Second Chance

You choose him

She was at loss.

Hermione didn't remember much of the time when she was at the hospital. It had been so strange to be able to breathe, hear, see- and yet being incapable to keep up with the world. All she could recall was the hazy fog that her mind seemed to be lost in... The sensation of being hollow, as if a Dementor had kissed her soul away... She was like- like a doll... But she did remember that Harry came everyday and sat next to her bed, staring at the draping around her and the walls; he even slept at the hospital from time to time. He talked to her: ask her how she was doing, telling her it was going to be okay, and he'd admit that he also felt soulless... Sometimes, Ginny came over too. Their feeble attempts of having a conversation didn't quite reach Hermione's altered brain, but if something was clear it was that Harry had somehow, for no reason whatsoever, lost interest in Ron's sister. Hermione didn't understand why. She thought that Harry loved Ginny.

Wasn't that the way that it was supposed to be? Harry and Ginny, Hermione and Ron, saying farewell to their kids as they boarded the Hogwarts train? Part of that dream had been fulfilled: Harry had defeated Voldemort, at long last. But Ron... When he died Hermione felt part of herself withering and dying, too. After she had recovered from whatever she had suffered after his boyfriend's death, and had found her parents she tried to detach herself from Harry, at least for a little while. He reminded her too much of the good times they had had at Hogwarts.

It wasn't long, though, until Hermione started missing her bespectacled friend... And three weeks later (since her parents returned to England) she found herself at his doorstep without a clear motive or reason. He didn't even look surprised at her visit, and had simply stood aside so she could enter the house. Hermione hadn't known what to say, and he didn't question anything. Perhaps it was better that way, Hermione kept repeating herself every time she visited Harry and the only thing that they shared was silence.

Her parents seemed worried about her daughter, and said daughter didn't really blame them, to be honest. The few times that Hermione told them about the War and the Horcruxes they had ended up fighting, for they couldn't understand why Hermione would put her life at stake for some boy they had never met. Hermione understood that the shock of what the Trio had done would scare any caring mother and/or father. It was only natural. She liked spending time with her parents, but being with Harry was being with someone she had shared the War with, someone who knew what she had been through and belonged to her true world.

One day, her parents asked her what had happened to the other best friend- “the red headed one, was it, dear...?” Hermione had closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, and had simply replied that he had died. At her parents worried silence Hermione had stood up and had Apparated to Grimmauld Place automatically. That very same night, fearing questions from her parents as to how and why the `red headed friend' had died, Hermione had decided to stay the night at Harry's. He didn't complain and chivalrously led to her a room near his, gently telling her that if she needed something, he would be there for her.

When she woke up in the morning, tightly hugging Harry, her shock reached new heights. What had happened? Why was she there, with him? Not that she cared much, really. Hermione didn't know what Harry had done during the night, if he had done anything- she only knew that it was the first time in five months and a half that she had been able to sleep peacefully. So, without waking her friend up, she had discreetly made her way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Harry had not brought up anything about any late night occurrences; therefore Hermione had not pressed him for information.

Since then, Hermione had slept with him any chance she could. There weren't doing anything wrong, right? Of course. And anyway, hadn't Harry said that he would be there for her if she happened to need something? Well, that was what she needed: company. A shelter from the cold memories. Harry was her friend, the only friend that had stood by her through thick and thin... The only friend that she was certain cared.

It was only months later that Hermione began to realize that she had made a mistake. Somewhere along the lines, she had become kind of dependant of Harry's unwavering presence in her life. His skin was always warm, and his eyes shone with a cozy spark, like a lullaby, when fears and loneliness plagued her heart. Hermione panicked when she discovered that she couldn't sleep without his breathing, and that she could hardly breathe when he left her side. Well, perhaps she was exaggerating about how she felt when he left (or she left, whichever came first), but it didn't mean that she was lying.

What was she doing? Why was she crossing all the lines she had prohibited herself to cross? For goodness sake, she had spent three months in St. Mungos, being nothing but a doll, because of Ron! And now... Now! Now she wasted her time wondering if she'd have a second chance with someone Ron had regarded as a brother? Besides, why should her feelings shift? They were just sleeping together, innocently and in a strictly platonic way, right? Then why did it hurt to think that Harry might reject her? Why did it hurt to think that he'd suddenly start fancying Ginny again? Hermione couldn't allow this. It had to be stopped.

But it couldn't be helped.

One of those nights of shared comfort among whatever Harry and she were (could it still be called friendship?); Hermione had lain awake, staring at the shadows on the wall and remembering that rainy night when Ron had left them alone. She had forgiven him for that mistake, obviously, but now it came to haunt her almost cruelly.

“Are you staying, or what?”

“I...” she was anguished. “Yes- yes, I'm staying. Ron, we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help-”

“I get it. You choose him.”

No, Hermione had not `chosen' Harry. She had fallen in love with the red headed prat, and had loved him very much indeed. Why was she clinging to Harry now, if that was so? What would Ron think of her, if he could see her? Hermione also remembered when Harry had started dating Cho, and when she had explain to him that Cho must have been feeling guilty for liking Harry after she had been with Cedric. Wasn't... wasn't this the same? How could Hermione feel the way she was feeling towards Harry? Did she not have an ounce of shame?

Denying her changing and growing feelings only made them stronger, and lying to herself wouldn't help either. Hermione, simply put, had to stop pretending that, only a mere year after Ron's death, she had made the mistake of falling in love with the one man, out of millions, that had been out of bounds since she could remember.

*

After she had accepted that she loved Harry (took a few more months than expected), Hermione decided to go to the graveyard in which Ron rested. She hadn't been there since the funeral, but she had felt a strong urge (combined with a pang of guilt) to do it. The blue sky above her, the green grass below her, and the dry leaves that danced around her feet, thanks to the breeze, accompanied her towards Ron's grave. She stood in front of the stone that told the world when he had been born and the death of his death, just like Harry's parents. Sniffing, Hermione produced a bouquet of flowers out of thin air with her wand, and placed them on the ground before she started crying.

“R- Ron...” she trailed off, swallowing. “He- Hello. I'm... I'm sorry I didn't come s- sooner... I... I miss you, you know. But I can't... I can't mourn you forever...”

Hermione closed her eyes and a thin, black tear -make up's fault- left a trail down her cheek before falling to the ground.

“Don't get me wrong,” she continued. “I l-loved you. It's just... I... I don't know how it- it happened!” she finally sobbed, feeling guilty, shameful, and selfish. “I never- never meant for it to happen, Ron! But- but I- I love... I love H-” Hermione breathed in deeply, “I love Harry...”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, but it was useless.

“I hope you won't be too angry at me for this... It was never... It was never a matter of choice.”

She choked back a sob at this. Hermione kneeled down and softly touched the cold stone. “Please, forgive me,” she whispered hoarsely, standing up slowly. Blinking rapidly to clear her view, Hermione stole one last glance at Ron's name engraved in the stone before turning around and leaving the graveyard.

She felt some of her old self warming up her body, and she determinately kept walking through the gravestones in silence. Ron would have wanted her to be happy. He'd have wanted Harry to be happy... Right?

If Harry did not love her back, she didn't know what would become of her. She did not want to even consider that their friendship might be lost, because then she'd snap like a dry twig.

But she needed to know. She needed closure.

And for the life of her, she would find out.

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A/N: Well, there it is. I think that there are two chapters left, but I don't really know... I'm enjoying writing this story very much, so I hope that you guys like it. If you feel like reviewing, it would be lovely. Thanks for reading!

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