We Exist

Disclaimer: I’m not J.K., as you may notice, so I don’t own anything that has to do with the Harry Potter world.

Author’s Note: This may seem familiar to some of you because this story had been posted under the name “Sometimes We Fall”, a very long time ago. I’ve edited it and revised the events it will cover, making it into something I feel inclined to continue writing.

The title was changed to “We Exist” in an allusion to the fact that, without each other, Harry and Hermione lead a mere existence—they’re but a shell of themselves, leading empty, meaningless lives. Dramatic, I know. =P

Feedback is appreciated, by the way. =) Enjoy.

***

Mi vida, sin ti ya no es vida,
tu amor es el aire que me hacía respirar
Te extraño, por qué me haces daño,
es imposible, aunque lo intente, olvidar
De quererte así me voy a enloquecer,
moriría si me dejas de querer

Amor venme a buscar,
te necesito, no lo ves, no puedo más,
todo es tristeza desde que no estás,
no seas cruel; perdóname,
nunca se resignará mi corazón

-- Il Divo, “Amor Venme a Buscar”

***

Chapter One: Remembrance

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

(Please, don’t destroy this letter, Harry. What I have to say is something you’ll want to hear, trust me.)

As you know, I took up the post as Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts after studying abroad for two years. It’s been a wonderful two years since. Hogwarts is, and will always be, my second home. And I know you feel even more passionately for it.

The number of students attending the school has gone down immensely, Harry. Parents fear for their children’s safety even more now. With Death Eaters on the loose, and the rumors of Voldemort still being alive, most people have not yet lost their fear. In better times, Hogwarts would have been viewed as the safest place to be in such circumstances, but you know better than anyone that since Dumbledore’s death, Death Eaters don’t fear Hogwarts like they used to. You must have read the papers—five breaches on security in the last two years!

Which brings me to this. I write this letter in hopes that you will accede to the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You must realize, Harry, that you are really the only hope the school has left. Your presence there, if only for one year, will no doubt encourage parents, children, and possible teachers to come as well. They look up to you, no matter how much you deny it. You saved them from Voldemort’s reign of terror, and you’ve defended them for the last few years against the Death Eaters. You being at the school makes it automatically safer. Besides, I don’t think there is anyone better qualified for the post than you.

And…if it’s worth anything…I really have missed you. And I am really, really sorry for what happened. But I don’t think that is a conversation to have through a letter, Harry. I want to talk to you. We need to set the record straight. I don’t want what happened to define our lives this way, Harry.

We’ll be expecting you later.

With love,

Hermione

***

Harry Potter stared at the letter in his hands. He read through it again furiously, an unpleasant wave of shock coursing through him. He read each word twice, barely believing what was said.

The first coherent thought that pushed its way into his mind was that Hermione still hadn’t lost her personality. To the point, rational arguments, all the while dropping a few key words here and there as a form of subtle persuasion. He doubted she noticed that she did this, really, but it didn’t fail to annoy him right now.

The second thought that managed its way was the fact that it had been four years since they’d seen or spoken (in person) to each other, and yet he still felt the same way about her. Anger and resentment and all included.

And last, though certainly not least, was the thought of the circumstances that had pushed him into leaving Scotland in the first place.

Overcoming the impulse to burn the letter, he read through it again. Once the shock of Hermione writing to him vanished, he realized there were quite a few things of interest to him in the letter after all. Frowning, he pondered on the fact that Hogwarts security had been breached, not once, but five times in the last two years.

He knew that the Death Eaters hadn’t lost their faith after the Final Battle. If anything, they seemed even more encouraged by the death of their Master. An alarming number of them had avoided capture thus far, and the ones that had been caught had been broken out of Azkaban. The Ministry, noticing this, had taken a leaf out of Barty Crouch’s book and permitted the use of the Unforgivables on them. This had resulted in a semi-war between the Ministry and the Death Eaters, whom had seen this as a challenge and had begun to attack and terrorize freely.

His gaze found its way to the letter again. “…I write this letter in hopes that you will accede to the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Could he really be fit for teaching? Certainly, he was perfectly suited for the post, but…going back to Hogwarts would imply seeing Hermione again. It would imply facing things that he had been running away from for the past four years, and had very little inclination of going back to.

He just couldn’t go back…not yet. He wasn’t ready.

And—wait a second…

There was a hasty scribble at the end of the letter…it seemed to have been written in a haste, because Hermione’s usually neat handwriting was incredibly bunched together and barely legible. He squinted, bringing the letter closer to his eyes, trying to make it out…

“Hello, Harry.”

Harry jumped, turning around and staring at the person in the doorway. Stunned, he felt the letter slip from his hands as he watched Ginny Weasley stride comfortably into the room, her hair fluttering behind her as she walked, and stop about four feet from him. Raking her eyes over him, she let her gaze linger on the letter at his feet before looking back up at him. She smirked.

“I take it that’s Hermione’s letter?”

“Erm…Ginny?”

Her smile, if possible, widened even more, “Yep. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? I hope training’s been good.”

“Yeah…it’s been…great,” mumbled Harry, his tone awfully unconvincing. He continued to gape at Ginny in shock, wondering if he was perhaps dreaming. The day had barely begun and it was already getting overwhelmingly strange.

Ginny took a step closer, “Haven’t you missed us?” she asked softly, reaching to touch his face with her hand, “Me?” Her eyes seemed to lose their confident gleam for a moment, before reverting back to that oddly determined, overly happy look. Harry looked at her, utterly bewildered, and took a step back.

“Y-yeah. Of course I have, Gin,” he attempted a grin, “But—err…what are you doing here?”

“Didn’t you read the note at the end?” she asked softly, closing the distance between them and taking his hand. She pulled him close to her, so that they were pressed together, and looked up into his eyes. Her expression misty and full of longing, she seemed to force her smile as she spoke, “See you on the other side,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

And then, Harry felt that all-too-familiar sensation of being squeezed through a very thick rubber tube…he couldn’t breathe…Ginny was pressed up against him…and he was suffocating…every part of him was being compressed beyond measure, and just when he felt as if he couldn’t take it anymore, it seemed to stop…

And was replaced by a searing pain in his hand.

“Oh—Ginny! What in the world did you do?” this voice, he knew so well…and it had been so long since he had heard it. It was shrill at the moment, and seemed extremely distressed about something. Opening his eyes and looking around in shock, he watched as Hermione Granger looked at him and Ginny in horror, eyes wide. Her curly mass of brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail at the back of her head, and she wore fine, silky robes on a burgundy color. A single thought managed to push through the confusion in Harry’s mind.

She’s still beautiful…

Ron Weasley stood beside her, staring at his sister with wide, incredulous eyes, “Bloody hell, Ginny! What did you do—force him to do side Apparate?” he craned his neck, “You’ve splinched him—look! There’s a finger missing!”

Ginny jumped away from him, biting her lip, “Oh—I’m so sorry, Harry!” she sputtered, covering her mouth with her hand, before turning to Ron, “You two didn’t tell me how I was supposed to do it! I’m sorry if I was a tad nervous!” she snarled, her cheeks reddening.

Harry, who had thus far managed to ignore the dull aching in his hand, glanced down at it. Immediately, he cursed and looked at the other three for help. They stood watching him, apparently too shocked to think of anything.

Grimacing horribly, he managed to ground out, “Somebody—help! Do something!”

All of them ran forward, pulling out their wand and pointing them at him simultaneously. Ginny, who was still embarrassed about what had happened, muttered a feeble charm and succeeded in turning a bit of Harry’s hair green. Ron opened his mouth as if to do something, but didn’t speak at all, instead frowning in confusion. It was Hermione who wielded her wand expertly, muttered something, and caused a great bang and a cloud of purple smoke to appear. The pain vanished instantly, and as the smoke cleared, they could all see Harry’s finger, back and safe in place.

After an awkward pause, Hermione cleared her throat and smiled, “Erm…welcome back, Harry,” she said, apparently stifling a laugh, “Sorry about that…”

“Yeah, how’ve you been, mate?” asked Ron, grinning, “Had a nice break from us?”

He stared at them incredulously, “What is going on?” he blurted out, looking between the two of them, as if the answer might somehow be written on their faces.

“Nothing much—just bored,” said Ron nonchalantly, his tone gleeful. He seemed to be enjoying Harry’s obvious confusion very much.

Harry gave his friend a venomous look worthy of Malfoy. Hermione seemed to sense danger, because she stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, saying, “We just wanted to talk to you, Harry. You got my letter; you’ve read it…we just thought we should sort out the matter as quickly as possible.”

“Couldn’t you just wait till the next Order meeting?” asked Harry irritably, looking at them incredulously.

“We didn’t want to risk you not coming…and, well, other…things,” Hermione finished weakly, her voice coming to a mere whisper. Ron gave her a funny look, frowning, before looking back at Harry with a bemused expression. And Harry stood there, waiting until she lifted her gaze to him again.

His eyes seemed empty as she looked at him. They locked on hers so easily, as they both felt the memories coming back to them, reminding them about their mistakes…of the things they had done. For a moment, everything else around them seemed to disappear as they remembered…and nothing, nothing else mattered…

--

“Mmmm…’Mione’s going to…to marry me someday…”

Ron was drunk. Everyone was. Voldemort had been defeated a week ago, but the celebrations just kept on going, and the Golden Trio kept on being invited. Ron and Hermione had had to drag Harry to most of them, but they ended up having a good time, for the most part. Right now, they were all staggering back to the flat they shared, Hermione being the most sober of the three.

She rolled her eyes, “Sure I will, Ron,” she said sarcastically, “You’re the man of my dreams,” she added, snorting. She stumbled under both Ron and Harry’s combined weight, but steadied herself quickly, steering them in the right direction.

He shook his head, “N-nnno. Seriosuly. You, me…togezzer…”

Harry laughed, standing on the other side of Hermione, “Yeah, right. I think you’ve had…one too many firewhiskeys, Rum…”

“You wanna bet, Potter?”

“Yeah, you’re on, Weazzly.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Hermione said, shaking her head, “You two are really going to feel those drinks in the morning. Honestly…” she steered them around a corner, and walked them up the steps to their flat.

“’O d’you love the mostesst, eh, ‘Mione?” Ron slurred, looking at Hermione with foggy eyes, “Me…or him?”

Hermione smiled, “I love you both, Ron. I couldn’t possibly choose between the two of you,” she said softly as she lifted the wards on their door and opened it, “You’re my best friends,” she added, guiding them inside and smiling warmly at them, her eyes hazy with emotion.

--

Hermione’s eyes seemed drained of happiness as they met his. He watched her, his eyes still empty and emotionless, even if inside he was burning to reach out and run his fingers across the soft skin of her cheeks. He watched her lips form a thin line of her face; watched as her cheeks grew slightly red…just stood there, watching as the tension grew inside her and as she fought to keep it at bay. He was so entranced, he barely heard Ginny’s silent excuse as she rushed to leave the room.

