The End of Heartache

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” whispered Harry as he tapped his wand upon the Marauder's Map lying open in his hand.

Had Harry taken any time to register the words he'd just spoken, he would have realized the sad irony in them.

Instead, Harry Potter, whose hurried footfalls echoed loudly in the dark, deserted halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, focused intently on the map.

Two black dots next to two names appeared on the map, showing their location as being in the Gryffindor common room.

'Well, that explains it,' Harry hissed quietly, his hands trembling slightly as he held the Marauder's Map.

To Harry's relief, however, one of the dots, marked Ron Weasley, moved out of the common room and seemed to head in the direction of the kitchens. Harry let out a sly smile at this.

'So predictable, Ron. A late night snack I see.' His emerald eyes moved back to the dot marked Hermione Granger, now alone in the Gryffindor common room.

'Maybe now I can get some answers,' Harry said to himself, his face set in rigid determination as he folded up the map and quickened his pace down the dark hall.

The Fat Lady eyed Harry suspiciously (albeit sleepily) as he neared her portrait. Before she could open her mouth to reprimand the seventh year and remind him that even though he is `the boy who triumphed,' he still has to follow school rules, Harry fixed her with a penetrating glare that could have petrified a basilisk.

The Fat Lady, now taking a step back deeper into her portrait, instead whispered timidly, “Password?”

Harry took a deep breath and fixed his face so that the crease in his brow was smoothed out. In a tone he hoped was absent of any kind of ill temper, he answered, “Albus Dumbledore.”

The portrait silently swung open so he could gain entrance into the Gryffindor Common Room.

Harry hurriedly straightened his robes about him, ran a shaking hand through his hair, and fixed a small smile on his face as he stepped through the portrait hole.

Hermione Granger was seated in her favorite over-stuffed armchair in the Gryffindor common room as a figure stealthily made its way through the portrait hole. A giant leather bound book with frail, yellowing pages lay open on her lap. From where he was standing, cloaked in shadow, Harry had a clear view of Hermione's profile. Her bushy brown hair concealed her face as her head was tilted downward to, Harry surmised, read the book lying in her lap. Despite looking over the Marauders' Map moments before to make sure she was alone, Harry's emerald eyes quickly surveyed the common room, paying particular attention to the dark corners and shadowed areas of the room where the orange glow of the fire did not reach.

Satisfied that they were the only two in the room, Harry's attention returned to Hermione.

Instead of hearing the blaring silence of intense concentration he was used to whenever Hermione was engulfed in a book, Harry heard a soft sniffle come from her direction.

'Is she crying?' Harry asked himself as his heart cringed at the unwelcome but all too familiar (especially recently) sound. Ever since the end of the war and the subsequent return to Hogwarts to finish their seventh year, Ron and Hermione had made their relationship official. With graduation and taking their first steps out into the adult world looming ever closer, one would think Hermione Granger would be eager to live a `Voldemort-free' life with Ron. But to the contrary, Harry found Hermione in similar states of sadness more and more often. Remarks like “Now that we are about to graduate, I suppose you won't be needing my help with your class work anymore,” and “Now that we are all rid of Voldemort, I imagine you can't wait to get out and live your life for once Harry,” (all said with a smile that never quite reached her eyes) made Harry wonder if something was wrong. And whoever thought that after Ron and Hermione got together that the petty arguing and fighting would stop……was sadly mistaken.

Another soft sort of sniffle coming from Hermione's direction brought Harry back to the present.

As he listened more intently, Harry's assumption proved to be correct as he could make out the sounds of Hermione softly crying. A glistening tear fell from her face to the yellow page of the open book on her lap, landing with a soft `pat.'

The hampered sounds of his best friend's sorrow made it harder for Harry to do what he had to. He second guessed himself, wondering if he should put his plan on hold for now and try to console his friend. Harry shook that thought from his mind and with grim determination stared forward at Hermione, fully intent on doing what he came here to do.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped deeper into the common room, allowing the soft orange glow from the fire to wash over him.

At the sound of his footfall, Hermione's frame shook slightly in surprise. Using her hands to wipe spilled tears from her face, she tried to compose herself the best she could.

Without looking up from her book, she said softly, with a twinge of annoyance in her voice, “I'll be right there, Ron.” She then moved to close the giant book in her lap and place it to the side.

At the sound of this, Harry softly cleared his throat to get her attention, hoping the loud cracking sound emitted from his chest as his heart broke didn't rouse anyone upstairs from their slumber.

“Oh Harry, it's you,” Hermione sniffled, finding some strength in her voice and flashing him a quick, slightly shaky smile. Harry pretended he didn't notice the lingering sadness in her voice as well as her puffy eyes and moved quickly to envelope her in a brief hug.

Though it lasted mere seconds, Harry felt himself drown into Hermione. Stepping away from her and suddenly feeling cold (although orange-yellow flames still flickered and danced in the fireplace), Harry sat down on the couch across from Hermione, willing his heart to resume beating.

He let out an exaggerated sigh.

"Waiting for Ron, were you? Sorry to disappoint," he said in mock hurtful tones, a sly smile on his face. His spirits lifted as he saw the shroud of sadness lift from Hermione's face as she smiled back at him.

