A long moment passed in which the only two people in the tavern, in the entire world, that mattered were Harry and Hermione. Disbelief was writ large across Hermione's face; resignation, and not a little fear, on Harry's.
Hermione was the first to break the silence, a dozen different emotions flashing through her eyes before settling on joy. A few of the other patrons in the Three Broomsticks watched curiously as she threw herself around the table and flung her arms around him tightly. Harry grunted at the force of it.
"Harry, what-? Your hair! And where's your scar? You're so thin! Where have you been? Where did you learn to play like that? Oh, Ron's not going to believe it!"
Harry didn't respond but Hermione was too overjoyed to notice. She ran her hands up and down her back as if to reassure herself that he was real.
"Harry, why did you leave us?" Hermione finally asked in a muffled voice against his chest. Harry sat there stiffly, not responding to her at all. Hermione sensed at last that something wasn't right and let go quickly. Harry's expression was disturbingly blank; he flicked his wand subtly and a soft, white smoke floated out of the tip to surround the other patrons who had been watching the exchange with mounting interest. Immediately all their faces grew vague and unconcerned and they turned back to their drinks.
"Harry?" Hermione asked tentatively as he stood. "What-?"
Her mouth snapped shut as he wordlessly spun on the heel of his foot and walked out of the Three Broomsticks. Hermione thought she caught a flash of terrible pain and loathing in his eyes, but it was so quick she might have imagined it. Hurt and confused, she sat frozen on the spot momentarily. She had found him (at last!), but this was not at all how she had imagined it. It was like a bad dream.
Hermione's paralysis lasted only a few seconds; she quickly recovered and ran after Harry. When she caught up she grabbed his arm and forced him to stop and face her. She had not imagined it; the pain and loathing were there in his haunted eyes, but quickly hidden. Was it her he loathed? A few people were watching them curiously.
"Harry, please say something," begged Hermione, tears sparkling in her eyes. "It's you, I know it's you!"
Harry simply stood slumped, staring at the ground between his feet. The silence was excruciating. Hermione didn't think she could bear it any longer when he finally spoke.
"I knew it was a mistake meeting you again. You're too clever by half, Hermione."
* * *
Shock ran through Harry's body, but it was quickly drowned out by pain and wave upon wave of self-loathing. It was all he could do to stand up straight.
It's all my own stupid fault, he thought angrily. I should have known better! Putting myself on display like that in front of Hermione. She's always been more than clever enough to put it together.
Hermione! After all these years of dreaming constantly about her and Ron, knowing he could never see them again, there she was, looking up at him uncertainly. She was so lovely, the sight of her a balm to his weary eyes. She looked hale and healthy, tiredness notwithstanding, not broken like him. Full of life and character, just as he remembered her. Yet there were also lines of exhaustion and worry upon her face and bags under her eyes that he knew were because of him. He could read the hurt he had inflicted on her and squirmed guiltily. It only intensified his feelings of shame and loathing until he knew he didn't deserve to be alive.
"You should go," he said quietly.
"But-! I just found you. I finally found you! Harry, what's going on!?" Hermione's mouth hung open as he brushed past her.
"Harry! Come back!" She tried to grab him again, but he shrugged her off easily.
Distraught and hurt as she was, Hermione still wasn't going to be denied so easily. This time she ran ahead and planted herself firmly in Harry's path, legs braced. He tried to step around, but she stepped in time with him and stared challengingly into his eyes. She had never looked so beautiful to Harry. So full of life and vitality and everything he remembered about her; a pristine symbol of the life he used to possess.
He had also never hated her more, for the very same reason. For reminding him of what he no longer had, and refusing to let him forget.
"Hermione, let me be."
"No."
"Hermione..."
"No!" she yelled, stomping her foot in a most Hermione-ish way. It was so familiar that Harry nearly started laughing hysterically.
"I'm not going to get rid of you, am I?"
Hermione shook her head mutely. More people were watching and pointing, though none really understood the gravity of the situation.
"I could hex you," threatened Harry.
"No, you couldn't," Hermione replied matter-of-factly.
