Because of You
by cheapxdate

Rating: PG13
Ship: Harry & Hermione
Canon: Books 1 - 7
Genre: Angst, Romance
Status: Complete
Length: 42,186 words in 13 chapters
Published: 31 Dec 2007
Last updated: 3 Mar 2009

Harry and Hermione were in love and swore that nothing could ever tear them apart. But something did. Can they rekindle
their love and forgive each other before it's too late? Will the truth be revealed before they're out of time?

From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/7851/

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1. CHAPTER 1

A/N: This is a completed story I had written a few months ago. While I am currently working on “Something We Always
Knew”, sometimes I need a break to ensure the writing stays fresh or to give the muses a chance to revisit me. So, as a
side project I've been fleshing this story out a bit more than it's previous finished product. I ope you enjoy reading
it because it was one of my favorite to write.

Disclaimer: Not my stuff. The only form of payment I'm receiving is reader enjoyment - so please review!

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

Hermione stared at her reflection in the big, oval mirror above her dressing table. She puckered her lips together and
batted her eye lashes. She held this pose for a moment, then sighed and drew her mouth into tight lipped frown. I look
ridiculous. She pushed her bushy, brown mess of hair down and back behind her ears, then used her arms to squeeze her
breasts together. Again, she focused on the mirror, eyeing her self-created cleavage. Shaking her head in resignation,
she relaxed her arms at her side and the deep `v' of her chest disappeared. Hopeless. A sudden, unexpected knock on her
bedroom door caused her to jump.

“Come in.” she called. The door creaked open slowly and the familiar, warm face of her father poked in.

“Almost ready, luv?” he asked quietly.

She glanced sadly in the mirror then nodded. He offered her a weak, but encouraging smile then closed the door softly.
She turned her attention back to the mirror and the mousey, unspectacularly plain girl looking back at her. What began
as a sigh caught in her throat and ended up sounding much more like a sob. She took a few deep breaths to steady
herself, then pulled her frizzy hair back and secured it with a black, satin bow. The bow matched her dress, both in
color and material. It was a nice enough dress, but nothing to ogle over. She wished she had a few more curves to fill
it out, specifically in the semi-low cut v-neck section, but still it fit nicely. It was sleeveless, the hem ended just
above the knee and there was a small slit exposing a thin line of flesh up her left thigh. It was a simple dress for a
simple girl. I look like I'm going to a funeral she thought. Tears began pooling in the corners of her eyes. I feel like
I'm going to a funeral.

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

Harry stared at his reflection in the long rectangle mirror hung on the back of Ron's bedroom door. He tugged at his
bowtie nervously and tried for the umpteenth time to flatten the unruly mess of black hair on top of his head. An
unexpected knock on the door made him jump.

“Come in.” he called. The door creaked open slowly and the familiar face of his best friend poked in.

“Almost ready, mate?” Ron asked, entering the room.

Harry pulled at his bowtie again and then nodded slowly. Ron pulled a small, silver flask out from inside his jacket
pocket and held it out to Harry. Harry grabbed it, smiling gratefully and took a swig. The sweet liquid burned his
throat and his eyes watered in response.

“Strong stuff.” he choked and handed the flask back to Ron. Ron shrugged, took a mouthful himself and then replaced the
container in his jacket pocket.

“I can't believe this is it. I can't believe today is the day.” Harry remarked, taking his own black jacket off of Ron's
bed and pulling it on.

“I still can't believe my best mate is marrying my sister!” Ron exclaimed, giving Harry a pat on the shoulder.

Harry smiled at his friend, but hated how forced it felt. He was happy. Really, he was. Ginny had matured into an
amazing woman. She was smart and funny and adventurous. She was playful and affectionate and the only girl he'd ever met
that was able to match, if not surpass, his Quidditch skills. And Merlin, could she be sexy when she wanted to be. She
was everything Harry could ever ask for; everything he could ever hope to find in a significant other. Yet, he couldn't
help but wonder how things might have ended up, had that one fateful summer three years ago happened differently. He
sighed as the painful memory surfaced and walked over to the bedroom window. The garden was buzzing with activity as a
crew of a dozen or so worked to put the finishing touches on the wedding setup. There were rows of white chairs
separated in half by a white runner which led to a makeshift altar. Huge water lily flower arrangements hung in mid-air
along with strings of silver lights. Behind the altar stood two huge, white tents where the reception would be held and
although he could not see inside them from this angle, he knew they were lavishly decorated. It was lovely, really, and
it would be a beautiful wedding. Yet, still, he couldn't help but wonder. Harry let his forehead rest against the window
pane and closed his eyes.

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

** 3 YEARS AGO **

“Stop it Harry! I can't concentrate!” Hermione giggled and twisted away from Harry's hand.

“Are you telling me that the brightest witch of our year is so easily distracted by the mere placement of my hand?”
Harry teased, looking down at her innocently.

The two were enjoying one of the biggest perks of Hermione's Prefect title - a private bedroom. Harry sat with his back
against the headboard, while Hermione rested her head on his lap with a book propped up on her stomach.

“When that `hand placement' happens to be on my left breast…yes.” she answered, poking him in the ribs to emphasize the
“yes”. “Unlike you, I don't have `defeating the Dark Lord' on my resume and so the results of my N.E.W.T.S are very
important.”

“Well, I'm sorry.” Harry sighed. “I can't help it if watching you study turns me on.”

Hermione snorted.

“Oh, please.”

Harry grinned mischievously at her and shrugged. Hermione shook her head at him in disbelief, but closed the Arithmancy
book she'd been reading and tossed it on the floor.

“Well, I suppose I could study a different subject for awhile.” she cooed and sat up.

“Oh, yeah?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows with interest. “What's that?”

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she crawled close to him and tossed a leg over his lap so that she was straddling
him. She planted a kiss on his lips then leaned close to his ear and whispered.

“Male anatomy.”

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

The chemistry between Harry and Hermione had been brewing for years. Ironically, the only two who were oblivious to this
were, in fact, Harry and Hermione. When Voldemort had remained at large, a looming danger that continuously threatened
Harry's life, he had been unable to even consider any kind of romantic relationships. Besides the fact that fighting the
Dark Lord and saving the wizarding world was a time consuming endeavor, there was the fear that the object of Harry's
affection would become an immediate target. But, once Voldemort was defeated and his followers imprisoned in Azkaban
Harry was able, for the first time in his life, to acknowledge the feelings he had for certain individuals in his life.
Of course it hadn't happened right away. Oh no, it had been complicated. Ginny had assumed that once Voldemort was
defeated she and Harry would be able to have a proper relationship. Feeling extremely guilty over Fred's death, Harry
had been unable to turn her away, unable to further injure a member of the Weasley family. So, for her sake, as well as
a way to ease his guilt, he had tried as best he could to make it work. For a while things went well, but after a few
months Harry found it harder and harder to provide the effort needed to keep things going. Lucky for him, Ginny had been
the one to break first claiming he “didn't do anything wrong, but she just wasn't happy anymore and maybe they would be
better off as friends for now”. Harry had been indescribably relieved and not at all prepared for what happened next.
About a month after he and Ginny had split, during a night out with the guys at The Three Broomsticks, Ron, after one
firewhisky too many, revealed the reason things between him and Hermione didn't work out. Apparently, after much denial
and even more pushing on Ron's part, she had admitted to fancying Harry. Harry had laughed and ordered everyone another
round, but couldn't figure out why a week later Ron's drunken confession was still relentlessly plaguing his mind. He
also noticed that every time Hermione entered the room the hair on the back of his neck would prick up and his palms
would get sweaty. Forget about the times she spoke to him directly - it was as though he would forget how to speak
English altogether. Harry had been extremely torn. Fearing even the thought of ruining their friendship kept him from
admitting to both Hermione and himself that somewhere along the 6 years they'd known each other, he had fallen for her.
Fortunately, their friends were not so timid and a few drops of strategically placed Veritiserum, courtesy of Neville
and Luna, had provided the necessary push Harry and Hermione needed to reveal the truth about their feelings for each
other.

With the threat of Voldemort gone and the chance of a normal life ahead, Harry and Hermione decided to return to
Hogwarts for a seventh year of study. Hermione retained her Prefect status and Harry's lifetime Quidditch ban was
lifted. Ron decided against returning to Hogwarts and instead went to work at his brother's joke shop, becoming George's
new partner. The year had been refreshingly uneventful. No Basilisks, no Horcrux, no possessed bludgers - just homework,
Quidditch games and now, exams. And, of course, there was Hermione. Harry and Hermione spent every possible moment
together. They studied together in the common room, walked the grounds together on warm afternoons and snuggled together
in bed on cool, damp evenings. Hermione walked Harry to Quidditch practices and was the loudest fan at the games. Some
nights Harry would grab his invisibility cloak and he and Hermione would sneak into the Restricted section of the
library. He would lay the cloak down on the floor while Hermione went and picked out a book. Then he'd sit, leaning
against the bookcase while Hermione lay with her head on his chest and he'd read to her until the sun started peeking in
through the huge library windows. They had something simple, something simple and lovely and satisfying. But the year
had gone by extremely fast. Now all that stood between them and adulthood was the N.E.W.T.S. Neither knew exactly what
awaited them outside the walls of Hogwarts and this provoked a mixture of fear and anxiousness and excitement. There
were no definites once they finished their final year as students at Hogwarts. There were no certainties. Save for one,
that is. Each other; they had each other and that was something they swore would never, ever change.

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

* * WEDDING DAY * *

Hermione took a deep breath. After making sure her resolve was intact and in place she opened her bedroom door and
descended the stairs. Her parents were sitting quietly at the kitchen table, but they stood the minute they heard her
heels on the linoleum floor.

“You look amazing, luv.” her father remarked, smiling warmly.

“Oh, Daddy…” Hermione said shaking her hand at him dismissively.

Her mother looked at her with wide, concern filled eyes that occasionally darted to her husband then back to her
daughter. The tension was suffocatingly thick.

“So? Is everyone ready to go?” Hermione chirped with as much cheerfulness as she could muster.

Her parents exchanged worried glances.

“Your father and I were thinking…if you decided you didn't want to go, we could tell everyone you're ill. You don't have
to do this hun.”

Hermione looked at her mother and for a second her eyes began to water again. She shook her head and laughed; a bit too
loud.

“Not go? Oh come now, I wouldn't miss the wedding of two of my very oldest friends without good reason. And, considering
I am not ill, I see no reason why I should not be attending.”

Her mother sighed and nodded reluctantly. Hermione wished her parents would stop looking at her as though she could
shatter into a million pieces at any moment, regardless of how valid or invalid there concern was. Her father glanced
down at his watch.

“Well, we'd better get going. It's a good drive to the Weasley's and we don't want to be late.” he said, clapping his
hands together.

The three Grangers shuffled out of the house and into their modest, dark blue sedan, Hermione taking the back seat. She
noticed, as she flattened her dress against her legs with her palms, that her hands were shaking. She silently scolded
herself. Get a grip, Hermione. She stared, unblinking, out the car window. This isn't right. This isn't how things are
supposed to be. She bit her lip and willed her mind into silence. But, it was too late. She wiped angrily at her cheek
as a lone tear broke through her forced façade of strength. How could it have all gone so wrong?

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

* * 3 YEARS AGO * *

“Harry! It's lovely. It's-it's…oh, it's so lovely!” Hermione clasped her hands to her chest and spun around in delight.

“If you really hate it that much, we can keep looking.” Harry teased.

She stuck out her tongue and pinched his arm. As she went to retract her hand, Harry grabbed it and pulled her close to
him, resting his forehead against hers.

“You're sure?” he whispered. “This is the one?”

She nodded and smiled dreamily. Harry sighed and turned. A small, round woman stood resting against the doorway,
anxiously watching the couple.

“We'll take it.” Harry announced.

The small woman shook her head in acknowledgment.

“Congratulations.” she said with a warm smile. “Let me just get the paperwork and you'll be set. I think you'll find its
perfect fit.”

There was a small pop, as the woman disapperated out of the room, no doubt on her way to the realty office to work out
the legalities. The moment she'd disappeared Hermione squealed and jumped into Harry's arms, wrapping her legs around
his waist. The force caught him off guard and he ended up on his back, flat on the floor with Hermione sitting on top of
him, giggling uncontrollably. It was a moment Harry had been waiting months for. A moment he'd rehearsed a million times
in his head as he patiently waited for the right time to present itself.

“I do believe I'm in love with you Miss Granger.” he whispered, pulling her by the shoulders down to his face so that
their lips were practically touching.

“Well,” she breathed, locking her wide brown eyes into his intensely green ones, “it appears you've just become
The-Boy-Who-Gets-His-Happy-Ending.”

“Oh, really?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her. “And how do you figure?”

She traced a finger across the faded outline of his scar.

“It just so happens, Mr. Potter, that I am head over heels in love with you.”

That was the day Harry and Hermione became the proud owners of their very own London flat and, more importantly, it was
the first time they officially declared their love. They had only just finished their seventh year at Hogwarts. As
expected, Hermione had aced her N.E.W.T.S. She was offered a fast-paced, high-paying job with the Ministry, which she
took without hesitation. Harry had done well enough on his exams. He would be starting his training period as an Auror
within the next few weeks and couldn't have been happier. He wished Mad-Eye could see him now, but he vowed to honor the
memory of his friend and mentor by fulfilling the job to the very best of his ability.

The beginning of the end came about a week later, in the form of a letter. It was delivered on an exceptionally hot
morning in the early summer by an unrecognizable dark brown owl. It was simply addressed “Hermione” in thick, black
lettering. If Harry had known the pain this letter would eventually cause him; the impact it would have on his
relationship with Hermione and their future together, he would have torn it into a hundred pieces and thrown it into the
fire. Unfortunately, the gift of foresight didn't run in his genes and instead, when his girlfriend joined him in the
kitchen for breakfast that morning, he'd handed her the letter along with a fresh brewed cup of coffee with cream and
sugar - just how she liked it.

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

* * WEDDING DAY * *

“Hello? Harry?”

Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts, pulling his head away from the window.

“I'm sorry, Ron. What were you saying?”

Ron eyed him for a moment then pulled something out of his pocket. He held a folded piece of paper out to his friend.
Harry cocked an eyebrow.

“What's this?”

“My speech.” Ron answered shrugging.

“Why are you giving it to me? You're my best man, Ron. You're supposed to keep this to yourself and blow me away with
your wit and sentiment at the reception. Not hand it to me to proofread hours before my wedding.” Harry laughed pushing
the paper back towards Ron. Ron didn't laugh. Actually, Harry noticed, his expression was somewhat pained.

“I'm going to go make sure Dad and Mum have everything under control.” Ron said.

Harry nodded and gave his best friend a shake of the shoulder.

“And Harry,” Ron added as he headed for the door. “Read the speech.” He tossed the folded paper onto the bed before
giving Harry an encouraging wink and slipping out the door.

Harry looked at the paper for a moment before shaking his head and returning his gaze to the busy garden below.

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[A/N]: Well, I guess it's time for some things to start coming together, although not QUITE yet. After all, at some
point a story has to reveal a path to the end. With that being said: prepare yourself. This is the last chapter where
questions are really posed, rather than answered. Canon plays a really interesting roll in this story (at least in my
opinion) and I will explain my reasoning at the end of the last chapter to see if you agree. As always, thank you for
your reviews. (Keep them coming!)

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** WEDDING DAY **

Harry leaned against the wall and took a few deep breaths. It's normal to be nervous he comforted himself. For Merlin's
sake, you're about to get married! But he wasn't nervous, he realized unhappily. It was something else. He pushed away
from the wall and crossed the room to the door. He placed his hand on the doorknob and looked over his shoulder, making
sure he wasn't forgetting anything. The folded paper Ron had tossed on the bed caught Harry's eye. He sighed and
prepared to ignore it, but then dropped his hand from the doorknob. He walked over to the bed and picked up the paper,
flipping open the first fold. He sighed again, deeper this time, then squeezed his eyes closed and shoved the unread
paper in his jacket pocket. He shook his head, walked back over to the door and left the room.