"I guess you'll have to do then, wont you?" she replied, returning Harry's smirk with one of her own.

He couldn't help but admire her.

The past year, Harry had grown closer to Hermione than anyone else in his entire life. Their journey to seek out and destroy the Horcruxes had taken such a toll on the both of them. Yet Hermione, true to her word, stuck with Harry. Even when things seemed utterly hopeless at times, she stayed.

She was always there.

And now, with Voldemort gone forever, things can finally start getting back to 'normal.'

Whenever Harry thought about that, especially the word 'normal,' he couldn't help but frown a little as he tried to figure out just what 'getting back to normal' meant. Defeating Voldemort had been Harry's life, that was all he knew. After all, he was `the boy who lived,' and now 'the boy who triumphed.'

`So what now?'

All Harry knew was that whenever he thought of his future, the image of a certain bushy haired witch flooded his mind. That is why he had to let her know how he felt. To show her that she is making a mistake be….

“Harry?” her soft voice shook him from his trance. Harry's eyes focused on Hermione, still standing before him, her face full of concern.

“You alright?” came Hermione's voice again, moving to sit next to him on the couch. Turning toward Harry, she reached a hand up to brush against his forehead.

“Y-yeah, I'm fine,” Harry managed to stumble out, his face blushing as the coolness from her hand put him in a place of pure tranquility.

"Well you don't feel 'fine,'” answered Hermione in her typical 'bossy' tone, her face fixed with a serious expression.

'She is always so worried about me,' Harry thought as he let out a quiet sigh. `Even though seconds before she was softly crying, alone, here she is, worried about me,' rang Harry's voice in his mind.

`She's been through so much, and even now, with the rest of her life before her, where endless possibilities await, she's alone.

She's sad.

She's crying.'

Harry blinked rapidly to dispel the tears swelling in his eyes as he came to that sudden realization.

'She deserves better.'

Harry lifted his glasses off his face and wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. Hermione, white faced and looking as if Harry died right in front of her, made a move to ask her friend what was wrong when Harry interrupted.

"Actually, no, everything is not alright, Hermione," Harry confessed with a sad laugh.

He sniffled as he started to speak and again felt tears return to his eyes.

"This might sound completely absurd," he continued, his voice slightly trembling with sadness, "But I wanted you to know that-that I love the way you laugh."

At this, he laughed again, and sniffled loudly, looking down at his lap to avoid Hermione's gaze.

He felt the cushion on the couch shift and looked up as Hermione moved closer to him.

She reached out and grasped Harry's hands, holding on to them tightly. Looking up into her face, Harry saw that she, too, had tears in her eyes. Her brown eyes glistened as shadows danced across her face from the flickering fireplace.

She reached a hand to Harry's face and banished a stray tear.

“Harry, what's wrong? What happened?” asked Hermione earnestly, her voice breaking.

Harry moved to release Hermione's grip on his hands and stood up from the couch. Hermione's eyes followed his every move as Harry stood in front of the fireplace, his back to her.

"I can't keep doing this, Hermione. I just can't."

Wringing her hands together in her lap out of sheer nerves, Hermione, too, stood up and approached Harry. She laid a consoling hand on his shoulder and gently turned him to face her.

Her voice almost pleading, she asked, “Can't do what, Harry? What's happened?”

Harry's eyes lifted to stare into Hermione's. “You happened.”

Before she could inquire further as to what he had meant by saying that, he turned and moved to the middle of the common room. The couch they were sitting on earlier now between them.

“I…I can't stop thinking about you,” he managed, his voice finding courage. Ignoring Hermione's stunned look, Harry plowed forward. “You don't understand how much you mean to me, Hermione.”

Hermione, with frazzled, bushy hair and her body outlined in an orange glow due to her standing in front of the fireplace, only looked at the ground, a solitary sparkling tear falling from her face.

Harry continued, “I know I haven't been the most open person in the world about my feelings, but I can't ignore it anymore.”

At this, Hermione moved slowly and sat back on the couch in front of Harry, her back to him. Putting her head in her hands, she inquired softly, barely above a whisper, “You can't ignore what, Harry?”

She heard the soft swoosh of robes and suddenly felt two hands cupping her face. Looking up, she saw Harry kneeling in front of her, eyes shimmering, his face sad.

“The fact that I'm losing you.”

“Losing me?” Hermione returned, lifting her hands to remove Harry's that still framed her face. The unshed tears in her eyes burned away. Harry, confused by Hermione's tone, stood up and took a step back toward the fireplace, eyeing her intently.

Nodding to herself as if she just made up her mind about something she quickly stood up, as she spoke, frustration and sadness was evident in her voice.

“Where have I been, Harry!?” She let the sharp tone in her voice attack him.

She angrily pointed at the ground by her feet. “I have been right here the whole time! For four years now I have been right here! Waiting for you!”

The stunned look on Harry's face disappeared only to be replaced by a mask of confusion.

“Waiting for me…” he started, but Hermione interrupted, continuing as if she hadn't heard Harry at all.

“And now that things can FINALLY go back to being normal, where I can FINALLY move on with MY life, you decide to do this NOW?!” Hermione's bitter tone made Harry's heart drop as he stared at the floor in front of him, avoiding the daggers she was staring at him.