It hadn’t been until now that he realized just how much he had missed Hermione over the past four years. The resentment and the bitter anger towards her had only covered up the dull aching and longing he felt for her.

He felt the memories hit him like a kick in the chest. It was as if everything he had ever felt for her came back to him at that very moment, making him feel like the confused nineteen-year-old boy he had been not too long ago. He remembered everything; from his confusion about his feelings for her, to that pleasant sensation in his stomach he experienced whenever she touched him.

And he remembered other things…things that had never been meant to happen. Things that had been a mistake on both their parts; something that had happened as a result of dull loneliness and reckless longing and had progressed into so much more…

And they had both lost their rationality…they had both been enveloped by a stronger, more superior force that caused them to forget everything they had ever known or thought. It made everything else meaningless; worthless, next to it…

--

“Oh, Harry…I can’t take this,”

She was heartbroken. Tears ran down her pale, damp cheeks, and her frail body shook from her shuddering sobs. She was on the edge of losing her mind, he knew. It had been two months now, and Ron showed no signs of recovering. The Healers were doing everything in their power to reverse the horrible effects of the curse, but so far they had only just succeeded in keeping him from dying. He was alive, but barely so.

And she was suffering so much for him. “Everything had been just fine,” she’d said so many times, “It was all over. We were…fine…” It had been worse than the Final Battle itself when they had been attacked by those Death Easters. It had been as if all her worse fears had been confirmed, and everything had come back to haunt her. Her illusion of normality and happiness had been broken by them, and she was barely hanging on now.

“He’s not lost, Hermione,” whispered Harry, striding towards her and enveloping her in his arms, “They’ll find a cure…you’ll see…”

She buried her face in his neck, and Harry was struck by how cold she felt. He tightened his arms around her, resting his face on the top of her head. A lump rose in his throat as she began to sob again; as more tears began to fall and run down the bare skin on his neck. He felt as if someone was taking his heart from him and ripping it to shreds before his very eyes…

No one knew. No one was aware of how much it pained him to sit here and watch Hermione cry and sob and suffer so desolately. This was the worst form of torture anyone could ever conceive, and he just couldn’t take it.

“I hope you’re right, Harry…I really do…” she whispered, looking up at him with that saddened expression. She blinked twice to clear the remaining tears out of them, and leaned forward, her lips coming in contact with his chin, where they remained, immobile, until her tears had dissipated and her sobs had died.

--

“Err…”

Ron cleared his throat, looking at the two of them with a painfully confused expression. He snapped his fingers in front of their faces to get their attention, before saying, “What’s the matter with you two? I know it’s been ages since we’ve last seen each other, but honestly, you two look like you’ve seen You-Know-Who or something.”

Harry blinked, looking at Ron. He glanced at Hermione, who now looked slightly more composed, before looking back at Ron. He attempted a weak grin, “Yeah, well…two years is a long time, mate.”

“You got our letters, though, didn’t you?” asked Hermione, her voice wavering slightly.

“Yeah. Looks like you two have been doing just fine, huh?”

“Better than fine,” chuckled Ron, “I just got accepted as Keeper for the Chudley Cannons!” he said excitedly, ginning broadly.

This time, Harry’s smile was completely honest as he said, “Nice one! I knew you were being stupid when you said you played rubbish.”

Hermione smirked, “Kept me up all night after that. He kept poking me and asking if I thought he’d done well or not, only to shoot down my opinion saying I was ‘biased’,” she said, rolling her eyes, “I ended up hexing him out of the room at two a.m.”

An unpleasant wave of shock washed over Harry at those words. He tried his best to keep his voice level, “You’re living together, then?” he asked. By their letters, he’d pretty much surmised so, but that did nothing to ease the horrible feeling of loss that welled up inside him.

Hermione’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink, “Oh—err…yes,” she mumbled sheepishly, biting her lip. The words clearly seemed to have slipped out, because she suddenly seemed extremely uncomfortable under Harry’s gaze.

“It’ll be seven months now, right?” Ron said absentmindedly, apparently oblivious to his friend’s reactions.

“Y-yes, I suppose…”

“So! What was it you wanted to discuss, Hermione?” Harry asked, eager to get through with this as soon as possible so that he could get back to his flat and just…think.

Hermione seemed to be thinking along the same lines as he was, “Well, Minerva really needs to know whether you’re up for the post as soon as possible, because if you refuse—” here she paused, giving him a significant look, as if she were saying something that couldn’t be expressed in words, “—we’ll need to contact someone else within the next few days. Term starts in three weeks, but we’re having most of the staff come a week early for security reasons.”

There was a pause, “I…have the papers and everything in my bag. You can read through them tonight, and when you’ve decided—which should really be within the next two days—just contact me.”

Harry watched her for a few moments, thinking. He wondered whether she understood what him being at Hogwarts might mean for them. She was clever enough to know that he hadn’t forgotten about her, after all. What told her that what happened two years ago wouldn’t repeat itself? He knew she was with Ron now, and respected it, but he knew it would inevitably happen.

--

“This…this is wrong,” Harry whispered, grabbing her wrists gently, trying to push her away. He knew they couldn’t do this. He wanted to, of course, but…he knew she didn’t. She was just overwhelmingly lonely, and tired of it. She…she didn’t really want this.

Hermione shook her head, “No,” she said, her voice low, “I swear…this isn’t wrong,” she leaned forward again, capturing his lips with hers softly, lingering there for a moment, before pulling back again. And, looking at him straight in the eye, she whispered, “Harry, this is the farthest possible thing from wrong.”

“Hermione—you miss Ron,” croaked Harry, doing his best to pull himself away. But he couldn’t, somehow. How many times had he fantasized of this moment? How many times had he imagined himself doing exactly what he was now? Truly, he should be glad this happened.

And yet he wasn’t. This was the worst possible situation he could be in.

Between the sword and the wall.

Before she could respond, he said, “You’re just…lonely. I know it’s tough, but don’t…you can make it.”

“I love Ron,” she said simply, nodding, and for a moment she seemed to lose her determination. But then she looked back at him, and spoke, “I do. But it’s not the same as with you. You don’t understand—you give me a reason to keep on going, Harry. Up till now, I thought I had that with Ron, but…I’ve realized that with you, my bond is ten times stronger. I feel for you, Harry…when I saw you suffer, I suffered for you. When you were happy, I was happy for you. When you needed someone, just someone, to listen, I would listen and feel the way you felt. And over these past months, you’ve given me that.”

Harry watched her, the pain almost suffocating him. He was torn between what he desired and what was right, and he knew which he would have to choose. He’d learned that long ago, from the moment he learned the reality of his life. It would always be the same for him.

He knew her words were true. He knew such things would never come out of the mouth of a liar, something Hermione was certainly not.

And because he had to do the right thing, he knew she would be hurt. Because of him. And he could do nothing to avoid it.

Looking up at her once more, he sighed. Gathering her hands in his once more, he pushed her aside gently, putting some distance between them. Looking at her with the pained eyes of a man who was denying himself what he’d always wanted, he said:

“You know we can’t.”

His voice was soft, yet his words seemed so rough—so hurtful somehow. He experienced a sudden impulse to take her in his arms and tell her that he loved her…that he was sorry…

But instead he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

--

Yes…he remembered very clearly the things that had happened. And she did too, so why was she insisting?

Hermione is a selfless person, he argued with himself, she probably knows all this, but she’d put the school’s safety before her own personal problems.

Which left it all rather up to him. Was he really going to risk people’s lives, and the future of the school, just because he wasn’t sure if he could hold back his feelings for Hermione? It was a stupid question to ask himself. Of course he wasn’t going to risk all those things. Therefore, he was going to have to take up the post, and he was going to have to spend a whole year alongside Hermione at Hogwarts, and he was going to have to get over his weaknesses.

Technically, if he’d survived Voldemort, he could do this.

And life was just full of technicalities, wasn’t it?

“…or if you want to speak to Professor McGonagall, I think—“

Harry shook his head, “No—that won’t be necessary, Hermione. I’m—I’m taking the job,” he said simply, watching her closely for any sign…anything that might tell him how she felt about all this…

But she just blinked, “Are…are you sure?” she asked, and her uncertain tone told him that his response had clearly been unexpected to her, “You can have a few days to decide—I mean, that’s a big decision and I don’t want you to rush—”

He shock his head, “I’m sure. Dead sure, actually. I—I agree…with what you said, and well, maybe I can help. I don’t want Hogwarts to be in danger.”

“I…well, excellent, then!” she said weakly, smiling, “Professor McGonagall will be very pleased to hear so, Harry. And…I am, too,” she added, and her smile suddenly seemed more real; more genuine.

“Yeah, now you’ll have someone under seventy to talk to,” snorted Ron, shaking his head, “That should be an improvement, eh?” he grinned, looking back at Harry and saying, with a serious face, “Still, I’m glad too, mate. You…keep an eye on her for me, okay? Watch the sixth years, specifically,” he added in an undertone, his expression darkening.

“Err…sure,” Harry said, wondering only vaguely why. Turning to Hermione, he said, “So, where to now? How about we go to Diagon Alley? Have a walk ‘round the shops, maybe eat an ice cream or two…?”

Ron nodded fervently, “Excellent—there’s a new broom out, Harry…I’ve been wanting to go see it for ages—”

“—and it’ll be good to get some shopping done…I’m not sure we’ll have more free time before term begins…” Hermione interrupted, frowning.

“—I’ve been wanting another owl, too. Pig mated with one and left the house about a month ago…never came back. Ruddy bird—”

“—Crookshanks does need a little tuning-up…”

“It’s settled then,” said Ron, grinning, “It’ll be just like old times.”

Harry looked at his friend, whose face was lit up with an odd sort of happiness only people like Ron could achieve, and pondered on his words. He doubted very much this would be remotely like old times. Back when they used to do this more often, it used to be Harry, Ron and Hermione. A trio. One group of people; no divisions.

But now, it was entirely different. Now, it was Ron and Hermione, and Harry on the side. It wasn’t hard to miss; from his arm, draped over her shoulders, to those private jokes and whispers they shared together…the smiles she reserved just for him…

And the ironic thing was, that it used to be Harry who received those smiles. He used to be the one to hold her and whisper softly in her ear…he used to mean something more to her.

And because he had not seized the opportunity when it had come, he was now condemned to a life of watching; of watching and quiet longing. Of knowing and seeing what could have been his ever after alongside Hermione.

He deserved this misery, didn’t he? He’d made her suffer in the past. He’d pushed her away and left her because he thought he was doing the right thing. This was his reward for nobility and loving and all those stupid qualities that had, supposedly, helped him along his life. This was what he got, and a small part of him welcomed it, because he knew he deserved it.

So he forced himself to smile, to walk on the other side of her, opposite Ron, and say, “Yeah. Just like old times.”

And as they all prepared to Apparate, he couldn’t help noticing the way Hermione was looking at him. Her face, usually inscrutable, seemed a canvas of emotions. On one hand, she watched him with silent wonder, as if he was a very complicated-looking puzzle she was looking to solve. And at the same time, it was as if she was holding back something she wanted to say. She looked so incredibly tense; so completely and utterly confused…

And her eyes…oh, they seemed full of sorrow. A harsh, sad regret that she couldn’t hold back, no matter how much she knew she should.