"You're no match for me, Hermione."
"Maybe not... but you wouldn't hex me. You would never. I know you wouldn't."
"What makes you so sure about that?" Harry said softy, dangerously. "You don't know me any more, Hermione. I'm a bad person."
"No, you're not!" Hermione said, shocked. Harry sighed. With another wave of his wand more of the white smoke flowed from the end to envelop the crowd in forgetfulness.
"Okay."
He started off in a different direction and Hermione furiously flung herself in front of him again.
"Oh no you don't! I want to know what's going on! I want to know why you're-"
"Okay!" Harry repeated forcefully. "I'm not trying to ditch you. Honest."
Hermione did not seem mollified. If anything, she looked more suspicious than ever. A familiar, mulely expression was pasted stubbornly onto her face.
"Really! Let's just- go back to my place, okay? It's safe from, well, everything. I'll make us some tea. Okay?"
She considered for a minute and then nodded. Falling into step beside him she wiped her tear-stained face.
"Oh, Harry-!" she began.
"We'll talk when we get there," he said shortly, cutting her off.
* * *
"There" conspired to be the shabbiest, most ridden down part of Hogsmeade that Hermione had never known existed. What can Harry be doing here? she wondered. Is he in some sort of trouble? What's… wrong with him?
Harry stopped in front of what looked like a brutal slum lord's domain and conjured a quill and piece of parchment out of thin air. He scribbled something on it, and then handed it silently to Hermione.
"Um, what's this?"
"Read it," Harry commanded impassively.
Hermione glanced down at the scrap in her hand. Harry Potter lives at 46 Mud Scrapper Lane. No sooner had she finished than an apartment, as run down as the rest, swelled into being between two tenements, pushing them roughly aside. Harry hustled her inside quickly. She noticed that the parchment crumbled to dust the moment she finished reading it.
"Of course... it's unplottable. And guarded by a Fidelis Charm. Harry, who did you get to cast those?"
Harry looked at her oddly, but only said, "Welcome to my... lovely place."
Hermione turned slowly. It was, unsurprisingly, quite small and dark. There were no windows and only three rooms (four if you counted the tiny bathroom). The door to one of the rooms was ajar, but the other was shut tightly and an air of menace hung like a shroud around it. Hermione shivered involuntarily.
"Have a seat," Harry offered flatly. He blasted a pile of finely grained wood pieces out of one of the room's two pieces of furniture, a decrepit old love seat. Hermione gingerly lowered herself onto it and surveyed the rest of the room.
It wasn't really dirty, like one might have expected after everything else. Actually, it was quite clean in a depressing sort of way. There was almost nothing in the place at all to show that anyone lived there, just a love seat and a battered old table. That was it.
"So what is it that you want to know so badly you have to force yourself into my home for?" Harry said roughly, collapsing into a sitting position on the floor. Hermione winced inwardly, but stayed calm. This wasn't right; something had happened, something awful, to Harry. There was no other reason he'd be treating her like this.
"Harry, why are you living in a place like this? How you could you pay to live somewhere like this?"
The questions popped out of her mouth before she could stop it. It wasn't the way she wanted to start things off in this surreal situation. Of all the scenarios she had pictured, this was the least likely and hardly seemed more than a bad dream. Spell-shocked and amnesiac, perhaps. Or held and tortured by a remaining pocket of Death Eaters, perhaps. But this? It was an awful parody of normality.
"Pay?" Harry repeated, looking at her oddly. "Pay? Hermione, no one in the world knows this place exists, except for me. And now, you." There was something in his voice as he said that, something menacing, that caused Hermione shiver, but she pressed on.
"But, what are you hiding from? Are you in trouble? Are you afraid of something?"
Harry started laughing; a horrible, mirthless laughter that dissolved suddenly in a coughing fit.
* * *
Harry waved Hermione away as she jumped forward, hand automatically raised towards his forehead.
"Just a cold," he choked.
"In the summer?" she asked doubtfully.
"Yeah... those are the worst."
Why, Harry thought. Why does she have to make me do this? Why can't she just let me waste away in peace? Or perhaps waste away in misery would be more accurate.
