Come Undone
Chapter Six
*gulp* Here we go, answers...really truly this time. And though it might feel a bit like an ending, it's not. 5 more chapters to go.
Thanks for reading, and all your reviews they give me so much happy x See you tomorrow
Ps - watch your step, angst minefield.
*
Strain this chaos, turn it into light
I've got to see you one last night.
*
Luna is too good a friend to me. I find her presence soothing and helpful - though I don't know what she gets from me. I used to find her vaguely irritating a while back. Now, I hang out with her the most I think.
She's been my only comfort this last week. She'll come around after work for a wine and we just sit, she doesn't feel the need to talk much. I'm devastated at what happened and that I haven't heard from Harry yet. And just when I think I'm handling it, she catches me off guard.
"I know something's wrong with you."
I stare at her and shake my head. "I don't know what you mean." She ignores me and continues.
"All I know is that it's something about Harry."
I'm rocked; I actually feel a little faint.
"Wha..."
"You're only ever this upset when it's about Harry. And I know you've been seeing him."
I make a goldfish mouth at her for a bit then I give up, staring at my feet. My face is hot. She goes on.
"But you don't have to tell me about it. In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't."
I stare but she just sighs and continues. "He's okay. And he's still speaking to you. That's good."
I shake my head at her, flabbergasted, and finally find my voice.
"To think. I used to think I knew more than you." I shake my head, truly ashamed. "I was so wrong."
"No." She smiles serenely. "You just don't believe in anything you can't see. That's not wrong. That's just the way you are."
Vaguely I recognise that tears are spilling from me. "I don't know what I believe anymore."
She hugs me, warm and genuine - her hugs always are.
"That's okay. You don't need to believe. You only need to trust."
I don't understand what she means, but I accept her hug all the same. And it makes me feel better that someone knows now, even if it's only a little.
*
H
I'm not mad. It's my fault anyway.
I'll come and see you - at least one more time. I shouldn't, but I figure I owe you that. I just can't tell you when. But soon, one night soon.
I'm really sorry too.
H
*
My work suffers again.
It's been a week and all I can do is run through the clues pointlessly in my head.
They didn't know Harry is a wizard. All of them are muggles, I think. But there was the strange invasion of my mind when I was there, and just an odd vibe around the house, particularly about Warren.
I feel cold when I think of Warren. There's just something... 'off' about him.
I tap my quill against my temple, sitting at the desk of the ward I'm interning at this week. Then I hear another tapping, at the window.
My stomach flips as I recognise Capella. I hurry to let her in - even though I'm not really supposed to in the hospital.
I notice dread coiling in my stomach and I almost don't want to open the note she carries.
*
H
I don't know if you'll get this in time, but can you make it to number 12 tonight?
I'll be there late, if you can.
If not, I'll be in touch soon.
H
*
Kreacher keeps scraping the grate, stoking the fire vigorously again even though I've told him a number of times that Harry won't arrive by floo. The shrill noise is grinding on my already frail nerves, but I say nothing, continuing to stare into the amber flames, waiting.
It's nearly midnight, but I don't feel at all tired. Harry might be coming and I might have the answers to my ceaseless questions, soon. I could stay awake all night if I needed to.
The room is incredibly warm and I stand up to check my flushed face in the mirror above the fireplace. My hair is out and floating around my bare shoulders; I drag the strap of my singlet up again - it keeps falling down. I heave an irritated sigh and check the clock - again -pushing my hands through my hair impatiently.
Then finally there's a stomping of footsteps in the hall.
I turn to the door and wait, shoving my hands in the back pockets of my jeans.
His eyes seek me out straight away and hold my gaze, the green so clear from even this far across the room that it's all I can do not to run to him. I press my hands deeper into my pockets to stop the impulse, keeping my expression neutral.
He gazes intensely for a moment longer, and then to my relief he smiles. A smile that's small and sad, but a smile nonetheless and I let go of a breath I had no idea I was holding.
"Hi."
