The End of Heartache by QuickQuotesQuill

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 14/06/2008
Last Updated: 16/06/2008
Status: In Progress

Slight AU. Returning to finish their seventh year at Hogwarts following the war, Ron and
Hermione are a couple, and Harry (although he refuses to admit it) is jealous. Sweet dreams turn
into nightmares as Harry's jealousy begins to take control of his life. His only hope is to
tell Hermione how he feels. But after waking up to a reality slightly different from his own he
wonders if this new 'reality' is a dream. Or has he been dreaming all along and finally
awakened to the truth? I suck at summaries! :) My First Fic!! PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!




1. Prologue- Love is a battlefield
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“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
W**easl**e**y**,* moved out of the common room and seemed to head in the
direction of the kitchens. Harry let out a sly smile at this.

*'**S**o 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.

*'M**aybe 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.

*'S**he is* *always so worried about me*,' Harry thought as he let out a
quiet sigh. `*Even tho**ugh seconds before she was softly crying**, alone**, here
she i**s**,* *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,
wh**ere endless possibilities await,* *s**he'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.

*'S**he 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. “*Y**ou* 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*! *W**aiting* 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*,
“N**o.*”

She then fixed her puffy eyes up at Harry, tears now running down her face. “No. You don't
mean that. *D**on'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 *hear**t* *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.

-->



2. The Comforts of Madness
--------------------------



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 wil**l 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.

*L**oved*.

"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.

`*H**ow 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
tryin**g 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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