1. Buried

Disclaimer: anything JK Rowling related is not mine but merely something that I toy with.

Crypt Keeper

Summary: Without him I feel dead and lifeless, but with him I don't know how long I'll survive.

author's note: this is an alternate variation of my pervious piece Buried in which I plan on extending the fic and approaching it from a more Harmony angle due to many requests from readers to give it a go for some hearty HHr-ness.

Hope you like it.

Part I: Buried

I sit at the table wringing my napkin nervously and soon find the cloth withering under the pressure of my vise like grip… I let it drop from my hand and find distraction in unraveling the cloth. I look at the wrinkles that had formed, the twists and turns in the napkin, almost as if begging for some sort of sign… for something—anything—that'll tell me what I'm supposed to do… if I'm doing the right thing.

It wasn't supposed to be like this… I wasn't supposed to be on this side and he… he wasn't supposed to be the enemy… the opposing force, whatever the hell I'm supposed to call it… it's all just so wrong… so fucked. So much so that it can even compel me to curse, I note with a sardonic smile as I keep my gaze trained on the entrance of the restaurant… willing him not to show up… not to make me do this… to let me down and, in turn, let me move on…

I fell my fingers twitching and my right leg jumping up and down nervously but I'm so out of control, so worried that I can even seem to control the spasms, as much as I may try, will myself, to stop it I can't…

How did we get here anyway?… It wasn't supposed to be like this… it just wasn't, I silently cry out to myself, drawing blood as I bite down harder on my lip in my fit of frustration. I gasp a breath, staring so intensely at the unmoving door across the restaurant, so much so that I'm surprised I haven't burned a hole through wooden entrance.

I don't know how but, somehow, even with all of this, he still manages to slip past my gaze that was so intently focused on him, wherever he may be, and suddenly surprises me by appearing in the seat across me.

“Harry,” I gasp, begging myself to remain in control, show some strength—if I can't feel it, why can't I at least fake it, right?

He smiles at me warmly, so much so that I have to ask myself how this man—this lovely, dear person—could have been the one to kill Molly and Ginny. How could this kind man somehow hold Voldemort's soul? There's no evil in those sweet eyes that look at me so tenderly, there's only ardor and the mere idea that there can be something malevolent behind those eyes baffles me.

“Hi, love,” he whispers in that voice that I'd grown to love all those years ago. It's this beautiful one that's so hesitant, almost as if he's willing himself to believe that I'm actually there… so amorous. It makes me feel loved, as if I'm not only the brainy girl next door… that maybe there's more beneath the cover constantly covering my face.

“You came,” I note, stupidly.

He smiles. “Yeah.”

“You probably shouldn't have,” and for more reasons than he knew.

He nods his head. “No… probably not… but I couldn't help myself when you left the call sign… I—I was surprised to see it, actually,” he admits, slowly extending his hand under the small table to reach mine, encasing it in his tight embrace. “I'm glad you remember it though…”

I shrug, trying to keep the tears that seem so adamant on making their presence known at bay, begging myself to retain some sense of composure. “It'd be hard to forget given how often we used it during the war.”

He nods.

“You killed Molly and Ginny,” I state and I don't even really know why, but I need to. I suppose I need that confirmation that I'm doing the right thing, that I'm not making a mistake by betraying him like this. It's all really just gone to hell if I'm trying to rationalize something like this, I note wryly, unable to stop the bitterness form fully enveloping me.

He nods.

“You have his—his soul, don't you…? No one's sure, but—but that's the theory…” I ramble on, praying that maybe those fears I had will be quelled by a rebuff from him. I simply can't help but foolishly hold onto that hope that maybe he'll say he's just a murderer, not one that also led an ethnic cleansing. I love him… I just want it all to be untrue… ignorance is bliss, yeah?

But he breaks my heart when he nods again.

I can't help but nod in response, so numb that even my verbose self can't bring herself to speak… oh how the mighty have fallen.

“I'm dating Ron,” I blurt out. I don't know why… I think it might be for revenge though, he broke my heart so much by killing them… by running… by leaving me… by not even saying good bye…

I don't know why I need revenge when five years have passed but I feel as if it's justified for some reason… that's also why I feel a distinct amount of twisted pleasure when he winces…

He nods. “I know,” he whispers, clenching his jaw as he lightly squeezes my hand, as if telling me that it's okay that I've moved on and I hate—I hate that I feel relieved to hear that I have his pardon. What the hell do I need clemency from him for anyway?

Bloody hell, the things I do to the woman's movement… Emmeline Pankhurst must be rolling in her grave right now…

“Why—why'd you do it, Harry? How could you just kill them…? I mean, I know that they weren't the best about us, but that was hardly worthy of a death sentence."