Because that's not what Hermione does, answered another part of his mind. She solves problem. Fixes things. And you're the ultimate riddle to her right now.
"If you say so..." Hermione sat back on the couch.
"Why did you kiss me? At the Three Broomsticks?" Harry asked suddenly. Hermione colored slightly.
"Well, it distracted you, didn't it?" Harry nodded. "So I was able to break your glamour."
"Ah. So that's why."
"Well, you know I don't always keep my head in an emergency," Hermione said defensively. "It was the best I could come up with. It worked, didn't it? And you haven't answered my question."
Harry picked up a piece of the wood and turned it about in his hands. His mouth twisted like he had bitten into something sour and he laughed that hollow laugh again.
"Who would I be afraid of?"
It's everyone else who should be afraid of me.
* * *
There was something wrong, something very wrong with the way Harry said that. It sounded like it was unfinished and he left something disturbing unsaid. It scared Hermione. She didn't know why, but quickly changed the subject.
"Um, Harry? Where did you learn to play music like that?"
"That?" he waved his hand dismissively. "I just picked it up. Playing, it- it helps."
"Helps what?"
"It helps when-" Harry stopped and searched for different words, but didn't really find them. He tugged his sleeves down self-consciously. Hermione suddenly realized he had been wearing long sleeves the whole time she had seen him, both today and their previous meeting, despite the warm weather. She filed the curious fact away for further consideration.
"It takes my mind- just a little," Harry was saying helplessly, and then gave it up as a bad job.
"Um... right." Hermione replied uncertainly.
"Oh, where are my manners?" Harry burst out suddenly. He whipped out his wand in front of a bemused Hermione and conjured a teapot and two cups out of thin air. The teapot, she noticed absently, was tortoise shell patterned.
"The tea I promised," he said, pouring a cup and presenting it to Hermione with a mocking little seated bow. She accepted it and took a big gulp nervously. To her surprise, it was quite excellent. It was just the right temperature, with a touch of honey. She noticed that, while Harry clutched a cup in his hands, he didn't drink any of it.
"Aren't you going to have some?" she asked awkwardly, hating it. She had never felt this uncomfortable around Harry.
"I- I don't feel like drinking any."
"Harry, what happened to you!" Hermione cried out in frustration. "I can't stand this! Did he hurt you before... the end?"
"Who, Voldemort? No. No. Didn't even scratch me." Harry seemed to be growing more and more agitated.
"Surely- surely you can't feel bad about killing him?" she asked incredulously as another thought occurred to her. Harry had always been very sensitive.
"Feel bad?" Harry threw back his head and barked out more of that horrible, mocking laughter. "Oh, no. I don't feel bad about it at all. He had to die."
"Oh... that's good... Harry, what is it? Let me in, please!"
"You have to go! Now!" Harry lunged to his feet suddenly, eyes bulging. Hermione felt an unbidden urge to cower, but didn't. This was Harry; he had blocked the unblockable Avada Kedavra curse, for her. He would never hurt her. She believed that with all her heart. She had to believe it.
Still, he dragged her off the sofa and towards the door. Carefully, if such a thing could be said of that sort of action.
"Harry, you're hurting me!"
He let go at once. A flicker of something flashed across his face. Shame, Hermione would have said. And something else as well, dark and unrecognizable.
"It's not safe here! I'm a bad man now, Hermione. I'm not who you remember. I`m not safe. Go. Go!" He pushed her gently, but insistently, towards the door.
"But-"
"GO! Please..."
"Oh, okay! But I'm coming back tomorrow!"
"Yes, come back tomorrow," Harry said hurriedly. "Tomorrow."
Harry watched as she opened the door, then a sudden thought occurred to him.
"Don't tell anyone about me! Don't tell Ron!"
Hermione cringed, halfway out the door.
"But, Harry... he'd be so happy to know you're alive."
"Don't tell anyone! Promise me you won't tell!"
"I-"
"SWEAR IT!"
