."
There was that tiny smile again, but it was fleeting.
He said nothing after that. He seemed to have run out of questions.
She had many questions, still, but she felt it best to let things unfold as the days went along. There was one question, though, that she felt compelled to ask, and it only came to her at that very moment.
"Harry, are you… are you back for good?" she asked.
He gave it a thought. "I hope so."
And that was all he had to say about that.
She decided not to prod. She didn't know if she could take the answers.
"You must be exhausted," she said, rising from her seat. "Let me show you to your room."
She really didn't wait for him to reply, and he followed her out of the kitchen without a word. He grabbed his backpack from the living room and she brought him to the guestroom just off the kitchen.
Fleur had tidied up after Julien, so it looked neat and unused.
Hermione had always made it a point to keep the closet space clutter-free and she made sure that no dust settled in the room.
He set his pack down and she found herself standing with him at the foot of his bed, staring up at him as she thought about what to say.
"Um… if you get hungry, feel free to pop into the kitchen… there ought to be something in the refrigerator," she said lamely. "I think I have some ice cream…"
"Thank you. I'll remember that."
She couldn't think of anything else to say except goodnight, and that meant she had to leave. She didn't want to leave, she realized, and she wondered if she seriously had the gumption to throw herself at him and kiss him.
With the bed so conveniently close…
Oh, goodness, you hadn't slept with a man in years, Hermione, and that last one was such a heat of the moment thing that you haven't recovered from the shame of it…
But this is Harry! No shame in it, at all. He's the father of my child. He's-He's-
Probably slept with so many…
Oh, God, I'm so inexperienced. What if he thinks I'm pants at it? I haven't had any practice!
"Goodnight," he said.
She blinked, jolted out of her frantic thoughts. Goodnight, he had said. Could also be translated as "Goodbye, for now."
It was difficult to let the thought register. His eyes were so intense, and his tone had seemed so honeyed. Did he really want her to go?
Snap out of it!
She did, and she nodded. "Goodnight."
Willing herself, she left the room, closing the door behind her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning, Hermione dressed and hastened down to the kitchens. She hadn't gotten much sleep thinking about Harry and how things seemed so impossibly the same when she felt that things had to be drastically different.
Before pushing into the kitchen, she chanced a glance at the guestroom door. She was surprised to see it open.
Gingerly, she made her way to it and cautiously peered inside.
Harry was seated on the edge of his bed, his face towards the sunny window. He appeared dressed for the day.
"Harry?" she asked.
He looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Morning."
"Good morning. I'm making breakfast. It would be nice to have company."
He nodded and stood. "I don't mind helping."
His shirt was old, and his jeans were ill-fitting again. She wondered if he would think it odd that she kept his clothes in a box in the attic. She could certainly offer it for him to wear.
She led them to the kitchen where she began to gather the ingredients for breakfast. She put some cereal and milk in front of him. "You could have some of this while you wait. It shouldn't be long, though."
She gave him a bowl and a spoon. He nodded at her appreciatively and eagerly partook of the cereal.
"So," he began as she began setting out the pans. "Does Angelica go to school or do you home school her?"
It was almost funny, the flutter she felt in her stomach because he was taking an interest. "I send her to Inglewood. She wanted to go to school. She said she wanted to go like-like you and I did."
"How does she like it?"
Hermione chose her words well. "I think she likes it well enough. Partly the way I do and partly the way you do."
He paused. "Brilliant in school but gets in trouble all the time, does she?"
"Yes, how did you know?" she said dryly, though it still astounded her, the depth of Harry's understanding of the things she said.
He shrugged. "Lucky guess. She's six, isn't she?"
"Yes."
"When's her birthday?"
Hermione gave him a plaintive smile. "28th of July."
He looked mildly surprised. "Huh… as the seventh month dies."
Hermione gasped and dropped the spatula she was holding. It clattered over the pots and plates, creating a racket. She frantically got the situation under control.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked.
"I'm fine!" she cried, steadying her nerves. "Just… was being clumsy." She hadn't heard the words of the prophecy in years and they still rattled her. Perhaps it was worse when Harry had applied it to Angelica's birthday like that.
She never recalled Harry being so blasé about it either.
Harry was picking at his cereal, and she could tell there was something more on his mind.