He made his way slowly down the multiple flights of stairs until he reached the Weasley's kitchen which was crowded with
early guests, family and a few of the workers who'd properly set up the garden. Ron, who was sampling some of the food
that had been prepared for the reception, was the first to notice Harry's presence.

“Harry!” Ron called, waving his friend over.

Harry walked up to Ron, who shoved a green goop-topped cracker in his mouth with a moan.

“Try one of these!” Ron exclaimed, holding out a cracker to Harry.

“Uh, no thanks.” Harry said with a chuckle, tugging at his bowtie.

“Fine. Your loss. They are so good. I can't stop…”

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!”

Ron jumped, dropping the cracker goop-side down with a splat. Molly Weasley stood with her arms crossed in front of her
and a deep shade of red coloring her face.

“You eat one more thing before the reception and, so help me Merlin, I will make sure you never eat again!”

Ron's face paled and Harry couldn't help but laugh. Mrs. Weasley's expression softened.

“Oh Harry, dear! I didn't even see you there! My! You look so handsome.” Mrs. Weasley beamed at him.

“You're looking lovely yourself, Mrs. Weasley.” Harry complimented.

“This old thing?” she said, looking down at the dark blue dress she was wearing and shaking her head. “Don't be silly!”

Ron rolled his eyes.

“Well, there's still so much to do. You boys excuse me now.”

With a nod and an “I'm watching you” glare at her youngest son, Mrs. Weasley turned and was gone. Ron looked longingly
at the plates of food and sighed.

“Let's go outside.” he said, desperate to rid the temptation of sneaking just one more sample.

Harry nodded and followed Ron out the backdoor and into the garden. They plopped down on two of the white, wooden chairs
facing the altar. Neither spoke.

“Getting some fresh air?” asked a soft, silky voice behind them.

Both boys twisted in their seats to face the speaker.

Luna was standing there in a beautiful light green dress. It was long and airy and caught whimsically on even the
slightest breeze. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a messy bun and her signature radish earrings dangled from her
earlobes. She smiled and took a seat next to Ron, whose face turned pink. Harry raised his eyebrows suspiciously at his
friend, who responded with a scowl.

“How are you, Luna? How was your trip?” asked Harry.

“Lovely. Just lovely!” she mused in a sing-song voice. “Sweden kept father and I quite busy. We never imagined there
could be fifteen different species of Wallow-Snout Bizbugs. Before our trip only eleven had ever been recorded!”

Harry and Ron exchanged glances, but smiled and feigned well-practiced awe. Luna's silvery eyes sparkled.

“So, do you suppose Hermione will be coming today?” she asked, completely nonchalant.

Harry's faced turned green. The unexpected force of her name being spoken out loud had rammed him in the stomach. Ron's
eyes widened and almost rolled out of his head. Luna appeared unfazed and waited expectantly. She sure had a knack for
getting right to the point. Ron cleared his throat.

“Uh…she was invited if that's what you mean.” said Ron evenly. “Other than that…”

Luna tilted her head thoughtfully. Ron shrugged and hastily eyed Harry, who wore a dazed expression. Deciding his pal
could use a quick drink, he shoved a hand into his jacket to retrieve his flask, only to realize his pocket was empty.

“What the…?”

Ron looked around on the ground by his feet, searching for the silver container that he guessed must have fallen out
unnoticeably. It wasn't there.

“Damn.”

“What is it?” asked Luna, following his gaze to the floor and glancing around.

“Nothing.” Ron sighed. “Nothing. I just must have dropped something.”

Luna nodded dreamily and stood.

“Don't worry.” she smiled. “Whatever it is, it will turn up. Everything always does in the end.”

She looked slowly at both boys, lingering a bit longer on Harry, then gave a soft wave and glided off towards the house,
leaving them completely silent.

** 3 YEARS AGO **

There's an old Muggle saying - “when it rains, it pours” and for Hermione, today was the day the floods began. Of
course, she was not yet aware of this as she dressed hurriedly in the early morning hours. Harry was still sprawled
across their bed snoring lightly, bare-chested; a sheet tangled tightly around his legs. She pulled a black skirt up
over her knees to her waist and zippered the back. Then sighing affectionately, she moved over to the bed and shook
Harry softly.

“Time to get up.” she cooed.

Harry groaned and grabbed her arm, trying to pull her down onto the bed.

“Oh, no.” she giggled, digging her heels into the floor. “I've got to be at the Ministry in thirty minutes and you've
got training in an hour.”

He released her with a moan and buried his face into his pillow.

Harry had just started his first week of Auror training. It was a bit of a chore making sure he got up in the morning,
but he was loving it. The entire training period consisted of a six month instruction course followed by three months of
field work. It seemed like a long time, but Hermione knew it would be over before they knew it.

“Harry James Potter. Get up!” Hermione yelled, poking him playfully.

Keeping his head face down, Harry stuck out an arm. He groped around on the nightstand bumping his hand against his
wand. He grabbed it, but continued searching blindly.

“Other nightstand.” Hermione offered, watching him.

Harry grunted.

“Accio glasses.” he mumbled into the pillow with a flick of his wand.

His glasses flew off the opposite night table and landed on the bed next to him. Sighing in resignation, he slowly sat
up. He yawned and slid on his glasses.

“What time is it?”

“Almost eight.” Hermione answered, slipping on her shoes.

“What method of travel will you be employing today?” Harry teased after stretching and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Hermione placed a finger thoughtfully to her cheek and tilted her head.

“Car.” she said decidedly. “I've got to pick a few things up after work at Muncy's. I did tell you my parents are coming
to dinner this Tuesday, didn't I?”

“No.” Harry said. “I don't think you mentioned it.”

“Well,” Hermione said, walking over and kissing his cheek, “now you know.”

Harry had been intent on buying a car. He'd always dreamed of owning one, since his very early years with the Dursleys.
Of course then the dream had been built around a means of escape, but the desire had stuck with him all the same. Having
come from a Muggle family, Hermione hadn't opposed the idea. The fact that flying terrified her didn't hurt either. They
both enjoyed taking the car from time to time as opposed to using the Floo network or apparition. In fact, the car had
come in handy more often than Hermione had expected. Their flat was in a particularly busy section of London and it was
difficult to apparate covertly. Also, many of the shops were fairly new and had fireplaces that were either too small or
not registered with the Floo network. Muncy's was one of these places. It was a small grocer equal in distance from the
Ministry, as it was from the flat. It was a quaint, family-owned establishment and, as far as Hermione was concerned,
always had the freshest cut of beef around. Days that required an extra stop after work were days Hermione usually used
the car. She liked driving; it allowed her to slow down and it gave her time to think.

“Will you be late tonight?” she asked Harry, who was now getting dressed.

“Nah, I don't believe so.” he said, pulling up a pair of black trousers.

She nodded in acknowledgement.

“Ok, well, I'd better be off. Don't want to be late.”

She bounced over to Harry, planted a kiss on his lips, wished him luck with his training and left the flat.

**********

A lot had changed at the Ministry of Magic since the Second War had ended. Most notably, Kingsley Shacklebolt had been
named Minister. It was refreshing to have someone noble and honorable running the Ministry for a change; someone truly
interested in improving the world for all magical beings. Hermione walked quickly through the atrium towards the lifts,
nodding politely to familiar faces as she passed. As she stepped into the lift, she felt a firm hand grasp her shoulder.
She jumped and spun around, coming face to face with Newt Scamander, head of the Department for the Regulation and
Control of Magical Creatures, and, by extension, her boss.

“Good morning, Ms. Granger. I didn't mean to startle you.” he chuckled.

“Oh, no matter!” she replied, shaking her head. “And good morning to you as well, sir.”

There was a pause in the conversation as the lift doors closed then Scamander spoke again.

“I was wondering if I could have a word. This afternoon perhaps? If you wouldn't mind stopping in my office around, oh,
three-fifteen?”

Hermione nodded slowly, feeling a bit of anxiety creep into her throat. It must have shown on her face, because
Scamander smiled warmly and shook his head.

“You've done nothing wrong, I assure you.” he comforted.

The lift dinged as it reached its destination and the doors slid open.

“This afternoon. You're office. Three-fifteen.” Hermione confirmed.

Scamander gave her a friendly nod then moved out of the lift. Hermione was frozen, her mind flipping through the
possible reasons her boss might want to meet with her. The lift doors began to close again and Scamander stuck an arm
out to stop them.

“Isn't this your floor too Ms. Granger?”

Hermione turned a dark shade of red.

“Oh! Yes, of course!”

She scurried out of the lift and down the hall to her office. She slipped inside, closed the door behind her and rested
back against it. She sighed and pushed her bushy hair back. There was a loud crack and Hermione yelped. Realizing it was
just the sound of an apparition, she immediately scolded herself for being so jumpy.

“Roogle is sorry. He did not mean to startle Ms.'Mione.”

“No need to apologize, Roogle. I'm just a bit on edge.” Hermione told the small elf.

Hermione worked for the Office of House-Elf Relocation. In fact, she headed up that branch of the Department for the
Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She had been pleasantly surprised by the interest in regulating House-Elf
rights following the Second War and was proud of the strides that had been made. Most House-Elves remained with their
respective families, as they were only familiar and experienced with that type of work - but now they were no longer
considered property and could leave at any time they pleased, especially if they felt they were being treated poorly.
House-Elves could now own things and, in a recent success, a few had even been approved for personal vaults in
Gringotts. Some did leave their families and take jobs elsewhere. Roogle was one such Elf. He worked for the Ministry,
in Hermione's Department. He helped where he could - making deliveries or retrieving files. She loved seeing him around.
It was a reminder of all the progress that had been made.

Hermione tried to keep herself busy, tackling a large pile of paperwork that had been growing on her desk for almost
three weeks and making a few phone calls she'd been putting off. Though, her eyes still glanced at the clock at least
once every twenty minutes as she waited for the afternoon to arrive. The day dragged, but finally the hour hand of the
wall clock struck three. She decided to stop in the bathroom to freshen up before heading to Scamander's office.

As she pushed the door of the fourth floor woman's bathroom open she was struck by a twinge in her stomach. It wasn't
particularly painful, more annoying than anything else. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Just relax!
Scamander said it wasn't anything to worry about. She tried to calm herself as she glanced at her reflection and brushed
her hair down with her fingers. Once she was convinced she looked the she best possibly could under the circumstances,
she left the bathroom and headed down the hall to Scamander's office. When she reached the door, she hesitated and took
a deep breath before knocking softly. She waited, unsure if her knock had been heard.

“Come in.” her boss's familiar voiced called.

She opened the door and walked in. Scamander was sitting behind a large, dark colored desk that was cluttered with books
and papers. The room was bright; sunshine poured in through three, floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. Two other men
stood to his left. One she immediately recognized as Kingsley Shacklebolt. He gave her a quick wink. The other face was
less familiar, but after searching her brain for a few seconds, she identified him as Rueben Groglin, the head of the
Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She wondered what they were doing in Scamander's office when she was supposed to
be meeting with him.

“Ms. Granger.” her boss nodded. “Would you like to sit down?”

He motioned to a large, leather chair in front of his desk. She declined, feeling too antsy to sit, but moved closer.

“Well, of course you're wondering why I asked to speak to you.” he began.

Hermione shook her head expectantly. There was a sudden, second, stronger ache in her stomach. She ignored it.

“This is Rueben Groglin. And, of course, Mr. Shacklebolt.” Scamander said, motioning to the men beside him. “As you
know, I've been tracking your progress with the House-Elf Relocation division. You've really done a wonderful job.
You've exceeded my expectations - and trust me, from your N.E.W.T. scores and the recommendations of your old
professors, I had high expectations.”

Hermione bowed her head in thanks. The ache in her stomach was starting to cross over bothersome and into painful. She
shifted her weight, hoping a change in position might help. Scamander continued.

“I'm sure you're completely aware of how well you're doing. That isn't the real point of this talk. What I do want to
talk about…what I want to offer you is a new position within the Ministry.”

Hermione's eyes widened with interest, but her stomach lurched and she had to fight the urge to wince. She glanced
longingly at the big, leather chair next to her, wishing she'd taken a seat when Scamander had offered.

“Groglin here needs a new department head; a collogue per say. Someone interested in reforming pro-pureblood laws,
someone interested in helping break the stigma attached to Muggle-borns. Kingsley here suggested you. You're a hard
worker, Granger, and I hear this is an issue close to your heart.”

Hermione did everything she could to stop from squealing out in joy.

“Wow.” she beamed. “I don't know what to say…”

“Say you'll take the job!” Groglin was now speaking. “Of course you'll be getting an increase in your pay check and a
small staff to work below you, but we can iron out the details at a later date.”

“Obviously, if you'd like, I'd love for you to stay involved with the House-Elf Relocation project as well.” Scamander
interjected. “You've set up an amazing system during your short time working here; a system that will stay in place for
many years. You would be given access to all files and still be able to oversee what's going on. It may tack a few hours
onto your work week, but again, that's up to you.”

“Yes! Yes to all of it!” Hermione announced, clapping her hands together. “Thank you! Thank you so much.”

All three men nodded, pleased with her response. Hermione's stomach pitched again, but she was intent on not letting it
ruin the moment. She swallowed hard.

“Well, that's it!” Groglin exclaimed. “We'll be in touch, Ms. Granger.”

He held out his hand. Hermione moved to grab it and braced an unexpected wave of nausea. Oh, no. She shook his hand
quickly and looked back at the door desperately.

“If you have any big, outstanding affairs through the Office of House-Elf Relocation, I suggest you deal with them as
soon as possible. Losing you will be quite a blow to the Department.” Scamander remarked with a sigh.

Hermione wanted to assure him that she would remain involved, but couldn't unclamp her mouth, for fear of being sick all
over her boss's (was it now former boss's?) desk. Instead, she nodded and gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“If that's all, I should be getting back to my office.” Shacklebolt said, shaking hands with the other two men. As he
excused himself out he patted Hermione's shoulder and whispered “Well done”. Hermione wanted to thank him, but could
only muster another strong swallow.

“That's all then. You can get back to your office as well, Ms. Granger.”

Scamander smiled and Groglin bowed slightly. She shook her head gratefully, turned, and tried her best not to literally
dash for the door.

She had just barely made it before her stomach gave a final heave and she got sick violently in the first stall of the
fourth floor woman's bathroom.

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

Hermione stared at the clock, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. Please, no. Please. She silently prayed as the
hour hand struck three. Her leg bounced anxiously. It's all in your head. She picked up the quill lying on her desk and
twirled it between her fingers. Her eyes closed. And then she felt it - a light twinge deep in the pit of her stomach;
so soft that you would only ever notice it if you were waiting for it. Her heart dropped.

It had been a week since she'd been offered a new position with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A week from
the first day she'd gotten sick in the fourth floor woman's bathroom. And since then, everyday, for seven days in a row,
she'd gotten sick in the fourth floor woman's bathroom, like clockwork, at three in the afternoon. Every day, save for
the two days over the weekend where she'd gotten sick in the flat bathroom instead. She stood and walked miserably out
into the hallway, waiting for the familiar retching of her stomach and the watery, nauseous feeling to fill her mouth.

** THE WEDDING **

“Do you think she'll come?” Harry asked softly.

Ron sighed. The boys were still sitting out in the garden, staring at the altar. They had been silent since Luna had
left. Ron hadn't been sure what to say. He still wasn't. He shrugged.

“I don't know, mate. I'm sorry; I just…don't know.”

Harry nodded and twiddled his thumbs. Ron decided to take a chance.

“Do you want her to come?”

Harry opened his mouth and then slowly closed it again. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. When he opened them
again they were glassy.

“I don't know.” he said, shaking his head. “I really don't know.”

He looked desperately at Ron, who wished more than anything he had something remotely comforting to say. He patted his
friend on the shoulder.

“That's okay. It's okay not to know.”

[A/N]: For those of you who **think** you know where this is going (especially those disappointed by the thought) -
please give it a chance. I promise I'm much more creative than you're expecting. I write stories that I hope stand out -
not recycled storylines that readers have seen too many times to count.

