Because of You

[A/N]: Hello readers! It's about time we got to this part of the story, isn't it? I just wanted to make a quick point. A few of you really, really don't like Hermione right now. It isn't my place to change your mind or anything like that - however, I just want you to remember that this story takes place after Deathly Hallows. So, while all the trials and tribulations our couple endured during their time at Hogwarts are not really mentioned here, they did still happen. Hermione's most vocal complaint about not wanting the baby is her job, but remember also that they've had a rough seven years and have finally found some normalcy; this girl really hasn't had a break. That's all I want to say about that.

Keep reviewing!! They mean so much and your praise gives me a cheesy smile. Lol :)

I still own nothing.

[A/N]2: I would like to also apologize for the posting delay. After the busy holidays I was in the process of moving back to school and getting used to my new class schedule. Things have quieted down and I've gotten a routine back, so the remainder of the story will be posted in a frequent procession like the first chapters. This was a nice place for an intermission anyways!

** 3 YEARS AGO **

Hermione had hoped Harry's reveal would change things. She thought maybe just by saying how he felt and admitting his guilt out loud, he might have been able to pull things together. Or, maybe he would somehow see that she was there for him, willing to hold him up if he needed. She'd been wrong. She had taken him into her arms and held him as tightly as she possibly could've, kissing the top of his head and rocking softly until the sun peeked in through the bedroom windows. He'd clung to her, shaking, gripping her hand desperately. When they'd finally released each other, she'd kissed him, trying to impress as much love as she possibly could against his lips. He'd smiled, weakly, but smiled nonetheless and as she rushed, exhausted, to get ready for work, she thought things just might be on the way up.

When she returned home from the Ministry, a darkness had descended upon the flat; a darkness much thicker and heavier than the mere absence of light. Harry had been sitting at the kitchen table, rolling his wand back and forth between his hands. It was an eerie scene that caught Hermione off guard. He didn't acknowledge her presence until she'd sat across the table from him and grabbed his hands. He'd looked up at her, lost and apologetic.

For the first time in her life, Hermione found that words were completely inadequate. Her own guilt was being magnified by Harry's despondent disposition and she hated herself for not being more positive about the pregnancy. She was sick over the fact that, however unintentional, she had caused Harry so much pain. Irrational thoughts plagued her every waking hour - Did I swerve into the other lane? Did I not try hard enough to avoid the other car? She would silently swear as she lay in bed, waiting for sleep to find her, that she would have ten, no, fifteen babies, if Harry would somehow no longer be broken. But, she buried these feelings, sacrificing her own emotional health to try, desperately, to reach out to the shell of the man who held her heart.

Harry's guilt and sadness were palpable every minute of the day. It hung in the air and contaminated every aspect of their lives. Two and a half weeks after Hermione had attempted to break through to Harry physically, a cold chill began settling in the air. Summer had ended and that wasn't the only thing.

**WEDDING DAY**

Mrs. Weasley had run frantically into the garden, chasing Mr. Weasley, waving her arms and shrieking loudly about the color of tablecloths. Ron had sighed and given Harry a pat on the back. He then trudged off hoping to try and help alleviate the situation, leaving his best mate alone with his thoughts. Harry tugged at his bowtie, trying to loosen it, but it didn't give. He looked up at the window he'd stared out from a few short hours ago, when idly watching the wedding tents being set up. There was a second window, above the first and a bit to the right. That window was Ginny's. For a moment he smiled to himself. It was difficult to imagine her sitting in there wearing a dainty white dress with her hair done up in anything other than a shoddy ponytail. She had relentlessly tormented her mother, claiming a pair of white denim trousers and a white Quidditch practice jersey would be perfectly acceptable attire for the wedding. Secretly, Harry admitted it would be much more fitting for Ginny to wear something of the like; he had only ever seen her in a dress twice - Bill and Fleur's wedding and Fred's funeral; both of which evoked more painful reminders than joyous. Still, Mrs. Weasley would work herself into a tizzy and refuse to entertain the suggestion for even a moment.