But it was just for a moment. Then she was back to that happy, smiling Hermione, and he was left with millions of questions and no answer.

Author’s Note: I have to straighten out a few mistakes I made in the last chapter. I’ve already written this in my reply to a review from Darkened Skies, but I’ll post it here too, so no one gets confused. These are the basics: the Final Battle took place on June 1998, and roughly a month afterwards, Ron was attacked and fell into a coma. Hermione began her studies that year, but remained in the country because of Ron's condition. Her romance with Harry developed during that time, until Ron woke up around July 1999. That's when Harry and Hermione both left--she to study abroad and he to begin his Auror training. A year passed in that fashion, with all of them corresponding by letters, and then Hermione took up the Transfiguration post at Hogwarts in September 2000. Presently, it's August 2002, with Harry months away from concluding his training; he and Hermione haven't seen each other for roughly three years, except on a few key Order meetings he attended.

Hermione and Ron were together before he fell into a coma, and after he woke up, they took a long break from their relationship. They got back together as the year 2001 began.

I’m deeply sorry for the mistakes in the last chapter. Evidently, I missed them while I was editing. Does anyone know if I can re-upload that chapter without losing the reviews? It’s been a long time since I’ve used Portkey and I’m just not sure. =S

Anyway, here’s chapter two.

***

Chapter Two: Repetition

Hermione moved from her desk towards the window. Absentmindedly, she watched the trees as they swayed quietly with the wind, her eyes following the leaves’ lazy movement. Her gaze wandered to the dark depths of the lake, where the water seemed unperturbed by the soft breeze. Not a single wave in its smooth crystalline surface…not a flicker of life. It took a few minutes for her to notice she wasn’t blinking as she watched her silent companion—those quiet waters who refused to acknowledge the wind, who tried to go about their business without thinking about it.

A lone ripple broke the surface. The breeze became somewhat stronger, and it was impossible for the lake to ignore it any longer. It kept pressing down on her, until the surface was a tangle of waves crashing and forming, colliding with the earth as water escaped its confines.

Because some things just can’t be ignored, right?

Hermione liked the comfort that going to Diagon Alley with Harry and Ron brought her. For the most part, neither of them had changed much in the last few years. Ron and Harry were still fascinated by Quidditch; they still ate a lot; and they were still able to laugh and joke around as if no time had passed. She looked at them, and rather than seeing them as they were now, she saw them as they had been back at Hogwarts. So it was nice, spending the day with them.

But as always, her peace was somewhat interrupted by outside forces. By the uncontrollable…

Whenever she caught Harry’s eye; whenever they accidentally brushed hands or bumped shoulders, that happiness seemed to fade back into her worries and regrets. Seeing him was a dull reminder of what she hated most about herself, and of the fact that she couldn’t do anything about it now.

She knew she didn’t love Harry anymore. She was perfectly content and happy with Ron and their relationship. They supported each other—even if they didn’t quite agree—and had learned to compromise. They didn’t argue as much anymore, because they had learned to cut back on the retorts and petty insults, and think before they spoke. Ron, in particular, had changed a great deal.

She had loved Harry once, though, and she could recall it perfectly—better than she wished she did. She remembered falling for him desperately, blindly, and yearning for him so much it hurt. It had been completely unsettling for her—literally everything about him fascinated her. It was his way of making her feel as if everything really was going to turn out fine, even when the world was falling to pieces around them. It was they way he made her laugh even when she’d thought she never would again…the way he listened and simply accepted her and her ideas, and didn’t criticize her…

--

“I think these are nice.”

She was holding a bouquet of elegant white roses in her hands. She gazed at them gleefully, looking very much like a little girl, and glanced up at him, waiting for approval. Her eyes shone with an inexplicable joy as they locked on his, and he was blown away. To him, she was always beautiful, but there was something about her holding those flowers that made her appear almost…angel-like.

Harry nodded, “They are,” he said softly, smiling.

She inclined her head forward slightly, the tip of her nose almost touching the petals as she tried to catch their scent. Her eyes flickered to a close for a moment, before she opened them again and looked back at Harry, “I think…I’ll take these home. They’ll brighten up the room, don’t you think?”

Harry nodded, “Are we going to stop by the Weasley’s?” he asked.

“Mmm…yes, I think we should. Molly asked me to keep her up-to-date with…Ron.”

It happened so quickly. She herself felt her happiness being taken away by that single word and the memories it effected. Her eyes drifted downwards, back to the flowers, and she suddenly felt rather sick. How could she be here so happy, when Ron was lying on a bed, on a coma? How could she be here with Harry, of all people, when the person she should be with was so very far away?

Looking up at Harry, she sighed, giving him a sad smile, “It’s nothing; don’t worry. Just…the usual,” she said, her voice quiet. More to distract herself than anything else, she turned away from him and began scanning the bouquets for one Mrs. Weasley might like.

“It matters to me,” he said softly, his hand on her shoulder, “I don’t like this, Hermione. I hate seeing you so broken up…I just wish—I wish I could help you somehow…”

Hermione closed her eyes, taking in a breath, as if bracing herself for something. The heat of his hand on her shoulder was clouding her thoughts…she suddenly felt a very strong impulse to turn around and tell him exactly what was making her feel so broken up and troubled. It was a combination of so many things—so many thought and feelings she wished she could ignore—and the pressure seemed to suffocate her. She couldn’t think; she couldn’t breathe freely anymore…

She let her gaze linger on his hand for a moment, before she said, “I know you do. And you don’t know how much that means to me,” her voice cracked a little as she paused, taking in a deep breath, “B-but you can’t, Harry. You’ve already helped me a lot, believe me. I would be…so lost…without you right now…”

She turned around, not looking up at him, and buried her face in his chest. She wasn’t crying, but she wasn’t exactly very far from it. By avoiding looking at him, however, she gained more time to compose herself.

But he captured her chin with the tips of his fingers, gently forcing her to look up at him. Her face slightly pink from tension, Hermione locked her eyes on his…and it felt as if they were suddenly slipping away to another place. It felt as if all thoughts vanished from her mind and she was speeding away, into a world where she had no worries and preoccupations, nothing to think about. It was a sort of blissful happiness, where she finally felt at peace…for just a moment…

“I’ll find a way, Hermione. I’ll find a way to get you and—and Ron, and everyone—out of this mess. I will.”

And she was so captivated by his solemn tone and worried eyes…she was so captivated by the thought that he would always risk and do anything to help others when they needed it. By the thought that he wanted to help her.

That he cared…

Leaning forward, she let her head fall back on his chest and wrapped his arms around him in a hug.

--

That had been so long ago—it seemed silly that it bothered her. People fell in and out of love many times in their lives, after all. Did it really matter that she had fallen for her best friend? Or was the problem something else? It seemed uncomfortable, somehow, to include him in her life right now, after the fervent promises they had made each other and the fierce emotions they had experienced together. She just couldn’t shake it off—looking at him, everything seemed so much stronger; her memories seemed so much more real. Like she had managed to convince herself that her past with him had only been a dream, but he came and proved it otherwise.

It was the way he looked at her still. She had never forgotten the way he had gazed at her when they were in love. How could she forget such emotion, such devotion and selflessness? Right now, it was as if no time had passed…when his eyes came to rest on her, it was always that same look. Like he had never really forgotten her; let his feelings for her wane and die with time. Like they were still there…

And that scared her more than anything.

A voice, groggy and sleepy, spoke behind her, “Herm…” there was a huge yawn, “…iome? What’re you doing up so late?”

She turned, her eyes taking in Ron’s tall, lanky figure leaning against the doorframe. He was still wearing his Quidditch robes, which were covered in mud and dripping of water. She pursed her lips at this, watching the drops as they fell on the carpet, “I had some work to do,” she explained, sighing and smiling at him, “How was practice?”

“Good…I’m beat, though…”

Looking into Ron’s tired, foggy eyes, she was unable to explain to herself why they were together; how this had happened. It had been so different with Harry; so much more passionate, honest and true. There hadn’t been any doubt that she should be together—it had been obvious, as comfortable and right as it came. And even though it wasn’t like that with Ron, she couldn’t say she didn’t feel anything for him. She cared about him, wanted him to be happy. But somehow, as she glanced through the window at the dark lake behind her and back into his hazy eyes, she couldn’t say that she loved him. It felt like a horrible, disgusting lie that, upon uttering, would leave a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. And Harry’s face flashed before her, that look etched on his face…

She forced a smile, “Do you want something to eat or are you going to bed?”

“Mmm, some food would be great,” Ron mumbled, grinning, “Please,” he added, thinking Hermione’s tortured look was due to his request rather than her thoughts.

Hermione pulled her hand out of her pocket and gave it a wave, pointing it to the bathroom. A small vial of green liquid came floating through thin air towards Ron, who eyed it warily, “What’s it this time?” he asked, taking the vial in his hand and looking at her suspiciously.

“A modified form of the Pepperup Potion. Designed to wake and energize you rather than cure a cold,” she paused, eyeing the vial proudly, “It’s like coffee, so don’t drink much. A drop will do—it’s just to wake you up a bit while I make you some food.”

Ron looked at her dubiously, before uncorking the vial. Sniffing it, he shook his head and muttered in an undertone, “It better not make tentacles sprout out of my ears this time…”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, “That was only once—and in case you don’t quite remember, I managed to correct it in a heartbeat,” she added, shrugging.

“Still. The fact that it happened was quite enough.”

“I’ve checked it this time, Ron. Tried it on myself,” Hermione insisted, gesturing to herself, “And here I am, ears and all.”

“I don’t like it when you try things on yourself,” Ron frowned, his voice taking on a worried tone, “You could get hurt, doing that stuff while no one’s around to help.”

Hermione’s smile was genuine now, but she remained silent as she walked past him and went into the kitchen. Ron sighed and raised the vial, a single drop falling into his open mouth. At first, nothing happened. He blinked, smiling, “It actually kind of tastes like coffee,” he called to her, and she said something from the kitchen. But just when he opened his mouth to speak again, his stomach seemed to give a jerk. He frowned, suddenly feeling very weak. His legs bent and he fell on his knees to the floor, grimacing. His stomach jerked again, and he closed his eyes as pain shot through his body. He cried out, despite himself, and Hermione’s swift footsteps accompanied her worried voice.

“Ron, are you—oh, Ron! What—?”

Her voice was so anxious…so deeply troubled…and he felt, as if in a dream, like he was being torn apart both by her voice and the pain. His eyelids were flickering open and closed, and he was seeing…things. Memories that he didn’t even know he had, as if they belonged to someone else. He could hear ear-shattering, terrorized screams and cries of pain, and in his own agony, he was unable to distinguish his cries from the ones he heard…

And out of nowhere, he felt as if his whole body was on fire. It was pain like he had experienced only once before, clouding his thoughts and vision until he could only see darkness.

