He hated the way he couldn’t hate her, he despised the way he wasn’t able to blame her for his feelings, and he loathed the fact that he was now incapable of having peace of mind without her by his side. But most of all, Harry Potter hated Hermione Granger because he loved her.
From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/7490/
Prologue
A/N: Hello again everybody! After I finished reading DH, this story simply popped into my mind. So beware for they are minor spoilers of the book. In this story Ron was the one who died, instead of Fred. My take at the aftermath of the war is, too, a bit more depressive that the one in the book, so... If it isn't your cup of tea, don't read it. Shouldn't be longer than four chapters. Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: If I owned the characters Ron would be dead, Harry and Hermione would be together, and many deaths would've somehow been avoided. So yeah, I don't own anything but the plot.
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The house is too large and empty for them; too dark and silent, and they instinctively started to try to find solace in each other. The War had only left ghosts and scars. No strengthened friendships, no glorious memories, no smiles. The good side had won, but only just, and that fact itself brought enough frustration and guilt to worry about anything else. There had been consequences, of course... Deaths and tears, broken families and devastation... But those were the natural results of a war, after all. She didn't blame him, and he didn't blame her. But that didn't make the wounds close.
War changes people, and it had made no exception with them. Hermione doesn't know who she is anymore. To what world does she belong? She has lost her innocence, her ingenuity, her love for learning... There was nothing she could offer anymore to anyone. She scarcely spoke, and went out of her way to avoid being noticed. What was she then? A living corpse? A shadow, a shell, of what she had once been, in a distant past?
Harry doesn't even try to go out of his house. His eerily mature eyes are capable of burning holes in your skin, but he won't open his mouth to pronounce a word, a sound, a song. He spends days and days staring at the air, probably remembering the final battle, and the lives lost- what he had to do to finally kill Voldemort. He is unreachable now; strong and yet as fragile as frozen glass.
The Weasleys don't try to contact either of them anymore. Neither Harry nor Hermione worry about this, because they believe it is better that way. In their minds Ron's death is their fault, and no matter how hard they try, they find it impossible to face that sort of adopted family they once cherished. The Order had been disbanded after the end of the war, and Lupin had also passed away along with Tonks. There is no one left now.
Hermione glances at Harry from one end of the table, and quickly lowers her eyes to the plate of food in front of her as he looks up. He stares at her and follows her example a few seconds later. It's always like this. Since Ron passed away, it feels as though a piece of them died with him. Everything seems so insignificant, so irrelevant... It feels disrespectful and wrong to smile about something.
They are both drowning.
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A/N: Short, I know, but this is after all the prologue. I don't know if I'm entirely satisfied with this fic (I have three chapters written already) so let me know if you'd like me to post them, and if you like it so far. Thank you for reading!
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Like a sister
He had defeated Voldemort... He had a future to look forward to, for the first time in his life. He had been able to survive the War physically unscathed; Ginny had survived as well as Hermione... But Ron had died. His first friend, his brother: he had passed away. Harry hadn't been able to save him after all... But Ron had saved Harry's life and had destroyed the locket, too.
Harry couldn't understand why Ron had to die. Why wasn't he here anymore? Why? Where was the answer for that stupid question? He just wanted one answer. One reason. One way to accept it... but there wasn't any. Seeing Ron's coffin being lowered to the pit broke his already bleeding heart. Through his tears he managed to see their friends and Ron's family crying, wailing, looking away. Harry knew that they still couldn't believe it. Then he had turned to look at Hermione, standing next to him, and her eyes had been wide as the tears rolled down her cheeks. Just like when the redhead had deserted the Horcrux hunt, Harry had not been able to comfort her... Probably because he hadn't been able to comfort himself, either, no matter how hard he may have tried.
Harry knew how much Hermione had liked Ron... Damn it, maybe she had even loved him. After the funeral, Hermione had spent nearly three months without speaking or moving. She had to be moved to St. Mungos during those months, because she had undergone what the Healer had called “post- traumatic stress disorder manifested with catatonia”. After trying to wrap his head around the idea of a catatonic Hermione, Harry had hardly moved from her side at the hospital. It was heart wrenching to see her staring at the ceiling through half lidded eyes, barely breathing. Harry had never imagined that it would come to this.
