Come Undone
Chapter Two
Note: Thank you for your reviews, I read and appreciate all of them and take on board all concrit. I don't reply to them because once I start, I want to reply to all. Plus I ramble and tend to give away plot secrets. But seriously, thank you for reviews they're great. Come visit me on lj if you wanna chat too x ps Always looking for a beta lately if anyone keen. And in this chapter, don't worry - Hhr moments do kick in after the first part.
*
Like the deserts miss the rain.
*
At first I think he'll just turn up in a week or two like last time. I relax a little, knowing he'll be back and Kreacher will let me know.
But after three weeks I start to get uneasy again. I wish I hadn't been so eager to just sit in his company; I berate myself for not getting a number of his new job or something to lead me to him.
The Weasley's are all at a loss. Ron even forgets to be mad and starts to genuinely worry, so I tell them a little about the last time I saw him. It's slightly edited, particularly because Ginny is scowling at me openly. I guess it's because I've kept my visits to him secret and I understand that really because I don't know why I did either. Arthur uses his contacts at the Ministry to try and track him down discretely, but to no avail. There's only so much he can do without launching a full scale man hunt. We don't want the news to get out and cause panic when he could just want to be by himself.
I'm completely frustrated and I hate not knowing what to do next. For something to do, I buy an owl. She is a beautiful snowy white thing, very similar to Hedwig - and that's one reason why I buy her if I'm truthful. That and because the owner at Eeylops Emporium tells me she's exceptionally good at finding people - and persistent.
I take her back to Grimmauld and kept her around Harry's room, let her sniff and peck at his clothes that are all still in his drawers and closet, or strewn on the floor before I tidy them away. Kreacher gives her some owl treats and they instantly take a shine to each other, so I tell him he can name her. It was an impulsive but ultimately smart move on my behalf because Kreacher from that day forward seems to transfer all his helpfulness to me in Harry's absence. He names her Capella and completely dotes on her.
But she has no luck in finding Harry.
Every letter I give her she brings back three, sometimes four days later. She's always worn out and grubby looking, I know looking into her huge yellow eyes that she has really tried. She even comes back with a wound on her wing the last time, much to Kreacher's distress. She nudges me apologetically every time I come around and I give her a treat, happy anyway that she is keeping Kreacher company.
But we just can't track him. Then just before Arthur is going to launch a missing wizards report with the Ministry, a note turns up on the kitchen table of Grimmauld Place. It's only twelve words long.
I'm okay. Don't worry about me, and don't look for me.
Harry.
We all take it differently, from Ron who is furious and proceeds to pretend Harry never existed, to Ginny who is devastated but maintains a stony silence, to Luna who just smiles and seems to accept this as a perfectly sound and rational explanation. Her attitude is that a wizard who doesn't want to be found, won't be found. Until he's ready.
Surprisingly I'm not mad. It just drives me crazy that I can't figure this out. And more so that I can't really discuss it with Ron for long; he always ends up getting frustrated and angry with me about it, telling me to give up and that Harry doesn't want to be around us anymore and we should just accept that. I know I'll never accept such a thing but I don't press him more. I know he's really upset by it all, not just for himself but for his family, and specifically, Ginny.
She's gotten terribly skinny. Her cheeks are sunken hollow and her hair lacks its usual shine. I notice she still looks up expectedly every time someone appears at the Burrow, hoping to see Harry I know. But she never talks to me about it. Though sometimes I see her staring at me strangely, and I know she wants to ask me something - something about Harry I feel sure - but she doesn't. I volunteer one night that I really haven't heard anything; that I've tried everything I know to track him down. This just seems to irritate her so I never try again.
But I'm spending less time at the Burrow anyway as things with Ron and me are most certainly falling apart.
I don't know if you can call what we had a relationship. I used to think I was quite perceptive about things like that, but when it comes to my own I guess I lose perspective. I used to enjoy our banter but now it just makes me tired. And he is incredibly demanding, so much so that I find myself avoiding him. He needs constant reassurance and I don't have the time or patience for that, what with my study and with my quest to find Harry. He doesn't know how much effort or thought I'm putting into that though, so it's fair I suppose that he feels he doesn't get enough of my time.