Hermione let him be, waiting for him to ask whatever question he had, when Hedwig fluttered through the kitchen window with a note.
The sight of Hedwig shook Hermione, the normalcy of everything striking her once more.
As casually as she could, she took the letter from Hedwig and saw that it was for her, from Tonks.
~~
Hermione,
Malfoy's in St. Mungo's recovering noisily from his attack. He wishes to press charges against his "unknown" assailant and has threatened to sue you for it, too, because it happened on your stoop, if you don't agree to be his book editor.
Tonks
~~
Hermione grit her teeth and crumpled the note. "A Howler," Hermione grumbled under her breath, plotting. "A Howler ought to annoy that little bugger into shutting up."
She turned and caught Harry looking at her strangely.
"Did you just say something?" he asked
"No. I was just talking to myself."
His eyebrow arched and Hermione realized right then that what she said must have sounded really strange.
She was about to explain when the kitchen door swung open and Angelica walked in. She was in her Sunday best, red plaid pinafore over a white blouse, white stockings, and black buckle shoes. Her hair, which she always preferred to be in braids, was tied back in a relatively neat, bushy ponytail. It was the only hairstyle Angelica could do by herself, everything else she needed her mum's help. She looked picture perfect, except for her eyes. The dark circles were still there. Darker, even.
Angelica looked at Harry apprehensively, like she didn't quite know what to do, and she fidgeted where she stood, trying to look Harry in the eyes but failing miserably.
"I know you…" she told him in a soft, plaintive tone.
Hermione blinked, surprised. She had no doubt that Angelica spoke the truth, but she hadn't expected Angelica would come out and say it-just like that, and all dressed up, too. What was this all about? Did she dress up for her father?
Perhaps it made sense. Seeing one's father for the first time probably required dressing up a bit.
"Mum told me you were dead," Angelica went on uncertainly. "And she was always very sad when she said it… so I believed her, and I think maybe she-she began to believe it, too. Did you-did you run away from us because of me? I swear I'm well behaved… mostly, so you needn't run away again."
Hermione gasped, horrified as it all become clear. Angelica thought she had lied about Harry to cover up that he had left them, and now Angelica had concluded that he had left because of her, which explained why she had dressed up. She had wanted to impress upon her father that she wasn't a bad child, so that he would stay.
Hermione had no idea Angelica would react this way.
Good Lord, has she been thinking about this all night? Yes, she has! The eye bags. Don't you see? You should've known-should've taken care. Angelica doesn't think like other kids! What kind of mother are you?
Harry looked stricken. "I-I didn't-"
The front door slammed shut and Hermione jerked in shock.
"Where's my little imp? I've got Chocolate Frogs!" came Ron's voice from the living room.
Before Hermione could run to intercept him, he was in the kitchen, and the jovial grin on his face instantly began to fade as he took in the scene.
Hermione wondered when she began losing control of everything. Things were unraveling before her very eyes.
"Hullo, Uncle Ron! Chocolate Frogs? I'd love some, thank you!" Angelica cried with eerie cheerfulness.
She's pretending, Hermione thought, her heart breaking. She knows something is terribly wrong between Ron and Harry, or that there ought to be something wrong between them. Of course she'd conclude that. Harry had "run away" on them, after all!
Angelica didn't want things to go wrong anymore. She didn't want things to be any worst. She was desperate.
"You…" Ron growled, his gaze on Harry narrowing.
"R-Ron!" Hermione cried, emulating Angelica's cheerfulness and hoping to distract him. "Well, I guess we aren't fighting anymore, are we? Come sit. I'll have breakfast ready-"
Ron wasn't going to get sidetracked. He bounded towards Harry in powerful strides.
Harry stood just as Ron grabbed him by the collar of his worn shirt.
"Ron!" Hermione shrieked.
Hedwig gave an alarmed hoot and she flew off, spooked.
Harry wrenched himself free and pushed Ron away, stepping back to get away from Ron's reach. Hermione was completely aware of the fact that Harry, or Ron, could have grabbed their wands, but both didn't, probably knowing that wand-fire in the house could be very dangerous.
"Get out!" Ron hissed furiously. "You can fool Hermione, but not me. You're an imposter!"
"What!" Hermione cried. "I resent that! If anyone can be fooled, it isn't me!"