I want to reply but I can't speak for a moment, I'm so relieved and hurt and ashamed all at once. He greets Kreacher and accepts the drink the house elf gives him, downing half the cold beer before putting it down and shrugging out of his jacket. I just sit there watching him, willing myself not to be weak - not to give in to the tears threatening me for god knows what reason.
He walks over to me and he appears relaxed, but I can feel some inner tension, coiled inside of him like a spring. There's no warm hug; no urgent embrace this time. That makes me feel so cold I nearly shiver, even though I'm standing right next to the fire. I watch as he lowers himself gingerly to sit on the edge of the sofa.
The scene reminds me so vividly of the day before he left that first time - when I first saw his hair short - that I flinch, remembering the empty echo that followed the many months after that night.
"Hi." I finally manage to say something, to distract my thoughts I think.
He stares at his beer bottle, choosing his words I suppose.
"So, I guess I've got some explaining to do."
That wakes me from my stupor a bit. I frown and shake my head, my hand up. "I'm the one who should be explaining."
He smiles bitterly, taking another drink. "No. I get why you did what you did. I probably would've done the same thing."
I wonder what to think about that - what he's just said, while I stare down at him; his forearms twitching as he turns the bottle between his hands. He wears a black t shirt with some kind of skull design on the front and I blanch at the irony of that. Something that so resembles the Death Eaters Dark Mark would have never made its way into a wizards wardrobe. But that's what he looks like sitting there; so muggle. So human. At ease with his new life. And who was I to go snooping on that?
I cross gingerly to the sofa, and lower myself to perch on the edge too, alongside him.
"I'm so so sorry Harry. I should've just..."
"Hermione."
I look up and he's staring at me intently. He places his bottle at his feet and grasps my hands in his. They're slightly cool, either from the outside air or the beer, I don't know. I worry about what he's going to say next, though his hands are calming me somewhat.
"I'm going to tell you what's going on. Okay? Maybe I should've from the start." He says the last almost as if to himself.
I meet his eyes and nod, readying myself. He looks at me for a moment, then around for Kreacher. "Do you want a drink?"
"...Is it that bad?"
He laughs lightly, and the sound makes the tight knot in my stomach loosen some. "I don't know, maybe. But, before I tell you..." He looks around the room, as if expecting to see someone else, like we might be overheard.
"This really is for you and you only." I nod, but he grips my hands tighter. "I have to insist on that."
I press my hand to my chest - stung that I might've damaged our trust irreparably now. "Of course - Harry...I promise."
His mouth twitches up at one edge. "It might be asking too much."
"You could never ask too much of me."
He looks me in the eyes and I hold his gaze, trying to convey my conviction. He nods slightly, then shifts to sit more comfortably on the sofa. I take this as a good sign and do the same. Kreacher brings me a drink and so we drop hands, Harry staring into the fire.
"You remember when I said I got that job. Last time we were...here." He gestures between the sofa and the fire and I wonder for a second if his recollection of that night is as sharp as mine. I doubt it. I nod, encouraging him.
"Well, it wasn't your typical 'job' as such."
"I'd been approached by a group - The Unit. That's all they're called."
"It's a group of wizards and witches who've vowed to ...prevent things. Prevent bad things."
I shake my head, not understanding yet. He glances at me once, then back to the fire.
"They have a Seer amongst them. A good Seer - the best. She can track...possibilities. What's going to happen in the future - or what could happen."
"If the possible consequences are dire enough, then The Unit take it upon themselves to change it. Change the future."
My eyes widen. "Tampering with the future?"
He screws his face up. "Adjusting it. Protecting it maybe."
I feel a ripple of apprehension pass through me. "For the greater good?"
He scowls at me then, the first time he's shown anger.
"Don't say that to me. It's not like that."
"What's it like then?"
He stands up, too agitated to sit still I think. "Tom Riddle. Imagine Hermione. If we could have contained him, from the very beginning. Imagine the lives that could've been saved."
I stare at my hands then, feeling his pain too acutely in that moment. I nod, so that he'll go on.