"Okay, I promise!" Hermione cried. Harry pushed her the rest of the way out and slammed the door behind. 46 Mud Scrapper lane quickly shrunk and disappeared.
* * *
Oh, Merlin, he thought, slumping against the wall once she was finally gone. Oh, my God... I was going to hurt her. I was going to hurt Hermione! She was going to make me re-live it and I... He covered his face in despair, but he had no tears left to cry. The void raged within him and he was broken. So broken.
* * *
Hermione slumped against the wall outside Harry's now hidden apartment. She hadn't handled that well. She hadn't handled it well at all.
I had all sorts of questions planned out for when I finally found him. Where had he been, what had happened, why didn't he contact us, was he okay? I dreamed about it for FIVE years. I planned it for FIVE years! But everything just flew out of her head with him sitting there, watching her with those haunted, mocking eyes, and she had blurted out the stupidest things. Why had she pressed so hard? He was obviously very fragile; she should have led up to it slowly.
A furtive noise alerted Hermione to the outside world again and she realized that this street probably wasn't the best of places to hang around late at night. Glancing around warily, she prepared her mind and apparated back to her flat.
What she felt like doing when she arrived was collapsing onto her bed and curling up into a ball. But she couldn't. She had to be ready for tomorrow. And she had to get up early... he was going to do a runner. It didn't take a genius to figure it out.
Yes. She would grab a couple hours sleep, let him calm down a little, and then camp out by the entrance to that wretched place he lived tomorrow. She would take him away from there and make everything better.
Just as she collapsed bonelessly onto her bed the phone rang.
* * *
I've gotta go, Harry was thinking. It had taken half a dozen hours to pull himself together after Hermione left. A racking fit of coughing left him weak and shaking, but he shook it off impatiently. I've gotta leave before Hermione comes back.
But another voice whispered to him, the part of himself that he thought of as the Boy Who Hated. The part of him that he thought was winning.
You could just eliminate her. With that nosy little witch gone, no one would know your secret.
No! Harry shook his head violently. Not Hermione!
What's the matter? The voice taunted him. You didn't have a problem destroying Voldemort and scores of his Death Eaters. Nor the others that followed.
"That was different!"
How?
"I- I only did that because I had to!"
Liar, laughed the voice breathily. Liar. Tell me you didn't hate them.
"I... I..."
Tell me you didn't want to kill them.
"I had- I-" Harry's face contorted.
Tell me you didn't enjoy it! Tell me it wasn't satisfying to grind your enemies' bodies into dust!
"I did!" screamed Harry. "I did enjoy it! I wanted to hurt them. I wanted them to hurt as much as they hurt me!"
The voice's laughter echoed in the expanse of Harry's mind. So kill the little witch and be done with it.
"No."
Kill her!
"No! I hate you!" Harry yelled.
"I hate you," he repeated in a whisper. "Because you're me."
With a tremendous force of will Harry forced the voice to be quiet. He couldn't force it out of his head because it belonged there- it was him. He wasn't possessed or hearing voices. It wasn't some other person or entity. It was him. He was the one who had done all those terrible things. He was the sort of evil and twisted person he had been prophesied to hunt down. He didn't deserve to live. But he was too cowardly to kill himself.
Dully he walked to the room with the locked door. A thought was all it took to unlock it and another to send a jagged globe of crackling light to the ceiling. The room itself wasn't very large, perhaps six feet by eight feet. Unlike the other rooms, it was a complete mess. There were clippings cut outs from various newspapers everywhere: stuck to the walls, lying on the floor, even a few floating in mid-air. Some were crisp and new, some yellowed with age. Some had been torn or crumpled and then smoothed out again. A few were lying in haphazard balls on the floor.
Augustus Rook, known Death Eater, found dead outside the Ministry of Magic.
Three suspected Death Eaters found dead outside Muggle hospital; Ministry of Magic forced to modify memories to cover up.
Death Eaters found dead...
Rudolphus Lestrange, torn apart...
On and on the headlines read like a causality report from a war. Harry knew them all by heart. He held up his hand and another scrap appeared which he let fall to the floor. Without looking back, he walked out of the room and it sealed itself behind him.