He shrugs and I resent him for it. “After all of the shite they put us through they deserved it, as far as I'm concerned… you always were too forgiving anyway,” he mutters darkly, a flash crossing his eyes, one that I'm scared shitless of when I bear witness to it as it cements everything that was ever hypothesized… everything that was ever said… he may not be that person when with me, but the danger is always there, the evil is still there, he can still… he can still commit…

I nod dully.

“I—I've missed you, Hermione-”

“You were the one that left, not me,” I dryly note.

“I did it to protect you… from me…” he admits, letting his entire persona become downcast and it takes all my strength not to pull him into my arms and promise that I'll always be there because I'm finally starting to realize that maybe… maybe regardless of how much I may wish it, it's just not possible. Maybe there isn't a salvation for everyone after all…

I shrug, my gaze plastered on the glass of water in front of me as I slowly count all of the beads of water forming on the outside of the cold glass… seventy-nine and counting.

He sighs. “I… I never told you enough, and I'm sorry for that, that's probably my biggest regret… I love you, always have and always will… and—and I don't want you to ever feel guilty.”

My head snaps up at that last word, and as I scrutinize him I realize he knows. “You knew?”

He nods. “I'm wanted for murder… and justly, I'll admit… I doubt you'd call me if not under someone's force…” he trails off.

I tiredly raise my unoccupied hand to rub my temple. “Why'd you come then, Harry? Why couldn't you just stay away, leave me alone and save me from all this grief?”

He shrugs. “I couldn't lie to you… pretend I didn't want to see you… I love you, and it's worth it. It—it's all worth it if I just get to see you again,” he promises me, leaning over the table and bringing his other hand to my face, slowly brushing away a stray tear that I can't help but curse when it shows my Achilles' heel as far as he's concerned. I really wish I was stronger.

“I loved you…” I breathe out somehow… how is beyond me, as all words and air seem to escape me whenever so close to him.

He smiles sadly. “I love you.”

"You sound like an idiot, constantly repeating 'I love you' like that, almost makes the words sound meaningless," I deprecatingly note.

He shakes his head at me, almost sympathetically so. Bastard. "Don't lie, you and I both know they're not, not with us."

I close my eyes and let out a deep breath, he always did know just the words to ensnare me. "It's not fair, Harry."

"Life usually isn't."

"We… were supposed to be-"

He gives me a sad nod. "I know," he whispers slowly.

I bite my lip before letting out yet another unsteady breath, trying to maintain some control of all of my conflicting emotions, begging myself to retain any strength I can muster. "How—how are you?" I ask him, not quite sure if I even really want to know the answer to that question, but I ask anyway—my curiosity always did get the best of me, damn "curiosity killed the cat" adage be damned as far as I'm concerned.

A small smile tugs at his lips as he eyes me softly, literally giving my heart palpitations as he looks at me like that. "Not too good, honestly."

I roll my eyes in aggravation with myself, wishing I was stronger for the umpteenth time, but it's futile and I know it. "Go,” I, suddenly, hoarsely order him. It's hopeless, all of this, I realize, I never was strong enough when it came to him. “Go and—and don't come back, Harry, stay away. Move on… and—and, please, try not to make me regret this… let me finally move on,” I tell him, the tears coming on full force by now.

“Hermione, think about what your superiors-”

“They can go to hell… just go… just go…” I cry erratically, I never stood a chance anyway, they should have realized that. not my fault they're idiots, right?

He shakes his head.

“They'll kill you,” I tell him roughly, the implication tugging at my heart strings as I realize that I still love him… even if I can't have him or be with him I can't live with his death, much less being the reason behind it.

“But you-”

I shake my head, already resolute and, finally, clear on my stance. “Just leave!”

He nods, not for the first time that evening I wryly note, and slowly gets up off his seat, much to my surprise actually. “Just one thing first… I'll never forgive myself if I don't,” he rambles a bit nervously as he brings one hand to cup my face as the other pulls me out of my seat and to him.

“Harry,” I sigh weakly, pleading for him to let me go… just let me be already. I may not want to ever leave him, but I need to.

“Just one final good bye… I didn't have the chance to last time,” he tells me before bringing his mouth down unto mine. It's soft and gentle like a proper goodbye, if there ever even was one, as he gently rubs light circles into my cheek and the small of my back as he holds me to him. When he finally pulls away he eyes me sadly before a small, forced, smile is displayed across his lips and he says “regardless of what happened or happens it'll always be you for me, you were always my saving grace… not sure how much that's worth given what I still did with a supposed saving grace, but it's the truth—I'm trying this whole honesty shtick…”

“Leaving things out is still lying by omission,” I comment.

He shrugs. “Never claimed to be a saint…” he tells me, leaning his forehead on mine. “Thank you… for telling me… I didn't think you would admit to it…”

“You don't deserve it; I hope you realize that…”

He winces. “Trust me, this fate… wherever the hell it leads, is worse anyway…”

“Really?” I disbelieving ask, the doubt in my tone ubiquitous.