"That's what we do."
"There's muggles out there, who are born with magical ability. But they don't know - like me, like how I was. It hasn't been fostered; they have no idea of their capacity." He sits in front of me, grabbing my hands again, and I get that he needs me to understand this bit. I look at him.
"And they shouldn't ever find out."
My mouth drops open.
"You... you decide to deny them?"
His face looks weary, his eyes sad, but his jaw is clenched.
"Yes. Some people don't deserve it Hermione."
I bristle at that. "And who decides? Who decides who fits and who isn't good enough?"
He drops my hands then but stays seated. "We do."
I nod, still not calm.
"Harry. If that isn't "For the Greater Good"...then I don't know what is."
He leans back into the sofa, pushing his hands over his face and locking them over his head, staring at the ceiling.
"I knew you'd be like this."
"Be like what?? Reasonable? It's not up to us to say who can and can't join the magical world! It's playing God!"
He stares at me, his eyes dark. "I wish. I wish I could play God. Then I could've stopped Riddle becoming what he became, I could still have... we could all have a different life. A good life. What part of Tom Riddle deserved to have magical ability? Tell me that."
My mouth opens, but I can't find words to speak. I stare at the fire.
"I just...it sounds flawed Harry."
He sighs and leans forward. "It is. And it isn't. Not everyone is for it."
"Does the Ministry know?"
He shakes his head. "Only certain parts of it. It's in constant debate." He takes another drink. "At the moment, I think they just run with the idea that ignorance is bliss."
He looks so much older in that moment and I reach out to touch his arm. He continues, still looking into the fire.
"In fact, it was a muggle initiative. The Prime Minister set up a committee after the carnage Voldemort caused and this was a possibility they approached us with. So that's part of the controversy I guess." He glances at me. "But I believe in it 'Mione. It's always felt hopeless to me; that there'll always be another Riddle and we just have to wait for him to emerge once he's too powerful for us to stop him. Or her. If we can anticipate it, then I think we should do that."
"Then why you. Why do you have to do it?"
He smiles a humourless smile.
"Because I perfectly fit the candidate criteria to work undercover. No family. No ties. A knowledge of the muggle world. And the testing was... it felt like it was what I was born to do."
"I scored perfect scores in almost everything. I was strong enough, quick enough, the weapons training - everything they taught me felt...easy."
I interrupt.
"You said almost everything."
I'm not sure, but the colour seems to drain from his face.
"What?"
"Almost everything. What did you fail on?"
He doesn't answer straight away; he actually manages to look awkward and annoyed at the same time. Then bizarrely, he smiles.
"Trust you to pick up on that."
I have the decency to blush. "Just curious."
He considers. "I failed when they asked me if there was anyone I couldn't leave behind."
My eyes lock with his. I think of Ginny, her long red hair and get a vivid flashback of hers and Harry's first kiss. He's still staring at me and I try not to show my ridiculous jealously on my face.
"Ginny" I say, stronger than I expect.
He blinks. "Yeah."
I nod and look at my hands, twisting around each other. "But you did! Leave her behind. You still do, she's been really.... She's not been well Harry."
His brow creases in concern and I think I might be breaking through to him. But he shakes his head.
"Hermione, you don't understand. Ginny was never in love with me."
"What?? I've never seen someone more in love."
He smiles sadly. "No. She just thought she was."
"Well." I fold my arms, and I'm slightly perturbed by his attitude. "She STILL 'thinks' she is then."
He snorts. "She's in love with the idea of me. Trust me."
I frown, but decide to let it go. Then I realise something, so strongly that the thought forces me up and out of my chair.
"Warren. It's him, isn't it."
He smiles grimly at me, grudgingly impressed I think.
"Yes. It's him."
"He's a wizard?"
"Well, he could be. But they've been keeping an eye on him since he was a child. A sadistic child."
I feel that cold chill again, thinking about those blue eyes.