He considered going into the other room. Sometimes, the music and the creating of things was enough. But Harry knew it wouldn't help now. Not today. No, there was nothing else for it. He sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the door, with a blank expression on his face. A long, curved and lethally sharp knife appeared in the air in front of him and he reached out slowly with his right hand to grasp it. He wouldn't run this time. Let Hermione find him.
* * *
"No, Ron, nothing happened," Hermione lied over the phone. "Really. I told you, we're not interested in each other."
"Don't give up so easily, Hermione. Don't worry; there'll be someone out there for you if this guy doesn't work out."
Hermione sighed, not trusting herself to speak. She had an overwhelming urge to confess what had happened to Ron, but she had promised. Ron heard her sigh through the phone and, mistaking it, rushed to comfort her with more of the same platitudes.
"Yeah, some day," Hermione interrupted. "So, how did it go?"
"It was great!" Ron crowed, switching gears in mid-sentence. "You know Mum and Dad love Charlotte. Even Ginny likes her. She's really special, Hermione. I reckon... I reckon she might be the one!"
"Whoa now, mister. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Remember: teaspoon, emotional range. Won-Won. Self-help book on how to talk to witches." Laughter rang through the phone line as Hermione teased him.
"But, seriously," Hermione continued. "I'm really glad everything is going so well. You deserve it."
And she was, though a small part of her reared its ugly green head. She wanted what Ron had; she was so tired of being alone. Instead of giving in to it she quashed it ruthlessly. She had more important things to think about.
"Yeah," Ron was saying happily. "It's like a dream."
"I'm so happy for you, Ron. Listen, I've got to go. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."
"They got you working overtime at St. Mungo's again?"
"Yeah," Hermione lied, cringing at what was becoming an all too common habit. "Give Charlotte a hug from me."
"I will," Ron promised. "And I'll pinch her bottom and tell her it was from you too."
"Ron!"
"Just kidding," laughed Ron. Then, after a pause: "About the saying it was from you part, anyway."
"You're awful!"
"I know. Love you, Hermione."
"You too, Ron... g'night."
"G'night. And, Hermione?"
"Hmmm?"
"We will find him. I know it."
"Yeah, Ron, you're right," Hermione replied, her voice cracking. "We will."
As Hermione hung up the phone, she reflected that she was pretty certain it wouldn't be a good night. The toll of lying to Ron was bad enough, but that was the least of her problems at the moment. Tears flooded her eyes unbidden and she dashed them off her face angrily, stamping her foot. It just wasn't fair!
Knowing time was of the essence Hermione reined in her emotions and tried her best to catch a few hours of sleep. However, she just couldn't manage more than about fifteen minutes. Finally, at about two in the morning she abandoned all pretense of sleep and pulled on a fresh set of clothes.
Harry, you are NOT getting away from me.
* * *
Mud Scrapper Lane was eerily quiet when Hermione apparated, the sudden rush of displaced air echoing off the rickety housing. It seemed that even the crickets and night insects were wary of the darkness there. Hermione held her breath for a moment, absurdly convinced the crack of her apparation was enough to cause the pathetic buildings to topple. However, they remained fast as if held together by magic which, on a moment's reflection, Hermione realized they very likely were. No one came out to investigate.
Chuckling wryly she cast around for a minute before settling into a spot slightly less filthy than the rest. Old habits and memories flooded in as she cast protective charms and wards, none too confident of the safety of her surroundings. Satisfied at last, she conjured a cushion to sit on and waited for dawn.
As difficult as it had been to find sleep when in her flat, it was easily that hard to stay awake now. She found herself nodding off several times, but caught herself before slipping away completely. She tried humming to herself, putting a large, uncomfortable rock in her shoe and even juggling. Still, she was sure she slipped off for five minutes here and there. Nevertheless, she was sure that Harry hadn't been able to slip past her.
Hermione's mind wandered as she sat watch, tenaciously attacking the problem at hand. What had happened to Harry?
"What do I know?" she murmured to herself and began to tick things off on her fingers.