Ginny had often come to visit Hermione, too, during those months. Her attempts to start a conversation with Harry were received either with depressed indifference or one word replies, so she had desisted eventually. Harry couldn't understand what had happened to him. Had he not wished, during the Horcrux hunt as well as the battle in Hogwarts, for Ginny to be safe and well? Had he not kissed her on his birthday? Had he not longed for her? If that was so, why was he rejecting her now? Finally, after the second month of consecutive silence between them, Ginny told Harry to call her when he was ready to talk about the future of their relationship. Harry had nodded and she had smiled, before kissing his forehead and walking out of the hospital room.
He never called her.
Hermione finally recovered and went to live with her parents after modifying their memories and bringing them back from Australia. Three weeks later she stood in the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, looking careworn, and Harry let her in without a word. From that moment onwards, Hermione took to visit Harry at least every two days, perhaps in look for comfort, perhaps because she was bored- they hardly talked to each other in those times.
Looking back, Harry reckoned that it was then when everything started.
Hermione had stayed over the night. She would've slept in a room on the second floor of the house, three doors away from Harry's. It was either very late at night or very early in the morning, depending on how you liked to look at it, when Harry heard his door creaking open, and Hermione -sleepwalking, perhaps- stumbled into the room soundlessly. Harry raised his eyebrows when the mattress groaned as his friend lied down next to him and stopped moving. A few minutes later, however, Hermione had started sniffing and whimpering, pressing her body against Harry's back as she trembled.
Was she awake? Should he do something...? In the end he decided to squeeze her hand with his, trying to reassure her, and ten minutes later he heard her breathing slow down until it was inaudible. It became a routine: Hermione would sneak into his room and sleep with him, and go back into her own room at the morning when she woke up. After a month since Hermione had first entered his room, Harry found out that her presence was soothing: a barrier against the nightmares and the ghosts of a future lost. He gradually found himself staying awake until she entered his room and lied down next to him... He enjoyed using her long brown tresses as a surrogate pillow, burying his face against her neck.
Then, after three months since the first of her nightly incursions, during a breakfast, Hermione had asked Harry if he believed in second chances. “No,” he had flatly replied; Hermione had nodded without a word. But now he wasn't so sure. In fact, he contradicted himself every night as he held on to Hermione for dear life. When had his feelings for her shifted? Why, how? Harry often remembered the night when Ron had destroyed the locket; he couldn't get the image of the Riddle Harry and Hermione kissing out of his head; it was a though it had been emblazoned in his brain.
“She's like my sister,” Harry went on. “I love her like a sister and I reckon she feels the same way about me. It's always been like that.”
Yes... It had always been like that. Not anymore, though. He knew... And hated himself for it. How could he? How could he, Harry, the one that told Ron that Hermione loved him, be longing after her? After merely a year of Ron's death, how could he? It was wrong, it was disrespectful; an insult to his best friend's memory. Harry even wished he could fancy Ginny again; how difficult could it be? But at the thought of not being able to hear Hermione breathing at his side anymore, his resolve crumbled and his soul ached for his best friend.
How could he be so stupid? Why hadn't he pushed her away the first night she came into his room? Why did she have to represent everything he craved for? Why did she have to represent safety, comfort, and loyalty?
Harry hated the way he couldn't hate her, he despised the way he wasn't able to blame her for his feelings, and he loathed the fact that he was now incapable of having peace of mind without her by his side.
But most of all, Harry Potter hated Hermione Granger because he loved her.
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A/N: *sigh*.... I know that the chapters are short... I apologize. Anyway, I hoped you liked this one!
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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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As Hermione tried to stop her tears in the graveyard Harry stood in front of the gates of Hogwarts, with his hands in his pockets. He pondered whether he should go in or forget the reason why he was there in the first place. Ginny would be there. What if he ran into her, and she thought that he had come because of her? And how would he explain that why he was in the school didn't concern her in the very least?
