Harry Potter and the Never Yielding Fates

The clatter of dishes greeted Hermione's ears as she approached the kitchen of the Burrow just as the sun was beginning to rise. Mrs. Weasley was still upstairs, presumably asleep, which said something that would scream to Ron, “It's too bloody early. Go back to sleep.”

Sleep, as of late, had betrayed Hermione. She was receiving very little of it, or rather she was receiving plenty, just not enough peaceful bits of it. Her dreams were haunted by images of Dolohov's winding, purple curse flying in her direction, play-by-play pictures in slow motion of Harry being injured, of Ron and Luna and Neville and Ginny falling at some point or another to battle wounds, of lying in a hospital bed while healers struggled to determine exactly what curse had been used and exactly what course of action could be taken to rid her of the burden.

Needless to say, Hermione was evading the very prospect of sleep, and delaying the entertaining of said idea as long as she could manage.

.:.:.:.:.

Molly Weasley, being a mother of seven children, had long ago learned to set wards around her home to prevent her boys, and single girl from causing mischief. Her wards were being broken in abundance as of late, and she knew as a fact that it was not due to her own children. She sighed as she witnessed Hermione drinking a cup of tea at the wooden table in the center of the kitchen.

“Hermione, dear,” she tutted, “what are you doing up and about. It's still early.”

Hermione glanced up from her cup and set it down gently, entirely avoiding meeting the matron's eyes by staring at a chipped dent in the wood of the table. “Sorry… didn't mean to wake you.”

“Not to worry.” Molly said softly, patting Hermione's hand. “Now, what's keeping you awake?”

In response, Hermione shrugged, lifting her cup again to take another sip. “I don't suppose it's going to get any easier from here on out?” She asked wearily, finally looking up to meet Mrs. Weasley's eyes.

Molly faltered, if only slightly, and that was all it took for Hermione to receive her answer. She nodded grimly and sipped again. “I know you don't approve of us being involved at all, really.” Hermione said carefully. “But if we do nothing, if we act normal, we'll die. And it's hardly even a question anymore of life and death… it's more for wanting to get it over with. Death wouldn't be so bad, do you think? I think it's living in a world where we have no control that would be worse than death. That's why we're fighting. And we - well, Ron and I - we fight for Harry. He doesn't have the choice that we've got; he doesn't get to decide if he wants to fight or not. He's been thrown into this fight blind-folded,” Hermione had nearly hysterically spieled off on a tangent, spilling all the words she felt in her heart out in a flurry of hurriedly muttered words, causing Molly to gasp softly with tears in her eyes, “and I'll be damned if I let him think he's alone in this… I'll be bloody damned.” She whispered the last part to herself, causing Molly to realize that at some point Hermione had forgotten that she was even speaking to anyone to begin with.

“You're young…” Mrs. Weasley whispered, “but you're not young enough to believe in whatever blissful fairytale I might could come up with to help you believe that it will all turn out right. This… what you're feeling… it doesn't go away. You'll never stop worrying about the lives of the ones you love, and you'll never adjust to the idea that they could very possibly die at any given moment. From here on out, ever since You-Know-Who's not-so-subtle declaration of return at the Ministry last June, this is a war, and we will not give in easily. You're right… everything you've said is right. But there is hope, dear, and that hope lies with Harry… with you and with my son.”

“Damn it, that's what I'm talking about!” Hermione heatedly placed her cup of tea back on the table and rocketed up so fast that the chair she'd been sitting in moments prior had flown backward. “You're relying on him! You're throwing the fate of the world on a barely sixteen years old kid's shoulders, and yet you still expect him to do it all without knowing what the bloody hell is going on! You don't tell him ANYTHING. You refuse to include him on issues of importance, yet when he makes a mistake due to not knowing, you blame him for being foolish and selfish and sporadically spontaneous when he's done nothing but try to do right by those who bloody expect it of him!” Tears had welled up in Hermione's eyes. Her hand fluttered up from her side to cover her mouth as a sob peeled from her lips, and she left the kitchen in a hurry.