It hadn't been a big surprise when Harry and Ginny got together. Harry had sold the London flat a bit prematurely. In his mind, he'd had no choice. He'd needed to get rid of it; he had needed to get rid of the kitchen where he'd cooked Hermione breakfast in the morning. He had needed to get rid of the bedroom where they'd acted out there love too many times to count. He had needed to get rid of the sitting room where he had sat and waited, too naïve, too trusting for his own good. Unfortunately, this also meant getting rid of a place to live - something he hadn't properly thought out. Of course, Ron had immediately insisted he come stay at the Burrow. Harry had initially argued, feeling he'd already pushed the Weasley's hospitability beyond its limit in the past, but the fact remained he needed to go somewhere and he eventually gave in. If Harry's state of mind had been in any proper condition, he would have worried about the awkwardness of living under the same roof as Ginny, but it was not. Also, Ginny was not the type to let emotions take control. She later admitted she'd planned to be cold and distant towards him, but his severe lack of morale had immediately softened her heart. She'd been sisterly, really; treating Harry the same way she treated Ron; never letting their history taint their newfound friendship. Harry had found it easy confiding in her, although he remained guarded; never giving away too much, never really succumbing to the more painful memories by saying them out loud. They'd flirted gently as time went on. It was always innocent and completely clean and slowly a bit of the darkness following Harry began to fade. He completed the first part of his Auror training and Ginny coerced him into joining a co-ed Quidditch club team with her on the off-season. She claimed she could never get enough practice and teased it would help him with the extra pounds around the gut he was beginning to put on. One night after a victorious match, Ginny insisted they go out for a few drinks to celebrate. There was a small, shoddy looking pub a few miles up the road from the Burrow that she claimed had the very best fish-and-chips in all of Europe. Harry had been slightly uneasy, although he couldn't exactly identify the cause. Still, he'd changed quickly out of his sweaty uniform and let Ginny lead him out by the hand.

The exterior of the pub was misleading; much like St. Mungo's. From the outside it appeared rundown and possibly even abandoned. The paint was chipped, the windows were dusty and the steps up to the door were cracked. Ginny had met his suspicious expression with a mischievous smile as she pushed the green front door open. Harry had been amazed to see the interior of the pub full of activity and warmth. The bar was busy and servers dashed around precariously balancing plates of food on their arms. There was a steady buzz of conversation and laughter and upbeat music was playing from somewhere Harry couldn't identify. The smell of smoke and fried food wafted through the air. They'd found a table in the corner and ordered two pints and a plate of fish-and-chips. Ginny had been spot on; they were the best fish-and-chips Harry had ever eaten. But, long after the fish-and-chips were gone, the pints were still coming and in the early a.m. hours, Harry and Ginny stumbled, giggling like children, out of the pub. Harry watched Ginny as she twirled about in the moonlight, belting out the Hogwarts School Song and felt something inside him change. Something had cracked, something had eased up. Not completely, but enough that he could breathe again, if only for a few moments. A mixture of alcohol and fear that the feeling wouldn't last sent him crashing into Ginny in more ways than one, pressing his lips against hers and silencing a yelp of surprise. Later that morning, after the sun had risen, Harry laid bare-chested in Ginny's bed. Her head rested gently on his shoulder as he softly stroked the small of her back with his fingertips. She was completely silent as he let his pain, his unanswered questions and, ultimately, the truth behind his split from Hermione pour out, opening the floodgates for the very first time.

After the reveal, he'd felt exhausted. He'd also felt a level of safety with Ginny; safety and closeness. Over the course of two years he slowly fell in love with her. She was carefree and didn't take anything too seriously. She kept him on his toes, urged him to be spontaneous and appreciated the small things life had to offer. She rivaled his Quidditch skills and looked insanely hot in a dirty practice uniform with a long, messy ponytail. She had an adorable way of cocking her head to the side and wrinkling up her nose when she was thinking really hard; and he loved how she bit her lower lip and squinted her eyes when they argued. Hermione still plagued his thoughts often, a sobering reminder of a seemingly past life. Thinking of her made him feel anxious and disoriented; like he was out of place or not where he belonged. After many sleepless nights, he decided it was time to officially close that chapter, escape the haunting memories and put his mind to rest. Two years after Harry's most profound loss, he proposed to Ginny.

**************************

** 3 YEARS AGO **

“Thanks for coming.” Hermione whispered.