-->

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4. untitled

[A/N]: So, a few of you felt the last chapter was a bit slow, and I can understand that. In my defense, this story was
originally written in one big chunk, so I'm doing my best to break it down into chapters. Also, I'm a “show” person.
Admittedly, I can get carried away, but I'm an amateur writer and I'm learning. :)

To those of you enjoying the story - great! Your diligence has paid off. Here we start to get some answers; and the
answers will continue coming from here on out. Again, expect twists. Sure, things could be as straight-forward and
simple as they appear - but, where's the fun in that?

To everyone: your reviews mean so much; praise and constructive criticisms alike. I thank you for taking the time to
review and hope you continue to do so!

-------------------------------------------------------

** 3 YEARS AGO **

When Harry apparated into the flat, it was completely dark. This was strange, because he was never home before Hermione
on the weekdays anymore. Not since he'd started training. He flicked the lights on with his wand. It was completely
quiet. Still, he wasn't particularly worried. She was probably getting a bite to eat with Luna or Hannah or something of
the like. He made his way down the dark hall and into the bedroom. He flourished his wand and the lights went on. He
immediately noticed a medium-sized bump under the blanket on the bed. He grinned and tip-toed over. Expecting to see the
angelic, peaceful face of his sleeping girlfriend, he was surprised when she rolled over at the last minute and looked
up at him with sad, red-rimmed eyes. He was a bit taken back.

“Hermione…what's wrong?” he asked, his voice thick with concern.

He sunk down onto the bed beside her and rubbed her shoulder tentatively. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks and she
sat up without speaking. Harry took her in his arms and ran his fingers through her hair, rocking gently as he waited
for her to compose herself. On the outside he appeared calm; inside, his heart hammered frantically as the very worst
possibilities flicked through his head. After five long minutes, she pulled away from his chest and looked into his
eyes. She blinked hard, twice.

“I'm pregnant.”

Harry's mind seemed unable to process the words she'd spoken. After all, they had been barely audible; her voice was dry
and cracked and low. He stared down at her, studying her face, trying to figure out if he had heard correctly. She was
completely serious.

“Are…are you sure?” he asked softly after almost a minute.

She nodded and bit her lip as new tears filled her eyes.

“I went to St. Mungo's after work. I've been feeling off the whole week; getting sick the same time every afternoon. I
had a pretty good idea; St. Mungo's just confirmed it.”

“Afternoon?” Harry interrupted. “I thought it was called morning sickness?”

“Common misconception.” Hermione sniffed. “It can actually occur anytime during the day. But, yes, most commonly in the
morning, which is where it derives its name.”

Harry smiled a bit, despite the situation. Leave it to Hermione to act like she was giving the answer to an exam, even
in her most emotional state. He stroked her arm. He knew he needed to proceed forward very gently.

“How did this happen?”

“The same way it always happens. Yours goes into mine and…”

“No, I mean, I thought you, you know…had ways of preventing this kinda thing from happening.”

Hermione glared at him.

“I do. I did. Magic isn't foolproof Harry. You of all people should know that.”

Harry considered what she said for a moment. He remembered a time long ago, during their second year, when they had
brewed polyjuice potion. Hermione had accidentally used a strand of cat fur instead of human hair in her share. The
results had been interesting, that was for sure. Harry's mind returned to the current issue.

“Well, how pregnant are you?”

“Two-thirds pregnant.” she replied sarcastically.

Harry rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

“About four weeks.” she sighed.

Harry nodded and held out four fingers. He counted wordlessly, screwing his face up in concentration.

“The night the Bubbling Brew Pub opened. Or that day rather.” she offered.

Harry smiled, remembering the day. She looked at him helplessly and his heart caught in his throat. She look
uncharacteristically unsure and small; so very, very small. He stroked her hair affectionately then placed his index
finger under her chin and gently lifted her head.

“We're really having a baby?” he asked, a goofy expression breaking across his face. “We really…we made a baby?”

Hermione nodded her head and sniffled. Harry smiled and kissed the wet trail on her cheeks where tears had fallen.

“We're young.” she breathed. “I'm not ready.”

“It will be okay.” he whispered. “If you want to get married, we'll get married. If you want to wait, we'll wait.” He
paused and kissed the top of her hand.

“I'm going to be a dad.” he said incredulously.

Hermione sighed and curled up in Harry's lap. She was terrified and exhausted, but he was warm and he was strong; and
some how, some way, with his arms wrapped tightly around her, things seemed like they just might be ok.

---------------------------------

** WEDDING DAY **

Hermione's heart tore in her chest. Her face crumpled up and she shoved the back of her fist into her mouth. She bit
down hard, almost to the point of drawing blood, willing herself to pull it together. The Burrow wasn't much further and
time seemed to be playing in fast forward. I'm not ready. I can't face this. She nibbled her bottom lip. I can't face
him. A flutter of panic filtered through her veins.

“We need to stop.” she practically yelled, startling both her parents.

“Stop? Right this instant?” her mother asked, turning to the backseat to study her daughters face with concern.

“Er, no.” Hermione answered sheepishly after a moment. “I…uh…need to use the bathroom.”

Her mother started to say how they were really quite close to the Weasley's, but Mr. Granger held up a hand, silencing
her.

“Next place I see, we'll stop.” he said, aware that a full bladder was probably not the main cause of his daughter's
outburst.

Hermione let out a sigh of relief and sat back against the vinyl seat. She knew a stop would only prolong her inevitable
arrival, but she just wasn't ready yet. She wasn't sure if she'd ever be truly ready.

----------------------------------------

** 3 YEARS AGO **

Ron pushed his chair back from the table and stretched his arms over his head.

“Delicious, Hermione! I didn't think you could cook.” he exclaimed.

“Of course she can!” Harry laughed. “She can do anything as long as it has instructions that come in a book.”

“Oh, thanks, Harry.” Hermione snorted. “Glad you two have such confidence in me.”

Hermione began to clear the empty plates from the table, but Harry immediately stood and grabbed them from her hands.
She seemed to consider arguing for a moment, but instead sighed in resignation. Harry brought them over to the sink and
left them washing themselves.

“Let's go into the sitting room.” Harry suggested, rising from his seat at the table and leading his best mate and
girlfriend out of the kitchen.

Ron plopped down comfortably onto the brown, marshmallowy couch. Something was up, that much he was sure of. His two
oldest friends had been acting weird all night. Harry, for one, had been almost suffocatingly protective of Hermione. He
pulled out her chair, refused to let her carry anything heavier than her wand and commented on the nutritional value of
the sprouts she'd left uneaten on her plate. And, Harry's face had practically glowed all night. Hermione's however, had
looked melancholy and lined with exhaustion. Ron cracked his knuckles. Stretches of silence had also plagued his visit,
which was particularly abnormal. His best mates seemed distracted, and although he had been invited over, he felt a bit
intrusive.

“I guess now is as good a time as ever.” Harry said, rubbing his hands together anxiously once they'd all settled in.

Hermione shrugged. Ron cocked his eye-brow with interest.

“Okay.” Harry's eyes gleamed. “We are…well Hermione is…”

Ron leaned in closer, eagerly waiting for Harry to finish his sentence.

“We're going to have a baby.” Harry blurted out beaming.

Ron's mouth dropped open uncontrollably and a look of complete shock dashed across his face.

“A baby? How?”

He whistled, looking back and forth between his friends.

“Oh, Ron, don't make me explain it to you.” Hermione said impatiently.

Harry made a cheering motion with his fists then reached over and gave Hermione's stomach a pat. She pulled away. The
rift was obvious to Ron. He wondered if his two mates realized just how different the expressions playing in their eyes
were.

“Well are you just going to sit there you git? Or are you going to shake my hand?” Harry chuckled.

Ron rose from the couch and pulled Harry into a hug, patting him on the back. When they released each other, Ron moved
to Hermione. He hugged her gently and she stiffened.

“Wow. Congratulations.” Ron remarked, stepping back and shaking his head. “Who else knows?”

Harry looked around the room with a grin and shrugged. Ron nodded in understanding.

“I can't believe it either.” Harry sighed dreamily. “Me. A dad.”

“You'll make a great dad, mate.” Ron reassured, smiling warmly.

“Of course, bringing a pure-blood into this world is really going against Hermione's huge pro-muggle born campaign, but
what can you do?” Harry teased.

Ron looked at Hermione. She didn't laugh. She didn't even smile. Actually, she looked lost; lost and small.

Hermione disappeared from the room shortly after the announcement and Ron didn't see her again that night. He and Harry
shared a few butterbeers and played a few games of wizard's chess, before he decided it was time for him to go. He gave
Harry another tight embrace and a pat on the shoulder then apparated home, an ominous sense of foreboding tugging
somewhere within his gut.

Harry cleaned up the chess set and made sure the dishes had put themselves away properly before turning out the lights
and heading to bed. The bedroom was dark, but he could make out Hermione's familiar outline. He undressed quietly and
then slid under the blanket next to her. He wrapped his arm around her, resting his hand on her stomach and she turned
over, pulling away from him. He propped himself up on his elbow and tried to playfully slide her closer to him, but she
stiffened.

“Harry, just stop.” she huffed.

Harry's eyes squinted in confusion.

“What's wrong?” he whispered.

Hermione didn't answer. After a few moments, he sat up in the darkness and leaned over his girlfriend, resting his cheek
lightly on her abdomen.

“You're mother is beautiful and smart, but, Merlin, can she be cranky!” Harry spoke softly to Hermione's belly.

She made an agitated sound and pushed his head away hard.

“Okay, come on. What's wrong, Hermione?”

Harry sat up, frustrated and grabbed his wand from the night table.

“Lumos.”

The tip of his wand glowed, casting shadows across the floor and walls. He held the light source out at Hermione. She
sighed with aggravation.

“What's wrong? You want to know what's wrong?”

Harry nodded his head vigorously and Hermione let out a sharp, sarcastic laugh.

“I'm pregnant, Harry. I'm having a baby. That's what's wrong. I'm having a baby and I don't want to. I just got a
promotion; a promotion requiring longer hours. How does a baby fit into that?”

Harry sucked in his breath and touched her shoulder. He felt a stab of hurt as she flinched under his touch.

“Hermione, if it's about the money…we have plenty…”

Hermione shook her head.

“No, Harry. You don't get it. It has nothing to do with the money. I wanted that promotion. I want that job. I don't
want to be a mother. Not now. Our lives have finally calmed down. We finally have a chance to be normal; for things to
be uncomplicated.”

Harry watched her quietly. Her voice was rising higher and higher as she continued.

“…and you! You're so into this. You're excited to tell people. You're happy. And I feel alone…alone and miserable. And
you…you want to talk to the baby and touch the baby and sing to the baby and I just want to forget it. I can't breathe.
You're always watching me; watching what I'm eating, watching what I'm picking up. I want to scream.”

Harry's lips were pursed tightly together and his eyes were sad and dark. He let the light on the tip of his wand fade,
cloaking them once again in darkness. Silence stretched between them. After a long while Harry stood from the bed.
Grabbing his pillow, he walked stiffly to the bedroom door.

“I'm sorry you don't want this.” he said before pulling the door open and walking out.

“I'm sorry you do.” Hermione whispered to an empty room.

------------------------

Hermione woke slowly the next morning, letting the conversation from the night before filter through her memory in
pieces. She groaned and rubbed her eyes sleepily. Sunlight was pooling on the floor through an open window behind the
bed and she idly wondered what time it was. She sighed and rolled over, looking at Harry's empty side of the bed. She
bit her bottom lip as guilt washed over her.

After lying in bed a few extra minutes, she rose to her feet, stretching her arms up over her head. She had been wrong
to be so selfish towards Harry last night, but she was stubborn and proud and wasn't looking forward to apologizing.
Still, she knew it had to be done. Slowly, she crept out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the smell of frying bacon
immediately filling her nostrils. She tip-toed quietly to the kitchen, pausing in the door way and silently watching the
man she loved standing over the stove.

Harry's back was bare as he was only wearing a pair of loose fitting pajama bottoms. She could easily make out the
contours of his back and shoulder muscles as he fidgeted his arms, waiting for the bacon to fry. He ran his hands
through his mess of black hair before a spit of grease flew out of the pan, burning his chest.

“Bloody effing brilliant.” he cursed quietly.

“Are you ok?” Hermione spoke up from the doorway, moving to tend to his wounds.

He jumped, surprised by the voice behind him.

“Oh, I'm fine.” he answered, pulling her into his arms and squeezing tightly.

He kissed the top of her head. Hermione already knew he had forgiven her. He always let her off the hook, even when she
was wrong. Usually, she was grateful. Today, however, she felt guilty.

“Harry, I'm sorry.” she said into his chest.

He poked his fingers playfully into her sides and she squirmed, exploding into giggles.

“What's that? I didn't hear you.” Harry teased, continuing to tickle her.

“Har…I…said…so-so-sorry!” she choked out, unable to catch her breath through the laughter.

“What?” he asked again, pretending not to have heard her. “You love me? Is that what you said?”

He released her and she sunk down at the kitchen table, her chest rising and falling heavily as she tried to catch her
breath.

“Yes, Harry.” she said after composing herself. “I love you. I love you and you're too good to me.”

Harry laughed and slid some bacon off the pan and onto two plates waiting on the counter. He carried them over to the
table, setting one down in front of Hermione and the other at his own place. With a flick of his wand, which had been
tucked in the waist band of his bottoms, the toast rack floated over along with a jar of red-colored jam. Hermione
pushed a piece of bacon around idly while Harry watched with raised eyebrows. After a few seconds, he grabbed her hand
from across the table and squeezed gently. They looked at each other silently for a moment, then Hermione spoke.

“It's going to be alright.” she said, sounding like she was convincing herself more than him.

Still, Harry nodded.

“I'm going to see the good in this.” she continued. “I'm going to get excited. We're having a baby.”

Again, Harry nodded, giving her hand a second tiny squeeze.

“We're having a baby.” she repeated, as brightly as she could possibly muster. “We are having a baby.”

--------------------------------

It had been three weeks and the summer was slowly drawing to a close. Hermione was trying her very best to stay
positive. It was the least she could do. She owed it to Harry. She owed it to Harry more than he knew. He loved her new
enthusiasm towards having a family, even if it was a bit forced. Hermione found it endearing how he doted on her;
showering her with affection. It reminded her of their early times together, snuggling in her private Prefect bedroom,
completely content just being near one another. It was as though their love was new and unfamiliar again. Still, late at
night when Hermione couldn't sleep and cold truth settled in, tears would dampen her pillow and she'd wonder how this
could have possibly happened to her. She didn't tell anyone at the Ministry about her condition. She didn't know how
long she could wait, but she was willing to find out. She didn't tell her parents either. She couldn't bring herself to
and it made her feel ashamed. She knew they'd be supportive, but telling people made it real. And, sadly, deep down, she
still didn't want it to be real. Sometimes, she'd catch Harry staring; just, staring at her with a completely goofy look
of awe. It made her feel beautiful; it made her feel giggly. But most of all, it made her feel guilty. Her secrets were
heavy and they wore her down. They were plentiful and painful to endure alone. Still, she knew it would be worse to
share them.

Neither knew just how precariously their life together as they knew it was dangling over the edge. Neither knew the end
had already begun and was picking up speed. It was silent, like carbon monoxide and just as potent. It wasn't all at
once. The worst breaks start as fractures that slowly lose their give over time. The stage was set and the villains had
been introduced. Now, the audience was just waiting.

An owl had arrived a few days before. It delivered a letter from her parents. It always made her giggle, as they began
every owl-sent letter with “Hello Love, I don't know if we've done this properly, but…” She loved how they'd taken an
open arms approach to magic. Buying and caring for their own owl had only been one of the many ways they had tried to
incorporate as much magic as possible into their Muggle lives. Hermione knew she was lucky to have them, but on this
particular morning it made her feel uncomfortably guilty. In the letter they had sent their love and asked if she would
visit sometime soon. Today, she was doing just that. She was visiting, but she was also getting some weight off her
shoulders. Today she would share her secret; today she would reveal the truth.