She threw open the backdoor to the garden and drew in a long, hot, sticky breath of air. Her chest was heaving as silent sobs wracked her body, and she fought to control her magic and emotions.

The late August sun was just finishing its ascent over the horizon, and Hermione was already feeling the intense heat the day would bring. She folded her arms over her chest and collapsed onto a bench off to the right, leaning forward and watching the remainder of the sunrise.

She had flown off the handle mere moments ago, unable to contain herself even in the presence of one whom she considered very much a second mother to her. It hadn't been intentional; she hadn't even realized that she'd done it until after it was done, at which point she was horrified with herself for her actions.

She closed her eyes and felt a slight breeze fall upon her. Merlin, I need Harry… I need a hug. No one could give hugs quite like Harry could; they couldn't surround her with a feeling of safety and security, nor could they fill her body with warmth the way his could.

Hermione had finally admitted to herself (and Ginny, after a lot of prodding) that she was in love with Harry after he had forcibly sat at her side over the duration of time that she had spent at St. Mungo's. She wouldn't act on it, much to Ginny's disbelief, but she could not help herself from swooning at his touch, grinning at his owls despite the lack in length they possessed, and allowing a small feeling of contentment to arise in her belly when he smiled at her.

Lately, happiness from Harry was a very rare emotion, as to be expected of someone who had only a month ago lost his godfather. He had sent very short and almost nonresponsive owls to them all, and for the most part Ron had given up on sending any back. Hermione, however, was not to be deterred. She wrote to him daily, wearing poor Hedwig's wings away, and responded immediately whenever she received a reply from him.

He was hurting, and she knew that, and she wanted so badly to be there for him, but she couldn't. Dumbledore refused to let her, or anyone else visit with him, or take him away from his godforsaken relatives, much to her displeasure.

::Flashback::

“He needs friends!” Hermione argued fiercely. “He's alone, his godfather just died, and you've sent him to live with people who don't give a damn if he lives or dies! How is that fair?!”

“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore replied wearily, “I'm sorry, but for your own safety you may not visit, and for his safety he may not leave until he has become of age.”

“So you're condemning him to another year of solitude?” Hermione snarled, the lights in the room flickering uncontrollably. “Of loneliness? Don't you think that now he needs someone more than any other time?”

“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore raised a brow, “have a seat; settle down. Now, I have researched every other means of possibly keeping Mr. Potter safe, and this is the only effective way. I would love for him to be with his friends, to be with you and Mr. Weasley for the summer, but that endangers both himself and the Weasleys, not to mention you.”

“And there's nothing else you can do?” Hermione pleaded desperately.

“I'm afraid not.”

::End Flashback::

She inhaled again, suppressing the urge to lash out on something, anything to relieve her of the stress she was feeling. Her hand flickered up to her forehead, to a spot just between her brows, and began massaging away at a tension headache.

Her heart was still racing from adrenaline and anger, and she was forced to wipe away furiously at tears that threatened to grace her cheeks.

Five years. Five years Harry had been forced to deal with the pressure of something happening to him, something happening in his life that he had absolutely no control over and that nobody declared fit to inform him of. And now that he knew, he was fighting to handle the pressure of not only trying to battle with Fate, but also contend with the grief of losing his only legal family left.

Hermione couldn't compare to that, and she couldn't rightfully say that she knew how it felt, but she so desperately wanted to be there with him to help him in any way she could, and to offer her never wavering support.

He was damned to spend another week at the Dursley's before he could come back to retrieve his school things on the 31^st of August, and return to school the day after.

Hermione spent that week avoiding contact with most members of the household, doting upon Crookshanks loads of attention and taking comfort in him as he listened patiently to her words, and reading a series of books she had obtained for pleasure, which only assisted in holding her anxiety for Harry to arrive at bay.

When the day had come, however, Hermione found herself in a bundle of nerves. This would be the first time that she would see him since her internal revelation of feelings towards him; she didn't want to let that slip in any way. He didn't need more stress than he clearly already withheld.