Hermione balled up her small fists at her sides as Harry neared. She refused to look at him as he reached her, his hands grabbing her arms at the elbow.

Tears blurred her vision as she drew a shuddering breath. Harry's heart was in a million pieces as he looked down at Hermione. Removing his hand from Hermione's shivering arm, he lifted it to her face and tilted her chin up so she could face him. Spilled tears left a glistening trail down her cheek that ran down his hand as Hermione turned her head away from him.

“Harry, let go,” Hermione choked out as she attempted to loosen herself from his grasp.

Harry, however, tightened his hold on her wrist as he pulled her back to face him.

“No, Hermione,” Harry whispered to her and he pulled her into a tight embrace.

Hermione sobbed openly in his shoulder for several minutes as Harry held her in his arms. He had known Hermione to be extremely emotional from time to time, but never like this. After several moments of silence, and assuming that she was all cried out, Harry released his hold on her and held her at arms length.

Hermione, her face pink from crying and her brown eyes now red and puffy, sniffled as she took a deep breath. That breath caught in her throat, however, as Harry's voice carried three words to her.

“I love you.”

That was the last thing Hermione remembered hearing before she felt Harry's lips on hers.

Harry couldn't help it. He had to do it.

He hadn't said those words to anyone ever before and meant them so sincerely that he felt his heart might burst. As he moved to kiss her for the first time, he wished for nothing more than to banish the sadness that so desperately clung to her.

To bring her back to life.

Bring her back to the Hermione he knew.

The Hermione he fell in love with.

Her first reaction was to try to pull away and she struggled slightly to break free. However, after a few moments, she was no longer able to fight the feelings that stayed dormant in her heart for so long. Hermione succumbed to his kiss and gave in, kissing him back.

After several moments where the only sound that could be heard in the common room was the crackling of the dying fire in the fireplace, Hermione broke the kiss.

“I…I can't do this,” she confessed.

She looked up at Harry's face, noticing the love his emerald eyes held as he looked back at her.

“It's not fair to Ron. I'm with Ron now,” Hermione finished, her voice shaking with a sort of frail resolution.

Her heart, which had been racing moments before during their kiss, slowed to a near stop as she noticed Harry's shoulders slump, his gaze returning to the floor at his feet.

“But-but I love you,” he mumbled to the floor.

“Harry, listen to what you are saying!” choked Hermione from where she stood in front of Harry, obviously having overheard his quiet plea.

She swallowed hard, shook her head vehemently, and said, almost more to herself than anyone, “No.”

She then fixed her puffy eyes up at Harry, tears now running down her face. “No. You don't mean that. Don't say that!” She let out a quiet sob as she turned to leave up the stairs and to the girls' dormitory.

Harry swiftly reached out to grab her arm, stopping her.

Immediately, she turned to Harry. “You don't love me, Harry! You just can't stand the fact that I love somebody else!” she barked, shaking as she fought to control her emotions.

“Love!?” Harry returned sharply, releasing his hold on her. His face now held a sort of sad, twisted smile. “Is that what you feel for him!?”

Hermione stood quietly at the foot of the stairs leading up to the Girls' Dorm, her eyes fixated on the person before her.

Harry too remained quiet for a moment, the twisted smile on his lips disappearing as his gaze turned to the window just over Hermione's left shoulder. Caught in the absolute blackness that blanketed the world outside, Harry felt a sense of emptiness inside of him. A gaping black hole where no emotion resided, no feeling for anyone or anything lay, swallowed the part of his chest where his heart should be, leaving him tired….and cold.

He was alone.

Alone in darkness.

He had lost too much over the years of his short life.

His parents.

Sirius.

Lupin.

Dumbledore.

For seven years he had fought. Sure, the war was won and the Wizarding World was saved, but Harry had lost too many battles.

Love is a sort of battlefield Harry supposed.

First, there was Cho Chang.

A loss.

Her grieving at the loss of Cedric Diggory had driven her to him. In the beginning their feelings might have been mutual but after the events that transpired during his fourth year, ultimately leading to the murder of poor Cedric, it was grief and maybe a little bit of pity that pulled Cho to Harry.

Then, in his sixth year, it was Ginny Weasley.

Lust and desire had thrown the pair together.

With the loss of Dumbledore, Harry felt quite certain that the end was very near for him. As convinced as he was of losing the final battle with Voldemort, he needed to experience some sort of happiness, some sort of feeling of what it was like to live a normal life.

Being fully aware of the crush Ginny had on him, the decision was easy.

Ginny was convenient.

He didn't need to put his heart and his feelings all on the line with her. The last thing he needed was rejection at that point in his life. Just having a friend there for him wasn't enough. If he could live but a few moments in blissful ignorance with her, then so be it.

“Harry?”

The sound of his name brought him out of his trance.

He felt nothing as Hermione said his name again. The usual flutter of his heart whenever she would say his name was absent. His heart didn't thump in his chest when she reached out and grabbed hold of his hand either.

It was gone.

The black hole within his chest grew and his eyes flashed a bright electric green. His skin didn't tingle at her touch, in fact, his body hadn't registered anything at all.

He was numb to her.

Her voiced reached his ears in a muffled tone, as if trying to eavesdrop on a conversation in another room by putting your ear up to the wall.