But I know for certain I need space now. In quiet moments, when I sit and read or just lie on my bed, I begin to feel a sadness creeping over me the likes of which I've never experienced. It's washing through me and changing me, I can feel it. And if I don't figure it out, I'm scared it's going to overwhelm me.
So that's why, with the help of my parents, I get a place of my own.
And that is the first time that Ron and I break up.
*
My house is beautiful.
It's tiny, a one bedroom terrace house, attached to a row of identical houses with tiny front gardens and a small courtyard in back but the street is lovely and quiet and it's warm and private.
My favourite part about it is the small sun room backing onto the courtyard; my first purchase is a soft and inviting couch for the sunniest part of that room - the ideal place to read. Crookshanks thinks it's the ideal place to sleep though, so I can see I might have competition for that prime spot.
I buy a huge bed with a beautiful brass headboard, and I love that I have it all to myself. Ron grumbles about why I need such a big bed with no one to share it but I just ignore him. He agreed to help me shift; we've still managed to stay friends which makes me happy and hugely relieved.
My last purchase for the house is a couch for the lounge room. It's incredibly long and wide, and as I have no spare room, I think of it as my spare bed. I sit on it the first night and realise then that I got it for one person in particular. If he ever comes back, I got it for Harry.
It is a strange revelation, and maybe that's why I dream of him that night.
He is just there, in my new kitchen with me, talking, laughing. Then we walk out to my courtyard and there's a huge tent there - like the one we took on our Horcrux hunt but bigger. He looks down at me and the green of his eyes is so vivid; it is the thing I remember most about the dream. When he grabs my hand it's incredibly warm, then he squeezes mine and we walk forward into the tent, and then I wake up.
The sadness is heavy on me that following morning.
Weeks roll by and there is no word from him. I've contacted absolutely all of our old school friends, Neville, Dean, Seamus, everyone I can think of. None of them have heard from him. Then the Daily Prophet picks up on it.
I almost spill my tea when I see the headline one morning.
'The Boy Who Lived...Vanished.'
There is a photo of me, Harry and Ron at one of the monument unveilings. Ron is waving cheerily out of the photo, his arm around me. I'm smiling weakly and I keep looking up to Harry next to me. He's holding my hand, smiling but it is a hollow smile, I see that now. Every now and then he looks down at his feet or up into the sky, as if he'd like to take off right then.
His hair in the picture is so different from the last time I saw him. For the thousandth time, I run over our last conversation, trying to think of clues. Army boots. No glasses. Tanned arms. Nothing made sense.
I read the article but it's just rubbish, all speculation by some young journalist who'd noticed a few things Harry didn't attend and started snooping around the Weasley's. No one gave comment of course, but then Percy accidentally let slip that they hadn't seen him for months so they wouldn't know where he was.
So as expected I get a floo later that day from The Prophet and I just put the fireguard up to block my calls. They try to badger all of us for the next two weeks. I call in to Kreacher and he's most unhappy about the floos and owls, he's taken to blanketing the house in an Anti Detection Charm.
The story dies down after a while because absolutely no one knows anything, there is nothing to tell.
And my dreams of Harry keep happening.
Sometimes he's just there in the background of a normal uninteresting dream. Sometimes he is just out of reach or I'm trying to find him and he keeps eluding me - those dreams are frustrating.
And in some dreams, he has the starring role. It's when I start having those dreams that I stop trying so hard to find him.
I've never had a sex dream about him before. But these dreams are so vivid; I can feel him - the hard lines of his body, the roughness of this cheek. I can smell him, taste him, when I wake up it feels like he is still all through me. I rationalise that it's just a symptom of missing him but the grief I feel about it turns into a cold ache that's always there in my stomach, every day. I feel on the verge of tears at the most inappropriate of times and it's all because of this.
So I finally get angry. How dare he just take off like this? Not leave us anything, any idea where he is. After everything we've done for him. After all I've done for him. I am insulted now, and try to push him from my mind.
It's probably why I take up with Ron again.
I know it's a mistake from the beginning but he is persistent and I just don't have the energy to argue with him anymore. Besides, he's right; I have no real reason why we split up. I do like going to the Burrow again. Molly makes me feel so welcome and I love talking with George, and Arthur.