------------------------------

Harry and Ron were sitting at the kitchen table, huddled close to the wireless. Every now and then Hermione would hear
an outburst of clapping or groaning, depending on how the Quidditch game played out. She flattened her blouse against
her stomach, wondering how long it would be before she started to show; before the truth would be visible. Sighing, she
left the bedroom and headed for the kitchen where the boys were now whooping it up.

“So, who's winning?” she asked, passing through the doorway.

“Oh come on Hermione! The Chudley Canons of course!” Ron exclaimed incredulously.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but laughed. She walked over to where Harry sat and placed her hands on his shoulders,
massaging gently.

“I'm going to go to my parent's house now. I'll probably stay for dinner, but I trust you two can handle getting a meal
on your own.”

Both boys nodded and leaned in closer to the wireless. Hermione sighed. They weren't listening.

“Ok, then. Bye.”

She turned, readying herself for apparition when suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed her arm, causing her to jump.
She followed the arm up to the shoulder and then to the head, where two green eyes were staring at her in disbelief.

“What are you doing?” she asked crossly.

“What are you doing?” Harry countered with just as much anger.

“If you were listening to me instead of that stupid Quidditch game, you would have heard me say I was going to visit my
parent's.” she shot.

“I heard you.” he said impatiently. “Hermione, you were about to apparate. What are you thinking?”

She stared at him, wrinkling her brow in confusion.

“Oh, I don't know! I was thinking I was baking a cake!” she said sarcastically.

“You can't apparate!” he cried, then added in a whisper, “You're pregnant.”

Her mouth hung open and she shook her head.

“I can't apparate because I'm pregnant?” she snorted, emphasizing the word pregnant. “And why are you whispering? It's
not a secret. Ron knows. You couldn't wait to tell him remember? You just can't wait to be a dad, can you?”

She knew her anger was becoming a bit irrational, but what was this rubbish about apparition?

“No. You can't apparate. You can't apparate because you're pregnant. It isn't safe, you don't know how your body will
react. You'll end up spliced for sure.” Harry replied, ignoring her jabs.

“Oh, and startling me mid-apparation is a brilliant idea. Regularly, there is just the chance of splicing…why not ensure
it happens and then blame it on me, right?”

Harry glared at her.

“You're not apparating.”

Hermione's blood boiled. She hated being spoken to as though she were a child; and in front of Ron, nonetheless.

“Oh, honestly Harry. What do you think pregnant witches have been doing for hundreds of years?” Hermione said through
clenched teeth. She tried to pull her arm away, but Harry tightened his grip.

“Flying.” he snapped. “Shall I fetch your broom?”

He raised his eyebrows. He knew full well she despised flying. She scowled.

“So, then what? I'll just walk?” she asked, still trying to twist her arm loose.

“Take the car Hermione.” he said, his voice softer.

“The drive will take forever!”

“Oh, right.” Harry quipped. “Then your suggestion was much better. Walk if you want.”

Hermione caught Ron out of the corner of her eye and suddenly felt embarrassed. Tears pricked at the corners of her
eyes. She gave a final tug and Harry released her arm. She hated these precautions, she hated this situation and she
hated the stresses she carried all alone. She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand angrily, spun on her heels and
stalked away. She pulled the car keys off their hook and left, slamming the door behind her as hard as she could.

“Hormones mate.” Ron offered, trying to comfort his pal.

Harry shrugged and sighed.

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5. CHAPTER 5

[A/N]: Well, surprisingly, I don't have much commentary for this chapter. It's pretty self-explanatory. I suppose that's
a good thing. (Although now, instead of saying anything of consequence - I'm just rambling.) So, I'll go with my ol'
stand by…

Thank you for all the amazing reviews. Your interest in the story is extremely rewarding and I can only hope that I
continue to meet your expectations. :]

Disclaimer: Still waiting to somehow magically receive partial ownership of HP and related materials. Today wasn't that
day, but there is always tomorrow.

---------------------------------------------------

**THE WEDDING DAY **

The dark blue sedan rolled slowly into the petrol station. Thom Granger pulled up to a pump and brought the car to a
stop.

“Might as well fill up while were here.” he said to no one in particular.

Hermione unfastened her seatbelt and got out of the car, slinging her handbag over her shoulder and heading towards the
small shop to their right. She strode across the lot, to the door and pulled it open. The light tinkling of a bell
announced her presence and a rather scruffy looking teenager looked up briefly from the magazine he was reading behind
the cashier's counter. She could see a door in the back left corner of the shop that looked like it might lead into a
lavatory. She made her way around the rows of shelves, to the door and gave a slight push. Her instincts had been
correct. It was grimy and a yellow light bulb cast a dingy glow on the dull porcelain, but it offered solitude and for
that she was thankful. She unzipped her handbag and slowly pulled out her wand. The wood felt strange against her
fingers, yet comfortingly familiar. She rarely pulled it out anymore; magic had become painful.

She stood in front of the sink and used the wand to quickly turn on the faucet, deciding against handling the
germ-ridden knobs herself. She ran her hands under the stream of water then brought them to her face, transferring the
cool liquid to her cheeks and forehead. She used her wand again to turn off the sink and then placed it back into her
bag. There were no spells, no magic words, no potions that could make this any easier. She would be armed with deep
breaths and a strong exterior, nothing more.

She left the loo and exited the shop, eliciting another disinterested glance from the young cashier. She resigned to the
fact that there were no more ways to prolong her arrival. By the time she slipped into the backseat, the tank had been
filled. Now nothing stood between Hermione and the Burrow.

“All set then?” her dad asked.

She nodded and offered a weak smile and the sedan rolled out of the station and back onto the road.

** 3 YEARS AGO **

Hermione wiped away her tears with the back of her hands then pounded the steering wheel with her fists. She hated
today, she hated this moment, she hated this feeling, she hated these secrets. She hated the way Harry had spoken to her
and she hated the way Ron had shifted uncomfortably while they had argued. She hated the guilt. She hated hurting the
man she loved.

She knew the drive to her parent's house well; Harry often suggested they take the car there because the ride was
relaxing and scenic. Yet, Hermione was anything but relaxed this afternoon. However, it wasn't the tension or her lack
of driving skills that caused the accident a half an hour down the road. The car in the other lane swerved over the line
too fast for her to have any reaction, brightest witch of her year or not. Her only faults were lack of foresight and
being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

---------------------------------

Ron slid an empty butterbeer bottle back and forth on the kitchen table between his hands. The Quidditch game had ended
over two hours ago, with the Chudley Cannons emerging victoriously, and Harry now seemed restless. He paced the kitchen,
pausing to look out the window every now and again expectantly. Ron was doing his best to keep a light conversation
going, but finding it increasingly difficult. Something was hanging in the air; something unpleasant, but
unidentifiable. It was an afternoon Ron would always remember, filled with anger at life's utter unfairness; an
afternoon that would haunt him forever; where he felt helpless and words felt meaningless. He wished he could have
somehow, any how, been more prepared.

There was a sudden tap at the kitchen window and Harry jumped. He wasn't sure why it had startled him; he'd been waiting
anxiously for the sound of an owl beak against the pane. He knew that despite their argument, once Hermione reached her
parent's house and calmed down she would send word. Not to do so would be cruel. He opened the window just enough for
the dark brown owl to swoop in and drop an envelope onto the kitchen table. It hadn't crossed Harry's mind that
Hermione's parent's owned a spotted white owl. Maybe if it had, he would have waited to open the letter. Maybe if it
had, he would have prolonged the inevitable just a little bit longer and hung in naïve bliss just a short while more.

Ron was the first to see the thick red letters on the front of the envelope that read “Urgent! To Harry James Potter”,
but Harry was the first to pick it up. Reading the front of the envelope himself, he exchanged worried glances with his
best mate. Although the bright red letters suggested otherwise, Harry hesitated. Then with a deep breath, he slid his
finger under the flap and tore it away. Ron watched silently as Harry pulled the folded parchment out and ran his eyes
across the print. His eyes widened and his face paled. Ron stood instinctively.

“What is it mate? What does it say?”

Harry's mouth twisted, but no words came out. Unable to speak he held out the letter to Ron with a shaking hand, then
dashed down the hall and into the bedroom to change. Ron took the parchment and settled his eyes onto the print.

Dear Mr. Potter,

At 3:57 p.m. on the current date of August 17, Hermione Jean Granger was admitted into our care after sustaining minor
injuries as a result of a Muggle vehicle related accident. We assure you that the patient will make a full recovery and
request that you proceed to our facility as soon as possible. We ask that you please do so in a safe manner, as we do
not need you occupying a bed here as well.

Sincerely,

Helena Hornbee,

St. Mungo's Healer

Harry returned to the kitchen as Ron finished reading the letter a second time. Looking up into the pained, frozen face
of his oldest friend, Ron couldn't find any words to say.

“Ron…I've-I've…got to go.” he stammered.

“Of course. Do you want me to go with you?”

Harry seemed to consider the offer for a moment then shook his head.

“No. No, that's okay.”

Ron nodded then took his friend by the shoulders.

“The letter said she's okay. She's okay, Harry.”

Harry nodded and allowed a whoosh of breath to exit his lungs.

“I'll send word when I know what happened…when I know what's going on.” Harry promised.

With that, he closed his eyes and silently praying while he waited for the tugging sensation of apparition to wash over
him. It only took a few seconds before the uncomfortable pushing and pulling feeling stopped and Harry opened his eyes.
He hadn't been able to concentrate properly at all and was shocked he'd ended up outside of St. Mungo's in one piece.

St. Mungo's was one of the few places in the wizarding world that was completely visible to Muggles - if they knew where
to look of course. The entrance was hidden behind a large, red department building on an inconspicuous London street. A
sign hung on front reading “Closed for Refurbishing” to further mislead any curious wanderers. There were two large
windows, inside one of which sat a dummy sporting outdated clothing. To Muggles, it appeared to be an abandoned shop;
wizards however, knew better. Harry tapped the glass impatiently, awakening the dummy who grumbled in annoyance before
motioning toward the entrance, fulfilling his duty as gatekeeper and allowing Harry passage. After hearing a low click,
Harry pushed the doors open and stepped inside. The busy atmosphere inside St. Mungo's was a stark contrast to the
desolate, seemingly deserted exterior. The reception area was lined with victims of unfortunate mishaps - among them two
young wizards who seemed to have gotten their heads stuck together, a witch whom had sprouted a long orange tail and
another who was hiccupping large pink bubbles.

Harry was moving through the crowd, heading for the reception desk when a hand reached out and grabbed him by the
forearm. He turned quickly and came face to face - or rather, chest to face as she was quite short, with a woman dressed
in a St. Mungo's nurse uniform. She was round, especially in the face and had a messy, wild bun piled on top of her
head. Her eyes were a peculiar shade of purple, but kind and crinkled at the corners from a lifetime of smiles. There
was a large clip board tucked under her arm and a quill tucked behind her ear.

“Harry Potter?” she asked, not waiting for an answer before pulling him with her down a long, white hallway. “I've been
awaiting your arrival.”

He nodded and allowed himself to be dragged into the lift at the end of the long corridor, which descended a level
before opening again.

“I am Helena Hornbee. I owled you about Ms. Granger, as per her request.” she said, stopping outside the lift. She took
the clipboard out from under her arm and flipped the first page over. “They just moved her…now let me see…ah hah. She's
just three doors down on your left.”

She motioned down the hall. Harry's stature gave him a clear view of the clipboard she had been studying. The top of the
page read “Hermione Jean Granger” in neat, black print, followed by several lines of red ink listing her injuries. All
seemed rather minor - a cut here, a bruised rib there- all, except for one. It was haphazardly circled and bolder than
the others and stung Harry sharply the moment it sunk in. Helena snapped the clipboard up, burying it in her bosom.
Harry's feet felt heavy and his throat dry. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

“How-how does she look?” Harry asked, swallowing hard.

Helena smiled comfortingly.

“She's a bit banged up. A few cuts and bruises, but nothing you really need to prepare yourself to see.”

Harry nodded slowly, thanked her and headed for the third door on the left.

-----------------

Hermione stared at the ceiling, counting the tiles and making patterns in her mind as she waited for Harry to arrive.
Her heart broke for him - imagining him opening the letter, imagining his reaction, his fear. Her heart broke for how
he'd have to see her and more so for what he'd have to hear. She hoped that Ron had still been there when the owl had
arrived. If anyone could be a crutch for Harry, it was Ron; and Hermione hoped that his mere presence helped keep Harry
together.

Her mind had been all over the place when Harry strode through the doorway of the third room on the left. Distracted by
her thoughts, she almost hadn't noticed him until he was sitting next to her on the bed, his green eyes pooling with
worry and helplessness as he studied her face. She reached up instinctively to cover a particularly large gash over her
left cheekbone, but he grabbed her hand away, wordlessly, and kissed her fingers ever so lightly, terrified of hurting
her.

“Har-…“ she croaked, but he shook his head to silence her. Tears formed in his eyes, but he remained solid, blinking
them away and running a hand through his hair.

He already knew. Somehow, he already knew. Hermione didn't know it had been revealed to him through a curious look at
the clipboard Helena Horbee had been holding. She didn't know how angry it made him that it was lumped in with the minor
bruises and superficial cuts that would all heal in a few weeks time. She didn't know that something in Harry had
cracked; the result of an undeserving blame too heavy to bear. She reached out and wrapped an arm around his waist. He
let her pull him gently down, until his head was resting against her chest. She gently stroked her fingers through his
hair.

Hermione was glad he couldn't see her face in this position. She wanted to cry and she wanted to share the loss the man
she loved was feeling. It disgusted her that her eyes were dry. It disgusted her that it was relief and not despair that
kept her silent.

Hermione's immediate fear had been that Harry would think she'd purposely put herself in harms way, or even caused the
accident herself. He didn't. What ended up happening was much worse.

*********

Hermione was released from St. Mungo's twenty-four hours later with a jar of healing salve and instructions to take it
easy the next few days. They returned to the flat via the Floo network, which was much gentler than apparition or any
type of flying. Harry insisted she get right into bed and allow him to bring her dinner. She had initially argued, but
resigned to the fact that she was still quite tired and sore and did as he said.

Something was causing a nervous flutter in the pit of her stomach, but she couldn't quite pinpoint the source. Harry had
been uncharacteristically quiet and despondent since he'd first arrived in her room at St. Mungo's and even her gentle,
tasteful attempts to lighten his mood had been met with resistance. Still, it wasn't something to be particularly
nervous about. He'd been hit hard and was understandably grieving. Nevertheless, something Hermione couldn't seem to put
her finger on was making her worry.

It wasn't until three weeks later that Hermione could no longer pretend everything was okay and the problem finally
surfaced. It was late, past midnight, and she lay in bed feeling the warmth radiating from Harry's body against her
back. She knew he wasn't sleeping; he never slept during the night anymore. In fact, most nights he wasn't even home. He
would leave in the evening, usually after pushing his dinner disinterestedly around his plated, claiming to be meeting
friends at this or that pub. He never invited Hermione and he never gave specific names. Then he would wander, or
sometimes rather stumble, into the bedroom at an obscenely early morning hour and collapse fully dressed into bed.
Sometime he'd sleep clear through to the afternoon, skipping training and skipping meals. Hermione had tried to address
the situation when it first began and he had looked at her with the saddest, most helpless of eyes and told her that he
was doing what he needed to get over the loss. She had immediately felt guilty, having needed no time at all to mourn
losing the baby and had dropped the subject in fear of having to admit so. She had comforted herself, vowing to give him
time and she assured herself he would work it out of his system.

After two weeks of watching the situation get worse instead of better, she had confided in Ron, hoping he could help
break Harry from his self-destructive cycle. Ron had tried, and was still trying, to no avail. Hermione became
particularly concerned when Ron reveled he'd only met Harry for drinks out once since the accident; his claims of
meeting friends down at “said” pub, oddly enough were not involving his oldest and dearest.

