Because of You

[A/N]: Well, here I am! After a very difficult semester, I'm finally getting back to writing for fun. Thank you to those who commented [and gently, lovingly nudged] during my hiatus. Thank you to those returning to the story and welcome(!) to any new readers. I know that I promised I was back for good, but this time I really am! But enough of my babbling. Lets get to what you've all been waiting for!

As always - comments are appreciated and suggestions noted.

I still own nothing except creative juices. JKR beat me to it.

Without further ado, the next installment awaits:

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Harry let long, determined strides lead him down the hallway and away from Hermione. He could only hope his cool, composed, front masked the sheer panic lurking just below the surface. His heart was nearly bursting through his chest. The last ten minutes were a complete blur and he could not seem to wrap his head around what had just transpired. He continued down the stairs and into the kitchen of the Burrow. He was completely unaware of the bustle of people around him as he floated through the living room and out the front door. He didn't blink once. A warm, sweet smelling breeze danced through the air, carrying him. Once he'd burst outside, he'd mindlessly broken into a jog, ignoring how uncomfortably restricting his tuxedo pants were. It wasn't until he'd made it halfway down the dusty road that led away from the Burrow that he finally stopped. For a moment, he stood stone still, holding his breath until his lungs screamed in agony. He released the air in a loud whoosh and stared up at the sky. It was a beautiful day. The sky was as clear and blue as he had ever seen it. The simple normalcy of appreciating the sky made him shiver.

His mind began to buzz numbly. He crouched down, rested on his haunches and ran his hands through his hair. He was breathing heavily and could feel a bead of sweat rolling slowly down the side of his face, over his temple which was pulsing manically. Thoughts ricocheted around his skull, most of them incoherent. His mouth felt suddenly dry and pasty and something wet and alien was sliding down his cheek. For a moment he was stunned by the show of emotion, but confusion quickly broke way for anger and he wiped desperately at his eyes. Amidst the multitude of sensations running rampart through his body, a guttural, inhuman sob passed between his barely parted lips. He was thankful to be alone, as he couldn't have held it back even if he'd tried.

A weight that had threatened to flatten him against the earth for so long had been lifted. He was a jumble of pain and shock and relief and terror and joy. There was no telling where one emotion ended and another began. It was mass confusion and his body was having a terrible time managing it. His brain was clouded with hundreds of thoughts and questions. He wasn't sure exactly how he felt. He wasn't sure how he should feel.

He stared again into the sky, but saw nothing this time. An image of Hermione played before his eyes. She was sitting on his lap with her arm around his neck. She had morning breath and her hair was a frizzy mess, but he couldn't have cared less. She said she loved him, then he carried her into their bedroom and made love to her. It had been slow and careful and painstakingly tender. He could smell her. He could feel her skin beneath his fingertips.

Harry screwed his eyes shut and brought a fist to his forehead, rubbing hard. The scene was burning painfully in his head. It reminded him of the times, years ago; when his scar used to sting and he felt his adrenaline instinctively rise in response. There was no fear of Voldemort hanging thick in the air, but there was still a certain fear. His stomach lurched sickeningly. There was simply not enough time. It would take him days to wrap his head around what had just happened between Hermione and himself. It would take weeks for her words to sink in; weeks for the truth to be real to him. Even then, after days and weeks, there still might not be a clear cut answer. He was getting married in less than an hour. There was no time.

He was absolutely furious - furious at Hermione for lying to him, but more furious at her for waiting so long to come clean; furious that she'd showed up on his wedding day and furious at Ron for not averting the entire situation. He was furious with himself - furious for ever believing Hermione capable of hurting him so badly and furious for shutting such a huge part of his being away for so long. He looked sadly back at the Burrow, thinking of Ginny sitting up in her room, excitedly getting ready for the wedding. His heart sank. She had no idea. The unfairness of it all had only added to his anger. Nothing had ever come easy for him, but this was all too much to handle.

*** 2 YEARS AGO ***

Hermione nervously spun a bottle of butterbeer around in her hands. The condensation on the bottle had made her fingers slick. She felt her heart flutter anxiously in her chest as she checked her wristwatch - 4:03; he was late. This wasn't exactly surprising, but still, her frayed nerves were getting the best of her. She glanced conspicuously around the pub, which (as she had planned) was quite empty at this time of the afternoon. She drummed her fingers on the table. 4:04.

“Hey, stranger.”

Ron slid into the booth, across from Hermione. He pulled the butterbeer from her hands and took a long swig, then leaned back on the bench.

“You're late,” she said quietly, grabbing the bottle back.

“You're kidding,” Ron laughed, looking across the table at her watch. “You said four o'clock.”