***

“And you’re acquainted with Mr. Weasley how?”

Hermione held back her initial impulse to roll her eyes, “I’m his…we’re…romantically involved. My name is Hermione Granger, you see, and—“

The mediwitch held a hand to silence her, nodding, “Oh, yes of course, Miss Granger. Pardon me. Come right along—the Healer would like word with you…” she began walking at a fast pace, going up a flight of stairs and taking a sharp left, “…terrible accident. He drank a potion, you said? Awful business indeed…”

“B—but is he going to be okay?”

“Well, I don’t—ah, here we are. Right through this door, Miss Granger. Good day to you,” and, without even bothering to answer Hermione’s question, she rushed off in the direction they’d come.

Hermione stood there for a few minutes, trying to compose herself, before walking into the room.

Her first impression was that it really needed decoration of some sort. Or color, for that matter. Everything—every tiny little inch of the room—was a bare, extremely bright shade of white. From the walls to the furnishings, there wasn’t a single thing that was the least bit gray. It was extremely small, consisting only of a very comfortable-looking white couch, which sat across from a small desk and a chair. There was a nameplate on the desk, but, being white as well, it could barely be read. Just looking around made Hermione’s eyes hurt.

There was a sudden crash nearby, followed by a small squeal of pain. Hermione jumped as a door opened from behind the desk, revealing a very narrow, long passage of filing cabinets and other things of the sort. Someone had apparently made one of the cabinets fall down, as there were papers flying everywhere and a large cloud of dust was escaping into the immaculate white room. Sure enough, after a few seconds, the unmistakable outline of a person began crawling out of the rubble, coughing and sputtering muffled curses. When the shock seemed to lessen, Hermione pulled out her wand and made her way inside the passageway. Muttering something and waving her wand, the papers all flew to the cabinet, which straightened itself and went back to its position.

“Are y-you okay?” she called out, coughing slightly.

“Thanks,” said the person, taking Hermione’s hand as she held it out and coming to his feet. The young man frowned as he looked at her, squinting, as if he wasn’t sure of what he was seeing. His hand reached up to brush dust off his face, and he continued to squint at her.

Slightly confused by the boy’s behavior, Hermione asked, “Are you the Healer?”

“N-no, I just—” the boy paused in mid-sentence, his face suddenly breaking into a large smile as he said, in an excited tone, “No way—Hermione? What—it’s me, Neville! How—how are you?”

“Neville?” Hermione repeated, looking at him incredulously. Maybe it was the dust, but Neville looked nothing like she remembered. He had less hair for one, and he was much taller. But there was no mistaking that it was him; he still bore that happy, plump face that had always distinguished him. She smiled, coming to hug him, “What are you doing here? It’s been ages!”

“My uncle works here—got me a summer job,” he explained, pulling way and grinning, “Mostly filing papers and rubbish like that.”

“That’s—great,” Hermione said, after a moment’s hesitation, “You’ve been studying Herbology, though, right?”

“Yeah. Term starts on September the third. After this year I’ll be able to get a decent job,” he paused, gesturing that they go outside into the room, “And what about you? You’ve been in the papers a lot recently.”

Hermione laughed, “Don’t believe anything. They’re actually speculating about the name of my tenth child with Ron. Popular choice says ‘Bilius’ is it,” she rolled her eyes at this, remembering the article Rita Skeeter had published only last week.

Neville laughed, “I thought so. You two aren’t married yet?”

“…No.”

He nodded, “And Harry? I hear he’s been abroad. How’s he doing?”

Hermione’s expression darkened momentarily at the mention of Harry’s name, before she shrugged and said, “He’s good, too. Going to teach at Hogwarts this year.”

“He is? Blimey, that’s great! Looks like you three are set,” Neville smiled, “You deserve it, too, after everything. I wish you all the best.”

“Thanks, Neville.”

“So what are you doing here?” he asked suddenly, frowning, “It’s two in the morning!”

“I…well, Ron had a little…accident with a potion I brewed. He, err…well, it didn’t go very well,” Hermione mumbled, the sudden happiness she’d felt at seeing Neville again suddenly gone. In theory, the potion was supposed to work—all the ingredients mixed well together, and nothing happened when she’d tried it on herself. She didn’t understand what had gone wrong…maybe he shouldn’t take it on an empty stomach?

Neville opened his mouth to speak, but the door to the office opened. A short, corpulent man with thinning gray hair and small brown eyes walked into the room, looking flustered and rather tired. He was carrying several papers and vials of potions, along with his wand, which was tucked under his arm. When he noticed them, he gave a little jump, before turning his eyes on Neville.

“You’re Longbottom, right? Fourth floor needs those papers right away. Hurry along, now,” he said, waving him towards the door. Neville mumbled an apology and hurried off, waving a hand at Hermione over his shoulder as if to say goodbye.

The man gestured at the couch, motioning for Hermione to sit down, “Excuse me for the delay, madam. I am Healer Stratovac.”

Hermione had barely sat down, before the man began speaking again, “I won’t beat around the bush with this, Miss Granger—Mr. Weasley is not well. The potion you administered appears to have affected his nervous system, and for the moment, we have not yet found a way to return him to normal state. For now, he is being given periodic does of the Calming Draught to ease the…illusion of pain. He is under the belief that he is under the Cruciatus curse, you see. This is especially dangerous, because such trauma could affect him…permanently. You do know who Frank and Alice Longbottom are?”

Hermione nodded silently.

“Well, something along those lines could happen to Mr. Weasley if we don’t find a cure for him soon.”

Hermione shook her head, saying, in a very quiet voice, “I—I don’t understand, Mr. Stratovac. I tried the potion on myself before giving it to him. I checked that every ingredient worked together and wouldn’t result in poisoning. I just…I don’t understand why this happened.”

“There are two possible explanations to this. One, you made a mistake despite all your preparations. And two, there is something else in Mr. Weasley’s body that affected him. I understand he was recently in a coma?”

“Y-yes.”

“And that was due to a very obscure curse, was it not? A curse that had been unheard of until that time, which goes to suggest that it was created by a Death Eater.”

“Yes, and it was. I was there when it happened,” Hermione said, a little forcefully.

“Then you must understand that its long-term effects are yet unknown. It could go on to ail him for the rest of his life for no possible reason, because it has some sort of lasting effect that can’t be taken away by magic or potions.”

“Then you have to—I don’t know, fix that! Run some tests, check his body for—“

“We have checked. We have conducted every test imaginable, and there is nothing to suggest that the spell left anything behind. Everything in his body appears normal. For now, the theory that the curse may have had long-term effects is just that—a theory.”

“Then what are you going to do? You’re just going to leave him there to—go mad?”

“We are in the process of making an antidote to help him, and I assure you, my team of Healers is working extremely hard,” the healer paused, watching her thoughtfully. Then, heaving a large sigh, le leaned forward on his desk and said, “Miss Granger, at this point of the game, it is impossible to say whether or not he is in mortal danger. Anything could happen. The most I can say is that he is suffering from a sort of mental trauma very similar to that experienced under the Cruciatus curse, and that he is being treated for it.”

Hermione sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. She felt as if she was drowning in her own guilt now. If only she hadn’t convinced him to try the potion…if only she hadn’t been so stubborn and hadn’t talked him into it…

If only she hadn’t…he wouldn’t be in this position now.

Biting her lip, she looked up at the healer, who was watching her with a slightly pitiful expression. Clearing her throat, she asked, “When…do you have any idea of when he might be well again?” her voice was so quiet, so painfully tentative, that hearing it made her feel even worse than she already did.

“No, Miss Granger. Not at the moment.”

She nodded numbly, closing her eyes again. It was as if all of the most horrible moments in her life were closing in on her now, erasing any remnant of happiness she may have possessed. She felt as if she was falling down an abysm of sorrow and despair, and no one…no one could help her…

She was falling…

--

“What did you do to him?” hissed Harry, his face contorted in such righteous anger that she never even knew existed. His eyes were narrowed, cold and ruthless, and his lips were but a straight line on his face. She could count the times when Harry had frightened her so with one hand, but she couldn’t deny that they were moments that would stay in her memory forever.

The Death Eater, who was bound tightly by ropes, sneered, “What he deserved and only that,” he spat, his eyes gleaming with pleasure at Harry’s anger.

“I swear to God if he’s—if you—I’ll kill you like I killed him,” Harry finished viciously, fingering his wand menacingly. The Death Eater’s eyes widened for a moment, before he burst out in maniacal laughter, spitting out words here and there, as if he knew that would drive Harry mad. Hermione, watching as Harry’s frame grew tenser and his grip on his wand became stronger, grabbed his shoulder and held him back.

“No—Harry, come on. He’s not worth it,” she said desperately, trying to speak as quickly as possible, “R-Ron’s hurt…we need to take him—somewhere…please…

“Please, Harry…”

And in an instant, Harry lowered his wand, though grudgingly. His eyes were locked on the man’s, hatred evident, and Hermione knew that he had been prepared to kill the Death Eater. He muttered something, and the man was left unconscious, though alive.

“Stunned,” he grunted, before kneeling and taking Ron’s body in his arms. He beckoned Hermione towards him, and she kneeled beside them, barely managing an expression of braveness. She knew that what he needed right now weren’t tears; he needed support and courage, and she was prepared to give that to him, no matter what.

Wordlessly, he took his arm and closed his eyes. She did the same, and before long, the familiar feeling of Apparition took over her.

--

Oh, God, she couldn’t help it. The memories went and came, flashing before her eyes in a blur of colors and emotions, before they stopped, and she saw the scene unfolding before her very eyes. And she felt everything as if she were there at that moment; the sadness, excitement and fear of it all, just coming back to her…

--

The night was only slightly chilly, but she pretended to shiver anyway, just so he would drape his hand over her shoulders and beckon her closer to him. They sat outside on the porch, watching as the rain fell only a few feet from them and unmade the small mountain of leaves that was leaning against the steps. And she leant her head on his shoulder, her vision hazy, smiling.

“Harry?” she asked, her voice soft as a whisper.

He seemed to turn his head to look at her before he answered, “Yeah?”

She licked her lips, propping her chin on the side of his shoulder to look up at him, “Is this what you want?” she asked as she took in his profile. It was strange; over the years he had managed to redefine almost every aspect of her thoughts. When someone spoke of bravery, she thought of Harry. When someone mentioned friendship, she thought of him. And when someone slipped in the word ‘love’ into a conversation, her mind immediately supplied a picture of Harry, and she was taken to another world.

It was inevitable. He’d left his mark on her life, and with each passing day, it seemed less prone to being erased.

He frowned, “What do you mean?”

She sighed, thinking of how she could word what she wanted to ask, “I mean…why are you here? Almost a year has gone by since Ron…you know…and you still come here every day to take care of me. I know you care about me—and it really means a lot that you do—but you must have other…goals; things you want to do in life…”

He didn’t answer. She closed her eyes, knowing she’d said the wrong thing and hating herself for it. But she had to ask him. It had been eating her from the inside out to wonder why he always came and held her when she cried, why he always took her out to places and made her smile and laugh like she had never laughed before. Her rationality said that it was because she was his friend; because he cared for her well being and didn’t know if she could go on by herself at this point. And such an explanation seemed perfectly logical and true, and she didn’t question it for a while.