In the midst of all this, Harry had removed his glasses from his face and began to clean them, realizing his vision had become a bit blurred. He cast a quick glance up at Hermione to see if she was indeed still there (after all, his skin had become numb to her touch and his ears deaf to her pleas.).

He was surprised to find that she still stood before him, with her tear streaked face and eyes full of worry, mouthing what, Harry assumed was his name since he could no longer hear her. More surprisingly however was the fact the he could see her clear as day.

Suddenly it all came together.

Then, with what felt as a blast of cold air, her voice returned to him. "Harry? Harry, are you alright!?" rang her voice, clear as a bell and thick with emotion in his ears. He felt her touch as her hands framed his face, her red eyes looking pleadingly, frighteningly into his green ones for any sort of sign that he had heard her. And with his glasses held in his hand at his side, he was still able to see her clearly.

Almost as if looking at her for the first time.

He realized how blind he had been these past eight years. He finally saw the game she was playing. Hermione's urgent cries were silenced when Harry dropped his glasses onto the stone floor with a dull clatter.

"Harry your glasses." remarked Hermione as she instinctively bent down to pick them up. There was a sharp crunch as Harry stepped on his glasses, the frame breaking and lenses shattering beneath his foot. Hermione withdrew her hand just in time.

"I finally see what you're playing at Hermione." Harry spoke quickly, his voice unnaturally high and his body trembling at the sudden epiphany.

Hermione's eyes shot up to meet his and grew wide with horror at what she saw.

“Why him? Why Ron!?” Harry's eyes were wide, startlingly bright, and wild. “He left us Hermione!”

Hermione could only stand there, frozen.

“While we were out risking our lives to find and destroy Voldemort's horcruxes, he left us! He left you, Hermione!” Harry's voice had almost reached a hysterical pitch.

He saw Hermione glance up at the stairs leading to the girl's dorm, a scared look in her eyes.

It was as if Harry read her mind.

He smiled wide.

“Hoping someone will hear all the noise and come down to investigate, do you?” He laughed.

“If it hadn't been for the Muffliato spell I cast when I first entered the room, I'm sure our lovely little heart to heart would have been interrupted ages ago.”

Hermione remained quiet and in absolute terror. Her chest heaving as her mind fumbled trying to make sense of what was going on.

“But if it will make you feel better.” Harry continued, smiling mischievously at her as he extended his hand and snapped his fingers. “There, done.”

Ignoring the question in Hermione's eyes, he strode purposefully to an armchair in the dark corner of the common room and sat down. Making himself more comfortable, he tilted his head up to the direction of the girl's dorm, “Now you can scream all you want.”

Hermione licked her quivering, dry lips and shakily spoke her first words in what felt like an eternity. “But…how…”

The rest of her sentence was cut off by Harry's sudden movement. He sat forward in his chair, a smug look on his face. He calmly rolled up the sleeve on each arm. Having Hermione's full attention on him he raised both bare arms. Then he extended his arms towards her, his palms up. Hermione's quizzical stare was replaced by a look of sudden understanding.

Harry noticed this and smiled. He sat back. Running a hand through his hair he said, “Something is missing, isn't it?” his eyes sparkling with twisted delight. “It's wand-less magic, love.” He continued, “I could use the old `stick', but this way is much more fun.”

“Hermione? Hermione! You there?” a voice from the portrait hole at the entrance of the common room shook her out of her trance.

“Ron!” exclaimed Hermione as she quickly moved towards him, his voice becoming a tangible being as he stepped out of the darkness of the portrait hole into the common room.

Behind her, Harry's gaze silently followed Hermione as she reached Ron. A sudden look of quiet calm fell on his features as Ron kissed her softly and pulled her into a hug.

“You ok?” Ron whispered to her noticing that her body was trembling and that she looked as if she had been crying. Hermione nodded silently.

“I wanted to apologize about the row we had earlier,” Ron's voice was soft and meaningful; “I shouldn't have stormed out the way I did.”

Sudden movement behind Hermione caught her and Ron's attention as they both turned to look at Harry, who was now standing in the middle of the common room.

“Oi, Harry, didn't see you there mate!” called Ron to his friend, a smile on his face. “Hiding in the shadows were you?”

Harry raised a hand and ran it through his messy black hair as he smiled slyly at the couple in front of him.

“Go ahead, Hermione,” came Harry's voice, calm and purposeful. “Tell Ron that you would rather be with me.”

Hermione felt Ron go rigid beside her as she looked, unable to speak, at Harry.

“Oh, speechless now are you?”

He took a step toward them, his hands at his sides and a small smile still on his lips.

“Well, that is understandable, seeing how you were kissing me a moment ago.”

Hermione felt Ron's hand tightly squeeze hers as she took a small step forward. She felt Ron's gaze at her back. His grip slackened in hers as she made no argument to dispute Harry's claim.

Before Hermione could say anything, however, Ron released her hand and stepped in front of her, his features livid, his fists clenched.

“What the bloody hell is going on, Harry!?”

Harry smiled at Ron.

“Keep it down mate.” Harry warned in hushed tones, pointing his thumb over his shoulder to the far end of the common room. “Wouldn't want the whole lot of Gryffindor House to come down and see this, do you?”