"Relax Ron," Harry said, his tone level. "There's no need to get physical. If you want me to get out, I will-"
Angelica began to cry, her façade crumbling. "No! D-Don't go! Oh, Uncle Ron, you're ruining everything!"
Ron suddenly looked shocked, then angry, his gaze on Harry becoming even more bitter. "What have you done to Angelica?"
Harry's eyes widened. "I've done nothing!"
Angelica stomped her foot, tears streaming down her face. "Stop fighting! Stop it! I'll scream, I swear!"
"Sweetheart, please!" Hermione moaned desperately, afraid of what would happen if Angelica got more upset. "Calm down!"
"You've bespelled them!" Ron cried, pointing an accusing finger at Harry.
"DON'T be daft!" Harry yelled back, annoyance replacing calm.
This did not sit well for Ron at all. Ron lunged, throwing a punch. Harry ducked and used Ron's momentum to throw him against the island.
Ron rolled on the counter top, taking everything on the tabletop down with him as he crashed to the floor. His hand snagged the toaster's cord and plug and it fell right smack on his head.
Angelica screamed, its sound piercing and sharp, and everything spun out of control.
The light overhead exploded, raining glass all over them.
Hermione fell upon Angelica, taking her in a protective embrace.
Wine bottles exploded on their rack, spraying the room in red and foamy gold.
Hermione could hear the clinks of glass around her as she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.
The stove flared to life, the fire enlarging and reaching for the exhaust, and Hermione gave shriek of warning as Ron stumbled too close to the stove in his dazed state and his shirt sleeve caught fire.
Hermione was torn. She couldn't let Angelica go. If her powerful daughter got more upset, there was no telling what else would happen, yet she had to help Ron. He couldn't even stand properly. The toaster had done quite a number on him.
Someone swore viciously, and suddenly, Harry was in the middle of it all. He stamped the fire on Ron's arm away with his bare hands in spite of Ron's slurred protests just before Harry sent Ron sprawling away from the stove at Hermione's feet.
"Stay there!" Harry yelled when Ron tried to scramble back to his feet.
Harry whipped out his wand, extinguishing the fire on the stove until there was nothing but a smoking, waning heat.
It took another minute, but it finally began to sink in on Hermione that it was over.
Angelica was still crying in her arms, and the hair on Ron's arm was still smoldering slightly, but the worse was past. There was broken glass everywhere, and her stove was probably ruined, but this was now the aftermath.
Harry stood in front of the stove, his back to them. He was breathing heavily, and Hermione could tell that the hands he had used to put out Ron's fiery arm was blistered and burnt.
There was a fluttering from the kitchen window, then a caw. It was Imogen. She settled on the window sill, rubbing her beak against the wood on both sides to preen them.
"Is Ron alright?" Harry asked in an oddly ragged tone.
Hermione looked over at Ron. He was staring at Harry's back, his gaze widening as if he'd only just realized something. He looked at Hermione, his eyes surveying her surroundings, and his jaw dropped.
"Bloody hell…" Ron gasped. "It's-It's really him, isn't it?"
Without looking at them, Harry stalked out of the ruined kitchen to the living room.
It was only after he'd gone that Hermione saw it. In a perfect circle around her and Angelica were bits of glass and liquid, like someone had encased them in a protective circle that had kept the harmful debris out.
Harry…
She hadn't even noticed him casting the Protego, and yet there was the evidence, plain as anything.
Hermione turned to Angelica and wiped her tears away, knowing that she was alright. She took her daughter's hand before crouching to see to Ron.
"Are you alright?" Hermione asked.
"Y-Yeah… a bit burnt, but I'll be-Merlin, that was Harry. It was him! I saw it in his eyes when he was helping me-he's still a bloody hero…" Ron's tore his gaze from her. She didn't know if she saw shame or the many times he felt like a shadow compared to Harry's light.
Hermione sighed. "I'm going to go see to him… if you two hadn't scared him off already."
Angelica looked stricken and Hermione regretted what she said.
"I was joking, sweetheart," Hermione told her gently. "He's not going anywhere. Now stay here and keep Uncle Ron company while I fetch some burn salve."
Angelica nodded, sitting on her heels beside Ron and asking him if his arm hurt.
Hermione left them in the kitchen as she made her way to the bathroom for the salves.
Harry was on the bay windows, slouched over as he stared out to the street. She had to admit that she was a bit relieved that he hadn't actually walked out the door.