I never like Ron staying at my house though. But I put up with it, always on edge until he leaves. He doesn't seem to notice.
One morning, after I've ushered him out, I figure it out. It's because deep down, I still think Harry might turn up. Still. And if Ron is there well, Harry might not stay.
I could scream with frustration. I hate not knowing the answers, I hate that he could be hurt or in danger and I have no way of knowing.
It is gnawing at me worse every day and I start arguing with Ron again. We've been giving each other the silent treatment for days when it finally happens.
Harry comes back.
*
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try and fix you
*
It's late at night and I'm still on the chair in the sunroom in my pyjamas, my feet curled under me and Crookshanks on my lap, purring. I'm wrapped up in a book, a novel I'm just about to finish; I've gotten fonder of novels lately. Romances even, though I would never admit that to anyone. But they have to have a happy ending. I read the back page first to make sure before I start it.
Crookshanks stops purring so abruptly that I stop reading and look down at him. His ears are up and twitching and he turns to look back into the house. Then he jumps up and trots to the front door. He doesn't miaow like he usually does when he wants to be let out; he just sits there, staring at the door handle.
It's so strange, I get up. I walk towards the door a few steps, then stop and summon my wand, feeling a bit anxious.
Crookshanks looks up at me and miaows soft and low. I frown at him, and then reach for the door handle.
I open it slowly, my wand held out in front.
He is standing on the step, his back to me, hands on his hips. I know it's him in an instant.
He whips around and his face is surprised. His hair is still short, his face tanned, his clothes relaxed - scruffy even.
His face breaks into a tentative grin.
"Miss me?"
I can think of only one word as I fly into him, nearly knocking him off the step. Only one word as I squeeze his shoulders and arms to check he is real and whole and safe and there. One word to answer his low laugh as he puts up with it, then lets me hug him tightly again.
Yes.
Oh yes. I missed you.
*
I pull him inside, not letting go of him for an instant. He seems to fill up my little kitchen with his presence though he is standing quietly, smiling gently at me.
"Harry" I breathe, just staring up at him, drinking in his face. He looks incredibly different, but still everything I remember, his eyes, his scar, he looks just as he appears in my dreams. I feel my skin start to heat as my thoughts turn to the dreams and it spurs me to look away from his face.
He's wearing a leather jacket, and a dark round neck top underneath. There's a mark on his neck and I frown, moving to examine it but he turns then, towards my fridge and opens it.
"Anything to eat? I'm fucking starving."
I frown at his language, not from disapproval but just because he'd never been one to swear much. But I pull the fridge open further and reach for the left over take away I had earlier in the night, summoning dishes and cutlery from the cupboard.
I can't be sure, but he seems to pull away from the floating objects with distaste. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as I perform the necessary charms to heat the food and cool the drink.
His whole stance is tense, uncomfortable. I decide against asking him anything till he is eating and can't run away. I feel like he is edgy and anxious to leave and I bristle at that, prepared to body bind him if he tries.
But he lets me fuss over his food, and lead him to the small dining table. He sits down heavily, he seems tired. I notice he doesn't take off his jacket.
I watch him as he starts eating, and after a few mouthfuls and sips of his drink I take a deep breath and wade in.
"Harry. Where the hell have you been?"
He looks up at me, and smiles, a glint in his eyes. I can't reconcile this person with my friend whose glasses I always had to fix; now he still isn't wearing any. He finishes his mouthful.
"So, the answer is yes then?"
"Answer to what?"
"Yes, you missed me."
My anger rushes back powerfully; from wherever it's been banished to since the moment I laid eyes on him. I'm horrified when it starts to manifest as stinging tears behind my eyes. I force myself to say calm.
"Of course I missed you, you idiot." He grins at that and I shake my head and shift my seat closer to him. "I'm glad you find that funny. Because, I've been beside myself, Harry."
His face goes serious then and my tears threaten again. I blink and try and hold his stare but I can't and I look at my hand lying on the table. His fingers appear in front of my vision to wrap over mine; his are still cold from the outside air. I keep blinking furiously.
"Hermione. I'm sorry." He squeezes but I can't look up because my vision is blurred. He shakes my hand gently. "Hey."