Ron's eyes narrowed as he thought about that and knew that Harry was right.

This was between them.

“And to answer your question about what is going on,” Harry continued, “it's exactly what you are afraid of.”

His eyes moved back over to Hermione.

Harry chuckled as he took another step.

“He's always wanted everything I've ever had!” Harry spat, pointing an accusing finger at Ron. “And you were at the top of that list. You are just a trophy to him!” He moved within a few feet of Ron and Hermione.

“Now, tell me you don't love me.”

Hermione tried to convince herself that Harry wasn't himself. That something dark had a hold of him. She even entertained the thought that though Voldemort was dead and gone, the fact that Harry still had the lightening bolt scar on his forehead left him susceptible to some sort of dark influence left over by Voldemort.

These theories, however, flew out of the window once she looked into Harry's eyes.

There was nothing wrong with him. He wasn't being controlled by any kind of sinister force or anything of the sort. She saw, with terrible clarity, that Harry was serious.

Deadly serious.

She snapped back to reality as she heard her name.

“Hermione,” Harry's calm voice sing-songed, “tell Ron that you love…”

In one swift motion, Ron pulled his wand out from inside his robes and pointed it at Harry's chest.

“You stay away from her!” Ron threatened through clenched teeth.

As Hermione let out a frightened gasp, Harry took a small step back and lifted both his hands in mock surrender.

“Ron, stop it!” interceded Hermione, reaching for Ron's outstretched arm and forcing it down.

In a blur of movement, Harry pulled his own wand out and pointed it at Ron, a sardonic smile on his lips. His eyes were emerald slits as he glared at Ron.

“You don't deserve her!” he roared, the smile his face held moments before disappearing, his face now twisted in fury and hatred.

“Harry! No!” yelled Hermione as she made a move toward Harry, stopping in her tracks when Harry's eyes moved from Ron to her. No longer being held back by Hermione, Ron now raised his wand back up at Harry, his chest rising and falling as he breathed heavily, his anger fueling him.

“Careful, careful Ron” warned Harry, a smile returning to his face once more. He lowered his wand and put it back inside his robes; “Wouldn't want to hit your dearest Hermione with that.” He pointed a finger at Ron's outstretched wand. “I know your aim isn't the best, mate.”

Ron quickly realized the precarious position he put his girlfriend in and he began to slowly lower his wand, his eyes however, remaining on Harry.

Harry whispered reassuringly to Hermione as his gaze was transfixed on Ron.

“Don't worry, Hermione,” he said, her attention turning from Ron to him, his voice now a deadly hiss as he winked at her. “I'll save you.”

“Harry! No!” shrieked Hermione.

“CRUCIO!” bellowed Harry.

“NO!”

Harry's body jolted awake as he sat bolt upright in his four post, breathing heavily, his body drenched in sweat. He took several deep, calming breaths.

Ignoring the bewildered looks from Dean, Seamus, and Neville, Harry reached a trembling hand to his glasses and fixed them on his face.

As the world before him came into focus, so did Harry's resolve; He decided right there, one way or another, to let Hermione know how he felt.

He had to.

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Authors' Note: man oh man, sorry for the late up date. Had a really busy weekend! First I want to thank everyone who took time out to leave a review! That really means alot!..As I said I had a busy past couple of days. I officially became an uncle on Saturday! Went out partying Saturday night in downtown Austin (always a good time) and just preparing to head out to Iraq next week for another year to support all our troops over there! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, still kind of glossing over the surface with this one and not getting into the `meat and potatoes' of things just yet…..(saving that for the next chapter!)…anyway, enjoy and PLEASE review!

QQQ

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And on the wings of a dream
So far beyond reality
All alone in desperation
Now the time has gone

Lost inside you'll never find
Lost within my own mind
Day after day this misery must go on!

So far away we wait for the day
For the light source so wasted and gone
We feel the pain of a lifetime lost in a thousand days
Through the fire and the flames we carry on!

-DragonForce `Through the Fire and Flames'

….

It was well after hours at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Heavy rain pelted the high windows of the school and a harsh, cold wind rustled the ancient tiles layered on her roof and the tops of her many towers. Frequent lightning strikes illuminated the dark, deserted corridors and the thunder claps that followed seemed to shake the walls of the old school down to her brittle bones.

However, all of this went unnoticed by the lone soul sitting at a table by the lazy fire in the Gryffindor Common Room.

The common room was warm and comfortable, the soft glow given off by the golden-orange embers in the hearth provided more than enough light and, thankfully so, more than enough heat for anyone occupying the room at this late hour.

Harry Potter was thankful for the solitude.

Harry's emerald eyes stared unfocused at the portrait hole at the other end of the common room as he replayed the day's events in his mind.

Ever since returning to Hogwarts to finish his seventh year and graduate, every day had been the same for Harry.

He was becoming more reclusive, keeping to himself more than ever before.

Even during Quidditch practice, he just sort of floats around on his broom, not really doing much of anything, much to the dismay of recently appointed coach Ginny Weasley (Harry gave up his position as coach citing that he `didn't want to be responsible for anyone other than himself'). Who, after several days of Harry's mediocre practices, benched him for the first time in their game against Hufflepuff.