Ron nodded and gave her a pat on the shoulder. She offered a weak smile, but her usually vibrant brown eyes were empty and cold and ringed with red. Ron felt helpless. He already knew how the afternoon would play out. He knew it was foolish to hope for anything different. Still, he plastered an encouraging smile on his face as he followed Hermione into the kitchen where Harry sat huddled close to the wireless. He nodded at Ron, acknowledging his presence, but didn't speak. Ron pulled two butterbeers out of the refrigerator before taking a seat at the table across from his best mate. Hermione watched from the doorway for a few moments before sighing heavily and retreating down the hall. Like Hermione, it was Harry's eyes that truly gave him away. Behind the lenses of his glasses, his green eyes were dull. They looked distracted, like he was watching a movie that no one else could see. Ron cracked the tops off both butterbeer bottles and slid one across the table. Harry grabbed it and took a long swig.

“What time does the match start?” Ron asked.

“Should be any minute now.” Harry answered, playing with the dial on the wireless until he found the proper frequency.

The two friends listened to the Quidditch match mostly in silence. They exchanged a bit of small talk, but any attempt at prolonged conversation fizzled out. Harry wasn't particularly rude; he answered all of Ron's questions and even teased him when the Chudley Cannons choked at the end of the match. Anyone else might have assumed Harry was just tired or a bit under the weather. It was much easier to pretend the problem was something superficial, but Ron knew better.

Ron knew the guilt he felt was completely unwarranted, but he couldn't help it. After all, he'd been sitting in this exact chair when Harry and Hermione had argued over apparation and he'd been in this exact chair when Harry found out Hermione was in the hospital. He knew the situation had been fully out of his control, but that thought alone didn't offer much comfort. He was losing his best friend.

Hermione had asked him to stop by a few times a week if he could to spend time with Harry. Ron's heart broke for her. She was terrified of what was happening to Harry and desperate to break down his walls. Ron wanted so badly to help his oldest and dearest friends, but the lack of progress was disheartening. Harry was deeply wounded, but guarded and incredibly stubborn. All of Ron's attempts at reaching out had been met with vehement resistance. Harry always insisted he was doing fine, gave a dry laugh and changed the subject. He wasn't fine. Ron knew this. Hermione knew this. He was not fine.

Ron left that evening giving Hermione an obligatory and apologetic hug and promised to be back later in the week. Hermione thanked him quietly with tears in her eyes. Ron had always thought Harry and Hermione brought out the best in each other. It was actually a huge source of jealousy during their years at Hogwarts; although that was a fact he kept to himself. But now, it seemed they were bringing each other down. Something would eventually have to give. Something…or someone.

*************************************

A week later Hermione was getting ready for work in the bedroom when Harry stumbled in looking quite unkempt. It had been a month and a half since she had lost the baby and to say their relationship was in shambles was putting it lightly.

“Where have you been?” she asked, quietly.

Harry shrugged and lowered himself down onto the bed. She sighed. He smelled heavily of whiskey. It was routine - another night away from the flat for Harry, another painful morning of unanswered questions for Hermione.

“Do you think you'll be going to training today?” she questioned gently, although she already knew the answer. Harry hadn't been going to training regularly since the accident. At first he'd at least been making it there three to four times a week. Now, he'd just stopped going altogether.

Again, Harry shrugged. Hermione's patience was wearing thin, but her heart ached every time she looked at him. She felt alone and weak and out of control. It was an unfamiliar feeling. In the past she'd always been the source of innovative thinking. She was always the one who came up with a plan when everything else seemed hopeless. Now, she was just dried out; running on empty. No books could teach you how to fix someone who refuses to acknowledge they're broken. No amount of research would close the growing rift between herself and the man she loved. No spell, no potion could help her now. She was losing grip, but love was winning out; love always did.

He was beating himself up relentlessly. His eyes were dull and his skin was sallow. He was depressed and he was in denial about being depressed. Tears welled up in her eyes as realization flooded over her. He would never let this go. And, it was going to end up killing him. Her throat felt as though she'd swallowed cotton. She loved him; maybe too much if such a thing was possible. She couldn't watch him live like this. She couldn't bear it anymore.