And ignoring her own thoughts and feelings, how would Harry react? Would he be angry with them as he'd been the summer previous for leaving him in the dark and not attempting to retrieve him from the Dursleys? Would he be yet still too mournful to enjoy a full welcome, despite all her attempts at consoling him in their letters?

She frowned as she thought about that. For Harry, all of those reactions would not do justice to the emotion and inner turmoil he had been put through during this previous summer. He felt so much more than that, and Hermione knew due to the indulging letters he had sent solely to her, for her eyes only, containing his grief, and pain in a bundle of words that still could not seem to correctly express or word the proper way, as he had constantly talked in circles and reworded the same sentence several times to get his point across.

The calamity that Hermione had felt upon receiving his letters broke her heart. She had wanted to be there for him in every way imaginable, not just through petty words on a scrap of parchment. Ginny had been startled on many an occasion when she spotted tears in Hermione's eyes after reading the most recent letter from him.

::Flashback::

Hedwig pecked politely on Ginny's bedroom window. Hermione had been reading a book on Animagus Magic, while Ginny scribbled furiously away in her journal, giggling occasionally, no doubt regaling the newest prank pulled by Fred and George Weasley upon Ron involving a spaghetti noodle, and an attack of the flying meatballs, much to Molly's displeasure.

Hermione smiled at the site of the owl and immediately granted her entrance into the room, stroking her beak lightly in thanks. Hedwig hooted happily and settled herself upon Hermione's shoulder while she seated herself back on the bed and eagerly tore open Harry's most recent letter.

Her giddiness soon turned grim, and she drew her bottom lip into her mouth as she nibbled on it, finding it harder and harder to hold back her tears. A sharp sob wrenched through her body and Ginny looked up in alarm.

“Hermione?” She asked hurriedly, setting down her journal and rushing to her friend's side, rubbing her back empathically, worriedly.

In response, Hermione held up the letter, the tears that she had so carefully been guarding falling freely from her eyes and tumbling down her cheeks. “He's miserable, Ginny. He aches… so much.” She allowed another sob to overtake her. “He misses the bloody mutt so much…”

Ginny shushed her quietly, and pulled her into an embrace. She had a strong feeling that Harry's pain was intertwining with her own pain, and she was allowing her grief for Sirius's death to flow from him to her as she had forcibly built up a strong barrier to keep all the emotions she felt from the battle at the Ministry at bay.

The short story was that Hermione was not allowing herself the time to feel dismay over Sirius's death, and the event was hastily catching up to her. She was feeling her own remorse for the death of Padfoot, along with taking on Harry's pain as well.

::End Flashback::

Harry arrived early on Sunday morning, quiet and withdrawn. Ron and Mrs. Weasley had seen him first, making an entrance with Remus following not far behind. Mrs. Weasley had rushed toward him and nearly crushed his bones (as per usual) and Ron pulled him in for a brotherly hug, muttering, “How you been fairing, mate?”

Harry had shrugged in response. “Alright, I suppose.” He said quietly. He didn't say much else, but allowed himself to be steered in the direction of the kitchen for a fry-up that Mrs. Weasley was preparing for breakfast.

Ginny and Hermione had been discussing the newest gossip involved in Witch Weekly's most recent issue as the two descended the stairs. Ginny had seen Harry first and nudged Hermione lightly, subtly motioning in his direction.

Glancing over, Hermione felt herself flooded with relief and she launched herself at him rather forcefully, wrapping her arms around his neck, yelping, “Harry!” as she spotted his presence.

“Hey Hermione.” He smiled indulgently as his vision was suddenly blocked by a thick mass of Hermione's no longer bushy, but still quite wild hair. One of his hands grasped the back of her head and his other one flew to the small of her back as his lifted her up off the ground slightly in their hug.

She released him carefully and pulled back to scrutinize him. “Merlin and Morgana, Harry, you look exhausted.” She breathed.