Hermione lay motionless, considering the situation. She had been unable to break through to him emotionally and it was
time to asses other options. Tonight she would attempt to break through his barrier physically. She had no idea how he
would react, but she was prepared to let him have her however he wanted. He had been distant lately, but not
particularly cold. He would kiss her when she got home from work or before he went out for the night, but they were
obligatory and lacked any ounce of passion. He would squeeze her shoulders and caress her face as he thanked her for
dinner, (even though he rarely ate any of it), but it was more habit than anything else; his eyes were distracted and
his voice was empty.

She'd had enough. She wanted the pre-baby life back. She had lost the baby - it was no longer inside of her, no longer
her secret to bear; yet it was still taking things from her, still twisting her life into an unidentifiable mess. She
had to put an end to this. The man she loved was right beside her, yet she was lying here, missing him terribly. The
distance between them was much wider than the mere space of sheets on the bed; she longed for closeness and ached for
his touch.

Hermione turned over to face Harry. As she'd suspected, he wasn't sleeping, yet as she propped herself up on her elbow,
he closed his eyes. Refusing to give up easily, she sat up on her knees and positioned her upper body over him, planting
an arm on each side of his head. She used one of her knees to spread apart his legs, meeting some initial resistance,
before allowing themselves to be parted. Harry's eyes opened slowly as she repositioned the bottom half of her body
against his. His expression was unreadable as her warm brown eyes studied his piercing green ones, but he hadn't made
any attempts to stop her, so she slowly continued, grinding her hips hard against him. As a result of the friction she
quickly felt him begin to stiffen against her abdomen and she started lightly kissing his throat; pushing her lips
against his neck then up across his jaw line. When she reached his lips, however, she met an unexpected reaction that
robbed the breath from her lungs. Harry's arms wrapped around her tightly and he rolled, moving above her and
subsequently trapping her beneath him. He ran a hand up her leg and under the long Weird Sister's tee-shirt she had worn
to bed, dragging his fingertips against her thigh. His lips pressed hard against hers and his tongue delved hungrily
into her mouth. When they parted, Hermione gasped for breath and he tangled his hand in her hair, pulling a fist full
hard, snapping her head back and exposing the delicate skin of her throat. She didn't care; she didn't need to breathe.
Right now she was getting somewhere, she was tearing down his walls and that was all she needed. He kissed the length of
her neck, creating a slippery trail with his tongue down to the valley between her breasts. Then as suddenly as he had
grabbed her, he released her; acting as though his hands had been burned.

He moved away from her and sat up on the side of the bed, burying his head in his hands. Hermione scooted across the bed
towards him and placed her hands gently on his shoulders. He shrugged them off and stood. Her hopes had been so high.
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Why wouldn't he just let her in?

“Harry, what's happening?” she asked quietly, letting the tears spill over onto her cheeks.

“I'm sorry. I just-I just can't.” Harry answered.

He shook his head and his shoulders hunched forward.

“You can't what? What can't you do?” she pushed, her voice rising higher with each word. “Tell me what you can't do. Let
me try to help you.”

He glared at her, but it wasn't a look of anger. He looked…terrified. She watched the breath leave his lungs and his
eyes close.

“I can't feel.” he said, almost inaudibly.

Hermione leaned as close to him as she could without falling off the bed, desperate to pick up every word that came from
his mouth.

“I can't feel anything.” he repeated slowly, his voice unsteady. “I can't think. Not about anything…anything but…”

He stopped. His eyes opened. Hermione hung in the silence. He pushed his hands into his mess of black hair.

“I made you take the car.” he said finally. “You wanted to apparate, but I-I made you take the car.

-------------------------------------------------------

[A/N]: Next chapter? The long awaited break up. The possibilities are endless…

-->

------------------------------------------------------------------------

6. CHAPTER 6

[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.

-->

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7. CHAPTER 7

[A/N]: Hello readers!!! Firstly, I apologize profusely for not updating sooner. I promise I have not abandoned or
forgotten about this story. I got a virus on my computer, compliments of my college library. I was terrified I'd end up
losing all my work but *thankfully* all was repairable/salvageable for a pretty penny. That being said, I have very
happily returned to PK and the internet in general. The concluding chapters are very much on their way.

Now, as far as the story: quite a range of responses on the last chapter. For those shocked & disgusted - please, have a
little faith in me. This IS portkey after all. I must say, I was a little discouraged, but I know you can't please
everyone. For those of you who were disappointed because you “don't like affair fics”, I'm sorry to have wasted your
time, but for obvious reason's I couldn't reveal the fact ahead of time. Still, I hope, hope, hope you give the rest a
chance. A few of you are on the right track. Of course I still have a few twists up my sleeve - so please, don't give up
on the story. In the Harry Potter world things are very rarely as they seem.

We've reached a point in the story where real time has caught up with our characters. Flashbacks are finished for the
most part meaning we are in the home stretch.

I still sadly own nothing. My profit comes in the form of reviews, so please take the time to do so. :]

** WEDDING DAY **

Hermione's palms grew moist as the sedan took a left onto the familiar dirt road leading up to the Burrow. Her heart
hammered away in her chest. She felt like a child who was facing her peers for the first time, worried desperately about
how she would fit in. This was absurd, because even as a young girl she'd never really cared much what people thought of
her. Even more so, she was about to face friends; friends she'd all but abandoned, but friends nonetheless. Surely they
wouldn't shun her, would they? She closed her eyes to try and clear her head. When she opened them, the Burrow was in
view. Her stomach lurched. There were a few cars parked outside, although most guests had probably used magical means of
transportation so there was no real way to tell how many people had already arrived. Thom Granger pulled into an open
space, parked and turned off the car. None of them moved.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger didn't know the whole story behind their daughter's split from the infamous Harry Potter. Actually,
there were only two people who knew the truth, the real truth. After Harry had all but physically thrown her out of the
flat that afternoon, Hermione had apparated home. She'd had nowhere else to go. Mr. and Mrs. Granger had been delighted
to hear the pop of an apparition come from the sitting room. They knew the sound well and associated it with a visit
from their daughter. They'd rushed down the hall, Mrs. Granger with her arms wide open, but had been struck motionless
when they found their daughter crumpled on her knees, sobbing into the carpet floor.

The story was complicated and exhausting to tell. Hermione didn't bother trying. Her parents never even knew she was
pregnant. She couldn't bear to hurt anyone anymore today; anymore ever again. Instead, she relayed the events without
ever mentioning a baby. She said Harry had grown increasingly distant, that he wouldn't let her in and they barely ever
spoke. She said their relationship had crumbled despite attempts to salvage it. Her parents had been supportive and
although they suspected there was much more to their daughter's story, they never pushed.

“So, shall we?” Mr. Granger asked softly, pulling the key from the ignition.

Hermione took a deep breath. Time had betrayed her. Too much time separated her from Harry; too much and now not enough.
Silently, she opened the car door, let her legs swing out and stood stiffly.

Her father and mother followed her, exchanging a few weak smiles. Mr. Granger kissed the top of his daughter's head then
wrapped his arm around her shoulders supportively as they walked up to the front of the Burrow. When they reached the
door it was Hermione who stretched out a fist and knocked gently. She was afraid if there was any hesitation, she might
run in terror back to the car.

The front door of the Burrow flew open almost immediately. Apparently on the welcoming committee, Fleur looked pristine
as usual in an ice blue, low cut dress with her long, silky hair pulled back immaculately. She didn't try to hide her
surprise, her blue eyes widening as they met Hermione's brown ones.

“Ermione! Eez eet really you?”

Fleur threw her arms around a stiffened Hermione, squeezing her as though they were long lost sisters.

“Hello Fleur.” Hermione said, breaking the embrace. “Do you remember my parents?”

Hermione pushed her parents in front of her, using them as a shield. Fleur bowed theatrically.

“Ov course. Come in, come in. Eet ez so good to zee you!”

Hermione took a deep breath and stepped inside the Burrow. She was hit with an immediate sense of nostalgia. So many of
her childhood memories were set in the comforts of the Burrow among the Weasley's, among Harry. She glanced around
taking in the familiar living space. Her eyes roamed over the furniture and décor, coming to rest on a large, free
standing wooden clock between the kitchen and the sitting room. There were six hands on the clock's face, each etched
with the first name of a member of the Weasley family. Instead of telling time, this clock told location. Five of the
hands pointed at “home”. One, did not. This one never moved anymore. Looking at Fred's immobile hand on the enchanted
clock made Hermione feel guilty. It had been far too long since she'd last been to the Burrow. Her thoughts were broken
by a high pitched squeal. Before she even had time to look around the room, she was pulled into a tight embrace.

“My, my! Just look at you dear!”

Hermione recognized Mrs. Weasley's voice as well as the heavy scent of her cinnamon perfume. After hugging a bit longer,
Mrs. Weasley pushed her away, holding her out at arms length and taking in the sight of the once young, domineering girl
who had very much grown up. Hermione wanted to say something, wanted to apologize for not visiting, but no words made
their way to her mouth.

“How you've all grown…” Mrs. Weasley sighed wistfully. For a moment her eyes went some place else. Hermione bit her lip.

“It's so good to see you, Mrs. Weasley. I've missed the Burrow.” Hermione said sheepishly and meant it.

“Well, young lady, I'm sure everyone will be absolutely thrilled to see you! I know I am. It's been so long dear.” Mrs.
Weasley exclaimed, smiling broadly.

“Too long. I'm sorry.” Hermione whispered.

“Tut, tut!” Mrs. Weasley said, waving her hand dismissively. “None of that. You are a busy girl, all grown up with a
life of your own. I couldn't expect you, Ron and Harry to stay fourteen forever; drinking pumpkin juice and playing
Wizard's Chess on the kitchen table, now could I?”

Hermione let a genuine smile slip across her face.

“Now we must chat later. I'd love to hear all about what you've been up to. But, right now, there is just so much to do.
Come! I'll take you out back. Ron's back there with Neville and Luna. Oh, and I believe Harry too. What a lovely
surprise this will be.” Mrs. Weasley didn't notice how Hermione's face paled. Hermione opened her mouth to protest,
perhaps claim she had to use the bathroom, but knew it was too late. Everything was about to come to a head.

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

Harry stood, reaching his arms above his head in a stretch. The backyard had gotten more crowded. Clumps of guests stood
around chatting and laughing. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Ron. His face was a visible shade of white as
he darted back and forth between Neville and Luna, relaying some sort of message. Their eyes met briefly, but Ron looked
away quickly. Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck prick up. Ron's avoidance of eye contact was a clear indicator
that something was up. Sighing deeply, Harry readied himself for whatever news lay ahead of him then sauntered coolly to
where Neville stood.

“So…” Harry offered, watching Neville shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“Ready?” Neville asked with a nervous smile and a quick glance around the backyard.

“To get married? I guess I better be.” Harry laughed dryly, although he had a feeling Neville was questioning his
preparation for something else.

Suddenly, seeing something behind Harry's head, Neville's eyes grew wide and his face paled. He grabbed Harry by the
shoulders and looked at him earnestly.

“Harry…” he began, but was cut off by a high pitched squeal as Mrs. Weasley flung the back door open.

“Oh my goodness! Look who wandered into my kitchen!”

Neville shook his head apologetically and Harry spun around slowly, letting his eyes go to where Mrs. Weasley stood in
the doorway.

In one smooth motion, Mrs. Weasley pulled Hermione out from behind her. Hermione's face was white and she smiled
awkwardly as Mrs. Weasley pushed her out into the backyard.

Harry's jaw clenched tightly and his stomach flip-flopped sickeningly. The unexpected sight of her robbed the breath
from his lungs and he gulped at the air. His eyes took her in quickly, frantically. She looked smaller than he'd
remembered and much more fragile. Her eyes roamed desperately around the backyard, seemingly looking for a place to
hide. Harry watched her bottom lip quiver ever so slightly, one of the tell tale signs that she was nervous. He hated
that he noticed this, he hated that he knew what it meant. More than anything, he hated how it made his throat tight.
For a split second, Harry caught her wide brown eyes with his piercing green ones, but both looked away just as quickly.
There were a few dragging moments of awkwardness, accompanied by the hammering beat of Harry's heart against his chest.
Then a voice emerged.

“Hermione!!” Luna shrieked, moving across the yard to where Hermione stood.

Having broke the tension, a small group of old classmates and friends surrounded Hermione, giggling and hugging. Harry
sighed and turned back towards Neville.

“Uh, oh. By the way, Hermione's here.” Neville said, giving Harry a weak smile.

“Really? Thanks Neville.” Harry responded sarcastically, his tongue feeling like sandpaper. “I'll be inside. Finishing
getting ready. For my wedding.”

Harry turned before Neville could respond and slipped around the front of the Burrow, desperate to avoid a run in with
Hermione. He slid in through the front door and up the stairs to his room. Once safely behind the walls he let out a
deep sigh and ran his hands through his hair. She was here. She had come. A million thoughts and feelings coursed
through Harry's body. He realized he hadn't really expected her to show up. He hadn't fully prepared himself for the
possibility at all.

He was hurting in places he'd long ago learned to ignore, old wounds were closer to the surface than he had thought. He
walked to the window over looking the backyard. Hermione stood below him, listening as Luna talked animatedly. His heart
lurched as he stared secretively down, watching her shift from one foot to the other. He could almost see down the front
of her dress from this angle, if she moved a bit to the left..

There was a knock at the bedroom door that made him leap three feet in the air. After taking a few deep breaths and
regaining his composure, he called for his visitor to come in.

Ron opened the door and stuck his head in.

“Hey, mate.”

Harry nodded, still catching his breath.

“You alright?”

“Yeah.” Harry responded. “I'm fine.”

“I was going to warn you she was here. I just…” Ron began apologetically.

“I'm fine.” Harry interrupted. He didn't want to think about the whole situation right now. He certainly didn't want to
talk about it.

Ron looked at the floor.

“Well, Mum said we should be ready to start soon. Just wanted me to make sure you're all ready.”

“I am.” Harry said sternly.

“Haven't seen my flask around, have you?” Ron asked, glancing around the room.

“No, sorry.”

Ron sighed and gave Harry a nod, then quietly closed the door.

Harry sat on the bed in the middle of the room and hung his head between his knees. He closed his eyes, searching for
strength he didn't know he'd be needing.

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

Hermione could feel herself shaking. Being pushed out into the backyard by Mrs. Weasley had felt like meat being thrown
to a pack of hungry wolves. Merlin bless Luna for breaking the silence, or she thought she might have melted into a
puddle. And, Harry had been out there. Harry had been in the backyard. Their eyes had met briefly; it had sent chills
down her spine; but he'd looked away. And now, he'd disappeared completely. Seeing him had sent her heart careening
wildly against her chest. He'd looked exactly how she remembered him. His black hair was rumpled atop his head, his eyes
glowing as though illuminated by some hidden light source, his slender, fit physique noticeable even under a tuxedo. And
then he was gone. She wished he would have stood there forever, letting her take him in. Her mouth was dry and although
she was trying really hard to listen to Luna's animated conversation, her mind was racing. What had Harry thought when
he'd seen her? Where had he gone? Had he felt anything, anything at all when Mrs. Weasley pushed her into his view?
Could she work up the courage to face him? Was she just too late?

She suddenly felt claustrophobic. Time was pressing down on her. She could hear the buzz of Luna's voice in the
background, but her mind was far from the backyard. It was back at the flat, back at the home she'd shared with Harry so
long ago. She'd lost him once, she couldn't lose him again. But that was the problem; he wasn't hers. He was about to
get married; married to someone else. He would never be hers again. Hermione's brain snapped back to reality as Luna
paused in conversation. As the backyard came slowly into focus, Hermione spotted Ron coming out the backdoor of the
Burrow. She'd come all this way and for what? Could she really pretend she'd come all the way back here to sit quietly
on a white, wooden folding chair and watch the man she loved marry someone other than her?

“Luna, would you excuse me just a few minutes?” Hermione asked quietly.

Luna smiled lackadaisically, completely unaware that Hermione had been preoccupied through her entire story. It was the
usual case that Luna appeared to be the only inhabitant on a world of her own.

“Of course.”