She grabbed the potions and some gauze then hurried back to the kitchen.
Ron's burns weren't very bad. After she dabbed on a few patches of salve, Ron could do without extensive bandaging. He offered to start cleaning up the kitchen.
With a stern warning to Angelica to listen to what Ron told her to do, Hermione left to attend to Harry.
She sat beside him on the bay windows, first-aid kit on hand.
He was still looking out through the windows as if he were alone. He did not look at her.
"Harry?" she said gently. "Harry, let me-"
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
It seemed like it was all he said since he came back. "It's not-"
"I bring chaos wherever I go. It's always been that way, and I know it's never going to change."
She didn't know what to say to that, so she gently asked him if she could see his hands.
He held them out and she saw the raw, weeping blisters. It looked painful and Hermione had to be very careful when she applied the salve. Harry hardly flinched. It was like he was too deep in thought to be bothered by pain.
When the salve was applied, she whispered a gentle numbing charm on his hands before wrapping them in non-stick gauze. Most of the damage was on his palms. The injuries on his fingers could be covered by band-aids.
Harry looked at his bandaged hands. "I look like a prizefighter."
She imagined that he probably really did, without his shirt on. There was no fat on him, that was for sure. "Feather weight?" she joked mildly.
He laughed softly at that, but the laughter dissipated as quickly as it came. He looked at the kitchen door. "Is Angelica alright?"
Hermione thought about it. She wasn't quite sure yet. "Crying, but she's unhurt."
He nodded and said nothing else. She wondered if she should suggest that he have a talk with her and decided that she wasn't going to be pushy. If he cared for Angelica, she would let him do so at his own pace. She at least understood that finding out that you had a child, or in her experience-that she was going to have a child unexpectedly, was a concept one had to get used to for a bit.
She hastened back to the kitchen where Angelica was seated on one of the stools. Her cheeks were still streaked with tears, but she wasn't crying anymore. Hermione went over to her and rearranged her hair.
Ron said nothing as he continued to sweep at the debris.
"You look pretty," Hermione told Angelica.
Angelica didn't say anything, though she did lean against her mother's side.
"I never lied to you, sweetheart," Hermione said. "Nobody did. We all really thought he was dead."
Angelica looked up then, a hint of challenge in her eyes. "He lied, then?"
Hermione gave it some thought. "He didn't mean to. That's what he says, at least. He was alive, and he had no way of telling us, and even if he did, he didn't remember us for quite a long time…" She would leave out the fact that Harry had remembered the last two years, for the meantime. There were things about it that Hermione needed an explanation for, herself. Until Harry supplied the answers, she wouldn't know what to tell Angelica.
Angelica's lips pursed, but the challenge waned, and now she merely looked thoughtful. "I always wondered if he really was dead. I was always looking out to catch a lie."
Hermione was surprised, and Ron seemed to stop sweeping. They met gazes, questioning each other silently.
"Why did you think that way?" Hermione asked.
Angelica shrugged. "I just wondered, is all."
Hermione sighed. "Let's go back up to your room, alright? We'll talk a bit… Ron, do you mind if-"
"Go," he said. "I'll be fine down here."
She smiled at him appreciatively and hefted Angelica against her waist. Angelica often objected to being carried. She was six and she thought herself too old to be swung around, but this time Angelica wrapped around her mother, leaning her chin on her mother's shoulder as they went.
Hermione held her tight, and she wondered about who was clinging to who right now.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry saw them emerge from the kitchen, Hermione carrying their daughter against her.
Hermione stopped when she saw him and looked like she was going to say something, but she seemed to change her mind and kept going, heading for the bedrooms upstairs.
When Hermione's back was turned, Angelica's baleful gaze fell upon him.
For the second time that day, the familiarity of her face shocked him, and he had to wonder if he'd ever seen her before.
That's ridiculous, of course. Maybe… she just looks awfully like me…
It still amazed him, that he had a daughter-with Hermione. Not that the thought that he'd have a family with Hermione never crossed his mind.
He remembered being eighteen and thinking that he might never have the chance to live his dreams of having a family with her. The memory seemed so long ago, now, even when last night, standing at the foot of his bed, the slightly perfumed smell of her and rich curls in her hair beckoned to him to touch.