Oh, Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to go by unnoticed- he had brought the invisibility cloak. He wished for a couple of seconds that Hermione was there with him, but he quickly discarded that idea. She had left the house early in the day, and hadn't told him where she was heading... that surprised him, but he hadn't said anything. She was a grown woman and could take her of herself. Besides, if she happened to need him, he knew she would call for him.
With a sigh Harry retrieved the cloak from his pocket, enlarged it and put it on; smiling sadly when he discovered that it no longer covered him completely. A fresh batch of memories from when Harry, Hermione and Ron were younger came to his mind, forcibly reminding him of why he had returned to Hogwarts. Harry tiredly rubbed his eyes and stepped through the gates slowly, and the memory of what Dumbledore had told him filled his eyes as though he was right in front of him.
“You are the worthy possessor of the Hallows.” Dumbledore patted Harry's hand, and Harry looked up at the old man and smiled; he could not help himself.
Was he? Was he the worthy possessor of the Hallows, after all? Could a worthy possessor of such items even exist? He wondered what Dumbledore would say if he knew what Harry was about to do, or not do. He still hadn't decided. For some strange reason Harry wanted Hermione's opinion on the matter, considering how it involved her on some levels. “Some levels?” Harry snorted under his breath. It involved her almost completely.
Harry continued to walk briskly through the grounds, lost in his thoughts, under the sun and in direction to the Forbidden Forest. Something that felt like guilt mixed with melancholy started bubbling in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't understand why. He wasn't going to do anything wrong, right? He was only human... Rationalizing what he was planning to do didn't ease whatever he was feeling, but just like so many times before, he couldn't stop himself.
He needed to know. He needed to know if he could... If he just... Only to ask, to seek for reassurance... Yes, yes, it was only that. Harry had done it before, and nothing bad had happened. Why wouldn't he be able to do it one more time?
As the dark trees loomed closer, Harry glanced at Hagrid's hut. For a fleeting moment he wondered if he should pay the half- giant a visit, but decided against it just as quickly as the idea had come. He knew that Hagrid would notice something was not quite right, and Harry would end up telling him everything. He couldn't allow that.
“I'm only human,” Harry repeated to himself as he stared up at the trees and took out his wand. “Only human...”
*
Hermione breathed in deeply under the setting sun, in the doorsteps of Grimmauld Place. She was strong. She could do this- she could talk to Harry, and everything would be okay. She bit her lower lip as she tapped the doorknob with her wand, unlocking the door, and then opening it slowly. “Harry?” she called as she entered the house, closing the door behind her. “Harry, are you home?” There was no answer, but she could see that the living room lights were on, so she walked there. “Harry?” she repeated, taking a peek inside.
“Hermione,” Harry's faint reply came from the couch in front of the fireplace. His tone was strange; as though he was relieved she was there. Had something happened? As she neared the couch she distinguished the mop of black hair that she had grown to love so much, and then she noticed that Harry had something small in his hands.
“Harry, is something wrong? What's that in your-” Hermione stopped talking abruptly when Harry looked up at her sadly, opening his palm. “Is that-?” she asked breathlessly.
“The Resurrection Stone, yes,” he replied gruffly. Hermione stood frozen, staring at the stone in Harry's hand, without uttering a sound. Only a single thought was zooming in and out of her head: they could bring Ron back. She would be able to ask him if he was angry at her because she loved Harry! She'd be able to- to tell him how sorry she was, how much she missed him, how wonderful it was to see him again... and Ron would smile back, and say something funny, and the three of them would laugh and pretend that he was alive and well, with them...
“Hermione?” Harry asked, and only then she realized that she was starting to cry. He stood up, clenching the stone in his hand. “I- I was thinking...”
“You- We can't,” Hermione croaked at last, feeling the tears rolling down her cheeks. “We can't, Harry.” He looked hurt at her words.
“But- just think about it! I did it before, why can't I-?”
“Because it wouldn't be real,” Hermione retorted, trying to stop the flow of tears, but she couldn't. “The Dead were seeking for you, not you for them. Remember what happened to the Peverell brother that made the mistake, Harry-”
Hermione was sounding so much like Dumbledore that it angered Harry. He had thought she'd be okay with it; that she would understand!