Gryffindor lost 20 to 230.

School work had also been taking a toll on Harry, especially with preparing for the end of year N.E.W.T's. Thank goodness for Hermione, though; her help with keeping him caught up on his class work and N.E.W.T preparation had been invaluable.

Just then, Harry was awakened from his trance as the portrait hole opened and two figures stepped through it.

"About bloody time!" exclaimed a voice from under a heavy cloak, a puff of steam coming from underneath the hood of the figure where the mouth would be.

Ron Weasley, seventh year Head Boy and Harry Potter's best friend stepped into the common room. Making his way to the nearest armchair, he plopped onto it, pulling off his gloves and removing his scarf.

"It's a nasty one tonight," sighed Ron loudly, looking over at Harry and making himself comfortable in the chair. His cheeks, nose, and ears the same color as his red hair.

Harry gave Ron a slight smile but said nothing, his eyes now following the other figure that had entered the common room with Ron.

"Oh, hi Harry, what are you still doing up?" came a light voice, slightly chattering against the cold she had just emerged from as Hermione Granger, seventh year Head Girl, Harry Potter's other best friend, and only female member of the Golden Trio, made her way into the common room and over to where Harry was sitting.

She, too, removed her gloves and scarf as well as her cloak as she walked across the room towards Harry. That familiar scent of ginger, cinnamon, and jasmine wafted into the room, wrapping itself around Harry as he watched Hermione approach him.

She shook out her brown hair so that it fell bushier than before over her shoulders, her cheeks and the tip of her nose a light pink color.

She came to a stop in front of him, hands on her hips.

"So?" she asked, eyebrows raised and a small smile on her lips.

"What?" Harry returned (more dreamily than he would've liked), looking up at her and exhaling loudly, the warm, springtime-like scent releasing its grip on him.

"What are you still doing up?" Hermione repeated, patting Harry's leg and taking a seat next to him.

"You weren't waiting up for us, were you? That's so sweet!" rang Ron's voice from the armchair in the middle of the room, closest to the weakly glowing hearth.

"Oh," started Harry looking over to where Ron was seated. "I was just finishing up Slughorn's essay, or trying to anyway."

"Are you having trouble?" inquired Hermione, her brown eyes flashing at the idea of being able to help with Harry's assignment, as if she really had nothing else better to do.

“No, no trouble at all. Absolutely none. I couldn't be having less trouble actually.” Harry laughed nervously, suddenly uncomfortable.

`When did it get so hot in here?' he thought to himself as he felt a warm tingle climb up his neck and onto his face.

Hermione however, unsatisfied with Harry's answer, got up and reached out to grab the piece of parchment Harry had been writing on when he quickly snatched it off the table.

He hastily crumpled up the page and stuffed it into the inside of his robes.

"You don't have to worry about it, Hermione. I have to start it again, anyway. I'll be sure to finish it, though. No problem," he finished rather quickly, giving her a weak laugh.

Hermione cocked an eyebrow at this.

"Are you sure?" she asked quizzically. "I really don't mind. I don't want you up all night working on it."

She looked over his shoulder at the mess around the table where he stood. Harry followed her gaze to the numerous crumpled pieces of parchment and only shrugged.

"I'll get it finished eventually," he admitted sheepishly.

Hermione, with her lips pressed tightly together, fixed Harry with that determined 'Hermione stare' and was just about to lecture him on the importance of getting his assignments done earlier than 'the night before' when Ron crept up behind her, wrapping his arms around her.

She let out a playful shriek as Ron hugs her tightly and kisses her gently on her neck.

Harry's eyes lowered to the ground in front of him and he made a move to go back to the armchair he was sitting in earlier.

"Stop, Ron!" said Hermione good-naturedly, her eyes on Harry as he turned away.

"What's wrong?" asked Ron, his face hidden behind Hermione's bushy hair. "I'm just giving you a good night kiss. I mean, I won't see you for the next couple of hours," Ron whispered to her as he released her from his hug and she turned to face him.

"I know," Hermione answered, looking up at him.

Even though Ron was made Head Boy, he decided to remain in his dorm with Harry, Neville, Dean and Seamus. He had made the argument that he had grown to used to sleeping in his four post and just wasn't ready to move on to something else.

“I'm a loyal friend, what can I say,” he admitted jokingly to his friends one night.

Harry scoffed.

`Even though Ron chose to stay in the dorm, it's not like he spent any time in there anymore.'

During many late nights, Harry would be down in the common room finishing up class work or reflecting on his day (really anything to keep his mind off of Hermione, who was the reason he couldn't go to sleep most nights) when Ron would silently makes his way down to the common room and out to the kitchens on `official Head Boy duty' he would joke to Harry.

Harry knew exactly what was going on however. He wouldn't see Ron until breakfast the next day, or coming into the common room in the morning as everyone was heading out.

Hermione had chosen to reside in the Head Girl room just like she had stayed in the Prefects room while a Prefect.

That's where Ron was sneaking off to.

And the thought of it almost made Harry sick.

He looked back to the couple standing in front of him. Wondering how things turned out like this and why he was on the `outside looking in.'