I blink once, hard, to clear my tears. But they're still there when I look back at him; I can tell because his face falls. Then he brings me into him in a tight hug. My face presses into his jacket, the leathery smell somehow comforting as I let my arms tighten around his waist. There's that faint smell of cigarette smoke again I notice.
"I'm sorry." He sets me away from him and looks into my face, brushing my tears with his thumbs. "I know... I knew you'd be worried. I should've contacted you." He does look guilty and that makes me feel better.
"Why didn't you?" My voice is quiet but I feel the anger starting to build again.
"I couldn't. I...It's my work, I've been really wrapped up in it."
I frown, and notice he won't meet my eyes. Then I look again at the mark on his neck.
I'm too quick for him this time as my fingers dart to his collar to pull the shirt away from his neck. Long grey lines of ink are etched into his skin and continue toward his shoulder and collarbone, more lines hinting at the promise of a larger design under his clothes.
I can't help from gasping, and pulling at his t shirt to try and follow the tattoo, fascinated. He makes sounds of protest that I ignore as I push my hands under his jacket to shrug it off his shoulder.
If the neck tattoo surprised me, I'm absolutely floored by the rest of the design. His t shirt is short sleeved and I instantly see that his whole left arm is entirely covered in grey shaded designs. It blends to make one full sleeve, but as I stare I make out a few images, a dragon, and some kind of serpent. I run my fingers over his skin, speechless at what he's done.
He tolerates my examination for a bit then he shrugs fully out of his jacket and goes back to eating. I stare at him, trying to comprehend this is the same Harry I know, my Harry.
"Wha...When did you get that done?"
He shrugs, and I can see he's frowning deeply as he shovels food into his mouth.
"Months ago."
I hate him being so elusive, but I can see this is more complicated than I realised. And in that moment I decide I don't care. I don't care what he looks like, what he's done, what state he's in. As long as he's here.
I notice his drink is finished so I summon another. He frowns.
"I wish you wouldn't do that."
"Do what?"
He snatches the bottle out of mid air.
"Can't we just get up and grab it from the cupboard? Like normal people do?"
My face screws up in a confused grimace but he just keeps his eyes on his plate.
"Uh... well..."
I don't know what to say, but he speaks again.
"Sorry, I'm just...I'm really tired."
I'm still confused but I pick up on what he says.
"So will you stay?" I gesture at the couch. "I can make up a bed."
He smiles again and I think how silly it is that it pleases me so much.
"That'd be great, thanks." He looks around admiringly. "It's a nice place, 'Mione."
I can't help the flush of pride. "Thanks. Crookshanks and I love it."
He smiles down at my cat, winding himself around his legs affectionately.
"He's gotten fat."
"He has not!" I'm indignant and Crookshanks stops and glares at Harry for a moment. Harry stoops and scratches his ears and he purrs sort of grudgingly.
"You're still handsome though aren't you, mate" he mutters.
I roll my eyes as Crookshanks happily goes back to winding around Harry's legs, pacified.
"Can you tell me where you've been?"
The question falls out of me.
He turns his eyes back to me and I realise my dreams don't do the colour of them any justice. They're much brighter, more...beautiful.
"Honestly?" He watches me carefully. "No."
I just nod, because somehow I expected that answer. "Well can you promise me something then?"
He squints a bit, considering. "Maybe."
"Don't leave. Not for that long again, not without telling me where you're going or when you'll be back - or how to get hold of you. Don't just take off."
He studies my face and I get the feeling he's drinking it in like I was doing to him earlier. Then he grazes my cheek with the back of his knuckles, the most tender, affectionate gesture he's ever made towards to me. I stop breathing for a second.
"Okay. I'll do my best. And you promise me something?"
I nod.
"Don't tell anyone I was here. Or that you've heard from me at all. Okay?"
I frown, puzzled and shocked, but I can see he's deadly serious. I make my own condition.
"For now."
He shrugs at that answer. "Yeah, for now."
So with that uneasy peace between us, I go about getting the bed set up. I remember his reaction moments before and I do it without magic, though I'm incredibly confused about all that. I bring a towel too and ask him if he wants a shower. He nods gratefully and I show him to the bathroom.