“You don't have to believe me… I love you though,” he repeats. “I'll miss you… I'll always miss us… be happy, yeah?”

“You don't have say in that one anymore,” I coldly note, feeling the stirrings of a too long suppressed anger rising, a fury over a beautiful future lost. “I hate you… I just hope you realize that… I hate you for everything you've done. Everything you've ruined, everything you made me believe in only to break it down right before my eyes… I hate you.”

He nods slowly. “Probably better that way anyway.”

I shake my head, scoffing lightly as the tears start to stream down my face despite myself, despite how hard I try to remain in control of my emotions. “You want to know the ironic part?”

“What?” he softly asks me and I can't help but wonder, for the thousandth time or so, how someone who can look at me so gently can hold so much evil within him.

“There—there's this old adage, superstition really, and it says that certain days of the week are better than others for a wedding: Monday for health, Tuesday for wealth, Wednesday best of all, Thursday for losses, Friday for crosses, Saturday for no luck at all. I never believed in that shite, you know, but when you didn't show up… left me standing there like an idiot at that blasted alter, all I could think about was the fact that it couldn't be more true… Thursday really was for losses, wasn't it?”

A sharp look of pain crosses his face and I can't help but revel in it. “I—I—it's like I told you, I only ever wanted to protect you… I know you may not see it now, but it was for the best.”

“Oh, don't worry, I know that now, I've moved on, found someone else,” I bitterly retort, scowling, I've always had a knack for ruining the mood.

He winces. “I—I will always love you, please believe that, at least.”

I wrench myself away from him, sharply turning my head to avoid the hand that's slowly making its way to my face, well aware of the fact that with just one touch I'll fall. Again. “You have two minutes—go, Harry,” I gruffly tell him.

He nods. “Maybe… maybe we'll see one another again.”

I scoff. “I think you've done enough damage, Harry, don't you?”

He nods slowly, smiling at me sadly. "I love you," he whispers and before I know it the entire world just turns into a blur for me.

Suddenly, I hear the sound off the Auror team barreling in, it's practically a stampede, pathetic, I have to admit, how unorganized the entire thing is, but there is power in numbers and that's certainly something they have on their side, that much I can say.

Suddenly, though, Harry isn't in front of me anymore, I know he didn't dissaparate, they put wards on the restaurant and he'd probably guess that they'd do that anyway. I don't bother myself with the question, though, I know it's better not to, after so much time spent racking my mind in an effort to understand him I finally get that this new Harry Potter… I don't want to understand him… I think it may very well kill me to as it is.

“I'll be seeing you,” I hear a sudden, invisible whisper, his voice indubitably behind it and I don't try to work it out. Some mysteries are better left unsolved; some heartbreaks are better left in the past.

“Hermione,” Ron suddenly comes to me, throwing his arms around me. “I'm—I'm sorry, we lost him.”

I nod slowly, shrugging. “We knew there were no possibilities, not with the scope of his powers…”

“I know, but—I just I guess I held onto the hope… for Ginny and mum…” he sighs, running a hand through his hair in aggravation and regret. “Ready to go home?” he tiredly asks me and I nod in response, taking his proffered hand in my own and letting him pull me outside.

I can't help but look back as we cross the street and head towards the car and I think I catch a glimpse of the grey shirt he'd worn, the shimmer of the thin silver stripes that had run down it, but I tell myself that it's just my imagination… something's are just better off left buried I suppose and despite how much I wish that it was him holding my hand now, I'm logical enough to rationalize that it's just not possible. Not anymore.

author's note: more to come soon, please review!

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2. And then Unearthed

Part II: And then Unearthed

I run a nervous hand through my hair as look at the clock above the bar keep's head, grinding my teeth as I watch it get closer and closer to ten. Merlin, my mum and dad would kill me if they could see me now, it'd probably be a never ending tirade about how damaging it is for my teeth, but at the moment I just can't seem to care as I watch the seconds hand hit the nine and mentally prepare myself for that daunting moment when the minutes hand will hit the six in just a mere fifteen seconds.

I let out a sigh, closing my eyes as I'm accosted by the images of what will surely happen when they open the doors to my changing room and find that I'm not there. Some Gryffindor I make, really, running away on my blasted wedding day. Hell, I think I may very well have lost my membership because of this. Odd part, however, is that I just can't care all that much anymore, not now.

“You did the right thing,” I hear a gruff voice by my side mutter quietly and I know I should be surprised by the sudden appearance, but I expected it. It's fair, I suppose, that I be punished like this for doing such a terrible thing like running… and it's only just that my punishment should be executed in form of the very bloke that broke my heart the same way that I am Ron's right now.

Karma's a bitch… but a fair one, nevertheless.

“I doubt it,” I morosely retort, taking a large sip of my fire whiskey, cringing at the taste and burn of it. I never did get used to the flavor of it even if it's my main wallowing buddy; guess some people just aren't meant for alcohol.