But then one night another thought had crept into her mind…an aching, desperate hope that maybe it was because he loved her and didn’t want to leave her now. That he had grown accustomed to her company and couldn’t bear to be without her…

“This past few months,” he said suddenly, and she immediately noted how he seemed to weigh each word he spoke, “, have been…odd. On one hand, I’m here because we’re facing a horrible time. Ron’s in the hospital, and he shows no signs of recovering soon. I see you suffer and cry for him all the time, and that’s no easy task. If I based my opinion of these months on that, I’d say they’ve been the worst sort of torture imaginable, not because I don’t like being around you, but because I hate seeing you suffer.

“But then I think of the times when we’re having lunch or dinner, and your cheeks are pink because you’ve been laughing so much…and my stomach hurts because I’ve laughed more than I ever thought I would…and my opinion changes drastically. I think of you, as we’re sitting under one of the trees in the park, and I can’t…bring myself to say that I haven’t enjoyed these past few months.”

There was a pause, then, “Sure, I have other things I’d like to do. But none of them are nearly as important as you are, Hermione. None of them could ever be considered better than being with you.”

And as he turned his head to look at her, for while he had been speaking his gaze had been on the falling rain, she felt as if he were coming closer. She could still hear his words clearly, and they had touched her so deeply that tears actually welled in her eyes. She was so happy, and for a moment, she didn’t give a damn if he loved her or not, as long as he stayed with her, sweet and caring as always…

--

“Now, then…Miss Granger,” said the Healer, giving her a slightly worried look, “Will you be alright? I have some other patients to check…papers to sign…you know the drill. It’s late. Will you be able to get home safely?”

Hermione looked up into the man’s dark eyes, which were narrowed in slight confusion and concern as he watched her, and sighed heavily, “I’m sorry, Mr. Stratovac…but I would feel better if I were to stay here tonight, with Ron.”

“I understand your wishes, but with the state he’s in…I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

She closed her eyes momentarily, before opening them again and giving him a wary look, “Yes, you’re right. Thank you very much for taking care of Ron. You don’t know how much it…really means to me.”

For the first time since he had entered the room, the Healer smiled, “Not a problem, Miss Granger. Not at all,” he stood up, leading her to the door, “Good night, and best wishes to you and Mr. Weasley.”

“Thanks very much.”

The healer opened the door and stepped aside to let her pass. He walked through a door to his left, while Hermione kept walking right on along the hall. There seemed to be a lot of activity despite the early hour—two healers wearing white masks brushed past her in a haste, heading to Mr. Stratovac’s office, and as she stepped out into the hall, Healers were rushing up and down the corridors, shoving papers to each other as they passed, shouting last-minute instructions, and guiding patients to their rooms.

The place was so full of life and emotion…she could practically feel their anxiety as they exchanged hurried ideas on what potion would work best on a patient; feel their pain as they whispered, in hushed voices, that a person was not well…and it all led back to the same place, to the person that was lying on a hospital bed at that moment because she had accidentally poisoned him. Sure, it might have been because of the curse, but really, had she not given him the potion, this wouldn’t have happened at all. Despite what anyone said, this was her fault.

And now what was she going to do? She couldn’t fathom going back to their flat and just falling peacefully asleep. She didn’t have anyone to talk to, really; it was too early to worry anyone with this and she honestly couldn’t imagine someone that would really understand what she was going through. They would all say it wasn’t her fault, that she couldn’t have known…and they wouldn’t really believe it. Molly would say it, and almost believe it—but a part of her would still feel slightly angry towards her. And who else was there to turn to, anyway?

Harry?

No. She was not going to call Harry. They were on shaky grounds as it was; she couldn’t just call him for moral support. It had been different, speaking through letters when they’d both been abroad. In letters, she had time to think of what she wanted to say exactly, and how to say it. They hadn’t been face-to-face in a very long time, and seeing each other today had thrown them both out of balance.

Waking her from her thoughts, another Healer pushed past her roughly, carrying a stack of papers. She huffed, glaring at him, and he turned his head slightly to look at her. He was wearing a mask that covered all of his face except his eyes, but she felt as if she had seen him before. His eyes stared a vague memory…those dark eyes, full of contempt…she had seen those before…

But then he was gone. In a blur of white robes, he had turned the corner and was headed towards the next floor down.

She rolled her eyes, cursing under her breath, and decided to get something to drink; she was most certainly not going to leave. Turning, she headed towards the stairs to the upper floors, when a voice yelled behind her…

“Somebody—Healers—I need Healers—Mr. Stratovac’s been attacked!”

The voice was slightly high-pitched and full of fear, and as Hermione turned to look at the woman waving madly at some Healers, she only had to remember those piercing dark eyes again, and she knew who it had been. She knew what was happening.

Death Eaters had broken into St. Mungo’s.

Do forgive me...I had a ridiculously busy week and simply hadn’t had time to post this.

Again, I wonder if anyone can tell me whether re-uploading a chapter erases already existing data (like reviews)?

Anyway, enjoy!

***

Chapter Three: Broken

Hermione felt as if her breathing was slowly coming to a halt. Her eyes were wide with mingled shock and fear at those words, and her legs, numb from the shock, didn’t seem to want to move. She stood there, trying to process the situation, and watched as the dull murmur of conversation came to a shuddering halt. Everyone turned to stare at the woman, who was looking all the more distressed and afraid with each passing moment.

Death Eaters had broken in.

And she’d actually seen them! The two men that had entered Stratovac’s office after she’d left it, and the one that had bumped into her just moments ago…

Snape, her mind seemed to whisper. She’d know those eyes anywhere—those were the eyes that had watched Harry for seven years, pure hatred and resentment evident. Those eyes were the ones that had gleamed with silent scorn as he’d ridiculed Harry, Ron, and her in class for six years straight; from before they even knew who he really was and what he’d done.

And she hadn’t known who he was right then. She’d just let him wriggle away from her grasp. He’d been so close—she could have snatched those papers from his hands and cursed him without much effort…but she hadn’t.

Hermione stood, listening as people turned to their companions and whispered hysterically at those words, all wanting to not believe it. They didn’t want to accept that they were in danger, and much less that the people they had come here for might be as well.

And then the woman spoke again.

“P-please…he’s hurt—he needs h-help right away!” she said, her breath coming in shuddering gasps as she gestured for someone to come.

Five healers shoved their way through the crowd towards her. Hermione herself started walking, to her own surprise, towards the woman. As she neared her, she turned to the crowd and called imploringly, “Someone contact the Ministry—now. And the rest of you, be prepared to defend yourselves if necessary. Hide. Leave, if you think that’s what you should do. Just don’t let them get out or harm you.”

Her voice sounded so brave, as if she were completely composed and this was nothing to her.

But it was. Her face was completely pale, and her hands were shaking. She was so afraid…so afraid of what this meant and what would happen next…

But she knew she had to be strong, for herself and for all of these people. For Ron.

For…Harry? Harry’s grinning face burst clear into his mind. For a moment, she was taken back to those times when he used to make her melt; when the mere mention of him made her feel stronger and more confident. She would have done anything for him, no matter what the consequences were.

At that moment, she realized that that hadn’t changed at all. He still made her feel stronger in times like these, and she would still risk her life for him, no questions asked.

Turning to the woman, she said, “I’ll be back in a moment. I have to get some…help.”

“They—they’re still in there, those people…searching—you can’t go!”

She frowned, “Searching where?”

“Behind Stratovac’s office—in the Hall of Records.”

Hermione’s legs began moving on their own accord, first in a brisk walk, before breaking into a run. She felt no fear now, only a rush of adrenaline and worry that could only be experienced in times like these, and although she felt nowhere near safe, she didn’t feel nearly as threatened by the Death Eaters now. She was ready for them.

She ran as fast as she could towards Mr. Stratovac’s office, and without thinking, burst through the door madly, drawing her wand at the last second.

The normally immaculate room was now completely obscured by a cloud of dust. She could see the dim figures of two men searching madly through the records, trying different Accio’s to get what they needed. At the sound of the door crashing open, they whirled to face her, sending two Avada Kedavras towards her. Using a Protego shield, Hermione cast a Disillusionment charm on herself and slowly felt down to her knees, careful to not make any noise. She crawled quietly, her wand poking out of her sleeve, and Stunned one of them effortlessly. The other one, realizing what she’d done, Dissillussioned himself as well.

“Good job, Granger, but it’s worth nothing. We have what we came for already.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Whoever it was knew her well enough to know who she was at a distance, so she must have known him personally. But it wasn’t so easy to tell—Malfoy had stopped being a Death Eater long before Voldemort’s downfall; Snape had apparently left already…

He caught her attention again as a stack of yellowing parchment flew up in the air and came to a halt as he caught them. She shot to her feet, muttering a curse, but he seemed to block it. She narrowed her eyes, trying a nonverbal hex, but it didn’t work either. She heard a soft laugh, before he spoke again.

“Do me a favor, Granger—tell Potter that appearances can be deceiving. What might have seemed like an end is anything but.”

And then Hermione felt something collide with her; a strong force, causing her to fall back to the floor. Her wand slipped from her hand, while her vision grew blurrier and blurrier, before everything became dark and still.

Absolutely still…

-- FLASHBACK

She was dying.

The pain in her side kept growing and growing, spreading agony through her being. She could barely breathe as she struggled to move her hand towards the wound. Her eyes watered as she cried out in pain, but she kept on moving because she knew if she didn’t do anything she would die in a few short minutes.

And even as this thought crossed her mind, she knew that what might normally seem as a few short minutes would seem like an eternity in this state. Every second that passed made the pain worse; more unbearable to her…every moment made her more anxious for help; for someone or something that would make this pain end…

She couldn’t take it. She would very well die if it meant being able to breathe freely…if it meant that the bleeding and the pain would stop and everything would be alright…

Her vision was obscuring quickly. She could make out the dim figures of people battling nearby…hear people’s screams of triumph or fear…perceive the rotten smell of flesh, blood and grass that was heavy among the battlefield…

And she could feel herself slipping away…so very far away…

Until…

A wand poked her side painfully as someone came toppling down beside her. She gasped, more tears sliding down her face as she whimpered. She could hear the person’s ragged breathing as he or she moved closer to her and said, “Occludo,” it was a man’s voice. She knew this voice quite well, she did. It had such a nice ring to it, too…so soft and calming…she liked this voice…

“R-Ron?” she managed to say, and as she did so the pain in her side seemed to lessen.

The wand came in contact with her throat next, “Respiro,” he said, and it was as if her throat had been cleaned out and fixed so that she could breathe perfectly again. She took a great big gulp of air and savored the way it felt, happy that she was going to be alright after all.

“Harry,” she said, and this time it wasn’t a question. Something told her that it was him, because he always seemed to be the one to save her, over and over again.