I try not to form an image of him in there as the sound of the running water drums through the ceiling above me and I try and watch TV. I finally realise he might want some fresh clothes so I dig around and find a pair of Ron's tracksuit pants and old t-shirt and place it outside the door. Just as I do, the water shuts off and so I almost run back downstairs.
He comes back down in just his jeans though, holding the rest of his clothes.
I swallow hard. He is lean; not an inch of fat on him, but muscular and tanned as if he's been working outside without a shirt a lot. The tattoo covers his whole left shoulder, right down to his wrist. I make a supreme effort not to stare and grab his clothes from him.
"I'll wash your shirt."
He frowns, but nods quietly as I go about hanging his jacket over a chair, putting his shoes by the door and putting his t shirt in the front loader in the kitchen.
When I'm done he's sitting on the bed I've made of the couch and I feel oddly fulfilled, like the couch was really meant for him after all.
I bring over a cup of tea with me and he takes it gratefully. I take a seat in the armchair opposite.
He asks tentatively after Hagrid then Luna, but when he says 'how are they' and I respond with 'worried about you' both times he gives up and sits in silence. Then we find safer ground talking about Kreacher and he asks about Capella.
"He said she's yours?"
"Well, yeah."
"It's nice of you to leave her there with him. He loves that owl."
I nod knowingly; it's blatantly obvious Kreacher loves caring for her I know. I glance at him as he takes a slow sip from his mug.
"I got her to find you." He flinches just slightly at that. "She couldn't."
"Yeah." He avoids my eyes. "I'm not surprised."
I watch him till he looks back at me. "She's beautiful." He smiles sadly. "A lot like Hedwig."
I nod but my emotions swell up again and I can't speak.
He puts his mug down and leans into the couch, tipping his head back and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. I have to focus really hard on the television for a moment because I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes off the definition of his stomach. I really still can't believe he's there, or how different he is. I clear my throat.
"Tired?"
I don't want to end the conversation, but I get this sense that I shouldn't push things too far too fast with him. It feels strangely like he's a wild thing that I'm trying to get close to by slowly gaining its trust, and any wrong movement could send them bolting into the darkness again.
He nods to my question and smiles wearily.
"You must be too, sorry it's so late." I want to deny it but find myself yawning. "How's the training going?"
I shrug my shoulders. "Good I guess, though I did so badly on my last exam."
He smiles at me, and it warms me so deeply that it's a real one - and is the closest I've come tonight to seeing the Harry I know. He even laughs slightly.
"Let me guess... you only got 100 percent."
I sit up straighter, instantly defensive. "Well, but 122 has been my average so..." I trail off, feeling foolish in the face of his knowing smile. My voice is quiet but I still have to finish. "I just..shouldn't have got that last question wrong. I knew the answer - I just second guessed it."
He shakes his head and grins but says nothing more.
I decide I should leave on a good note. Besides, I have something to ask him and I need him in a good mood.
I stand up and walk to sit by him on his couch. His face grows serious; he sees I have some ulterior motive.
"Harry, can you..." I grab his hand and stare at both of mine clutching his. "Promise me you'll be here in the morning."
He shakes his head minutely but hesitates before answering.
"I'm not sure. I have to be away really early."
I nod and grasp his hand tighter. "That's okay. Just wake me first." He nods slowly but I grasp tighter.
"Promise."
He rolls his eyes then smiles. "I promise."
"Great." I grin and stand up, grasping his face and tilting it down to plant a kiss on the top of this head. He might have laughed softly but I'm not sure. But I suddenly realise then that I want to stay. I want to lie on the couch next to him and never let him go.
So I turn and nearly run up the stairs to my room.
*
I try for probably three hours to get to sleep. But my mind feels wired and on edge - I'm hopelessly tired but I don't want to take anything or do any charm to make me sleep because I want to be alert to hear him leave if he does.
So when I can't stand not knowing anymore, I put my dressing gown on and creep downstairs.
I half expect him to be gone but he's there; lying sprawled over the wide couch, blanket across his waist. The television is still on; he must've fallen asleep watching it. My relief that he's still there is so intense I stop for a second and just enjoy the sight of him, peacefully sleeping - his chest rising and falling in deep breaths.