“It wouldn't kill you to look at me you know,” he dryly notes and I can hear the amusement in his voice, piercing me like a knife through my heart, no matter how overdramatic it may sound, there is a reason why the blasted simile exists in the first place, after all.

I shake my head adamantly, trying to keep the tears at bay as I bite my lip.

“You did the right thing,” he offers gently.

I snort. “No,” I shake my head again. “No, I didn't, the right thing would be to move on, to let you go.”

“And why would that be?” he asks me, the disbelief obvious in his voice, but there's also a small undertone of entertainment that I just want to curse so badly.

“Ron—Ron wasn't just some bloody divertissement, you prat, I loved him—I do love him, despite what you may want to think, bastard.”

“I know.” And I cant deny that he surprises me with that statement, he's never really been one for sharing, much less taking the mature path in life, I suppose the years really did make a difference, more so than I wanted to allow myself to believe, apparently.

“You do?”

“Yeah… I also know that, despite that, you'll never love him like you do me.” and there's the Harry I know and once loved.

I turn to him, eying him tiredly. “You say that like it's a good thing, Harry.”

He shrugs, his lips quirking upwards slightly. “All a matter of perspective, I suppose.”

I roll my eyes, shaking my head. “Don't.”

He cocks an eyebrow my way. “What?” he asks, the picture of innocence.

“Don't do this, Harry,” I tiredly order him.

“I have no idea what the bloody hell you're going on about, woman, you really do need to take a lesson in clarity,” he tells me, audaciously tapping my nose with his index finger as he sends me a naughty little look that makes my heart constrict in a way that I had forgotten it could. Damn him.

I send him a glare but it does nothing other than compel him to widen that blasted beam stuck on his face and I can't help but abhor him for it. “That's not why, you know.”

“What?” he asks me, his curiosity obviously piqued by my vague announcement.

“Why Ron and I didn't work… why I did what I did… it has nothing to do with you, Harry.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise and I don't bother suppressing that feeling of unparallel pride at catching him off guard.

“Oh I beg to differ,” he mutters.

“As do I,” I retort, letting out a deep breath as I turn to the barman that's eying the two of us oddly. Wonder why, really, this is a muggle pub… may have something to do with the fact that I'm in a dress though… I suppose. “He deserves better than someone as broken as me, is all. It really has nothing to do with you apart form the damage that you had a hand in,” I honestly confess.

He chuckles lowly and I stiffen, that can't be a good sign, at least not for me. “Why won't you just admit it?”

“What?” I ask, purposefully avoiding looking into his eyes or any part of his anatomy, dangerous stuff that is… very precarious, and given how susceptible I am to any of those tricks avoidance would definitely be the best M.O.

“That we belong together,” he softly announces, breaking through my defenses with just four words as my head snaps towards him and my eyes widen to unknown extents.

“What?” I manage to choke out.

He smiles slowly in that way that I know is only reserved for me and I feel myself getting lost in that rabbit's hole all over again, entering a world that I just can't, nor ever will, understand. “We tried to fight it, we tried to distance ourselves, we tried to follow the signs, but, honestly Hermione, what's it worth?”

And I abhor how that entirely specious statement can still make sense to me because—as much as I hate it and try to deny it—I do love him, I do want to be with him in spite of everything, I do still wish that I was enough, that I could save him, no matter how futile.

I shake my head resolutely, though, as I sniff loudly, not lady like in the least, and particularly embarrassing given my attire, but I couldn't care less. “No,” I hoarsely manage to utter, the words barely coming out but I manage to force them out nevertheless. “No,” I repeat, but not any stronger. “You and I—we… we had our chance, Harry, that time's over-”

“Who says?” he passionately counters.

I shrug helplessly. “Ginny and Molly's graves I suppose,” I tell him, wiping away a stray tear before walking out of that pub with the full intention of leaving him forever locked away in my past.

Sadly, however, fate's not so kind, and he runs after me even though I made it more than clear that I want nothing to do with the bastard.

“I can change,” he announces loudly from the entrance of the pub, unabashedly yelling it across the block that I'm rapidly making my way down and the unexpected statement shocks me so deeply to the core that I topple over slightly in my fit of astonishment, managing just barely to stop myself from becoming a large heap of silk and organza on the sidewalk.

I turn around slowly and hesitantly, standing there powerlessly and baffled as he slowly makes his way towards me. “You—you shouldn't have to change to be with someone, you know… and I'm not quite sure that you even can, in all honesty.”

“And what if I do?—want to and think I can, that is,” he elaborates.

“Then you're delusional,” I bluntly tell him.

He smiles softly at me. “I don't quite think that's the word I'd use,” he responds, touching a hand to my face before taking initiative and full encasing it within those deep calloused hands that I had once so adored having roam my body but now fear more than anything else. As far as I'm concerned, it's proof of yet another weakness of mine.