Hermione smiled and nodded gratefully then quickly headed in Ron's direction. She could feel eyes on her, probing eyes.
She was sure there were whispers accompanying the stares - questions as to how she'd had the nerve to show up; wondering
what she was doing here and where she had been.

Ron saw Hermione coming his way out of the corner of his eye. Immediately his heart began beating wildly. He'd been
hoping all day that she wouldn't show, even though he knew she would. It had made him feel anxious, which he tried to
ignore. Someone was going to get hurt today, that much was certain and Ron hated that he might have a role in it. He had
been dreading today, knowing full well it was inevitable. He was in a difficult spot that no amount of preparation could
ready him for. It was why he hoped Harry would read the folded up note he'd tossed on the bed. Mistakes had been made,
Ron knew this. However an unexpected turn of events had landed him in an extremely unfavorable position. Today would not
end well.

“Ronald?” Hermione had reached the place where Ron stood, leaning awkwardly against one of the tent poles.

He seemed to hesitate before letting his eyes move to hers.

“Hi, Hermione.”

There was a pause; both seemed to be carefully assessing the situation. Then, they hugged. Hermione wrapped her arms
tightly around Ron's neck and buried her face in his chest. She could feel warm tears prick at the corners of her eyes.
She hated that so much time had passed. She hated that things had ever changed. Pulling away, she wiped at her eyes with
the back of her hands, smiling sheepishly.

“Oh, don't do that.” Ron said, shaking his head. He was hit with an unexpected surge of guilt. How could he have hoped
she wouldn't come?

“How have you been?” Ron asked her quietly.

She shrugged. Talking to Ron exposed her in a way she wasn't expecting. When her old classmates and friends and even
Luna had come up to her, she'd been able to easily field their questions. She'd claimed to have been super busy, working
with Muggle Relations and continuing her quest to improve the lives of House Elves. Both were only partially true. She
did occasionally help with both organizations, but for the most part she concerned herself with non-magical activities.
Every swish and flick of her wand flooded her head with memories of Hogwarts, and Horcruxes and…Harry. But, talking to
Ron was different. She couldn't lie to Ron; she couldn't even bring herself to twist the truth.

It wasn't just their friendship that bound her to honesty. It was because Ron knew. Ron knew better than anyone how she
had been, because Ron was the only one, other than herself, who knew the truth.

Ron nodded.

“How about you?” Hermione asked.

Ron thought for a moment. Things had been pretty good for him, really. It was almost unfair. Her entire life had been
turned upside down. He tilted his head thoughtfully.

“I've been good. I can't complain.” he admitted.

Hermione smiled weakly. She was jealous that Ron's life had been unchanged for the most part. She envied all the time
he'd been able to spend with Harry. She knew it was foolish to think this way; after all, none of what had happened had
been Ron's fault. Still she couldn't help it. Hermione was suddenly again aware of eyes watching her. She shifted
uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“People are staring, aren't they?”

Ron glanced around the backyard.

“Yeah, some.” he answered with a shrug. “Ignore them. They're just surprised to see you probably.”

Hermione wasn't so sure `'surprised” was the proper word. Disgusted, maybe. Surely some of them knew the story and those
who didn't had most likely made up their own. Harry was always the hero, in which case she had become the villain. These
stares were not of curiosity, they were of contempt.

“I'd offer you a drink, but I lost my flask somewhere.” Ron said, checking all his pockets for the umpteenth time.

Hermione gave a small laugh and shook her head.

There was a lull in the conversation. Ron knew he needed to proceed carefully. He cleared his throat and faced the
elephant that had been standing between them.

“So…have you seen Harry?”

Hermione's throat caught at the mention of his name and her jaw noticeably tightened. She took a deep breath.

“For a moment. Before, when your Mum first took me out into the backyard. Then, he was gone. I'm sure he has a lot to do
before the…” she paused and swallowed hard, “…the wedding. He's very busy I'd imagine. I'm sure we'll have time to catch
up after the ceremony.”

Studying her face, Ron sighed. There would be no catching up after the ceremony. Judging by Hermione's horribly fake
dismissive front of nonchalance, he doubted she'd stick around long if it came to that. He was terribly torn but, he
knew what had to be done. There was only one course of action that would make any sense. He had to do the right thing,
not the easy thing. Easy would be continuing to converse with Hermione, making her promise to not disappear again after
today. Easy would be standing on the altar beside his best mate, listening to Harry vow his love, life and devotion to
Ginny. Easy would be polishing off one entire tier of wedding cake himself. Easy, but wrong.

“He's up there.” Ron whispered, nodding toward the second story windows of the Burrow. “The old study; it's a bedroom
now.”

“What? Ron…I don't…I couldn't…” Hermione began, but Ron held up his hand to silence her.

“Hey, I'm just saying. Ya know, if anyone should want to talk to him.” With that he gave her another quick squeeze.
“Better see if Mum needs any help. Don't go disappearing on me again.”

She nodded and he took off across the backyard, leaving her drowning in thoughts. She glanced up at the window Ron had
motioned towards. She imagined Harry standing up there, obsessively adjusting his bowtie and trying desperately to
flatten his messy, black hair with his fingers. She sighed. Her feet were rooted in place. The opportunity she'd been
waiting for had just presented itself and she couldn't move. She couldn't possibly face him.

She wanted to cry. She wanted someone to tell her what to do. She wanted to crawl back into the sedan, drive home and
forget she'd ever come. But more than any of that, she wanted Harry. She wanted to wrap her arms around him so tightly,
he couldn't breathe. She wanted to stare into his eyes, getting lost in the flecks of emerald green as he ran his thumb
across her jawline. She wanted to feel his love, his passion, wrap around her, enveloping her in a sheet of warmth. She
wanted to hear him say he loved her, wanted to drink his words and taste his lips. She closed her eyes. He was so close;
a short flight of stairs away - but those things she imagined, those things she wanted were eons in the past. She'd have
to be delusional to think she could go up there, run into his arms and explain everything. Or maybe, minus the running
into his arms part, it was exactly what she needed to do.

She could feel eyes on her again. Poor Hermione Granger, standing alone in the backyard, unaware that everyone is
shocked she showed. That's what she imagined them saying, whispering snidely amongst each other. She lifted her chin.
She'd come this far; she'd endured the trip, the awkward reuniting with friends, the glaring proof that Harry was in
fact about to be married. She'd went two years, carrying the weight of her regret, her lies, and now, she could finally
put them down if she would just balk up enough courage. She took a defiant step toward the Burrow. It was now or never
and that was enough to at least set her in Harry's direction.

-->

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8. CHAPTER 8

[AN]: Well, here it is. As promised I'm back for good and you'll be glad to know that the long awaited confrontation has
finally arrived. It's a heavy chapter, probably worth a second read to let the emotion sink in. I hope it's everything
you could ask for in a climatic meeting between two lovers torn apart.

You're reviews on my last chapter were amazing - thank you so much. It made my return even sweeter. However, I had 800+
hits on the chapter and only about 25 reviews! It doesn't take long - even a sentence of feedback is welcomed. Let me
have it if you want! Tell me what you liked, didn't like - what you would have done differently. I'd love to improve my
writing, to know what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong - but can only do so with your help!! So review!! It
takes no time at all and means a lot to your authors!

On to the good stuff, shall we?

As always, I own nothing. Feedback and reviews are appreciated.

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

It had come to Hermione's attention that every step closer to Harry cracked her resolve just a bit. Her original surge
of courage was quickly waning and she could feel her palms getting moist. She had made it all the way into the kitchen
when she suddenly wasn't so sure she'd be able to continue. What had started out as a confident trek to confront the man
she loved was losing steam fast. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she was crazy to even consider facing him now, after
all this time; on his wedding day no less. What if he ignored her? What if he yelled at her? Fear crept slowly up her
neck with each heartbeat. Yet, something was keeping her grounded. Something was stopping her from fleeing.

It was terror.

She was not terrified of Harry's reaction. Unsure, uneasy and scared possibly, but not terrified. The source of her
terror ran much deeper. Hidden in the depths of her soul, she was terrified of regretting this afternoon forever. She
was terrified of letting her last chance slip through her fingers. She was terrified of never knowing what might have
been, had she just spilled her heart to Harry.

Her conflicted thoughts were broken when a strong arm wrapped around her shoulders. A jovial faced Mr. Weasley shook her
roughly and laughed.

“Hermione Granger! I can not believe my eyes!” he bellowed.

“Hello Mr. Weasley.” she responded, forcing a bright smile and giving a polite nod.

“Well how have you been? Do tell! Merlin it's been a long time since I've seen you around!”

“I've been well. Busy.” Hermione said, inflicting as much cheer into her voice as possible.

“Great to hear it. You're name is still famous at the ministry, you know. What you did for House Elves was
unprecedented. Kingsley still mentions what a huge loss it was when you decided to leave. Ah, well bigger and better I
always say. Making yourself at home I hope?”

Hermione nodded. She couldn't speak. The mention of the ministry had turned her tongue to cotton. It had been two long
years since she'd even set foot inside its walls. It was ironic that she ended up turning down the promotion she'd been
so desperate to take. In fact, she'd left altogether. She didn't deserve the promotion anymore; she didn't deserve to
have her dreams play out. Leaving the ministry had only added to her heartbreak, but she'd been unable to keep from
punishing herself.

Her mind broke from the memory. For the moment, Mr. Weasley seemed to have turned his attention to another guest. Afraid
he'd return to their conversation and want to further discuss her abrupt departure from the ministry, Hermione made a
beeline for the staircase a few feet to the right, only hoping her desperation for escape wasn't too obvious. She
climbed the flight of stairs quickly, taking them two at a time. Once safely on the first landing, away from the
possibility of Mr. Weasley's probing questions and the watchful eyes of her former classmates and friends, she allowed
herself a deep, heavy sigh. Hermione leaned against the wall, steadying herself. She'd known this day would drudge up
painful memories, but there was no real way to prepare for the sting. She rubbed her temples, still wondering if she'd
been completely crazy to come at all. She wondered how long she could hide up here, in the comfort of the empty hallway
before someone, anyone wondered where she'd gone. No one will wonder; they'll all just assume you finally got your head
on straight and left with what little dignity you had remaining. The thought made her sad. When had her life gotten so
messed up? Everything had held such promise and now she was hiding on the Burrow staircase about to witness Harry's
marriage to Ginny.

Suddenly realization hit her like a rogue bludger. Staring idly down the hallway, something sobering sent a chill down
her spine. Harry.

He was only a few feet away from where she now stood. If her perception was correct than his door was just a few steps
away on the left. Her stomach turned and her heart began beating erratically as her eyes bore into the wooden door,
trying desperately to see past it. She took slow deep breaths and tried to calm herself down. She could just turn around
and go back down the stairs. She could keep going; right out the front door, into the sedan. She could go home and file
the day away into the back of her mind with all the other bad memories she tried to keep smothered. But even as she let
these thoughts filter through her mind in an attempt at comfort, she knew that there would be no turning around.

She knew it wouldn't be long before the ceremony started. Her window of opportunity was quickly closing. Courage or no
courage, it was now or never. Flattening the front of her dress she inhaled deeply then moved slowly towards the door.
It felt as though she'd lost control of her body. She willed her feet to stop; begged for a few more moments to work up
her nerve, but they ignored the request. Now, in a matter of seconds, she was standing outside Harry's door. Fear
squeezed her throat as a balled up fist rose from her side. All in; it was now or never. Two years of baggage was about
to be blown wide open and there was no stopping it; no softening the blow. Despite the alarms ringing loudly in her
head, she knocked.

There was a long moment of silence. It took all she had not to flee down the stairs and away from the Burrow. She held
her breath. Then…

“Yeah? Come in.”

Hearing his voice sent shivers across her skin. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she blinked them away; angry at how easily
they'd given her up. She placed a shaking sweaty hand on the doorknob.

Harry rose up off the bed and looked expectantly at the door. It was probably Neville now, coming to check up on him. He
sighed. He didn't need checking up on. He was fine. He was okay. He'd seen Hermione and the world hadn't exploded. He'd
just avoid her the rest of the night; it was simple as that. There were plenty of other people here to help keep the
distance. Yeah, he was okay.

The door opened and the next thirty seconds seemed to play out in slow motion. It wasn't Neville at the door; it wasn't
anyone he'd been prepared for. No, it was her. It was Hermione. She stood in the doorway; her dark brown eyes as wide as
saucers, face pale, jaw stiff with determination. Seconds felt like hours as they stood face to face for the first time
in two and a half years; for the first time since he'd thrown her out of the flat that painful afternoon long ago.
Neither spoke, neither moved; both seemingly paralyzed by the mere presence of the other. They seemed to be taking each
other in, neither completely certain the person before them was truly real. Then, Hermione blinked and the trance
lifted. Harry made a choking sound as he tried to swallow.

“Hello, Harry.” she whispered in an unsteady voice, moving into the room.

He didn't respond. Instead, he watched her nervously twist her fingers around the silver necklace she was wearing. She
shifted uncomfortably under his eyes. She wracked her brain for something to say; anything to keep her head above water
in a room that was quickly flooding.

“I saw Ron. He said you were up here, I just wanted…”

“Ron sent you up here?” Harry interrupted, his voice low and tinged with annoyance. Hermione hadn't been expecting it
and she jumped.

“No! He just…I just…Congratulations, Harry. Marriage. Wow. That's really…this is really great. I'm so, so happy for you”

Harry stared incredulously at her for a moment. Then his expression changed and became almost thoughtful. For a second
she thought he might laugh. He didn't. She moved nervously across the room to the window over looking the backyard. She
glanced out and for an instant wished she could just jump. She already felt as though she were free falling. Behind her,
Harry cleared his throat. She spun to face him.

“What are you doing here, Hermione?” he asked stiffly; his voice a barely audible whisper.

Hermione felt a sting. She shifted her weight, suddenly becoming extremely self-conscious. She wasn't sure what he was
referring to; “here” as in his bedroom or “here” as in his wedding. Not completely sure of the answer to the first
herself, she decided to go for the latter.

“I-I-I was invited.” she answered, knitting her brows and biting at her lip. She could feel it quiver between her teeth.

Harry shrugged.

“Well, Mrs. Weasley handled the invitations...” he said coolly, letting his voice trail off.

Hermione opened her mouth, then slowly let it close again. She wasn't sure what he'd meant by the statement, but it made
her throat tighten. She could tell it definitely didn't translate into “I'm so glad you came”. She swallowed hard,
deciding to push on.

“How have you been?”

Again Harry just stared at her. After a moment he shook his head and sunk down onto the bed. He hung his head between
his legs and scratched the back of his neck.

“Harry, it's been so long, I know, but…”

“Hermione, please. Please? I don't know what you were thinking coming here but, I can't do this. Not now.” Harry looked
up at her and sighed, then closed his eyes.

Silence enveloped the room for the third time. Hermione stood stone still, unable to move and barely able to breathe.
She was desperately trying to compose a face-saving, nonchalant means of escape; hoping to somehow salvage the
situation.

Harry cracked his knuckles then rose off the bed. He shrugged sadly in her direction and stuck his hands in his pockets.
Her heart beat was deafening and she was positive he could hear it, even from across the room.

“I just can't.” he whispered.

Harry turned to leave and Hermione felt an unexpected swell of emotion. If not now, when? She'd already waited much too
long. She'd waited in uncertainty for two years, punishing herself relentlessly, justifying her pain as a sacrifice for
Harry's happiness. In less than an hour, he'd be married and the truth would be lost forever. Her shot at real, true
love would be gone. She needed to tell him. She needed to tell him, now.

“I never slept with Viktor.”

Harry froze mid-step in the door way. Time stood still and life hung, suspended in the shock of the moment. Then ever so
slowly he turned back around to face her. She studied his face, frantically searching for a sign of emotion. For a
moment his eyebrows were scrunched in confusion. Then gradually, understanding passed across his face. His eyes widened
and he stared at her incredulously with his mouth hanging slightly open. Hermione felt herself begin to crack as tears
filled her eyes. She'd started, now she just had to finish. Waist deep in the thickness of fear and relief, she pushed
on.