Hermione decided to let it go. There was no point in arguing that yes, she had said four o'clock and it was now five after. There were more important things right now than the semantics of time.

“So... how have you been?” Ron asked slowly. He studied her face carefully, trying his best to read her. It was futile. Hermione was very good at hiding physical evidence of any turmoil brewing beneath the surface.

“Okay,” she answered, averting her eyes from his.

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat as a stretch of silence spanned between them. He knew Hermione was far from okay, but he had never been good at these types of talks. Not to mention, Hermione had become very distant. Their friendship was a shell of what it had once been. Yet, as much as Ron missed what they'd had, he couldn't help but admit that he was relieved she was keeping her distance.

Ron had stayed as neutral as possible throughout the whole ordeal. He didn't know the whole story nor did he ever want to. Neither Hermione nor Harry had ever implied, let alone asked Ron to take a side, but with Harry living back at the Burrow and something noticeably transpiring between his best mate and his sister, the choice would have been a no-brainer. There wouldn't have even been another option. He was glad Hermione was content with the state of their relationship, which was currently in danger of slipping into mere acquaintances. It was the best he could offer her, even though his heart broke to admit it. He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss the way things used to be between the three of them, but it was a selfish, pointless thought. The grief he felt for what they'd lost was nothing compared to what Harry and Hermione had been going through.

When Hermione had asked to meet him at The Leaky Cauldron he'd been a bit taken back. Sure, he and Hermione had been keeping correspondence - writing letters to each other every three weeks or so - but her request had surprised him. Besides the fact that he hadn't seen her in months, owl post was one of the last methods of magic she was still using regularly. It struck him as odd that she'd want to meet somewhere with so many, undoubtedly painful memories. Still, keeping all these thoughts to himself, he had agreed in a heartbeat. A bigger one had been plaguing his mind; one that left his stomach in knots - why did she want to meet with him? He was certain it wasn't just to catch up.

“How is Harry?” Hermione asked. Actually, it had kind of blurted out rather loudly. Ron jumped. She'd been unable to help herself and the silence had started to unnerve her. Immediately, she brought the butterbeer bottle to her lips in an effort to keep anything else from slipping out.

Ron sighed and tilted his head thoughtfully. He didn't know what she wanted to hear.

“He's alright, I guess…playing Quidditch again.”

He decided not to mention that Ginny and Harry had taken to showering together after practices, even though Hermione was the type of person who would probably appreciate the water conservation.

Ron suddenly felt warm and a bit clammy. He wished he had something clever to say, but his mind was blank.

After a moment, Hermione nodded and smiled. Her eyes had become unusually wide and glassy and her mouth was pressed into a tight, straight line. Ron chewed his lip. He wasn't sure if she was waiting to hear more.

After almost a full minute of silence, Hermione took a deep breath and leaned in close to the table.

“Ronald, I need to tell you something. I need to tell someone and I'm telling you.”

Ron was keenly aware of how his heart began thumping loudly in his chest. He too leaned in and nodded slowly. He watched her as she took another deep breath, a pained look spreading across her face. She took an agonizingly deep breath and closed her eyes.

“The baby…it was Harry's.”

Ron nearly swallowed his tongue and tried to cover the grotesque choking sound it made with a cough. Hermione's eyes remained closed and he was thankful to be awarded a few much needed seconds to regain his composure. He was in complete and utter shock that she had confided this in him. He was not, however, surprised to hear that Harry had in fact been the father. Ron had suspected such for a long time. It had always been impossible for him to wrap his head around the idea that Hermione would consent to sleeping with Viktor while Harry waited home for her. Besides the fact that she was seemingly head over heels for him, she had risked her entire life multiple times to keep Harry from being hurt. How could she single-handedly deal the biggest blow? It had never fit into the big picture as Ron was concerned, but his place had been a shoulder for his best friend not a prying speculator.

Hermione opened her eyes and caught Ron's. He nodded seriously and she returned a weak smile. Ron felt sick, but it quickly passed. Then, it was over. Hermione asked about his parents and the suffocating thickness in the air dissipated just a bit. Still, despite their best efforts, it had been impossible to carry on small talk after the big reveal. Ron hated the forced conversation. Luckily, he didn't have to suffer through the awkwardness long. Hermione seemed noticeably relieved, but still sad and a bit distracted. Ron suddenly found himself in a difficult position. As uncomfortable as the situation in The Leaky Cauldron was, something worse was waiting back at The Burrow. Hermione had simply said she'd “needed to tell someone”. She didn't swear him to secrecy nor did she ask him to talk to Harry. Ron was simply going to have to use his own discretion and there was only one thing he could do. He needed to make things right or, at the very least, nudge things into the right direction. The responsibility was daunting and it almost made the fake laughter between them bearable, so long as he never had to return home again. Hermione was leaning on him, unable to bear the weight of the truth on her own. He wasn't sure why she had lied, what she'd been thinking or why she couldn't have just told Harry instead, but those were things that she alone knew and Ron was too afraid to ask.