I shake my head. “Don't, Harry… doesn't make me hope that there's a chance only to have it all demolished again, my heart can't take it…” He winces at the history brought up and the knowledge of the extent of damage he'd done with that blow. “Of all days, not today… please!” I desperately beg him and feel him hold on me slowly limp before finally letting go and I immediately take the opportunity to dissaperate.

author's note: please review, I'm very interested to what people might have to say about this and the route it's taking.

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3. Only to Be Imprisoned

Part III: Only to Be Imprisoned

I let out a angry, deep and drawn out breath as I slam the frame onto the davenport, running two hands through my hair, pulling at the strands roughly as I do, before making a grab for the whiskey that, tauntingly, sits beside me. I looked at the bottle, noting that it had been full when I'd last really looked at it yesterday evening, but now it was merely a quarter, if even that, full. Regardless, though, I only shake my head at my disgracefulness before pouring a hearty filling of the “liquor of perpetual and ignorant blissfulness.”

Still though, even when distracted, I can't seem to take my eyes off of the picture, never even batting a lash as I take a large sip of the surprisingly potent beverage. I sigh again, scowling as I slam my drink onto the picture, but the responding and resounding crunch of the glass breaking immediately makes me regret the temperamental action. I really liked that picture.

…Even if it was a bitch to look at… to be reminded of.

Cor, though, when had it all gone so wrong? I ask myself as I look at the frame and the picture, entirely in tatters, so much like us.

I suppose what really kiss me is that daunting realization that, in truth, no amount of magic will ever fix it, not truly. No, there'll always be that knowledge that it was once broken… that knowledge that the scars lay beneath, regardless of whatever façade is painted over it.

But God I wish we could just turn back the clock.

I remember a time when I was innocent, when I was actually optimistic, I miss that. When we were young I'd been so sure that my life would begin after that blasted war, that I'd have a chance to finally be free, calm, and at peace for once in my miserable existence. I suppose life doesn't like the sureties though… my entire life is living proof of that.

I'd been so positive that it'd end with Ginny, but… well I suppose it's better off not to speak ill of the dead. Regardless, the fates shocked me the most with Her, my Hermione. They delivered me everything I'd ever wished for without even being cognizant of the fact that it was what I wanted or that she was it. It all came as a shock when one day the fact that she was the one suddenly hit me—so much so that I actually fell out of my seat in my fit of shock and was left with a rather unpleasant and oddly shaped bruise on my arse.

Still, though, the fates were just teasing me with her, giving me a taste of perfection right before pulling her away from me forever by putting… doing this to me. They sent me to my hell, they made me who I am, they put me in this constant state of war with myself where I literally have to fight for dominance over my own blasted body every bloody day of the year for the rest of my life.

But the difference from then and now is that I had Her back then and I was able to hold onto the hope that maybe… maybe if I tried hard enough I'd find some salvation, it wouldn't all have to be over, my fight would just be prolonged a bit. And so, I scoured through all the texts I could find, more than I'd ever even knew existed, to find and answer, a cure, but nada.

Ultimately, I had to leave to protect her, I knew it wouldn't be easy to leave and never see her again, I knew that it'd be worse than any inferno Dante, Milton, or Sartra could ever paint, but I did it for her. I did it all for her.

But the “divine plan of how-to-piss-on-the-terrible-tale-that-is-Harry-Potter's-life-even-more” interfered yet again and all of my efforts turned to shite.

In truth, I… I don't know when and where it all went wrong, I can't pinpoint the exact moment in time and where I was standing when it all occurred, even though it was such a pivotal moment in my life. I just snapped one day, I remember that, despite all of my efforts He won out in the end and somewhere in the end He contorted everything, left was right and right was left, all of my pent up annoyance turned to aggression and… and manslaughter.

I was forced to do something that would always plague my mind, my dreams, my memories, and, worst of all, hurt the person that meant most to me in my life. Because of that one folly moment of weakness I had to sit there and watch from afar as Ron comforted Hermione as she wept in front of Molly and Ginny's graves, I had to sit by and hold back my jealousy as I realized I'd officially lost the right to play any role in her life. I had to sit by as I was forced to release my grip on her, let her go for once and for all.

But, the thing is, I can't handle that term, “once and for all.” I can't be without her, I tried, but I love her, I need her… she makes the fight worth while, she makes me stronger; she makes me want to live.

I let out a scoff as I feel my eyes welling up with that tricky liquid that no bloke ever wants to attest to ever being forced to bow down to. Luckily, nothing comes of it but a misty vision and my ego is saved from the further embarrassment of tears. At least that much, I suppose.

I shake my head at my own sarcasm, listening to that beautiful huffy voice reprimand me, telling me “honestly, Harry, can't you ever be a bit more optimistic? Live a bit, love!” I can't help but smile when I hear that voice, it's nice to hear it every once in a while, even if it's only in my head.