“I never…we never…” she closed her eyes, searching for strength. “The night happened exactly the way I first explained.
Do you remember? Dinner, the pub…nothing else; nothing more. I swear it.”

Harry's face was a sickeningly striking shade of white. His emerald eyes were practically glowing as they bore into her.
He hadn't moved much and from what she could tell, he'd stopped breathing altogether.

“Harry, I'm so sorry.” she whispered desperately through a quivering voice.

Harry swallowed hard; his head was swimming. None of this made sense. There was a long stretch of silence before he
spoke.

“What…How? What are you talking about? Why…you said…”

He stumbled over the words, unable to make a cohesive sentence. His voice was grainy, like he had a mouth full of sand.
He felt a swell of hurt rolling in waves over his body. He was transported back, back two and a half years ago, back to
a place he didn't want to be, a place that now, he didn't understand. The grip he'd been struggling to keep on his life
was slipping; the floor was being pulled out from under him.

“Harry, please. Just listen. I just-I thought if you hated me more…” she choked, voice shaking, “if you hated me instead
of hating yourself, you'd-you'd be ok. You'd be better. I loved you so…so…”

Her voice faltered. She watched Harry; feeling like every nerve in her body was electrified. For a second, she thought
he might burst into tears. His jaw began clenching and unclenching feverously and his eyes were wide and unblinking.
Another cold silence stretched painfully between them, filling the room. Hermione waited for the blow. He seemed to be
starting to wrap his head around the situation. The initial shock was breaking way to a hundred new emotions - betrayal,
anger, confusion and something unexpected; relief, which he tried to ignore; not near ready to investigate where that
feeling was coming from. Slowly, he spoke again.

“You thought I'd be ok?” he spat through clenched teeth. There was a venom in his voice that brought Hermione back to a
dark time; a frightening time. If she wasn't one hundred percent sure that she couldn't understand Parceltongue, she'd
swear he had just spoke it now. It sent a chill through her bones.

“Harry…” she begged. “You were so, so sad. I was scared. I didn't know what would happen to you. You weren't eating, you
weren't attending training…you were just barely floating through life. I didn't know what to do. I was terrified and I
panicked. I-I always have a plan, I can always figure out a solution. I couldn't this time.” She blinked back a rush of
tears. “I couldn't reach you; you closed me out. You closed out everyone.”

Daggers shot from Harry's ice cold eyes. Then, something unexpected happened; he laughed. But, it wasn't joyous. It was
dark and chilling and made Hermione wrap her arms around herself. It was eerie and somewhat frightening. Something
passed behind his eyes.

“Do you have any idea what you did to me? I lost everything. Hermione, you took everything.” The laughter had vanished.
His voice was now dry and detached.

“I wanted to tell you the truth. You…you sold the flat. You moved back to the Burrow. And then I heard you were
engaged…to Ginny.”

He turned suddenly and slammed his fists against the wall. Hermione jumped.

“Don't you dare bring her name into this.” He paused, recomposing himself. “What did you expect me to do? I couldn't
stay there. I couldn't live there…with the memories and the reminders. I don't know why I'm even telling you this.”

It broke Hermione's heart to hear him say these things; to imagine his pain as he stood in the bedroom of their flat
wondering what he'd done wrong; wondering how she'd been able to hurt him so deeply. A sob escaped from between her
lips.

“I didn't want to hurt you! I just didn't know what to do. The whole situation freaked me out!” she cried. “I lost it. I
cracked. Harry, I wasn't ready for a family. I wasn't ready for children. We were so young! I had just spent seven years
working my arse off at Hogwarts to be at the top of the class and not just for the hell of it. I wanted a good job with
the Ministry. Not to mention we haven't had time to even breathe without fearing for our lives since we were twelve. I
just wanted a break. I wasn't ready for more sacrifices. I wanted a chance to make something of myself.”

Harry snorted.

“Sorry having a family with me wasn't considered `making something of yourself'.”

Hermione wasn't sure where these words were coming from, but it felt as though they were literally pouring out of her
heart. Her cheeks were wet with tears and her voice was cracking through every sentence, but she was all in now.

“Don't do that, Harry. It wasn't that. It wasn't that at all. I just wasn't ready yet. For our entire lives we've needed
to show strength beyond our years. We never got to be immature; we never got to be irresponsible. I wasn't ready to have
to share you again. And maybe that's selfish, but for Merlin's sake I think I've earned the right to be a little
self-centered. I felt guilty, I felt so guilty. I was so relieved when I lost the baby. I felt like I could breathe
again. Of course I felt for you. Harry, I loved you. But you, you were so sad. You wanted that baby. I didn't want to
hurt you. I made a mistake; such a huge, huge mistake.” she stammered, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I
didn't want to lie to you.”

Harry let out another obnoxious laugh.

“Didn't want to hurt me!?” he yelled, shaking his head. “And, you didn't just lie to me Hermione. You killed me. You
practically killed me. I've had Dementors suck the life out of me and that was nothing, nothing like the unhappiness
I've felt because of you. You made me believe…” his voice cracked and Hermione winced. “For three years I believed that
child was never mine. You made me believe that scum, that fucking Bulgarian bastard was the father. Do you know what I
went through? Imagining his hands on you? Picturing him taking something so precious from me? Thinking…” He couldn't
continue. His voice trailed of despondently.

Hermione had never heard Harry cuss before. Not really anyways. Sure, he'd get loose with his words after a few
firewhiskys or throw an obscenity or two at the radio during a Quidditch match on the WWN, but nothing like this.
Nothing like the pure hatred he had inflicted into those words. He stared at Hermione, his faced lined with hurt and
anger. She took a deep breath.

“I'm so sorry, Harry. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to lose you, but I couldn't bear to see you in such
pain. It wasn't something I planned. I just, said it. I don't know what I was thinking. I don't know where it came from.
I wanted…I needed you to stop hurting. You wouldn't…you couldn't stop blaming yourself.” she sobbed through new free
flowing tears. “I didn't want to lose you.”

She let her head drop, feeling her tears run off the tip of her nose. Harry glared at her, shaking his head in utter
disbelief. When he spoke, his voice was steady - low and calculated.

“It's my wedding day, Hermione. I haven't seen you…I haven't talked to you in more that two and a half years. And now
you're here and you're telling me this and I'm getting married in half an hour. What do you want me to do? I mean, what
were you expecting me to say? You're the smart one, right? So please, tell me what it is you want me to do.”

Hermione sniffed and whimpered, his words cutting through her. What did she expect? Harry waited a moment, but when she
offered no answer, he shrugged and shook his head.

“I'm getting married.” he said again quietly. “Today…to Ginny. I'm getting married…and I have to go.”

And with that he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Hermione to watch the only man she ever loved leave her.
Completely exhausted, she fell to her knees, collapsing in on herself. Words, feelings, thoughts she'd never allowed
herself to recognize had burst from her heart. She sobbed into her hands, unable to catch her breath, letting three
years of pain and regret bubble to the surface and overflow.

[A/N]2: There. I really hope I've done the characters and the situation justice. [Keeping it realistic; no “wimpy”
Harry; no giving Hermione the easy way out!]. This chapter was heavy on the angst, I know - but it's also an easy
chapter to screw up. You need to find the right balance - making sure the long awaited confrontation isn't rushed or
glazed over. I'm hoping maybe some of your hearts have softened for Hermione. Obviously, she's in no way off the hook,
but I like the insight into Hermione's head this chapter gives. Any who, we still have a few chapters left to go, so
have no fear my Harmony shippers. Our duo has an interesting road ahead of them - and your burning questions are still
to be answered. [Yes, we will find out what is in Ron's speech!].

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9. CHAPTER 9

[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:

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

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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10. untitled

[A/N]: I had a very hard time working this chapter into something I was completely happy with. You as readers deserve
nothing but the best and I hope you're expectations are met. I'm proud of the new life I was able to breathe into this
story. I'm particularly pleased with its current progression and the way things are all starting to tie together.
Hopefully, you are too.

Review, review, review! I work hard to present you with my very best efforts. The only acknowledgement of this comes
from your comments - so please, take a minute or two to tell me what you think!

I still own nothing, in case you were wondering.

Look forward to quite a few, long-awaited confrontations in these next installments.

[A/N 2]: THANK YOU TO WHOEVER NOMINATED ME FOR “THE QUIBBLER AWARDS”. I'm truly honored.

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

Harry was seriously considering running from the Burrow and leaving the whole mess behind him. Unfortunately, seeing as
bolting wasn't really an option, he began to slowly make his way back towards the Weasley's home. He released a deep
sigh of resignation and idly thrust his hands into his pockets. Something brushed against his fingers.

Curiously, he removed the contents of his pocket. The object in question was the folded note Ron had tossed to him
earlier in the day. He stared at it thoughtfully for a moment. Honestly, he'd completely forgotten about it. Before,
he'd had no real interest in reading it whatsoever, but the way things had transpired over the past few hours had
suddenly made its message much more lucrative. Harry felt he could really use some affirmation at the moment and
something told him everything he needed would be written here. It seemed like a ridiculous thought, but at the moment it
was pretty much all he had to go on. He slipped a shaky finger under the first fold and then the second and the third
until the paper was open to its full size.

For a moment, Harry stared at the paper without really seeing anything. Then slowly the scrawled, severe handwriting
began to form words before his eyes.

Ladies and Gentlemen - It takes a strong, intelligent man to realize his dreams and achieve his goals in life and love.
A man that is not afraid to live life to its fullest and embrace what is truly important; a man with above-average looks
and a charming personality. But enough about me...

Harry rolled his eyes, but couldn't stop a smile from crawling across his face.

The reason we are all here today is to celebrate a very unique, very rare kind of magic; a magic that surpasses Potions
and Spells and Incantations. It is Love that I speak about - the exception to all the rules and answer to all the
unknowns.

If anyone had told me I'd end up being best mates with the famous Harry Potter, I'd say you were mental. If anyone had
said he'd end up being a part of my family, well, I would have directed you to St. Mungos. But, here we are, after quite
a long and eventful road and I can sincerely say, I'd believe just about anything nowadays. Some of you have watched us
grow up. Some of you are new friends. Some of you, who we miss so dearly, are looking down on us proudly. It is only
because of all of you that we are able to celebrate anything today.

I know I'm supposed to say something deep and profound about love now, but I don't know if I could possibly do it
justice. I've watched something truly beautiful blossom between these two. Apart, they were a force - together they are
absolutely unstoppable. They compliment each other in ways far beyond the realm of magic - something that has been
apparent to me for many, many years. They have saved each other in ways fit for fairy tales, overcoming insurmountable
odds to prove that goodness and love really are triumphant over all. They have taught me the importance of patience and
compassion and compromise. And, in real, unending love - forgiveness can light the way for what is truly meant to be.
Love is not about settling or taking the easy road - it is about fighting for what you believe in and risking everything
because without that person, you'd have nothing. The complete joy and awe they bring into each others lives is truly
enviable and I can only hope that one day, I find as perfect a match.

So, now, I ask you to raise your glasses in a toast to two of the most important people in my life.

Can you imagine anyone more in love?

And then the words stopped.

Harry turned the paper over in his hand, even though he knew the other side was blank. He sighed with exasperation. What
was the point of this? Why had Ron been so vehement about having Harry read it? Then, something in his head seemed to
click. He re-read the scrawled writing, slowly. This time, the meaning was clear. Ron wasn't describing him and Ginny.
In fact, Ginny wasn't mentioned at all. Harry had become an honorary member of the Weasley family long before his
proposal to the clan's youngest female. No…this wasn't about him and Ginny at all. Ron was describing him and Hermione.

Harry reeled with the possibility. It had been him and Hermione who had defied the odds, who had triumphed over evil
without becoming jaded and cold. It was him and Hermione who taught Ron patience and compromise and rationality. It was
him and Hermione who'd shared a special connection since the tender, early age of eleven. The subtly placed bit on
forgiveness also made Harry wonder if Ron had known something of the truth well before Hermione had showed up this
afternoon. He read it over again, further solidifying his suspicions.

Harry scratched his head and felt his shoulders sag. Nothing made sense anymore. This morning, he had been confident and
excited. He had been anxious to officially declare his love and devotion to Ginny. He couldn't wait to get married, to
move on, to definitively leave his past behind him. But, that was just it. This was all a selfish ploy. Harry's stomach
flipped nauseatingly. Getting married was not truly about spending the rest of his life with Ginny, was it? No, it was
merely a way to further the distance between himself and Hermione. But now, Hermione was here and she'd unfairly dropped
some heavy information on him. She'd completely turned his world upside-down, again, and while the blame was obviously
on her tactlessness, Harry wasn't completely innocent. After all, he was the only one who could grant her such power.

Despite the way his stomach churned, Harry was surprised by a peculiar weightlessness that had accosted his being.
Subconsciously, he had long wrestled with the decision to marry Ginny. He had been plagued by doubts and worries, but
he'd ignored them. He had pushed them out of his mind, attributing the thoughts to normal pre-wedding jitters. Harry
tilted his head, thinking hard. Proposing to Ginny had been a choice, a conscious decision with carefully inspected pros
and cons. Spending the rest of his life with Hermione had always been a given. He never actually said “I want to marry
you”, because he'd never felt the need. It would be like announcing the sky was blue or Hedwig was an owl. It was
obvious, the next eventual step in a series of pre-determined, expected events. It was never a conscious question,
because it was just a common certainty. The sun would rise tomorrow morning, because that's just what happens. You
needn't ask it or even acknowledge it; it's all part of an intrinsic, logical cycle.

Of course, that had been before and regardless of whether or not Hermione truly was still the only person for him, one
thing was apparent - Ginny was not. He had justified his feelings countless times. Ginny was smart and beautiful. She
loved life and took any curves head on. She was funny and compassionate and selfless. They shared interests, got along
great, had incredible sex and rarely argued. But something was lacking; something Harry had avoided acknowledging. There
was no real sense of awe or striking passion. While at the end of the day, Harry looked back fondly on the time he'd
spent with Ginny, it had been the early morning hours during his time with Hermione that had really moved him. Waking up
beside her, with the day stretching out limitlessly before them, endless possibilities abound, Harry had been repeatedly
struck with a thrilling wave of wonder. He was taken back by the simple gift of being in her presence, the prospect of
empty hours waiting to be filled.

A thick sigh escaped from Harry's barely parted lips. Heartbreak was not foreign and he'd been making difficult
decisions since he was eleven. This one, however, was painfully challenging - not that he really had a choice in the
matter anymore.

He carefully refolded the paper containing Ron's scribbled writing and placed it back securely in his pocket. Swallowing
hard, he continued slowly towards the backyard of The Burrow, hoping with each step that he could somehow keep his
resolve.

*******

Hermione stared into the sink. She wondered how long she could possibly stay locked in the loo before someone came
knocking. She raised her eyes slowly and met those of a familiar, plain looking girl. She sighed sadly at her reflection
in the mirror above the sink. For being the most brilliant witch of her age, she'd sure made some stupid choices. She
turned on the faucet, wetting her hands then pressed her cool, moist palms against her cheeks. There was really no
reason to stay and endure this torture any longer. Surely, this would most likely be the last time she spoke to Harry
and she doubted he'd care much if she didn't stick around. He'd probably prefer if she left, actually. She knitted her
brows, determined to keep from crying again. She wondered what she would do now. It seemed as though she'd had her life
on hold, waiting for the moment when she could finally make things right. Apparently, that time had come and gone, if it
had ever even existed at all.

Her train of thought was suddenly derailed by a soft knocking on the door. She could feel her heart begin thumping
faster and a large lump lodged itself in her throat. What if it was Harry?

Carefully, she reached for the doorknob, giving it a slow turn and pull. The door creaked open, revealing the knocker.
It was not Harry, but instead of relief, Hermione was seized with paralyzing terror. It was someone worse - much worse.

Ginny stood in the doorway looking incredibly small. The long, full fabric of her gown was bunched into her fists,
effectively hiking up the skirt and revealing a pair of white, untied sneakers. In the past, Hermione would have found
this hidden, signature-Ginny addition funny, but today and under the circumstances, she could barely force a smile.