Even with her eyes closed, she could feel him coming closer, until his lips came in contact with her forehead gently, “Shhh…” he said as she tried to wrap her arms around him, “save your strength, Hermione. It’s fine now—it’s over. He’s—he’s gone,” his voice was quivering as he said it, as though he couldn’t yet believe it himself. She could almost see his face, hopeful yet painfully disbelieving, as he said those words.

“Everything’s fine, love…you’ll—we’ll be alright…”

She nodded weakly, barely conscious as he stroked her face with the side of his hand. She was still crying, too, and as he noticed this he wiped the tears away, mumbling something to her.

And as she felt her consciousness slipping completely away from her, she felt a searing pain on her side, before everything became dark.

-- END FLASHBACK

Hermione awoke to the alluring scent of warm tea. She took in a long, deep breath as she sat up, blinking lazily. As she opened her eyes, however, the frowned, taking in her surroundings—where was she? This…this wasn’t her room. She didn’t remember these sheets on her bed, and…no, those weren’t her curtains. Her curtains were a nice, ivory shade, whereas these were an utterly plain dark blue. And that wasn’t the type of tea she always bought—that was…

Oh, damn.

That was Harry’s favorite tea.

Now why would she be lying in a bed with a rather painful bump on her head, in a room that had ugly curtains and smelled of Harry’s favorite tea?

Oh, no.

This was his room, which was in his flat, which as far as she knew, was in the middle of nowhere.

How did I get here? What happened? I was—I was in St. Mungo’s just a few minutes ago…in Stratovac’s office…something about some papers?

As the scent of tea began to grow stronger, a familiar voice became audible. It was humming a soft tune; a tune Hermione remembered very well. It brought forth all those memories she’d hopelessly been trying to push into the back of her mind for the past few days. She seemed to fully realize that she was in Harry’s bedroom, and that whether she liked it or not, the time for the uncomfortable discussion about their past had come. It was time to face the reality of their memories—of their lives and what had become of them.

And she just wasn’t ready.

Wait. No, of course she was. It was all behind them, wasn’t it? All in the past. Her feelings for him were nothing but a fond memory of her teenage years. She cared for him, probably more than she herself was aware of—but as a friend.

So, in theory, this would be uncomfortable, but she was ready for it.

Harry seemed to have stopped just outside the doorway. She could hear him clearing his throat and saying something in a low voice, as if he were practicing what to say. Her mouth relaxed into a grin at this; he seemed so very much younger all of a sudden. And as an image of an eighteen-year-old Harry popped into his mind, she felt as if she could really do this. As if really, this was as easy as breathing was to her.

But an invisible force seemed to grab hold of her. In the millisecond it took Harry to muster up the courage to enter the room, she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes tightly. Her breathing seemed calm and steady, but she could feel her heart thumping in her chest as he came closer. Heck, she could hear the blood pounding in her head as she fought to keep a straight face.

After he’d set the teacups neatly on the bedside table, he seemed to sit on the edge of the bed. He observed her for a few minutes, before reaching up to stroke her cheek. As she had not been expecting such a thing, Hermione could not suppress the involuntary shiver that coursed through her at this.

Harry chuckled lightly, “You never were very good at lying,” he said softly, “Good morning.”

She didn’t open her eyes. She suddenly felt so very close to tears—God, now it really was crashing down on her…all those feelings; everything that had happened. The sensations his touch had once evoked inside her—the emotions his voice had once stirred… it wasn’t easy to forget. Because how can you forget your first—and only—love? How can you ignore the intensity of those feelings you’ve only experienced once, for one brief shining moment, in your life?

-- FLASHBACK

“No.”

He couldn’t believe how much emotion a single word could carry. If was as if that one word suddenly took on a thousand different meanings, and it spoke for itself. He could sense her sorrow, her obvious disappointment, her anger…all as if he were feeling it himself. And it hurt, to know that he was hurting her so just because he was trying to do the right thing. It made him want to throw everything away and just…forget. To live by his desires, as if there were no right or wrong.

It wasn’t that she was wrong. There wasn’t anything in the world more right for him. He loved her with all his heart—with all his soul and essence. He would die a thousand times for her without thinking it twice. She meant everything to him—he suffered if she suffered, he was happy if she was…she brought meaning to his life. Without her, he would be a wreck. He would have gone mad under all the pressure without her to bring him back to reality.

So why? Why was it so hard for him to let himself go?

“Hermione…you can’t—you really don’t know how much I hate saying it, but—”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” her tone was sharp, angry. Her eyes were narrowed, puffy, and brimming with tears. Her cheeks were a dangerous shade of crimson, and her frame was very, very tense. Her hands were curled into fists at her sides, pale from the strength she was exerting.

He closed his eyes, sighing, “Like what?”

“Like you didn’t know this would happen. Like you never imagined that somehow, we might end up in this situation,” she hissed, taking a step closer to him, so that they were approximately two feet apart. He tried to step back, but found that he was pressed to the wall, with nowhere to go. She shook her head slowly, “When Ron first entered the hospital—those first few weeks that you started caring for me—I was completely screwed up. You knew that. So you took care of me, like a good friend,” she sighed. And it was a long sigh, weary and full of pent-up emotion. His arms itched to wind themselves around her…he longed to comfort her and kiss her…and end her sorrow…

“Too good a friend, Harry. I fell in love with you over time. You treated me so well, and you cared for me as if you loved me too. It was—inevitable that I began to feel something more for you. But you knew your place, didn’t you? You knew I was Ron’s girlfriend, so you kept us friends. You were stoic as I cried because I was confused and told you it was because of Ron. And you didn’t push further, because you knew the real reason why I cried and didn’t know how to handle it.

“Oh, but Harry…I feel, honestly, as if you’ve been toying with my feelings. I know you haven’t done it on purpose—but you have. Do you know what it’s like to feel loved, as if you couldn’t get any higher, and then the next day be pushed away and met by a mask of propriety and formality? Do you know how truly horrible that feels? Do you know how horrible it feels to have it happen much, much more than once?” here a tear slid down from her eye and down her cheek, until it fell from her face and to the floor in a small, insignificant drop. And Harry stared at that tear, and at the next one, feeling as if everything was coming back to haunt him. He knew what she was talking about—all those times he’d thought he’d given her the wrong idea about them, and so tried to keep his distance from now on.

But it never lasted. A day, maybe two, and they’d be back at the park laughing and falling more in love with each other. Because what was so wrong about falling in love? Why should they deny themselves the happiness that was rightfully theirs?

He felt so guilty; so horribly aware of all the pain he’d caused her in his attempts to do the right thing. And he felt himself giving in now…taking in the sadness of each word and making it his, so that he couldn’t take it anymore and just had to…

“I wouldn’t…tell you this if I wasn’t absolutely sure I had to. I tried to go on and just…forget. But I can’t, Harry. I love you—in a way I never imagined I could and never felt before. I could search a lifetime, and I would never succeed in finding someone I could love this way, to the point that I would give anything for them—even my life. I can’t, Harry.”

He was silent. She walked forward slowly, closing the distance between them. She traced his cheek with her finger, until the tip of her finger reached his lips. Their eyes locked, and they knew they didn’t have to say anything. They knew it would be pointless for Harry to say no again. So they both leant forward, eyes flickering to a close. It was elation like they had never experienced before—this extreme feeling of completion and bliss now that they had each other and nothing could separate them.

Because nothing else mattered. Nothing but the person before them, their passion, their romance…

-- END FLASHBACK

“Why is it such a good morning?” she didn’t bother keeping the apprehension from her voice as she spoke, eyes still closed, his hand still on her cheek.

She could almost feel his grin sliding off his face. He took back his hand, and seemed to stand up and walk around as he said, “Well, it’s been pretty eventful, hasn’t it?” his tone wasn’t so cheery now. He sounded grim, “Ron getting landed in the hospital, Death Eaters in St. Mungo’s, you…here.”

She opened her eyes at this, and saw him for the first time. He had mild dark circles under his eyes as he looked at her from the window he had been opening, to her right. His hair was messier than usual and his clothes were dirty and frayed. She suddenly felt a surge of concern towards him—he had a bruise under his left eye and looked extremely tired. But her concern was surpassed by her nervousness—this was the first time they had been alone in two years. Since…that. And judging by the way she felt and the way he was looking at her, neither had quite gotten over things.

“Me…here,” she said softly, running her hand over the sheets, “How did that happen?” she asked, more as a way of delaying the inevitable rather than out of genuine interest.

“Someone in St. Mungo’s called the Ministry, who they sent the Aurors there to investigate. Then they found you and contacted me. Didn’t know who else to call.”

“To everyone else, it’s as if nothing happened between you and I. To them, our friendship is the same it was when we left Hogwarts. It’s normal that they turn to that conclusion.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

She winced at his remark, sighing, “This isn’t—I should just go,” she said uncertainly, moving slowly to a sitting position. Her legs dangled from the edge of the bed as she faced away from him, gazing silently at her hands in her lap. Biting her lip in an effort not to cry, she stood up from the bed and grabbed her purse, which was sitting on the bedside table. She made to walk towards the door but stopped halfway, and without looking at Harry, she whispered, “Ironic…”

He didn’t answer her. She shook her head, still looking at the floor, “I actually managed to convince myself that nothing had changed between you and I. That we were still friends, even after you left—after everything happened,” she looked at him now, her face grief-stricken, “But that isn’t true, is it? We’re not the same anymore. What we had…it’s gone, isn’t it?”

He didn’t say anything. His face was inscrutable as he gazed at her from the window, silent.

“But…why? Was our relationship really that wrong, Harry?”

And with those words, the ice was broken finally.

-- FLASHBACK

“Harry, please! I’m trying to work.”

“Harry—” her voice was so full of happiness, so joyful…and he found himself adoring that voice even more than he already did, “—come on…we have—work to—get done!” She attempted to push him away with her hand, but she was laughing so hard…her petite frame was shaking, her face red as she fought to take in air…and she looked so unbearably happy.

He loved that. A mischievous look in his eyes, he continued to tickle her and nuzzle his face in her neck playfully. He grabbed a gentle hold of her waist, pulling her closer and placing butterfly kisses all along her jaw line, finally reaching her lips. At that point, Hermione had succumbed to his game, her arms locked around his neck as she kissed him back ardently, still laughing. Then their laughter died down, and their kisses became more passionate, harder to stop. He was literally going crazy—her soft touch on his skin…the way her breath tickled him when she spoke softly to him…the soft lavender scent of her hair. He didn’t want this moment to end—this moment of bliss when they were together and nothing felt wrong…everything was right and perfectly okay.

“Oh, I’m so happy—Harry, Hermione—you won’t believe—”

They sprung apart, whirling to face the source of sound. Their eyes came to rest at the fireplace, where Molly Weasley’s stunned face sat, gazing at them with round eyes. Her eyes went from their lips, to their frayed clothes and messy hair…to their visibly shocked expressions and their obvious breathlessness. She blinked once, opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it, staring at them. They stayed that way for a minute or two; them staring at her and vice versa, until finally she managed to speak.