I fell my body slowly begin to relax, the reminder of her immediately having a calming effect over me as I feel all tension escape me in a way that only occurs when I'm with her. I smile for the first time in ages, I think, as I move my glass and pick up the frame again. I shake it lightly, letting the glass fall before moving to analyze the image. I trace the outline of her face, scratched by the impact of the glass on it, but my imagination can fill in where the gashes cover that adorable and haughty mug that's mussing my hair so sweetly.

I pore over the still image, biting my thumb lightly, scrutinizing every detail with more care than I ever knew I was capable of, always having been a rather cut and dry bloke after all. But she changes the rules with everything, at least as far as I'm concerned. I touch that face, pretending that I can feel the texture of her skin instead of the glossy scars, and close my eyes as I imagine what she'd tell me if she was right by me now.

I don't know why but nothing comes… it'd never happened before, but here I am, met with nothing but silence…

author's note: not too sure how well I pulled this one off, in all honesty, but feel free to share any opinions, critiques are always welcome as well.

Thank you for reading.

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4. But, sometimes, imprisonment can be so good.

Part IV: But, sometimes, imprisonment can be so good.

“Harry, what are you doing here?” she asks, voice tired after having apparated into her apartment only to be met with, what should be, the surprising sight of me sitting on her chesterfield, impatiently waiting for her.

“You don't sound too surprised to see me here,” I note.

She shrugs, throwing herself onto the seat across from me. “I know you… you always come at the most inopportune of times, figures it'd be today of all days,” she admits with a sigh.

My eyebrows furrows as I regard her, something's wrong. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she tells me and I scowl at the lackluster response. “Why'd you have to come, Harry?”

“I thought you were expecting it.”

“I was… but that doesn't mean I wanted it to come true.”

I close my eyes and let out a deep breath as I try to keep my emotions in check, pinching the bridge of my nose lightly. “Why not?” I somehow manage to croak out regardless of how much I really don't think I want to hear the answer to that question.

She shakes her head slightly and I think I can see her eyes glisten and, despite how much it hurts to know that I caused that, I can't help but feel a twisted twinge of pride overwhelm me at the knowledge that I still hold a place in her heart, that she's not indifferent to me.

“Harry, I told you before… why can't you, just for once, respect my wishes?” she asks me, her tone inching closer and closer to the edge of desperation.

I shrug helplessly. “I… I love you...” I admit, probably pointlessly, but I just want her to know. “I miss you; I want you back in my life.”

She shakes her head. “It's not always just about what you want, Harry.”

“I know that.”

“Really, then what about Molly and Ginny? What if I can't forgive you for that?” she asks me.

“You don't mean that,” I tell her, silently pleading with God that she doesn't, to have some mercy upon me. Cor, I need her, I really need her.

“I don't know, Harry,” she quietly says, her shoulders slumping forward a bit as she speaks. “I honestly just don't know anymore. Truth is, I can't promise you anything and you can't do that for me either… let's just face the facts already, we're fucked, in every facet of the word.”

I shake my head stubbornly, moving up and out of my seat and timidly moving towards her, afraid to scare her off. Merlin, I've missed her. “You don't mean that,” I whisper as I kneel in front of her, I feel her tense as I touch a hand to her cheek, but she doesn't dare move regardless of the fact that I can tell she wishes she could.

“What if I do?” she retorts, weakly.

I shake my head resolutely. “You want to, but you don't,” I tell her, closing my eyes as I lean my forehead against hers, breathing in the scent that I'd gone so long without. Good God, I've missed her.

After a moment of silence she finally manages to gather the strength to push me away, but not much, merely a few centimeters. “You can't just expect everything to go back to normal, Harry… what you did… it—it's irreversible, you still have society to account for.”

And it's at that moment that I think I began to truly hate reality. “I know that, I do.”

“It doesn't seem like it though.”

I groan; she always was a difficult one to talk to, always black and white with her, never grey. “Hermione… I—I know things can't just go back, that too much has happened, but I don't think we should give up, I don't think that we should just let everything we had go like this.”

She snorted bitterly. “Then you probably shouldn't have done what you did, Harry, did you ever think about that?”

“Of course I did!”

“Really? Are you sure?!” she persists like the bossy little chit that she is and I'm drawn between wanting to wring her neck or shag the bloody day lights out of her, and it's the most magnificent feeling in the world. She forces me to a draw, makes me work for everything, always challenging me, and out of some blasted, masochistic need for her I love it.

“Yes,” I repeat self-assuredly. “You—you know how it happened, you may not know the exact details, but you know enough… I know you do, Hermione… you know it's not what I wanted to do.”

“Doesn't matter though, does it? Because he's still there,” she pokes my chest roughly, “isn't he?”

I nod. “Yes, he is.”

“See?!”