"He defeated Voldemort at the same instant Voldemort cast the Killing Curse at me. He blocked the Killing Curse. He's been missing for five years since. I found him and he looks completely different. He's in pain. He thinks he's a bad person. He didn't want to be found, but he still put himself in a position for me to find him. Put it together, Hermione! What does it mean?"
A tentative thought began to form in her mind, but it remained elusive. Something about the Prophecy, but that didn't seem quite right either. But no matter how hard she thought, the pieces just wouldn't fit together and frustrated tears began to leak from her eyes.
"Damnit!" she swore and dug her watch out of her purse.
4:27am.
She had waited long enough. Pushing herself to her feet, Hermione dismantled her wards, marched up to the wall dividing 45 and 47 Mud Scrapper Lane and thought Harry Potter lives at 46 Mud Scrapper Lane. Instantly, the building shouldered its way into existence. Hermione tried the handle and breathed a sigh of relief as she found it unlocked; she had suspected the lock had been tied directly to the Charm and it seemed she was correct.
Carefully, she inched the door open, cautious not to startle Harry. She was sure it would not be a good idea to burst in.
"Harry?" she called softly. "Harry, it's me, Hermione. I'm coming in."
There was no answer, so Hermione pushed the door all the way open and stepped in. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room, but when they did she had to stifle a scream.
"Harry, no!" she cried, slamming the door behind and racing to his side. She fell to her knees and wrestled the knife from his grip.
"I can still feel," Harry whispered quietly, staring at the deep, bloody, gashes in his arm. "Barely, but I can still feel."
"Oh, Harry!" choked Hermione, heartbroken. Tears ran heedlessly down her cheeks. There were dozens of older scars crisscrossing his bared left arm. Swiftly, she drew her wand and ran it over each of the new cuts. They healed instantly in the wand's wake, leaving yet more scars.
"Harry, we're going," Hermione said firmly. "I'm taking you out of here. To my place."
"No." Harry replied weakly. "No, I don't want that. Go away."
"Yes! No one will see you, don't worry. And even if they did, nobody would recognize you. I'd just tell them I found you in this shape and took you in. I'm a healer now, nobody would think it odd. Now, up you get."
"No." Harry tried to push her away feebly as she pulled him to his feet, but he wasn't up to the task. No sooner was he up than he had to lean heavily on Hermione, or else fall straight back down. Hermione was shocked at how quickly he had deteriorated.
"Hermione, I can't go with you," Harry insisted, his face crumpling. "Please, just leave me."
"Stop talking nonsense and save your strength," Hermione ordered. "We're going to make you better."
"Hermione, you can't make me better," Harry said lifelessly. "I'm a monster. I'm worse than Voldemort ever was."
Hermione hissed and grabbed his chin in one hand, still holding him up with her other arm.
"Don't you say that! Don't ever say that!"
"It's true. I'll show you. Take me in that room over there." Harry pointed towards the sealed door.
"Why?" Hermione said warily, letting his chin go.
"Just do it. I won't argue any more if you just take me in there first."
"Okay, fine. But we're leaving right after that."
Grimly, Hermione hauled Harry over to the room. The door sprang open as they arrived and Hermione's feeling of foreboding increased a hundredfold. However, her first thought on entering was: that's not so bad; it's just a bunch of newspaper clippings. That was, until she saw the headlines. Until she saw what every single one was about.
"See?" Harry said with a miserable sort of satisfaction.
"See what?" snapped Hermione, thinking furiously. "Good riddance to them all, I say."
"You don't understand," Harry said in disbelief.
"I understand fine," growled Hermione. "Good riddance, I say. All of them put together isn't worth you little toenail. Now, we're going."
"Okay," Harry said dully. "Whatever... We can't disapparate in here. We have to go outside."
Hermione said nothing in reply, just started dragging Harry towards the door. His sudden capitulation and lack of emotion worried her more than everything else combined.
Hermione was exhausted by the time she made it outside despite his slight weight. Worryingly thin Harry might be, but he still had nearly a foot on her. She eyed him in concern; he had shut his eyes and was breathing heavily.
We're going home, Harry.
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