“Thanks Hermione, you're looking fabulous yourself.” Harry rolled his eyes and Hermione playfully punched his arm.

“That's not what I meant, you prat, and you know it. Sit down and eat.” She demanded.

Harry obeyed her wishes, for now, and seated himself at the table, fully prepared and rather hoping for a moderately nice medley of assortments for breakfast. He was not to be disappointed.

He caught up on the bits he had missed, remaining silent through much of the discussion, not going unnoticed by Hermione at all. She frowned as she noticed his pensive behavior, vowing to sit down and speak with him later, just the two of them, no interruption. She hoped the opportunity would present itself during their visit to Diagon Alley after breakfast.

On his end, Harry was fighting not to cry at the loving behavior the Weasleys exhibited. Not only did it remind him of could've beens that he and his own parents might have experienced in a different world, but it reminded him of a time when he had once hoped to live with Sirius after the war; after his name had been cleared.

“Excuse me…” He muttered softly, scooting his chair out and heading in the direction of the loo.

He tried - Merlin, he tried - not to let his anguish interfere with his life, but the fact of the matter was that he had lost someone very important to him, and he would never get him back. He would never see the mangy, black dog that had first been the only image he had seen of his godfather. He would never listen to Mrs. Weasley bicker with him again. He would never be graced with his humor and fun-filled nature again. And worse, he had only himself to blame.

Leaning over the sink, Harry looked at himself in the mirror, loathing the image he saw. His eyes were dark and woeful, his face was pale, and his hair had reached a nearly unmanageable state due to running his hands through it a bountiful amount of times. He sighed and seated himself on the closed lid of the toilet, leaning his elbows on his knees and fisting his hands in his hair once again.

He was only vaguely surprised when the door creaked open to reveal Hermione's petite form and concerned expression.

“I figured you just needed to get away.” She muttered sheepishly. “I thought you might want some company.”

Harry suddenly praised her almost magical ability to know when he needed her most. “I just… I can't stand looking at them.” He whispered agonizingly. “There are so many memories attached to being a family with Sirius… of finally having the father I've always needed, and they reflect all those possibilities and… I selfishly feel as if it's all being thrown in my face.”

Hermione kneeled in front of him and took his hands in her own. “I will tell you this, Harry, and you damn well better believe that I mean every word of it: you are a brave, brave man to stand - or rather sit - here today,” he chuckled involuntarily, “and speak of the hurt you're feeling. And you are a caring man to attempt to hide your discomfort away from them in a conscious effort not to cause them guilt. You are a strong man for putting on a front and for finding a way to handle the situation.

“Harry, you are very many things, most of them noble, and Gryffindor, and very worthy of the hero title,” Hermione teased lightly, earning a smile from him before her face turned serious again, “but hear you me, Harry James, the very last thing you could possibly be is selfish.”

“God, why didn't I listen to you, Hermione?” He pleaded with her, dropping his head to his chest. “Why didn't I listen?”

“Because, Harry…” Hermione whispered, “you loved him so much that you were willing to throw everything on the line to ensure his safety. You were blinded by your compassion for the man, and in this case it just didn't work out in your favor, or his.”

Harry was silent for a moment, allowing Hermione's thumbs to softly rub against his knuckles, feeling her intermittent squeezes of support. “It's funny,” Harry thought aloud, “that love - the very weapon, Dumbledore calls it - is the only power I have against Voldemort, and yet it seems that said weapon is being held against me.

“I'm a dangerous person, Hermione. People around me get hurt. They die. I don't want that to happen to you. Or to Ron, or to Ginny, or to any of the Weasleys. I can't… I can't let that happen.” Emotion made his voice raw, and vulnerable.

Hermione growled softly from somewhere deep within her throat, and used one of her hands to force Harry's eyes to look into hers. “Harry Potter, we are in this together. No matter what you try to do to distance yourself from us, we will fight our way back in, have no doubt about that. We are your friends, Harry, and we will stay just that until the day that we die. Do not deprive me of that.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

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