“No,” I simply tell her. “No, I don't.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh don't be difficult now just for the sake of proving a point, Harry. Don't hurt me again like you did before… if you truly loved me you wouldn't even be putting me through this all over again,” she rationalizes, unjustly so, and I can't help but smile at her tirade having missed even those annoying huffy little tantrums of hers.

“I won't put you through that pain again, I promise,” I say, again, in a futile attempt to assuage her.

She scoffs loudly, betraying the entire purpose of my previous comment. “Then what would you do, Harry? What the hell do you propose we do about the fact that you have Lucifer reincarnated lying in your fucking body?—and, for Christ's sake, I'm supposed to report you if you ever try to contact me, Harry, don't you get that? I'm supposed to send you to Azkaban, why the hell do you have to throw the fact that I'm too weak to in my face like this?!”

“You know that's not why-”

“No,” she stops me, roughly wiping away a stray tear that's running down her face. “No, I don't know—now, I don't know anything as far as you're concerned. I don't know you anymore so stop pretending as if everything's the same as it was.”

“Don't lie,” I snap.

“I'm not, Harry. All I am is absolutely lost and terrified… I just want to let go already, why can't you afford me the chance to have a clean break?”

“Now you and I both know that's impossible, that one… we can't be without each other.”

“Want to bet?” she manages to spit out.

I can't deny that her acerbic tone cuts me, but I won't give up, I can't, so I just shake my head, again, in response. “No,” I say, my voice choked but defiant nevertheless. “I—I also wanted to tell myself that we could… live without each other,” I elaborate as an afterthought, nervously running a hand through my hair as I pray that she may be able to make sense of a sure to come rambling on my part. “But… but we can't, Hermione. It—it'd be so much easier if we could… life would be so much simpler, but, truth is, none of it's worth anything without you.”

“Well poor you then, I, however, can make it without you, that much I promise you.”

I smile sadly as I regard the huffing girl before me, her arms are crossed and she's glaring at me angrily, Merlin I've missed that. “Don't give up,” I whisper, gathering the courage to bring my hand to her cheek again, assuring myself that even if she does push me away it'll be worth the try, the rejection will be worth it if I can touch her even for a second.

She doesn't push me away and I can't help but grin.

“Why do you have to hurt me like this, Harry?” she asks, biting her lip. “Why won't you just let it be?”

“Because, like I said, none of it is worth anything without you… I need you, we can do this.”

“Do what?”

“Get past everything that's happened.”

“And how can you be so sure?” she challenges me, but there's no resistance in her tone as she brings her own hand forward, clapping it over my own, closing her eyes as her thumb massages the back of my hand, leaning her face into my touch.

“I—I don't know, but I am, I just… I know…”

She pauses. “That's not enough.”

“I think you just don't want it to be.”

She opens her eyes, looking at me. “You should go.”

“No.”

“Harry-”

“I'm done, Hermione,” I stop her before she has the chance to rationalize why this is all so wrong, well any more so than she already has. “I'm done trying to fight this… whatever the hell it is that keeps on trying to pull us apart, I won't let it stop me anymore. I'm not going to let him win anymore than he already has. I—I know that with you in my life I can fight it, I may not be able to get him out, but I can fight… I can, I promise!”

After a moments hesitation she speaks, her voice broken as she does. “Don't make promises you can't keep.”

“I wouldn't say all this if I didn't honestly believe I could do this.”

She turned her face away from me, chewing on her lip and I could see the cogs turning in her head as she stared off into space. “And what about everyone else, Harry...? There's a world to account for, one that wants retribution.”

“Let's go away, just the two of us, a secluded island… a world that doesn't know us, totally disconnected from England… you can write anywhere…”

She clasps a hand over her mouth as she takes in a deep breath. “I…I have a life, Harry. Whether you want to see it or not, it's been years… I have a life, without you in it.”

A sharp pang hits me as she utters those words, but I don't let myself be deterred by it, I believe in this and I won't give up, not again. “Why are you so scared to give this a try?”

She lets out a disbelieving scoff, pushing my chest lightly, but just enough for me to lose my balance for second and fall to the floor. “Who are you to ask me that, Harry? How can you just expect me sit around like some blasted little bint, just twiddling my thumbs and wasting away like an idiot until you're finished doing God knows what?!”

“Why are you so scared?” I repeat my voice harsher this time as I raise myself off the floor and return to my keeling position. “You know you want to.”

“And how can you be so sure about that, Harry, who says? Contrary to what you may think the world doesn't revolve around you—my world doesn't revolve around you!”

“You very well know I never thought it did. What I do know, however, is that you're here cowering and `wasting away' like an idiot just because you're scared.”

Her nostrils flare and face goes red as she hears me use her own words against her. “And so what if I am, huh? Of course I'm scared, look at you—look at what you've done!”

“Why can't you believe that I can change?!”

“Because I've seen, first hand at that, what you're capable of.”