"The Unit prevented him from being approached by any magical school, from having any knowledge of our world. He is evil, Hermione. I've seen inside his mind."
I frown in confusion, but something is settling into place, making sense though I can't grasp what it is yet - like my mind is catching up with my instincts.
"The one talent that has come through in him, and is strong, very strong, is that he's a gifted Legilimens. He can read minds, and sometimes block people reading his too."
It makes sudden sense. The cool probing of my mind when I was with him - he was trying to read me. Another realisation occurs.
"So how do you... how can you get around that?" I don't mean to emphasis the 'you' but I do - thinking of Harry's disastrous private tutoring in Occulmency with Severus Snape all those years ago.
He actually laughs out loud at that, which should make me relieved, but the sound actually gives me a fright. He sees, and touches my arm, rubbing slightly.
"Sorry. You're just... you're so you." He shakes his head. "I got better at it. Much better."
"After everything with Riddle, when I went into Occulmency training, it was a piece of cake this time. Might've been because I didn't have Snape breathing down my neck too though." He smiles and then draws invisible quotations in the air with his fingers to underline his next words. "Apparently I'm 'exceptionally gifted' at it. Now."
I can't help but smile a bit. "That's...ironic."
He smiles back too, genuine. "Don't I know it."
My mind is whirling a million miles a minute, with all the new information. "So why no magic?"
He nods, expecting my question. "He's particularly sensitive to it - even the barest hint of it leaves an impression he picks up on. He gets antsy when he senses magic, though he doesn't know what it is." He rubs his face and looks at the ground.
"And because without magic, the use of it, or magical objects, it's easier for me to sell that I'm James Dursley, just your typical muggle delinquent - illiterate, money hungry, happy to blindly do his bidding. That's why I had to remove it from my life."
Comprehension dawns, but it hurts - like we, his friends, were a tumour he had to remove. He glances up and I think he reads my face because he replies to my silent questions.
"It wasn't just that. I just... needed to get away. At least for a while. I kinda...fell apart for a bit there - after the War." He looks away again; his expression hard and I remember him, upstairs in this very house, the shell of my friend - bitter and angry. I nod, not wanting to talk about that now that he is here and relatively whole now.
"That's why I shouldn't be seeing you. The Unit don't know about that."
His voice is soft, low. He's stares at his empty bottle, twists it in his hands again. I don't know how to feel about what he just said. I settle on another question.
"So how long? How long will you follow him?"
"As long as it takes. I keep close to him, so that we know what he's up to. He's getting more powerful - one day we may have to ...contain him."
I stare at him, not recognising his cold tone of voice.
"Or not. He's not a good man either way Hermione. It's not like he runs a children's charity association."
I look at him, questioning.
"He's a drug dealer 'Mione. The drug dealer - for this area anyway. One of the biggest. So he's ripping muggle lives apart at the moment as is."
My mouth has fallen open. "So you're...you..?"
He nods, curtly. "I've been a Transporter, Runner, Buyer, you name it. I'm not happy about it, but I've actually managed to save a few lives along the way. I do what I can."
I frown, not understanding what he's saying clearly, I feel a bit dizzy.
"So the tattoos - the gun..."
"Comes with the job really." He smiles cautiously at me. "It's part of the sell I guess. But he's mainly happy with what he sees in my mind. What I project to him at least. That's how he's been so successful. He can tell instantly if he can trust someone. I was welcomed in pretty quickly when he found me, and most of them accept that. Well except maybe Fletch."
I nod, remembering Fletch's rodent like face twisted in distrust.
"And the guns...well we have to carry them. For protection, intimidation. The Unit like me to carry at all times anyway. For if it ever goes bad."
My stomach clenches in worry at that. He sees, and places his hand on my temple, smoothing my frown lines with his thumb. He smiles softly.
"Don't worry. I keep myself safe."
"For how long" I murmur.
"Long enough. He'll slip up one day. Either with the muggle authorities, or with us. I just hope it's sooner rather than later."
I look away, as the reality of Harry living this half life for years settles in. He puts his hand on my knee.