Ron reached out his hand and tilted Hermione's chin up, a loving, caring sort of look Harry didn't think Ron was capable of expressing to anyone other than food. However, as Ron moved in to kiss Hermione, she turned her head slightly so his lips fell harmlessly on her cheek.

Ron sighed softly and looked up past Hermione to where Harry sat; oblivious to everything around him and busily writing on a piece of parchment.

Ron's blue eyes fell back on Hermione as he said, "Make sure you get that essay done, eh Harry? Can't have Hermione worrying over it, can we?”

Without another word, Ron brushed past Hermione to the other side of the room. As he started up the stairs to the boys' dorm, Harry looked up, his face devoid of any kind of sign that he had been paying close attention to what just happened between him and Hermione.

"Is that an order, Head Boy?” he laughed after him as Ron disappeared up the stairs.

Hermione's eyes followed Ron as he walked up the stairs and she let out an audible sigh. She smoothed out her robes and looked over at Harry, her cheeks still pink, but not from the cold, Harry surmised.

She took another breath and strode over to where Harry was seated on the armchair. He watched her as she stopped just short of reaching him.

Hermione reached out her arm and lightly grabbed Harry by his right shoulder.

That familiar scent takes over Harry again and his heart begins to thump heavily in his chest.

Hermione's eyes, glowing a golden brown from the smoldering remains of the fire, looked deeply into Harry's emerald ones.

"You know if you need anything, I'm here for you, right?" she said slowly, softly.

Harry sat there and stared into her eyes for a moment longer before he opened his mouth to say something. When no words came, he just slightly nodded his head and turned his attention back to the parchment he was writing on.

He didn't notice the sadness Hermione's eyes held as a brief moment of absolute silence passed; the rain outside drumming softly against the window.

Hermione released her hand from Harry's shoulder and muttering a quick "G'night," gathered her belongings and turned to walk out of the common room.

Harry, holding his breath, not wanting her to go, not wanting to feel that cold wind of reality on his skin, watched Hermione until she stepped through the portrait hole and out of sight.

Leaving him alone.

………

The tip of the quill in his hand bleeds truth, a steady flow of crimson ink.

Telling a story in bold letters, he pauses as familiar thoughts begin to cloud his mind, convincing him that what he is doing is something that has to be done, that needs to be done.

His words, no, his lies that he continues to tell his heart echo in his mind.

'Being alone is better. If I push everyone away, even those I love most, then they will be safe. She will be safe. She loves Ron. Too many have died because of me. Too many loved ones gone.

Because of me.

A small smile plays on his lips, betraying the emotional and spiritual battle raging inside of him.

"Loved ones," he whispers to himself, his emerald eyes focusing on a far gone memory, a time long since passed.

A cold heart beats.

He's back to the present, the here, the now.

The voice that clouded his mind earlier is no longer there, dissipated it seems.

'It's never really gone, though,' he thinks to himself, the slight smile he had earlier making a similar exit, all traces of it having really been there gone.

"I should have known better," he tells himself, eyes falling on the piece of parchment he was writing on.

How much time have I spent writing this letter? Or other letters just like it? A lifetime?

These letters, all of them, can fill volumes of books as he tries to forget her. Volumes of books that line a dusty, forgotten shelf, never picked up to have their inner secrets revealed.

Understood.

Loved.

"Books, huh," he says softly.

"Even when I try to forget her, I'm reminded of her," he sighs.

Memories remind him of sparkling brown eyes and a bright smile. Eyes he thought saw him and only him, saw him for what he truly was, not just as 'the boy-who-lived.'

"I should have known better," he reprimands himself again.

Tears begin to dot his eyes and fall on the parchment with the crimson red ink as if to dot his i's.

As his blurry vision tries to focus on the parchment, he notices it. A line creases his brow as he realizes he hasn't written anything at all. The unshed tears in his eyes disappear as he tries to figure out what is going on.

He's spent the entire evening writing this letter!

Hours and hours have passed and yet he's looking at a blank piece of parchment.

"What...," his says in a hushed tone as he looks at the quill in his right hand, crimson red ink dripping from it.

His eyes dart to the crumbled pieces of parchment around him and his hand reaches out and grabs the nearest piece. Both hands work feverishly as he opens up one of his many failed attempts at this letter and he suddenly stops, gazing at the ruffled parchment in his hands.

Nothing, not one word, not one solitary crimson dot, can be found on the page. He lays the parchment on the table and begins to smooth it out, running his hands over and over it, making sure to straighten out the bent corners of the page, hoping to find the slightest bit of evidence that his quill left some kind of mark on it.

Nothing. Blank.

Frantic now and with eyes wide, Harry grabs the next piece of parchment closest to him and inspects it just like the first, making sure this time to turn the piece of parchment over, hoping that there might be something, anything, on the back side.

And again, just like the first letter, it's blank. There should have been words written in crimson red ink, words that his heart would speak and his mouth would not. Words that, if read by the intended recipient, would lift a great boulder off his shoulders and free him from his torment. Instead, the parchment in his hand reflects nothingness, a seemingly vast expanse of blank canvas waiting to be painted upon with his heart's truths.

Suddenly, a searing pain shoots down his left arm, forcing the air from his lungs. His vision goes hazy for a moment as he drops the quill. His right hand grips his left forearm, as if attempting to strangle the pain into submission.