One arm is slung up over his head; the other - his left, with the tattoos - is resting across his eyes. I inch closer, scared to wake him, but getting an overwhelming urge to study the tattoo closer.
I get within a few feet and he stirs, jolting a little and I freeze, watching as he dreams. A low moan escapes him and then he's still again.
I kneel quietly at his side. I can just make out under his arm that he's frowning in his sleep, as if something in his dream troubles him. And so even though I know he'd be mad, I perform the Dreamless Sleep Charm I just perfected in training last month. It's harmless, and helps you wake refreshed, but allows a deep sleep.
His arm drops from his face and his features instantly relax as I watch.
Now his arm is stretched out, hanging from the couch with his fingers nearly touching the carpet. I manoeuvre around to be able to lean closer and study the design by the flickering light of the television.
It just looks like grey shading until you get closer and see how intricate the artwork is. I've never been much of a tattoo girl, but I have to admit, it is pretty amazing.
Looking closer I see there are various pictures woven together, a sinuous dragon, mouth open, breathing grey fire on the outside of his upper arm. On the inside of his bicep is a majestic looking creature with an eagle's head and a horse's body - a Hippogriff I realise with a start. The supple body of a serpent twists around his forearm and I follow it to its head, which has black eyes and oversized fangs. The Basilisk? I look at his face then, soundly sleeping and shake my head. What is this all about?
Then a design on the inside of his wrist catches my eye and I lean closer. It's a small circular disc, set in a delicate semi circle. A thin chain comes from it and winds around his wrist once and back again, the skilful artistry making it appear as lifelike as a real necklace.
Something about it makes me touch it, and trace the lines, it's so familiar.
I gasp loudly as soon as my mind grasps it and I glance at him quickly - glad I performed the charm or I surely would've woken him then. The Time Turner. It's the Time Turner on its long chain.
I stare at his face for a long time before lifting his arm up to lay across his chest for him. I brush my fingers across his scar gently, just once, because I know he won't wake up.
Then I summon a blanket and move to the armchair, curl my feet up under myself and watch him until I sleep.
*
"Hermione."
I'm dreaming that we're in the hospital ward, Harry and I. We're at Hogwarts but he looks like he does now, hair short, neck marked with the tattoo. I unwind the chain from my neck and reach up on tiptoes to put it around him too. I'm conscious of how close we are - I can feel the heat from his body as we stand together with the chain around the two of us.
I hold the delicate Time Turner between my forefinger and thumb and go to spin it. But he circles my wrist with his fingers and they're gripping me strongly. I glance slowly up to his eyes and he stares back, with that startlingly green. Nerves course sharply through me.
"Hermione Jane."
He leans down slowly, and then finally his lips are on mine, warm, soft...
I open my eyes with a jolt.
I'm still curled on the armchair, but early morning light is breaking through the kitchen windows now. I turn my head slightly and see Harry, leaning in to me, his hand around my wrist. He's fully dressed, his shoes on and looking ready to go. His face is interested, amused even, a slight smile pulling at his lips.
My mind slams into wakefulness and I give a guilty start. My dream whistles away like retreating smoke, I pull myself up to sit. He lets go of my wrist and waits, then bends down to pick up a tea he's made me.
I take it slowly, glad he's still here but feeling a little sick that he's obviously leaving soon and also with the embarrassment of my dream still lingering. He waits for me to take a sip.
"I have to go."
I just nod, though I want to plead with him not to.
"I...I'll come back soon yeah?"
I look up at him standing over me and embarrassingly my eyes fill with tears.
"Yes. Please."
He smiles and brushes my cheek again, like he did last night. I close my eyes, and it forces out a tear. He wipes it.
"Soon. I really will."
I nod, my head down.
He starts to walk towards the door.
"Harry James?"
He turns around, smiling.
"Can I send Capella to you?"
He looks truly regretful. "Not yet okay? Next time."
I see in his eyes he's telling the truth so I feel much better, warmer. I still feel a bit panicky though but try and hide it behind my cup.
"Next time" I repeat.
He nods and holds a hand up. He waves at me, then turns and pulls open the door.
I watch him go.
*
Lyrics credits(in order): Missing by Everything But the Girl, Fix You by Coldplay.