"Does that... do you understand now, why you can't be a part of this?"
I bite my lip, only now remembering how close I came to spoiling everything for him. "I'm so sorry Harry."
He nods, and I know he's not mad - anymore.
"It's okay. As I say, it's my fault. I should never have come back."
I grip his arm, firmly.
"Don't say that. Don't ever say that. I couldn't....I wasn't coping. Without you."
He looks at me, solemn, then brushes my cheek. "You would've coped. You always do."
I just shake my head sadly.
"He was intrigued. By you. How did you stop him reading your mind?"
When I look back at him, he has a strange expression on his face. But I answer.
"Mind blocks - from Healing training. Turns out I'm 'exceptionally talented' at it too." I mirror his air quotations from before and he laughs.
"Yeah, like that's any surprise."
I flush at his veiled compliment. He doesn't see; he's rubbing his face with his hands.
"Ah I'm starving."
"God, you're worse than Ron these days."
He grins. "I know. I think it's the work - I really have been building too. Warren owns a company. It's a good cover, and when things are quiet, it gives me something to do. Seth thinks I'm mental. But I can't stay idle."
I nod; still overawed that he's been living this whole other life. Then I remember.
"So, Angie? Is she your ...girlfriend?"
My voice goes quieter, and fades out altogether on the last word. He catches it though, and watches me, slightly amused I think. He hesitates, then finally answers.
"No. She's sort of... Fletch's. Though she 'belongs' to Gripper -that's what they call Warren. It's complicated."
"Sounds it. She looked like she wanted to 'belong' to you." I curse myself; I didn't want to say that out loud.
He laughs softly. "Yeah well, there's that too."
I stand up, suddenly not wanting to hear more. "Come on. Let's eat."
*
We stare at the fire, full, sated, lost in our own thoughts. I've exhausted all my questions, dissecting every time he's been able to get away to see me. I understand now, how difficult it must have been, because the people he is living with have become an unofficial family in a way.
He cares for them, I can tell. His eyes have an unmistakable warmth when he speaks about Seth, and Angie. The relationship with Fletch is a little more strained but there all the same. So when he would come to see me, he had to lie to them - mainly pretending he'd had a one night stand, if they found him before he got back in. It was why he was often a bit tipsy - the best time was after parties or nights out.
My head hurt from all the thinking. I grabbed his arm absently, openly examining his tattoos now.
"Did this hurt?"
He gave me a sidelong glance that clearly meant 'What do you think?'. I nodded. "Ouch."
"Yeah."
"But these are all...wizard things. The Basilisk, Buckbeak. Weren't you scared that would expose you?"
He shook his head, looking at the designs too as I run my fingers over them.
"No. They're all muggle mythology symbols - not unusual subjects for tattoos." His smile was grim. "I didn't want to give away every part of myself."
"And you just got them to...fit in?"
He shakes his head, watching my fingers on his arm. "It just happened. I had to live the life for eight months before Gripper noticed me and took me in. Seth's brother is a tattoo artist so I just started with a few and..." He shrugs then frowns. "I don't regret them. But I...It wasn't the happiest time of my life."
My heart clenches at that, but I hear something in his voice that makes me keep my gaze averted from his face, like I shouldn't delve deeper. Instead my fingertips trace the Time Turner. "I like this."
He nods, and I feel him watching me from the corner of my eye. I keep my gaze on his wrist. His voice is quiet when he answers.
"It reminds me of you."
It feels a bit like someone's punched me in the gut at that moment. I struggle to breathe, wanting to take my hands away from his arm, because I can't trust myself now. I can't trust myself not to show him what he means to me- I know for sure it would be visible in my eyes.
He clears his throat and pulls his arm gently away.
"I better go."
"You're not staying?"
"No. I don't think... not tonight."
There's something in his voice and I look at him finally. He looks sad, but resolute and a cold fear grips me.
"You're not coming back."
He looks everywhere on my face except my eyes.
"No. I'm not."