“Would I lie to you though?” I challenge. “If there was ever any doubt in my mind that I couldn't do it, would I ask you to go away with me?”

She shrugs stubbornly. “You disappointed me once before, didn't you?”

I purse my lips, trying to hold back the urge to mangle her. “You didn't answer the question.”

She shakes her head. “And I won't.”

“Why?”

She rolls her eyes angrily, clenching her jaw as she glares at me, opening her mouth with a sneer but no sound comes out when she does. She clasps it closed inhaling sharply before letting out a deep and frustrated breath. Finally, after what feels like hours, she answers. “You know why,” she whispers angrily through gritted teeth and I feel a pulse of unparallel joy jolt through me upon hearing her utter that, regardless of how much she may despise me for forcing her to.

I smile softly, propping one hand on her thigh as I bring the pother to her face, again, and gently rub it. “I can do it, I promise… I won't let you down.”

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5. Because Perfection's Overrated Anyway.

VITAL NOTE: as my struggle to find a proper ending for this piece has burdened me far more than I'd like to admit—it's quite sad, actually—I have composed two endings to this piece, both of which are released and hopefully you'll, at the very least, enjoy one of these alternate endings!

Chapter V: Because Perfection's Overrated Anyway.

I bite my lip, watching the waves crashing and I take in a deep breath, enjoying that earthy mix of rock, sea, and my coffee—the last being an odd addition, but somehow warming and enjoyable nonetheless. I cock my head to the side as I watch the birds flying through the air—almost as if celebrating the sunrise, and what a beautiful one it is.

“Hey, what are you doing out here, why aren't you in bed?” I hear a voice interrupt me from my reverie and I turn to face him, enjoying the sight of him naked with only our sheets covering his waist. A rumpled Harry is always a sight to take great pleasure in I note with a small smile.

“Nothing much, just thinking,” I tell him, moving to the left a bit so he can sit next to me on the stairs of our porch.

He laughs. “As if you don't do that enough already.”

“Oi, don't be mean,” I scold him lightly, smiling despite myself. “It's so beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “It is… but what would be even better is having you in my bed when I wake up and need you…”

I turn to him, alarmed. “You had another nightmare?”

“No… that's not the only reason I ever need you, you know. I just like having you there, love.”

“So… no nightmares?” I ask, just in case.

“No,” he assures me, shaking his head even to emphasize his point. “I haven't had them in a while… find that your presence seems to keep it all at bay.”

“Not all the time though.”

“No, but enough so it doesn't hurt like before… and he's no longer in control of my life… instead I have you to dictate everything.”

I scoff. “You can be such an arse sometimes, you know that?”

“You love it,” he assures me, moving to wrap an arm around me and pull me closer to him.

“I'm sorry, you know.”

“What for?” he distractedly asks me as he takes my coffee from me with his other hand and takes a sip of it before cringing—I always did put an inane amount of sugar in it, I suspect it has something to do with attempting to rebel from my parents' rules in regards to sweets, albeit it's a weak one I'll admit... though who doesn't relish even those small victories?

“For not being able to help.”

He turns to me, eying me oddly, almost as if I've grown a third head really. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“I just… I wish I had been able to help you find a cure…”

He laughs at me and I don't quite like it. “Oh don't pout, love, it's just what you said is so ridiculous. I think you've helped more than enough by just being here, staying with me despite everything. Besides… after everything I did I suppose I deserve it, I hardly warrant a clean break after what I did to Molly and Ginny-”

“But that wasn't you, it was-”

He shakes his head, stopping me before I can even begin. “Like you said all those times before, I still did it. Me, not him, he was able to manipulate me because of preexisting feelings, it was my own fault for being weak…”

“That's not true, Harry.”

His frown deepens. “No, it is… but it—it's okay, I'm just thankful to have you," he admits, pulling me even closer to him, our bodies only a hairsbreadth away from one another. "I—I know… I realize that things aren't perfect, Hermione, but all that matters to me is that I have you and, if anything, I'm sorry for not being the sort of bloke you deserve.”

I smile, moving even closer to him to lean my forehead against him, sending him a crooked grin as I do so. “Perfection's overrated anyway, Potter… now let's go inside and have some fun,” I offer with a small wink, squeezing his arm lightly.

His expression lightens immediately at my words and he looks at me so… so lovingly that my world sits at a standstill for a moment and I am left weak kneed at the sight, everything that I'd ever wanted and more.

“Well how can a bloke say no to that one?” he huskily asks me with a smirk of his own.

"He can't," I retort cheekily before pulling him into a deep kiss, thankful for the moment, even if just a solitary one.

Fin.

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Crypt Keeper

1. Buried

2. And then Unearthed

3. Only to Be Imprisoned

4. But, sometimes, imprisonment can be so good.

5. Because Perfection's Overrated Anyway.

6. Because we’re epic.