“Well, I…I’m sorry for interrupting. I just…” she seemed embarrassed as the looked away from them, biting her lip, “I wanted to tell you two, that the Healers think they might have finally gotten a response from Ronnie, after all the treatments. It—it’s not sure…but they said there was hope.”

Her voice was so tentative…it hurt to hear her give them the news in such a way. It was as if she was trying to keep herself from getting her hopes up in case the Healers were wrong. Listening to her, Harry truly felt guilty for being here with Hermione while Mrs. Weasley was agonizing over her son. It was…unfair, that she should be suffering while he was laughing and kissing Hermione.

So he nodded and said, “See you in a few minutes, Mrs. Weasley.”

She looked at him, as if surprised by what he said. Perhaps she had thought he was going to stay here and wait for more news before actually going. Either way, she seemed eternally grateful as she smiled—really smiled—at Harry and said, “Molly, dear. How many times will I tell you?” With a small pop, she was gone.

And so was he.

-- END FLASHBACK

His gaze changed drastically at her words. His expression hardened, and all the pain, resentment, and confusion that he had felt over the years burst to the surface. He was looking at her as if he had only just realized that she really was there; that it wasn’t a dream. As if he had only just realized that the time to face their past had come.

“What does it matter now?” he asked, his voice low, “We can’t do anything about it. The best we can do is try to forget about it—”

“Oh, Harry, don’t be so naïve. We’ve tried that already. Or do you have another reason for avoiding each other for so long?” she added pointedly, shaking her head, “It doesn’t work. It won’t work. And—and it’s because it meant something to us.”

“Of course it did, Hermione. It meant more than you can imagine. I loved you. And I don’t use that term loosely—when I say ‘loved’, I mean it.”

She was silent for a moment, “So did I,” she said quietly.

“And I know it would have worked out, too. But you know it was complicated. We both had to make some hard decisions, and…this is what we chose.”

“And haven’t you ever wondered if we chose wrong?” Hermione asked, frowning. He seemed so calm, so matter-of-fact about all of this. It was as if he didn’t care, as if he had really managed to put it all behind him…

But he surprised her. At her words he smiled, a sort of pained smile that reflected the sadness and regret this decision seemed to have caused him. He looked at the floor and then at her, still smiling in that odd way, “Too many times to remember, Hermione. But I can’t do anything about it now, can I?”

Hermione suddenly felt an impulse to throw her arms around him—like she used to do—and tell him that he could change everything. She wanted to tell him that she would be with him forever and that it was just a silly mistake, that it was fine…that it didn’t matter at all. For a brief moment, she felt as if she could forget about her world—about Ron, her job—and allow herself this one true desire.

But it was just for a moment. She lowered her gaze to the floor, feeling the tears sliding slowly down her cheeks. She vaguely remembered all those times when, upon seeing a hint of a tear in his eyes, he would bring her into his chest and hold her there until she stopped crying. Now he just stood there watching her, because he knew it wasn’t his place to comfort her anymore.

And such a realization hurt them both more than they knew.

She looked up, taking a deep breath and saying, regret evident in her voice, "No…we can’t.”

And the she Apparated out of his flat.

Author’s Note: Please, can someone tell me if chapters can be re-uploaded without losing review data?

This chapter, as you’ll notice, is set mostly from Ron’s point of view. I think he ought to have a say in this.

***

Chapter Four: Pretend

I saw him watching us that day.

He was there in the bushes, an incredibly stunned expression on his face as I turned away from her and made to leave. I didn’t know what was so odd to him—was it me kissing her, or her denying that she fancied him? No, I decided as I considered his expression. It was more than that. There was a hint of betrayal as he looked between me and her, and I knew what he was thinking. If I had been in his position, I’d have thought that, too.

He felt as if she’d lied to him. Like she had deceived him by saying she could never choose, but then went behind his back and did this. It’s sad that he saw things that way, because this really wasn’t her fault—this had been my idea, walking in the garden with her while I worked up the nerve to kiss her, just that one time. I didn’t expect her to respond the same way…

So it was as much of a shock for me when I felt her hand on my shoulder, gesturing me to face her. I felt my eyes widen as she momentarily considered what she was doing, before leaning forward and pressing her lips to mine. And when I got over than initial surprise, it was only natural that I responded enthusiastically, holding her and pulling her closer to me. I didn’t give Harry a second thought. Hell, that was a moment I intended to enjoy fully, no worries on my mind.

I half expected him to interrupt and tear us apart, but he didn’t. He was quiet that night, though; more than ever. Made me feel kind of guilty, too, but it wasn’t much—I have to be honest here. Harry’s my best mate, but Hermione’s…well, she’s well on another level. I actually thought about going back on the whole thing, telling her we shouldn’t…but then Harry got involved in his training, and he seemed pretty happy, so I figured everything was okay. Like he’d gotten used to the idea and decided he actually liked it, sort of.

I was a real idiot. Completely stupid and bloody nutters.

I think I still am. Why do I keep missing these things?

--

“Ron!”

She was positively radiant. It might have just been the fact that his eyes hadn’t enjoyed such a beautiful sight in so long, but she looked…incredible. She was smiling, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet as she watched him sit up on his bed for the first time in months. Everything seemed so intense for him just now…her scent seemed utterly mouthwatering from where he sat, her lips so inviting…

So it felt strange when she strode towards him and embraced him in a gentle, almost sisterly hug rather than kissing him like he’d expected—and wanted, desperately.

“You look…wow,” he managed to murmur hoarsely. His throat hurt from lack of use, “You’re definitely…a sight for sore eyes,” he joked weakly, grinning.

“T—This is incredible, Ron…I’m so happy you’re alright…” she whispered, pulling away from him and stopping to look at him, her eyes shining with tears as she smiled, “I—it’s been so long…” she added, looking down at her shoes for a fleeting moment. He took advantage of her distraction, summoning all the strength he had and pulling her close to him. Ignoring her shocked expression, he captured her lips with his, marveling at the fact that this particular activity was painless despite his lengthy hiatus from it.

But it wasn’t a second before she pulled away, looking unmistakably disgusted. He wondered whether his breath stank, but somehow, as he took in her distressed appearance, he knew that wasn’t it. There was something else—something far more complicated—that was bothering her, and as she mumbled something in a low voice and took a step back, he knew she wasn’t planning on discussing it.

Yet they were alone, and he couldn’t stand not knowing…

“W-what’s wrong? Are you okay, Hermione?” he sputtered, an almost frantic worry finding its way to his voice.

She didn’t answer, throwing a worried glance in the direction of the door.

“I…I’m sorry—,” he was interrupted by a sudden coughing fit, and she seemed temped to move towards him, though she didn’t, “—if that was…too sudden…” his voice broke off as he gazed at her desperately, willing her to speak.

She did, shaking her head, “It’s okay, Ron. I-I’m really sorry…it’s just…it’s been a long time and—”

The door suddenly swung open, Harry standing in the doorway with a flustered look on his face as he took in the sight of Ron sitting on the bed with his hands outstretched towards Hermione. His mouth spread into a huge grin, “Ron!” he bellowed, racing towards him and enveloping him in a tight hug, seemingly oblivious to the tension between him and Hermione.

Ron managed to sneak a glance at Hermione, though. And he could only stare apprehensively at her watery eyes; at her features as they arranged into a look of indescribable pain and confusion…of torturous pain and sorrow, before quickly reverting back to a warm smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

--

You know, I don’t remember many things about the time I was in a coma. I’m not supposed to—it’s not like I was here for anything that might have happened. But, for some reason, I always feel like I was better at first, rather than when I finally woke up. It felt like I’d just got up from a really long dream, but I’ve always remembered that the beginning of the dream was really nice, and that Hermione’s voice was all around me, so much that I could almost reach out and touch her. Sometimes it felt like I did, and that she touched me back, running her fingers softly along my cheek.

But then, somewhere along the line, I felt like Hermione spent less time in my dreams. I couldn’t reach out and touch her anymore, and her voice seemed so far away all of a sudden. Everything was dark, and I was alone…I didn’t like it. They thought I got worse because of the potions they gave me, but somehow I know it wasn’t because of that. I just needed her, and she didn’t seem to be there anymore, no matter how hard I looked…

It kind of felt that way this time, too. Only now, my pain got worse. It was hurting more than just my thoughts…it was everywhere; there was no escape to it. Only her—that was the only way I managed to find some peace. They think it was the Calming Draughts that made me feel better, but that’s just bollocks. I know what goes on in my mind, and it was her. Hermione, coming to see me yesterday and breaking down to tears as she sat down beside me and held my hand.

She says so many things when she thinks no one can hear her.

She kept apologizing, over and over, to someone that wasn’t there. She mentioned my name, too, almost as many times as his, but never with as much feeling. It seemed to hurt her immensely to say it, but she did, over and over.

Harry.

Harry.

Harry…

And maybe it’s because Calming Draughts and comas make me more insightful, but I just knew. Right then, it was all so clear. I suddenly knew Harry was back in her life—back again, an uncontrollable force that insisted on disturbing her carefully constructed peace. Her peace with me. Because it wasn’t enough for him to know she still loved him, and only him—no, he was back to take her from me once and for all, tired of playing along with the charade and pretending nothing had ever happened between them. Tired of pretending that none of us noticed.

--

“Harry, what the bloody hell is going on?”

His face was instantly unreadable, eerily peaceful; a truly delicate piece of work. The only indication that he knew what Ron was talking about was the fact that he remained completely and utterly silent, seemingly unfazed by his friend’s fierce, angry gaze.

“What d’you mean?” he asked quietly, burying his hands in his pockets, still determinedly meeting Ron’s furious eyes.

Ron made a frustrated sound that was dangerously close to a growl, “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about! I’m not stupid, Harry! I know something’s going on!” he hissed, waving his hands around to emphasize his point.

Harry closed his eyes, and spoke without opening them, “Do you?” he murmured, shaking his head, that unnatural, impossibly serene air still about him.

“Damn right I do! You—and Hermione,” his voice seemed to soften as he uttered her name, but he composed himself quickly, his glare becoming stronger, “I know you’re keeping something from me—and…I know what it is!”

Harry opened his eyes slowly, and Ron wondered if he was doing this to incense him further. That stupid, calm attitude he insisted on projecting…it was completely maddening. Did he really think so low of him that he thought he would buy that act? It was incredible—as if he didn’t even know him. When Harry didn’t speak, Ron swallowed the impulse to yell at him and continued talking in an angry stage whisper.

“Why did you try to hide this from me? I’m not blind, you know…I found out!”

“We didn’t want to hurt you,” Harry’s voice was low, his words barely decipherable.

Ron shook his head, “You didn’t trust me enough to tell me! I love her, Harry—I think I have a right to know if she…well, if she changed her mind,” he finished weakly, before narrowing his eyes, “Or if someone changed it for her.”