"Harry..."
"I can't. You can see that now right? It's too dangerous. I should never have come to see you in the first place. I thought it would just be once."
I search his face, looking for uncertainty, for anything that might contradict his words, and tell me that he can't do it - he can't be without me either. But I can see in his eyes that his resolve is unwavering, and I remind myself bitterly - in the way that I used to at school, though it was so much easier then - that this is the meaning of the word 'unrequited'. That the strength of my feelings for him meant nothing, when he didn't feel them back.
Childishly, I cover my face. I can't help it, I want to scream or cry but I can't - it's all just frozen on my face in a mask of pain, and I don't want him to see that.
He grasps my wrists gently as if to pull them away but I hold them firm, so he gathers me into him then. I can't stop the tears as he pulls me into his chest, almost onto his lap - his arms circling me.
The soothing noises he makes into my hair just make me feel worse - a brother's comfort for his sister perhaps. He rubs my shoulder with his fingers, kissing my head, holding me in a vice like grip.
"I'll be alright 'Mione. It's much better for me to know that you won't be in danger too, you know?"
I move my hands from my face to grip around his waist, my fists bunching in his t shirt, pulling him closer. I shake my head and press my face into his chest, his collarbone. I know my tears are wetting him but I don't care. I realise then this is my last moment, with him.
I lean back to look at him again and he cups my face. "I never meant to hurt you. It was selfish."
I close my eyes, willing my tears to stop so I can see him clearly. I want to ask him if I can write, but I don't want to hear him say no.
"Hermione."
His voice has changed a bit, deeper and huskier in that moment. I blink, trying to see him clearly again.
Then I feel him, his lips, warm and surprisingly soft, against mine.
I freeze, not wanting to move, or breathe, in a way that might stop what he's doing right now. I press into him slightly though, I can't help it.
And he pulls away. His eyes are cloudy, he shakes his head.
"I'm not good for you. I put you in danger. I don't want to do that."
"What about what I want?"
I don't even realise I've spoken till the words are out. He looks at me, eyes troubled.
"You have what you want. Your life...it's everything you wanted."
"You don't know that Harry."
He closes his eyes, and I wish he wouldn't, I want to see what he's thinking. But in the next moment they're open, and they've changed, he drops his hands from my face.
"Look after Ron, and everyone else. Make sure he looks after you."
Anger starts creeping in again and I sit back. "I can look after myself."
"I know." His voice is quiet. "Please don't hate me."
The anger dies, instantly and I grab his hand. It's warm, and he squeezes it, watching our fingers entwining. "I'll never hate you."
He carries on like I haven't spoken.
"It's just what I have to do." He holds our interlocked hands up, then kisses the back of mine. Then he drops it and stands. I stand quickly too - feeling frantic, on the verge of hysteria that he's going and there's nothing I can do. He smiles at me and starts to walk to the door.
"Harry!"
He turns, and it looks like he winces.
I rush up to him and hug him, my arms around his neck. If this is the last time, I don't care what he knows anymore. Still, I only murmur it into his shoulder.
"I love you."
He holds me just as tight, lifting me off the ground, squeezing my waist. His lips press into my ear, which is good because I may not have heard it otherwise.
"I love you too. Always."
He leaves me then, and I don't even see him go. I don't even hear his footsteps in the hall or know if he had one last look at me, on my knees on the floor. I'm not sure if he was close enough to hear, when I started sobbing.
But that's the way that he leaves me.
*
H
Capella keeps bringing back my letters. I know I shouldn't keep sending her. But I'm still hopeful you might change your mind. Besides, writing them gives me something to do. And I figure there's no harm in me writing to myself.
I wish I had never followed you. Maybe you might still be visiting then. But it's been three weeks and I know you're gone now.
There's so much I want to say to you but I can't. I wonder if you know that.
I'm sure you don't know how hard it is to go on without you.
Please look after yourself. I worry about you.
Love,
H.
*
Lyrics credit: You're All I Have by Snow Patrol.