“I know you want to use it, too!” he accused, sounding like a child having a tantrum.
“Of course I want to use it,” she told him barely above a whisper, feeling slightly insulted at his attitude.
“Then why-”
“Because it's not natural! Because we would both die in the end!” Hermione finally exploded. “Whoever you want to bring back,” she added, more calmly now, “doesn't belong to our world anymore.” Hermione sniffed and stopped talking, trying to resist her own urge to use the stone to bring Ron back. Harry gazed at her for a couple of seconds and then turned around and went back to the couch, throwing the stone on the coffee table before sitting down. “Promise me you won't use it, Harry,” Hermione broke the silence. He didn't reply.
So much for her plan of asking Harry how he felt about her, Hermione thought miserably as she moved to sit in the armchair placed diagonally from the couch. She sunk back into the chair and drew up her knees against her chest, not looking at Harry; she refused to even glance at the stone, afraid that she'd be tempted by its power.
Silence...
“Harry? Why didn't you... Why didn't you try to make me feel better, when... when Ron left during the hunt?” Hermione realized that she was blushing furiously, so she tried to hide her face among her hair.
“I don't know,” he replied flatly.
“Oh.” It had bothered her, looking back, how Harry had seemed to ignore her sobs during the night and sometimes during the day. Why wasn't he doing anything? Didn't he care about her? She had comforted him whenever he felt down since she was eleven, even when he didn't want to admit that he needed someone; and when she was the one in pain, he simply chose not to acknowledge it? Oh yes, it had hurt.
“I guess... I guess I was just being an ungrateful git. Sorry.” she heard Harry add as an afterthought. She stopped herself from agreeing with him; what was the point of being bitter about it? At least he had apologized.
Pause. A longer silence...
“Why didn't you leave?” Harry asked almost as if he hadn't realized he was speaking.
“What?” Hermione said, confused.
“When Ron left. Why did you stay?” he clarified. Hermione raised her eyebrows and then frowned.
“Because you are my best friend. It wasn't a matter of duty; it was a matter of friendship, and of loyalty,” she responded. Harry nodded slowly and looked down at the stone. “I-”
“Only of friendship?” he muttered audibly, interrupting her. Hermione widened her eyes and closed her mouth, feeling as if someone had knocked the air out her lungs. Did she dare hope...? Could it be that he also....?
“Excuse me?” she squeaked. Harry stood up and Hermione followed suit immediately, under the impression that he was going to leave. He couldn't go, not now- not now, Harry, please. Not now...
“Nevermind,” he mumbled, turning his face away from hers. Hermione felt her heart beating so fast and hard that it hurt; she was so close- should she tell him?
“Don't,” she managed to say. “Harry, please...” her hands were shaking, and she had the feeling that she'd start crying again any second now. Harry finally bored his eyes into hers, and the green orbs were opaque, and sad, and held nothing of Harry in them.
“Please what?” he wanted to know. Hermione seemed so disheartened, so scared... So suddenly fragile. She bit her lower lip, silently begging something of him. Could it be what he thought it was? “The stone... It just felt so wrong, you see?” Harry started, letting his shoulders sag. “I don't know... I wanted to apologize, and...” a knot in his throat made it so difficult to speak, and he knew that he was talking nonsense, but he couldn't stop himself. “I simply... I just wanted to know...” he tensed when he felt, more than heard, Hermione stepping closer to him; so close that their bodies almost touched.
“I love you too,” she confessed. It took more than a couple of seconds for Harry to take in what she had just whispered, and when it did sink in, the adrenaline that suddenly decided to run through his veins made him feel light headed.
Had she-
But how could she know-
Did she truly-
“Hermione, I-” he could only get out. She was crying again, and he did what he should have done nearly two years ago, during a rainy night: he clumsily put his hands around her body and pulled her into a hug. His body was shaking as badly as hers, but he didn't care.