“Harry…” she began and suddenly, unexpectedly, he split wide open for the first time.

“How can you be okay? How can you act like nothing happened?” Harry asked desperately. “It's like you don't care. Like-like-like you're perfectly happy or something. I mean, its one thing to be relieved, but damn it Hermione, that was a life. A life we created and now…”

Hermione took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding uncontrollably and her stomach churned sickeningly.

“Harry, I do care. I care, but you have to let it go. You have to let yourself off the hook.”

Harry looked at her, knitting his brows angrily.

“Let it go? You want me to let it go?” Harry was now yelling. “Just, what? Forget about the whole thing? Not give a damn? Forget our child?”

“Yes!” Hermione breathed, her eyes watering with frustration. She brought her fingers to her temples. “It was an accident. It happened. It was not your fault. There is nothing you can do about it.”

“How the bloody hell can I forget about it? Tell me what I'm supposed to do Hermione “know-it-all” Granger! Please, share your infinite wisdom on how to be a cold-hearted, unfeeling…”

“Harry! It wasn't yours!”

The words had shot out of her mouth so quickly she was convinced that Harry couldn't have possibly heard. But, he had. In that moment, the fracture running through their relationship splintered into a million pieces.

“What?”

Harry's voice sounded so small and so childlike that for a second, Hermione was transported back to her first time on the Hogwarts Express, where she was questioning the young, green-eyed boy with the famous scar as to why he hadn't used magic to repair his glasses.

“What did you say?” Harry demanded again, his voice now cold and sharp.

“The baby…It wasn't yours.” Hermione repeated in a whisper.

For a moment, time stopped. And then…

“No.” Harry said, shaking his head violently. “No. Hermione, no. No…please.”

He wasn't sure what he was asking her and he didn't know what he was denying. With every second that passed the truth sunk in deeper and deeper. He clenched his fists at his side.

“That's impossible. There's no way…” he stammered, his voice shaking.

Hermione was frozen in place, watching in horror as Harry Potter, the boy who had stood up against the Dark Lord, who had lost almost everyone he ever loved, began to fall apart. He looked up at her, searching her eyes desperately for answers, but she offered him none. He ran his hands through his unruly mess of hair, grabbing two fistfuls and pulling, as if trying to wake himself from a nightmare. Then he let out an inhumane sob. Hermione could count on one hand the amount of times she'd seen Harry cry, but none she'd ever witnessed had compared to this. This was her doing. These tears were for her, because of her. It was too late now. She couldn't have stopped it even if she tried. Everything was rolling away.

“How? When?” he choked through streaming tears, his voice higher than Hermione had ever heard it. She didn't respond, but she didn't need to. The wheels in Harry's head were already beginning to turn. The night the Bubbling Brew Pub had opened, that's when she told him it had happened. That evening many weeks ago, when he'd come home to find her huddled in the darkness, she'd said the baby had been conceived the day they'd gone to the Bubbling Brew Pub. Neville had been there; they'd discussed Quidditch. Quidditch? Why was that important? Something else; something else had happened that day. He could see them now, laughing together at the kitchen table. She'd got up to get more coffee, but he'd pulled her down onto his lap. She accused him of being jealous. Jealous of what? His mind worked frantically. If that hadn't been the day she'd become pregnant, then it had to at least be around that time. Think, Harry. And then, the scene came together. The letter, lying open on the kitchen table. Harry sitting on the couch, waiting in the pitch black early morning hours. He looked up at her slowly with the most desolate of pained faces and darkness passed across his eyes.

“I'll kill him.” he hissed.

Hermione began to take a tentative step forward, wringing her hands.

“Harry, I…”

“Get out.” he snarled.

She froze again, feeling fresh tears begin to sting her eyes.

“I said get out.” Harry repeated, his voice echoing loudly throughout the flat.

She jumped this time and moved quickly for the door. Harry followed, right on her heels and for a second she thought he might chase her. But as soon as she'd crossed the threshold into the hallway, Harry slammed the door between them with such force the walls shook. Hermione stood quivering in the hallway. What have I done? Terrified that Harry would come out of the bedroom and see her still standing there, she grabbed the few things scattered in the sitting room that were hers and apparated out.

-->