A/N: Once again, I'm having problems with formatting-oh joy! So, forgive me for the strange spaces and use of bold instead of italics to represent (in this chapter's case) an echo of a past scene or emphasis.
Window Bird
When you want to go,
You can't get out through the back door.
When you're going to leave,
Wait out fear and look for me.
September 9, 2017
The rain fell in heavy sheets pounding upon the roof.
She loved these days, curled up with a cup of hot tea and a good book. It helped matters that the sound of the rain alone echoed throughout the house; Ron and Hugo had gone to a Quidditch game and Rose was at school, leaving only silence behind.
She closed her eyes, enjoying the tranquility of it all.
The doorbell startled her; she wasn't expecting company.
She moved toward the door warily. Through the glass, the distorted image of Harry waved at her. She stared at him for a few moments, curious, but then opened the door.
"Harry! Why didn't you Floo? It's a mess out!"
He shrugged sheepishly and grinned.
Hermione noticed it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I felt like a walk."
It was only then that she realized Harry hadn't been over to visit her alone in nearly 12 years. The similarities between that day and this one disturbed her.
"Well, come in, come in."
He stepped in and dried himself off with a wave of his wand.
They stood there in awkward silence.
"Er-Harry, do you-need anything?" He looked as though the question pained him. She could understand why-she remembered a time when asking him that question would have been considered ridiculous.
Things had changed.
"I'm going to divorce Ginny."
She stared at him. It took a moment for his words to sink in. When they did, she felt unstable. "Oh, I-that's-oh."
'I should be congratulating you.'
'Yes, I suppose you should.'
Harry nodded and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know."
"Harry, what-?"
He shook his head.
'It doesn't matter. Just-make me feel better.'
'Okay.'
"Do you-do you want to talk about it?" Hermione asked. The question was tentative; she hated the uncertain tone of it.
"Yeah. Yeah, I do."
She headed toward the kitchen; silently, he followed her. She felt his eyes on her back as she bustled around, preparing his tea.
She hesitated just before adding the sugar, and then added two lumps.
When she finished she handed the cup to him and watched as he took a sip and smiled, almost bitterly.
"You remembered."
She stared at him for a moment. "Come on." She nodded toward the living room. "Let's have a sit."
He nodded, following her to the overstuffed couch in front of the television.
When they sat down, the gap between them was noticeable, but by now familiar.
"So-"
"I just-can't do it anymore, Hermione-pretend."
"Pretend what, exactly?"
"That I love her."
He made it sound so easy, putting it so simply.
She swallowed heavily. "But Harry-your children-Albus, James, Lily-how can you-?"
"They deserve better, Hermione. They deserve parents who love each other, not a sham of a marriage where their parents hardly speak!" He suddenly stood and began to pace furiously. "And dammit, I don't deserve it either! I don't fucking care if it's selfish, because I can't-I can't-" He froze abruptly, staring at the empty wall next to the television where a particular picture used to hang.
"You took it down."
Hermione looked at her lap. "Yes. I just couldn't-couldn't look at it without-" She trailed off.
"I understand."
And she realized, quite unexpectedly, that even after all these years, he still was the only one that really did.
Silence, but this time, of a slightly less uncomfortable variety.
"You're really going to do this, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Does she have any idea? Do your kids have any idea?"
"No. I wanted-needed to tell you first."
Hermione paused. "Harry, did you ever love Ginny?"
"I-no-I don't think so."
"Then why did you marry her?" She hadn't raised her voice, but it still came out sounding forceful and accusatory.
"Why did you marry Ron?" He snapped back.
She licked her lips before answering. "There was no one else. After you and Ginny-" She looked away. "There was no one else."
Harry sighed. "How could I have known, really, what love was? I was 16, for Merlin's sake, when we started dating. She was the first person I'd ever really dated, and then-well-we separated for the war, and then Molly and the rest of the Weasleys-" He took a deep breath. "You remember how it was-how they couldn't wait to have me for a son-in-law. I just thought-just figured that that's what love was-making all those people happy, and Ginny was happy, and I did care for her, I just-"
"-Forgot to think about yourself, as usual. Oh, Harry-"
Harry looked at her strangely. "You must have known I didn't really, well, love her. We were so close back then, after the war. I told you everything-how I was feeling about everything. You must have known."
"I couldn't have possibly told you not to marry Ginny! You seemed so happy, and I-"
"You what?"
"I was in love with you." She whispered. "I just wanted you to be happy."
"I was happy." He said finally, after a long pause. "Because everyone else was so happy."
"Oh, gods."
Harry abruptly began to laugh. "We're so fucked up, Hermione." He gasped out.
She couldn't find any humor in the situation, but also couldn't stop from joining in Harry's riotous laughter.
I do believe I may be going insane.
The thought made her laugh harder; so hard, in fact, that tears started to spring from her eyes.
The tears though, likely would have been there with or without the hysterical laughter. And indeed, once her laughter died away, the tears still flowed down her face.
She couldn't remember the last time she cried.
"Hermione?"
"Hmm?" She sniffed out.
"Will you lie down with me?"
"What?"
Harry sat on the floor and lay down, stretching his long legs out. "Lie with me."
"Okay."
She got up from the couch and gingerly lay down next to him, taking care not to touch his still figure.
"It'll be alright, Harry. It'll be okay."
He turned his head to look at her; their noses almost touched. "Do you think so, really?"
"Yes. I do."
And as she lay there, feeling the warmth from his body, so close to her own, she really did.
A/N: Look-a touch of optimism in this angst-y story of mine. Imagine that. Things are starting to move forward now-only four short chapters left.