Next he did something that came completely unexpected to him, like it was a natural reaction: he slightly broke the embrace and leaned over to her entire face. Starting from her forehead, to her chin, over her eyelids and both cheeks; gently kissing the tears away. He soon found himself kissing Hermione's lips with surprising force, and Hermione returned the kiss eagerly. When oxygen became the priority they broke the kiss, forehead against forehead. Harry's hands were on Hermione's cheeks, and he closed his eyes when she covered his with hers.
“Waiting... so long...” Harry nearly choked on his own words, barely opening his eyes to see Hermione smiling.
“I know, Harry... I know.”
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A/N: Damn, I loved writing this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. I also hope that it didn't seem too rushed? Only one chapter left for this one... Don't forget to review to tell me what you thought of it!
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Epilogue
It was snowing. There was a breeze that made the snow swirl around them and erase their traces as they continued to walk under the gray, brilliant sky. Harry covered his eyes when a bunch of snowflakes flew towards their faces, and then raised his eyebrows when he heard a choking sound, turning around towards Hermione.
“They all went into my mouth!” she exclaimed, outraged, still coughing. Harry grinned but didn't laugh, knowing that she would get angry. Just like when they visited Godric's Hollow, the graveyard was covered in white, virgin snow, and the trees were devoid of leaves. It was strange to realize that Harry had visited his parents two years ago... He'd have to return someday... To tell them about the news... And Hermione would come with him, right? Of course she would. He remembered that night as though it had been a few days ago.
“... looking down at the thick snow hiding from his eyes the place where the last of Lily and James lay, bones now, surely, or dust, not knowing or caring that their living son stood so near, his heart still beating, alive because of their sacrifice and close to wishing, at this moment, that he was sleeping under the snow with them.”
“A sickle for your thoughts?” Hermione's calm voice broke his reverie. As they walked the atmosphere became calmer and even solemn, and the only sound that could be hear was the sloshing of their shoes on the snow. Harry looked down at their joined hands and smiled melancholically.
“Just remembering when we visited my parents,” he answered. “You were holding my hand back then, too.” Hermione smiled.
“We visit them again anytime you want.” Harry nodded and squeezed her hand, making her smile widen.
It took only a few more meters of walking to reach Ron's grave, now covered in white; the stone was shiny with frost. Harry kneeled down to brush the snowflakes off Ron's name, and Hermione again produced a bouquet of flowers out of thin air and placed it in front of the tomb. They both took a step back then, silently staring down at the final resting place of their best friend and brother.
“I wish we could see him again,” Hermione finally murmured, and her voice was almost lost among the wisps of cold air. Harry put an arm around her shoulders and drew her closer, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder.
“He knows we loved him, you know,” Harry also murmured, not daring or wanting to raise the tone of his voice. Hermione agreed with her head, glancing at the petals of the flowers she had placed in front of his tomb. They would soon wilt and die, and the wind would pull them out of the stem, and they'd come to rest Merlin knew where. She kneeled down to touch them, loving how soft the texture was, and wished that they would never die, but that was impossible. Death was something inevitable, wasn't it? They could cast a charm so they wouldn't wilt, but even that would not last forever.
She felt her eyes water and felt embarrassed for a couple of seconds, not knowing why exactly she was starting to cry. Her fingers still held the delicate petals, and she noticed that her hand was shaking slightly. Hermione closed her eyes when she felt Harry's hand on her shoulder, squeezing softly, and she knew that she wasn't alone- that she'd never be alone.
“It's alright,” Harry whispered in her ear (when had he kneeled down?), kissing her temple. Hermione nodded, tightly pressing her lips together, and when he let out a shaky breath she knew he was trying not to cry.
She knew that she would die, someday. And that Harry would die, too. It was unavoidable. But Hermione knew that no one died without having loved someone, and that no one died without having been loved.
Harry and Hermione had loved Ron, and he had loved them back.
Perhaps they would meet again, in dreams. Or maybe, when they died, they'd see him again just like nothing had changed.
But for now, they just had to live.
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A/N: And there it is. Short like the prologue... I got strangely emotional writing this chapter (when I wrote the last sentences, I was listening to the Patronus theme in the soundtrack), so I hope that it's good? I had planned another ending for this story, but I decided against it. *sigh* I loved writing this story, and I thank you all for reading it and reviewing!
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