He hadn't felt that kind of desire in a long time. It was almost alarming, and before he could think about it, he had told her goodnight. Dismissed her. It was all he could do.
It required no stretch of the imagination to understand what had happened to him. He had always thought of Hermione in varying degrees of longing. He had missed her friendship, at times it was her love, and sometimes, he had missed her passion. He made no denials that his feelings for her remained strong, but to have her so close and having such feelings magnified in her presence caught him off guard, and he panicked.
Somehow, deep down, he knew that he had to take things slow-very slow, for now. He didn't know if he could handle going back to the way things were. Things were much more complicated now.
Hermione and Angelica disappeared behind a corner and he sighed, recalling Angelica's words. She looked like she was six, but she didn't talk like one. Even the child-like quality of her words was lost to the adult complexities they formed.
His heart wrenched every time he thought of Angelica. She was his child-that he would never-couldn't ever-deny, and when he saw her perched aloft that first time, he might have felt that leap of shared blood, knowing at that very moment that he had sired a daughter. He had looked at her and thought that a part of him was inside her-the best parts, and that he couldn't possibly care for someone so deeply and unconditionally at first sight. She would be part Hermione, too, so how could he resist? Yet… he had to wonder, because it was necessary, what it meant-to have Angelica, and a twinge of unease knotted his belly.
Something inside him, instinct maybe, was telling him that things were not so simple. He loved this beautiful child, but…
At what cost?
It pained him to have to think like that, but his life had been anything but easy pleasures.
The kitchen door opened again and Harry saw Ron.
Ron was staring at him in quiet disbelief.
Harry wondered if Ron was going to attack him again, but seeing as Ron didn't seem angry anymore, nor did he have his wand out, it seemed relatively safe to assume that the fight was gone from Ron.
"Alright, there?" Harry asked for lack of anything better to say.
Ron held out his hands. They were bandaged, but only in parts. "Not as bad as you."
Harry shrugged. "I've felt worse, believe me."
Ron frowned. "Yeah, I believe you. I-I saw you burn. I watched your ashes scatter in the wind. H-How…?"
Harry's stomach wrenched, just like it always did when the subject of his "death" came up, but he calmed himself down and replied. "It wasn't the sort of burn that destroys."
Ron looked pained. "Felt that way to me… to us."
Harry felt mild surprise at what Ron said. Of course he knew Ron would've cared, but it was unusual to hear Ron expressing himself so well-how he had said in so few words what losing Harry had felt for them all, and how it just meant that there would be so many things to talk about, yet.
"Sorry," Harry muttered. "It wasn't something I could've helped."
Ron nodded, looking at his feet. "Welcome back, then," he grumbled.
It didn't sound very enthusiastic, but he preferred it to any kind of upbeat, cheerful hi and hello. He hadn't felt much like celebrating anything in the last few years.
He wondered perversely if Ron was just the tiniest bit unhappy about his return. In the split second that Ron's eyes fell upon Hermione in the kitchen, Harry could tell Ron felt much more for Hermione than he did seven years ago.
Ron had a key to Hermione's house, and he had pet names for Angelica. He even brought Angelica chocolates. Ron was a fixture in this household, and he cared for Hermione and Angelica the way Harry should have in the last seven years.
Harry didn't know what he felt about that. Probably like the old jealousies, that Ron had a normal life, while he didn't, but he didn't want to feel those negative things, just yet. Not when he'd only just arrived and he was sorting out many, many things, the most important of which being what he should be feeling for Hermione, Angelica, and Ron.
"You kept your promise," Harry said.
Ron looked up. "What?"
"I made you promise in the bus-that you would take care of Hermione as if she never broke your heart."
Ron reddened, and for a moment, he looked resentful, but then the flush faded from his cheeks, and he nodded without a hint of hesitation. "Had less to do with the promise than it did about Hermione and Angelica."
Harry figured as much. "Well, whatever it was that drove you, thank you. It helped me-knowing you'd keep your promise."
"Helped you what?"
"Survive."
Ron seemed perplexed for a moment. "Would you explain to me what that meant if I asked you to?"
Harry didn't reply.
Sighing, Ron plopped on the nearby couch. "Merlin… you haven't changed a bit, have you?"
Harry tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace.
Ron, you've never been more wrong.
TBC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: Hopefully, the next chapter won't take as long as this one.