Harry’s eyes shot up to meet his, and in an instant, the mask was gone, replaced with clear, irrepressible fury, “How can you say that? Are you implying that I took advantage of her?” he demanded incredulously, his voice almost scornful, “What’s wrong with you, Ron?”

“Fine, so maybe you didn’t. But still…you had an opportunity—”

“I’m her friend. I kept her alive while you were sleeping!” Harry spat, “And things just happened, Ron! It was out of my hands—I tried, I really did. I don’t care if you don’t believe me. But it came to the point that we just couldn’t ignore it anymore…”

“Oh, shut up. I don’t need all the gory details,” Ron snapped, his expression revolted.

They both fell silent, glaring at each other. Ron’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his ears red as ever, while Harry’s thin frame was tense all over, his jaw set.

Suddenly, Harry found himself speaking, “I…I’m sorry, Ron…” he mumbled quietly, and his gaze was no longer defensive or angry, “I’m sorry you had to go through this. It was my fault…my mistake. Don’t—don’t blame her.”

“It’s okay,” Ron muttered quickly, guilt getting the best of him.

Harry closed his eyes, grimacing as he spoke, “Don’t worry about this, okay? Just forget about it. I…I’m leaving for Auror training soon—and it’ll be like this never happened. Like nothing ever…like she and I never had anything more than friendship,” his voice was so incredibly quiet, his words so low, that it was almost impossible to discern the agonizing sorrow hidden behind them.

Almost.

But Ron found himself nodding, barely registering how, in someone else’s eyes, the fact that he was agreeing to his friend’s proposition might be viewed as complete and utter selfishness.

--

Why stop pretending?

Doesn’t anyone care about how I feel about this? It’s nothing personal against Harry—it’s just that…I don’t want to lose Hermione. I don’t want to suffer like he did. And I’m not saying he deserved what he got, but I do think he brought it all on. He knew Hermione and I were together—knew that were in love. Why did he have to get in the way? It’s never been the same after that. Never.

She hasn’t been the same.

She used to look at me differently. She used to hold me differently, too. Her voice, her tone…everything was much softer, tenderer, before. I know it’s stupid…but he changed her. Sometimes, when we go to bed and I can’t sleep, I listen to her mumbling in her sleep. She says his name almost every night, and she suffers. It’s like he’s cornered her in the one place she can’t escape, turning her dreams into nightmares.

And I hate that I can tell.

But that’s bollocks, too, see, because Harry isn’t like that. He really didn’t mean to do anything while I was out cold. It just happened, like he said. And he hasn’t chased her in all this time, honoring his promise to me. He’s a good mate, Harry. He’d rather make himself miserable than see anyone else suffer because of him. So why? Why did he accede to the teaching post? We all know what’s going to happen, even if Hermione swore it was strictly business and in the interest of the school’s safety. It’s completely obvious. Just…there, a ridiculously easy puzzle laid out for me to place the pieces together.

It’s going to happen again, and I can’t take it.

Because I know that this time, there won’t be a do-over.

It’ll be permanent…forever…

“Ron?”

My body tensed as I opened my eyes and took in the sight of Hermione poking her head into the room, as if she were worried that she’d woken me up or something. I motioned for her to come in, and just…stared at her. I loved the way the outer corners of her eyes crinkled just slightly when she smiled, and that funny way she had of smoothing the sheets before sitting on them, even though she knew they would wrinkle a second later. And I loved the way she ran her hand across my cheek as if she were checking for a fever…her touch was so soft and warm…

“Hermione…” My voice was ridiculously enthusiastic, and she blushed at the sound of it. I grinned, but my face fell when I had to hold myself back from kissing her. I didn’t have many good memories regarding hospital wards and kissing to go on, after all—I didn’t know what to expect if I did. And I hated that…if it weren’t for Harry, I’d be sure that she would kiss me back. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have to worry about this right now—it would come as second nature to me, like it always does. Kissing Hermione used to be the only thing I could do upon impulse without worrying about the consequences…and now, because of him, that changed.

I leaned forward very slowly, meeting her eyes just before our lips touched and speaking the silent question. I don’t know how to describe exactly what I saw there, in her gaze, but it was magic—the kind you never learn about at Hogwarts. And it pushed me forward, encouraging me, egging me on. So I kissed her. I don’t know if she kissed me back—I just know that I was kissing her and it felt like I was on fire. Like I was soaring, flying…

Her cheeks were pink as she pulled back, rather quicker than I would have hoped, “That was…different,” she said, smiling slightly, “Are you okay?”

No.

I wasn’t.

I was wondering how much time we had left for us…how much time I had left with her…

“Excellent,” I answered, somehow managing to grin.

“I’m glad. Mr. Stratovac says you’ll be up and about soon enough. They’ll be finishing the tests this week, and then you’re off.”

“I won’t be able to spend any time with you before you leave,” I mumbled, my grin sliding off my face completely as I realized that Hermione would be leaving for Hogwarts in three or four days.

This seemed to bother her somewhat, “Yes, I know. I’m regretting suggesting to Minerva that the staff come earlier than usual to prepare the school…”

“Take it back, then,” I suggested hopefully.

She shook her head, “The decision’s already been made; I can’t do anything now but pack,” she sighed, and I held back the sudden urge to hold her, “I suppose I could come if we finished early, and then return on the train with the students…oh, but I’m not sure…”

“Nah, it’s okay—I’ll come see you when I get out of the hospital,” I said brightly, “I’ll Side-Apparate with Ginny to Hogsmade or something, too, so I’ll be safe,” I added, noticing the concerned look that flashed across her face before she frowned and looked at her watch.

“Mmm…yes, that could work…” she seemed far away somehow, lost in her thoughts as she glanced at the door, still frowning. Turning to look at me, her face broke into a smile, as she quickly said, “But never mind that now. I brought you some things your family sent…you want to look through those while I go get us some food?”

“I can eat food now?” I asked eagerly; the Healers hadn’t been letting me eat anything because of the tests they’d been conducting on me.

She nodded, “As of today.”

“Brilliant!”

Hermione laughed, shaking her head, “I’ll be back soon,” she said, kissing my lips lightly as she slid off the bed and left the room. And I just stared after her, my sudden happiness fading almost as quickly as she’d left the room. I looked down at the bag of gifts from my family, suddenly thinking I didn’t feel like looking at them right now. I didn’t want to do anything right now—I just wanted everyone to fall back into the charade and leave things the way they’d been three weeks ago.

But I guess that’s just too much to ask.

--

It was late, and Hermione was lost, caught between dreams and memories she couldn’t keep evading anymore. She was weak, vulnerable as ever when she closed her eyes and felt the barriers break down around her. Because while she could avoid thinking about Harry when she was awake, she didn’t have a choice when she descended into the realm of her mind…

--

“Will you promise me something?”

She didn’t look up at him as she spoke, her voice down to a whisper suddenly. He couldn’t make out her face in the darkness of the room, but by the tone she used, he could picture her delicate features, arranged into an insecure frown. Such an odd expression for her to use…

He nodded, curious, “What is it?”

But she didn’t answer. She moved and sat up at the edge of the bed, facing away from him. Her smooth, pearled skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, and he couldn’t hold back the urge to stretch out his hand and feel it momentarily. The tips of his fingers became entangled in the soft curls of her hair before they gently grazed down the nape of her neck, along the elegant arch of her back and stopped their movement as they reached too low. She gave a soft sigh, heavy with emotion.

“But will you promise?” Her voice was insistent.

He was quiet as he answered, “Yes.”

“No matter what it is?” she seemed so deeply troubled, her arms wrapped around herself, hands clutching her shoulders, “Would you keep that promise?”

He hated seeing her this way. It tugged at his heart and ate him away slowly to know she was in so much pain, “Yes, Hermione. I would do anything for you,” he answered, his voice quiet but fervent, eyes almost shining as he strained for her to believe him.

She turned to look at him now, scrutinizing his expression almost as closely as he watched hers. Eyes unguarded, brimming with tears and full of worry and uncertainty, her lips trembling in a thin line…he seemed to fly towards her, enveloping her in his arms and looking into those eyes, pleading for an answer but at a loss for words.

She bit her lip, “If Ron…when Ron wakes up—when he comes back…you won’t leave me, right? You won’t go?” she looked into his eyes urgently, feeling his grip loosen around her at those words, “I—I can’t…I can’t think that we might not…I love you, Harry…”

It was his turn to be silent. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Because what would make him happier than staying with her forever? What could he ever want more? Nothing—absolutely nothing. She was everything to him…his very life and reason to wake up every morning. He would die a thousand times—gladly accept eternal suffering, if it meant that he could save her any pain and assure her all the happiness in the world.

But how could he promise her this? Ron…it would kill him. How could he do this to him?

He actually found himself wishing, fleetingly, that Ron would die, and instantly loathed himself for allowing such a despicable thought to cross his mind. It was selfish…but then he would be able to promise Hermione everything—anything in the world. He could stay by her side for every day of eternity…watch her smile, hear her laugh, feel the softness and warmth of her touch…and never lose her. Never have to say goodbye.

“Promise me you won’t leave me, Harry. Promise me we’ll stay together,” she was sobbing now, shaking in his arms. And he was prepared to explain, prepared to tell her that that was the one promise he could never make…until he heard her again, “Please…please, Harry…”

How could he possibly deny her the one thing she begged him for? And what’s more, when that was the one thing he wanted more fiercely and strongly than anything else in the world?

He closed his eyes, opening them to gaze at her desperate, tear-stricken face as he whispered, “I love you, Hermione. I promise to love you until my heart stops beating…and I promise to stay with you until that very moment,” he gulped, trying to keep his breathing calm, “I won’t ever leave you.”

He pulled her close, drowning her sob as her arms curled around him tightly. And as he buried his face in her hair, he tried to ignore the dull stinging in his eyes and the hard lump in his throat.

--

“Harry…”

I hate him. Not out of jealousy—that’s stupid. It’s this…what he does to her. How he makes her suffer. Sometimes I kind of feel like it’s my fault, too, because I agreed when he suggested that he leave. And those times, I hate myself, too. But then again, I realize that if he hadn’t gone and made her fall in love with him, well…

In my eyes, the blame just falls back on him, no matter how much I think about it. And maybe it’s not that way, really. Maybe this is all my fault for standing in between of the “star-crossed lovers”. I might even be the stupid villain of this story…poor, stupid Ron, who got in the way and made his best friends suffer. Isn’t that the way most people would see it?

I can’t help but think that’s unfair. Why doesn’t anyone care about me? Do my feelings count for nothing?

I love her. I don’t know if it’s more than he does, but I know I love her.

“Harry—Harry…!”

I wish he could hear her. Maybe then he would see the pain he causes her.

But he doesn’t, and he won’t. He’ll never see this side of her, because this Hermione exists only when he’s not around her. The moment he appears, she changes—the pain is gone, the sorrow vanishes…she forgives and forgets.

I caressed her face gently, tracing my finger along her cheek for the briefest of moments. Then I settled back into my pillows, closing my eyes and willing myself to relax. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time I fell asleep to the sound of her sobs.