“Ginny…hi,” Hermione croaked. Her mind was running wildly through possible scenarios. How would Ginny react to her
presence?

“Hi.” Ginny nodded then tilted her head thoughtfully. “It's been a long time,” she said softly.

Now it was Hermione's turn to nod.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. The tension was so thick, Hermione could barely breathe. She shifted
nervously on her feet.

“Well, I'm done if you needed to use the loo,” Hermione said, wanting nothing more than to bolt from where she currently
stood. She moved forward, hoping to slip around Ginny and run as fast as she possibly could down the hall and out of The
Burrow. Ginny, however, moved to block her way.

“Actually, I was hoping we could talk.”

Hermione bit her lip as her stomach flipped. She had no idea what Ginny could possibly want to talk about, but she
guessed it would be something along the lines of “stay away from Harry”. Of course, who could blame her? Hermione would
just have to reassure her that she was planning to do just that - without any prompting.

Ginny moved into the small room, giving Hermione no choice but to back up. She closed the door softly behind her then
leaned back against it. Hermione felt a flutter of panic, realizing she was now trapped. Of course, in desperation she
could apparate, but she was really hoping the situation would not escalate to such extremes. Ginny chewed thoughtfully
on her thumb nail. A sudden question popped into Hermione's head and dribbled out of her mouth before she could stop
herself.

“How did you know I was in here?”

“I saw you…when you walked passed my door,” Ginny answered.

Hermione's mouth went dry. What else had Ginny seen, or worse, heard? Seconds of silence ticked by painfully. Ginny
cleared her throat.

“Listen, Hermione - I know why you're here. I mean, not exactly, but I have enough of an idea. I guess I sort of
expected it really. I always figured you'd show up eventually. Not sure I thought you'd wait this long, but it's
something I did prepare for.”

Hermione stared, unblinking. She wanted to say something, but her mouth refused to form words. Ginny continued.

“You've always been around…not literally of course, but you have. Harry…he gets this look - like he's watching the most
incredible thing, but no one else can see it. It's secret and that makes it special. Sometimes, when he's looking at me
at me…well, he's not. He's looking passed me; through me. He's not seeing me - he's seeing you.”

Hermione felt a strange tightness in her throat. She could feel moisture burning just behind her eyes. She swallowed
thickly.

“I know what you did. I know how badly you hurt him. I know, because I helped put the pieces back together. I did it
because I wanted to and I'd do it all over again if I had the chance, but the whole time, I also knew the risk I was
taking. I knew he might not be ready…might not be able to love me the way I loved him. But see, everything with Harry -
it's always been a risk.”

Ginny's breath hitched in her throat and Hermione reflexively winced. There was silence as the small red-head regained
her composure then with a deep breath, she continued.

“I can't compete with you,” Ginny said dully. Hermione's eyes widened and she leaned her hip against the sink for
support. Again, she tried to form words, but an obvious disconnection had happened between her brain and her mouth. And,
quite possibly her ears it now seemed.

“You slept with Viktor…or didn't sleep with Viktor…or whatever it is…but, I still can't compete. Maybe all your
escapades by Harry's side throughout Hogwarts granted you immunity or something, I don't know. Maybe you've saved him
enough times to truly be deserving of his unconditional affection. I won't judge, but I can't help but wonder every
single day why I'm not.”

Ginny sniffed and wiped at her eyes.

“Ginny, he loves you,” Hermione breathed. Her voice sounded odd and unfamiliar.

The red-head smiled wistfully and shook her head. The edges of her eyes sparkled with wetness.

“He wants to love me. He wants to love me so that he doesn't have to admit he's still in love with you.”

Hermione felt tears spill over onto her cheeks. There was simply not enough room in her body for all the emotions she
was feeling.

Ginny sighed and straightened.

“I'm sorry,” Hermione whispered pitifully and she was. Her lie had caused so much damage and so much hurt. She hated her
self more than ever in that moment; despised every inch of her being.

Ginny shrugged.

“I just…I just wanted to talk to you. I wanted to try and understand…to see what he sees.”

There was another space of silence then Ginny swallowed hard and wordlessly let herself out the door.

Hermione stood alone, horrifically bewildered for a few moments. It was as though her body had been Petrified. Then, her
brain seemed to click back on and she bolted from the loo. She ran out into the hallway, down the stairs and clear
through the kitchen. She pumped her legs as hard as she could until she reached the spot where her father had parked
their auto. She flung the door open and dove into the backseat, a huge, inhuman wail escaping her lips in the process.
She curled into a ball on the seat, being sure to keep her head below the windows. She cried into her knees, shaking
with the force of her sobs until she could barely breathe.

-->

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11. untitled

[A/N]: Firstly, I'd like to thank you all for the kind reviews and (specifically) amazing response to Ron's speech. I
know many of you were waiting (patiently) since Chapter 1 to find out the meaning behind the speech. Something built on
so much anticipation is often terrifying for an author - because you've got only one chance to do it right. So, I was
pleasantly relieved that it met expectations.

[A/N]2: Another long-awaited moment takes place in this chapter. As you'll see, things are drawing to a close. I
(loosely) estimate it will take 2 more chapters to complete our journey. Me thinking out loud: I wonder what the
response will be once the story is completed. I imagine there may be another small burst of readers, those whom steer
clear of WIPs.

[A/N]3: Not my stuff, never will be. Review, review, review! Every author loves feedback and, as it would appear, I am
an author.

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

Harry rounded the side of the Burrow, letting his eyes sweep the garden. Many guests had begun making their way outside,
some taking seats before the altar; others standing around chatting. He searched quickly, glazing over the browns and
blondes until his sight settled on a particularly lanky red-head. Harry strode across the grass, wordlessly grabbing Ron
by the arm and dragged him into the nearby tent where the reception was to be held later on. Once behind its white
canvas walls, Harry released his friend and ran two, tightly clenched fits through his hair.

Ron watched blankly as Harry paced around the tent, clearly agitated. After a few moments, with a pathetic moan, Harry
stopped moving. He faced Ron and swallowed hard.

“What is this?” Harry asked through clenched teeth, pulling the folded paper out of his pocket.

Ron feigned a look of surprise.

“My speech? You found my speech? Was it with my flask by any chance?”

Harry was clearly not amused. He threw the paper at Ron's feet with a huff and crossed his arms.

“I'm not in the mood for games, Ron. Not now. Why did you give it to me? Why did you want me to read it?”

Ron seemed to be considering his response carefully. He scratched his neck nervously and cocked an eyebrow.

“So you read it?”

Harry glared at his friend, throwing his arms into the air with exasperation.

“Yes I read it! You told me to read it, didn't you?”

“Yeah, but how often do you actually do something just because I tell you too?” Ron quipped.

Harry rolled his eyes, but had to admit Ron was right. It had been his curiosity not Ron's prompting that had led him to
read the speech. He deflated a bit.

“Ron, I just don't know what's going on here. The timing… I mean, this morning… I never imagined…”

Ron sighed and reached an arm out to Harry's shoulder.

“Have things ever been easy?” he asked, quietly, giving his best mate a shake.

Harry stared at the ground.

“Besides, easy rarely means better,” Ron added, tilting his head.

“How do I know if I'm making the right choice?” Harry asked sadly, kicking idly at a clump of grass.

“Harry, you of all people know that you don't. Usually, you just go with the one that makes the least sense, because if
the reasons for it even being an option aren't obvious, there has got to be something much, much deeper there. I don't
know what kind of epiphany you got from my speech and I'm going to say I have no idea what kind of decision you're
struggling with, but whatever it is, I know you'll do what's best. Except, this time, for Merlin's sake Harry, do what's
best for you…not everyone else.”

Again, Ron was right and he'd said all he possibly could. Ron couldn't openly choose a side - he simply had too much
invested in the situation. He was Harry's best man, Ginny's brother and Hermione's best friend. Admittedly, the guy
could be a bit slow at times, but he wasn't completely off his block.

“But your parents…I couldn't…” Harry stammered, embarrassed by what he was even considering. He had already brought so
much trouble and pain to the Weasley family over the years, just by association if nothing else.

Ron groaned and rolled his eyes.

“My parents want what's best - for you, for Ginny… they will understand. I mean, maybe not right away, but they'll see.
You certainly can't do this for them.”

Harry sighed and nodded his head. After a few silent seconds he looked up and smiled grimly. Ron slapped him hard on the
back.

“Good luck, mate. This isn't the first time I'm glad I'm not you,” Ron mocked, looking somber.

Harry shoved Ron playfully then headed for the opening of the tent.

At the last moment, he turned back to face his friend. He sniffed loudly and wiped away at pretend tears.

“By the way Ron, I never realized you had such a way with words. Your speech was truly touching. You and Luna must
really connect intellectually.”

Ron's face flushed.

“Yeah? Well, maybe one day I'll actually be able to deliver it, eh?”

Harry flashed Ron a rude hand gesture before turning and continuing out of the tent.

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

Harry was almost positive that what he was about to do was a huge mistake, yet somehow doing the right thing had never
gotten him very far. Some of his greatest triumphs in life were caused by making mistakes, breaking the rules and being
somewhere he wasn't supposed to be. Still, his insides seemed to curl as he walked, as inconspicuously as possible,
across the backyard and in through the backdoor of the Burrow.

The kitchen was still quite busy, despite the fact that many guests had moved outdoors and Harry hoped the remaining
bustle would distract anyone from his presence. He silently thanked Merlin as he moved quietly passed Mrs. Weasley, who
was bent over a large, bubbling pot, stirring rapidly with a long, wooden spoon. He continued silently through the
sitting room, then began the slow trek up the stairs to the second floor landing.

Harry's feet felt as though they were strapped to cinderblocks and the sheer force needed to drag him self up each step
was exhausting. Everything in his rational being was telling him to turn around and just leave things the way they were
- everything except his heart. Every piece of his heart was pressing him forward. And that was just it. The underlying
truth that had brought him to this point in the hallway was the fact that his heart was still in pieces. He was not
whole. He had not been whole for a very long time.

He reached the landing much faster than he would have liked and inevitability pressed heavily down upon him. He crossed
the hallway, gathering his nerve and with a deep, steadying breath, knocked forcefully on Ginny's bedroom door. Almost
immediately a familiar voice called out.

“Who is it?”

Harry swallowed. He could still turn around and pretend he had never knocked. He could still race back down the stairs
and act as though he had been in the kitchen the entire time. He could, but he wouldn't.

“It's Harry,” he answered, resting his forehead softly against the door.

There was a pause before he heard the muffled padding of feet moving across the floor. He straightened up and swallowed
hard. The door opened just a crack.

“Come in.”

Harry rested his palm against the door and closed his eyes. He heard the sound of Ginny moving back across the room. He
paused and silently savored what he knew would be the last few moments of any semblance of normalcy, the last moments
before his life was once again upheaved and thrown into disarray.

With a few final deep breaths, he pushed the door open slowly. He wasn't exactly sure what he'd expected, but the sight
before him definitely was not it.

Ginny was sitting on her bed in her wedding dress, surrounded by the billowy, white fabric of her train. Her knees were
tucked under her, hiding her legs from sight. Her hair was pulled up into a bun of sorts, but unruly strands had escaped
and now hung limply down to her shoulders. Her eye makeup was smudged slightly and two faint lines of black streaked
down her cheeks. Her left hand held something rectangular and shiny which she brought quickly to her mouth.

“Ginny! Your brother's been going crazy looking for his flask! How the hell did you…?”

She shrugged.

They'd been together almost two years and she still never ceased to amaze him. Momentarily, Harry forgot all about the
situation at hand as he tried to figure out how she could have possible acquired Ron's flask over the past few hours.
His thoughts were broken when the youngest Weasley noisily cleared her throat. Harry looked at her, trying to meet her
eyes, but she avoided his stare.

“You'd better hurry,” Ginny said stiffly, picking at the sequins on the bodice of her dress.

He offered a puzzled expression, but felt his mouth instantly dry up. She glanced at him and sighed.

“She left. She's gone. Or, she's on her way, I guess.“

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek nervously and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His eyebrows were
making funny up and down movements. Ginny expelled another exasperated sigh and snapped the flask closed.

“Hermione, Harry! Don't play stupid, because I'm certainly not.”

Harry felt sweat forming on the back of his neck. As always, Ginny was one step ahead of him. How had she even known
Hermione was here? He didn't need to ask, she seemed to be reading his mind.

“I heard you talking. It was mostly muffled, but I caught enough. I had opened the door to use the loo and I heard your
voice. You sounded upset, but then I heard hers and I understood. I saw you walk by and then a few minutes later she
passed by my door too. She went into the loo and I waited outside the door. She wasn't coming out, so I knocked. She
looked terrible. We talked… and I understood. Then, she left.”

Harry was somewhat stunned by the nonchalance with which Ginny recounted the events. Her matter-of-fact manner unnerved
him more than if she had been crying or screaming. His mouth was stuck in an “O” shape as he desperately searched for
words.

“You know, you aren't supposed to see the bride before the wedding,” Ginny said softly, fidgeting with the edge of her
dress. “But, we aren't getting married, are we?”

Harry felt as though he had been punched in the stomach and he backed up until his body rested against the wall, needing
the support. Then, he sadly shook his head, letting his chin fall to his chest. He felt ashamed. Silence filled the room
as Harry grasped for words.

“Ginny, I'm so sorry.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. No explanation could possibly be adequate. Nothing he could
say would ever truly be enough. Still, somehow, words began tumbling from his lips.

“You're beautiful and amazing and smart and funny. But, I offered you something I can't give. You deserve to be with
someone who can devote themselves entirely to you and love you with all of their being. The truth is, for as long as
we've been together, I haven't been whole. There's a piece of me missing. You filled that part of me and made me feel
like the hole wasn't there. I'm sorry. I really, really, truly am.”

Harry was fully defeated and drained. His emotions were being pulled in a million different directions and nothing
seemed to make any sense. Everything was completely messed up, again, and the unfairness of it all was positively
infuriating. Or, at least, it would be, if he could muster the energy to even be angry.

Ginny looked at the ceiling, chewing her bottom lip. After a few moments, she shook her head.

“You never loved me, Harry.”

The words pierced Harry, causing him to draw a deep, sharp, wounded breath. She didn't say them with venom or anger, but
rather with a simplicity one would use when describing the weather. He scratched his chin as his mouth opened and closed
wordlessly. He wanted to tell her she was wrong. He wanted to correct her; to reassure her that wasn't the case. Why the
bloody hell wouldn't his tongue work properly? Suddenly, it became clear. The truth was - he hadn't ever loved Ginny.
She was right. He'd loved the idea of loving someone, hell, anyone other than Hermione. He loved being happy and feeling
needed. He loved being distracted and being able to forget about the hurt. But, he had made a huge mistake. He had
wrongly associated all those things with love for the person enabling him to be happy, and needed, and distracted. All
along, he had been a sinking ship and now, he'd pulled Ginny down with him.

“I'm so sorry.” Harry couldn't find anything else to say. He meant it, in the most sincere way, but somehow it sounded
cheap and cliché.

Ginny made a feeble shrugging motion and her eyes moved slowly from the floor to Harry. She smiled weakly.

“She's lucky, really. Hopefully this time she'll realize just how much so,” she whispered, her voice audibly wrenched
with emotion.

Harry nodded dumbly, feeling sick. He had called off the wedding. Worse, he had hurt someone who had not deserved it in
the least.

Ginny rose off the bed, letting the tulle of her gown fall around her. Her jaw was set stiffly as she strode across the
room and grabbed the doorknob. She pulled the door open and stood back, keeping her eyes glued to the floor.

“Goodbye, Harry.”

Her voice was quiet, but firm and Harry got the message. He sighed and pushed away from the wall. As he passed her he
wondered if he should hug her or kiss her cheek, but she drew back as he leaned in so he decided to do neither. She
raised her eyes to his and held them for a moment. Harry wished he had something, anything to say, but his mind was
blank. He walked wordlessly into the hallway and Ginny closed the door gently behind him.

-->

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