After a moment, the pain slowly begins to subside and he removes his hand from his forearm. Blinking his eyes several times, he lifts his hand to wipe away the beads of sweat that glisten on his brow.

That's when he sees it.

One of the pieces of parchment he was writing on earlier laying on the floor in front of the portrait hole. From where he was standing he could clearly see writing on it in red ink.

His writing.

`How did it get over there?'

He quickly walked around the table and made is way towards it.

He froze.

He heard a muffled sound coming from the other end of the portrait hole and knew someone was about to enter the common room. Harry remained standing there, a few feet from the parchment that held is hearts biggest secret when the portrait swung open and a figure stepped through.

Harry watched as a gloved hand reached down and picked up his letter.

His confession.

After a brief moment, a calm voice that made Harry's blood run cold came from the shadow of the portrait where the figure stood.

“Hmm, I think we need to talk about this, mate.”

The shadow took a step forward into the dim light.

It was Ron.

"Harry!"

"Wha..!?" Harry's body jolted awake at the sudden sound of his name and the next thing he knew he was laying on the cold, hard stone floor.

He let out a sharp gasp and scrunched up his eyes at the sudden pain in the back of his head.

He heard muffled laughter all around him. His glasses lay crooked on his face, obscuring his vision.

A hand reached down as Ron's voice inquired in an amused tone slightly above a whisper, “Sleep soundly did you?”

Harry straightened his glasses on his face and looked up at his friend, whose hand was still extended out to him.

“Not quite.” Harry answered grumpily as he reached up and took his friends hand.

A goofy grin was pasted on Ron's face as Harry was hoisted to his feet, a slight wave of dizziness coming over him. Exhaling a low groan, Harry stretched his aching body.

"Personally, I prefer my bed to a table any day,” said Ron smartly, smiling.

Harry had barely heard Ron, his mind was elsewhere.

'What happened?' he thought to himself.

"Made a right mess in here, didn't you Harry?"

Harry turned his attention to the voice.

Seamus Finnigan was picking up crumpled heaps of parchment along with Neville, Dean, Pavarti and Lavender that lay littered all over the common room floor.

Harry went white.

There was nothing he could do.

They would all find out.

He could see them now, a greedy gleam in their eyes at the new bit of knowledge they possessed.

The look on Hermione's face when they corner her and tell her what they've come across.

How Ron would feel...

"Tsk...Tsk, I don't think Hermione is going to be happy about this."

Harry's head spun around so fast he thought it might pop off.

He saw Ron with a wrinkly bit of parchment in his hands, his eyes on Harry.

Harry took a step forward.

"Listen Ron, I can explain." he said quickly, his mouth dry, his hands sweating.

"I don't see what you can say that can get you out of this," Ron explained as he turned a blank piece of parchment over to Harry.

"Not finishing your essay when you told her you would. You're braver than I am."

Harry was dumbstruck.

He stood gazing at the blank page with his mouth open, the other members of Gryffindor House stacked equally blank bits and rolls of parchment on the table he was sleeping on.

"Well we'll get a start on breakfast before 'Ron the Ravenous' gets a chance at it," laughed Dean, patting Harry friendly on the back as he, Neville, Seamus, Pavarti and Lavendar all filed out through the portrait hole.

"Honestly, you need to learn to clean up after yourself Harry." scolded Pavarti before the portrait swung closed.

"Just hope you never go up to our dorm!" called Ron after her, a smile on his face.

Returning his attention to Harry, he sighed loudly, scratching his head.

"You have got to stop doing this to yourself mate."

Harry swallowed hard. He felt the color returning to his face.

"... Up all night doing class work, sleeping on a table in the common room?"

Ron continued talking, surveying the common room before his eyes returned to look over at Harry.

Harry shot Ron a sort of weary smile.

"Don't tell Hermione?" Harry managed to say, more of a suggestion than a request.

Ron laughed as he gathered his belongings. "Oh no, my lips are absolutely sealed! I'm not stepping in between you two on this one! I've worked too hard to get 'Mione to even smile at my jokes to put my head on the butcher's block for you!"

He winked at Harry and headed for the portrait hole. "See you at breakfast!" he sang out and laughed diabolically as the portrait swung closed behind him.

Harry's mind was reeling.

'A dream?'

`It couldn't have been. It felt too real. I remembered the warmth of the fire on my face, the sound of the quill scratching on the parchment I was writing on, I remember Hermione....'

Hermione.

He hadn't seen her in the common room just now with everybody else.

`Where was she?'

`Already down at breakfast?'

`Attending to her Head Girl duties?'

Harry turned to the stacks of parchment on the table and took a breath.

"Thank Merlin those pages were blank!" he heard himself say.

He let out a laugh as he thought about everything that just transpired.

'It was just another nightmare,' his mind reasoned, 'I was down here trying to finish Slughorn's essay and I just fell asleep. That's all.'

He smiled sadly at himself.

He knew it wasn't just another nightmare. Trying to convince himself otherwise was all he could do to keep the reality of it from striking him full on in the face.

Harry headed to the stairs leading to the boy's dorm so he could at least shower and change into some clean robes before going to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Something serious, something that just doesn't feel right was happening to him.

He just has no idea what the hell to do about it.

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