They shared a quick, but surprisingly solid hug outside of the pub and promised to keep writing to each other. Then, Hermione disappeared into the crowd of people bustling about Diagon Ally. Ron had been left there, feeling a bit dazed and about fifty pounds heavier. He'd spent the rest of the afternoon window shopping before realizing he could only put off returning to the Burrow for long enough.

He hoped to formulate a decent plan of action before returning home, but as he stood nervously at the front door, nothing seemed to emerge. He scolded himself for feeling so anxious. After all, he wasn't the one who had lied about sleeping with Viktor. The thought made him grin and he felt himself relax. Without giving his nerves time to wind themselves back up, he pushed open the door and strode straight into the sitting room, where he was met by a shrill outburst of laughter.

Harry and Ginny were sitting on the overstuffed, red sofa across from the fireplace. Actually, sitting was not really an accurate description. Harry was sitting in one corner, on top of Ginny's legs, digging his fingers into her sides as she squirmed around helplessly. The top half of Ginny's body hung off the couch as she desperately clawed at the rug, trying to pull herself out from under Harry. Their faces were pink with laughter and Ginny's long, red tresses were piled into a messy, frizzy ponytail. Ron froze in the doorway, feeling as though he'd walked into a wall.

“Ron! C'mere! Help me!” Ginny choked, stretching her arm up towards Ron.

“Don't you dare!” Harry laughed. “Now's your chance to get her back for all those Bat Bogey hexes! Here, I'll hold her arms!”

Harry reached down, taking both of Ginny's wrists into one hand, causing another eruption of giggles.

Ron quietly turned on his heels and left the room. Neither Harry nor Ginny even noticed. As he slowly climbed the staircase to his bedroom, an identifiable feeling crept into his throat. It was like the feeling you got when you overheard a conversation that, for whatever reason, you wished you hadn't. With each step, he reassured himself that it wasn't his business and Hermione had never even hinted that she wanted him to tell Harry. It was not his responsibility whatsoever. The sound of laughter clouded the rest of his thoughts.

Hermione didn't write to him again and something kept him from being able to write to her. It was easier to pretend he didn't know the truth this way. Every now and again, she would cross his mind and he would remember the look of desperation that had filled her eyes when she'd spoken to him that afternoon in the pub. He hoped she was okay, but more than that, he hoped that somehow, someway, the truth would reveal itself. While the whole thing tore Ron up inside, he never necessarily felt any regret - at least, not until one chilly, early, autumn day when Ginny bounced into the kitchen, squealing and holding out her left hand to reveal a giant diamond that could easily have cost more than the entire Burrow and all its furnishings combined. Ron had been filled with regret only then - in that one instant.

*** WEDDING DAY ***

Hermione slowly straightened out of the crumpled heap she'd collapsed into on the bedroom floor. Her breath was still catching in her throat, but the sobs had mostly subsided. As absolutely terrible as she felt right now, she had to admit she was unbelievably relieved. She had poured her heart out to him and admitted everything she had so carefully bottled up and labeled “do not touch”. The only thing she could hold herself accountable for now was waiting so long to tell him. Well, that - and lying to him in the first place.

She suddenly felt very self-conscious sitting there on the floor, undoubtedly looking a mess. Her stomach flopped as she wondered what exactly she should do next. Could she really go down stairs and pretend nothing had happened? No, of course not. Could she slip out the front door unnoticed and perhaps apparate home? No, that wouldn't work. She hadn't apparated in so long, she'd splice herself for sure trying for such a distance. Could she sit quietly in a white folding chair and watch Harry and Ginny exchange their vows while people whispered cruelly behind her? Maybe. Maybe - but only because her choices seemed quite limited.

She sniffled as she got to her feet, deciding the first place to start was a bathroom. No matter what she did, she could definitely use some freshening up. She felt as though she'd been hit by a Bludger and could only imagine that her physical image reflected the same. As she crept quietly into the hall and down to the bathroom, she concentrated completely on pushing the fresh memory of Harry's cold, abrupt exit from her mind. She had been so focused in fact that she hadn't even noticed a second door on the landing had been cracked open. The room's occupant, however, was much keener to Hermione's presence and watched carefully as she passed by and headed into the bathroom.

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