A/N - some of you will like this chapter, others won't, but I thought this would be the only way of a Harry/Hermione ending. More angst, I'm afraid…
Chapter 4
Harry couldn't help but watch her, looking for any sign at all that she wasn't coping, that she needed him. It was at a distance, of course, and as discretely as he could - it was the last possible place to cause a scene.
Every now and then he'd see Ginny talking to some family member, her red hair stark against her black dress, her smile tight and forced.
And then every now and then Harry would remember he was at a wake and the now familiar wave of sadness and guilt would wash over him, making him slink even further back into the shadows.
He still couldn't believe Ron was dead.
Yet Ron was and now Hermione was a widow and Harry was ready to be there for her if she needed him. But in all sense and purposes, she was coping. Scarily well. Which is why he kept watching her because he knew her and knew that deep down she was breaking.
"Uncle Harry?"
Slightly startled at the sound of his name, Harry blinked and saw Rose, Albus and James standing in front of him, looking at him seriously.
"Rosie, sweetheart," Harry greeted, draping his arm over her shoulder and pulling her into a gentle hug, "how're you doing?"
"As good as to be expected, I guess," she answered softly, "though I hate this. I didn't think they'd be so many people here."
"I know," Harry agreed, glancing at his two sons who were quietly watching.
"Dad," James began, his eyes darting firstly to Rose and then Albus for confirmation before continuing, "can we have a word?"
"Of course," Harry quickly said, frowning at the seriousness of James' voice. Rose took Harry's hand and led him out of the crowded lounge, up the stairs and into her room, James and Albus following, Albus closing the door when they were all inside. The three then lined up, Rose between the two boys in such a way that it reminded Harry of his own childhood and how now, that trio is no longer.
"What it is it?" he asked urgently, "what's wrong?"
Rose looked at her cousins before taking a deep breath and turning back to her uncle.
"I'm worried about mum," she told him, her eyes starting to well with tears, "and I don't know what to do."
"Rosie told us that her mum hasn't cried or anything," James added, "that she's just looked after everyone else and made sure everything was done for…you know, the funeral…"
"And we've been watching Aunt H," Albus added, taking Rose's hand in his in comfort, "she's not the same, dad. It's like she's a robot or something."
"Mum's made sure that Hugo and I are alright," Rose continued, tears now rolling down her face, "and when I ask her about how she's doing, she just tells me she's fine and not to worry. But I am worried, Uncle Harry! She's keeping everything deep inside and…and one day…I can't lose her too!"
With a sob, she turned into Albus, who held her while she cried into his shoulder, trying hard not to cry himself.
"We've thought about what we could do," James carried on explaining, "and we thought that really, the only person who could help Aunt Hermione, is you. You've known her for ever, you're her best friend and know her better than anyone else…"
"I've seen how you look at her, Uncle Harry," Rose said strongly, once more looking at him, "I've seen how you care for her. When we were younger, I remember how really it was you that made my mum truly smile."
"We know you and Aunt H have a special relationship dad," Albus put in and a spike of fear went through Harry.
"And we know that mum doesn't understand it, which is why you and Aunt Hermione stopped hanging around together," James added.
"But mum is only really happy when she's with you," Rose stated matter-of-factly, "and I think you're only really happy when you're with her…"
"Rosie…" Harry began, ready to explain.
"It's okay, dad," James cut in, "we've talked about it and we understand. You and Aunt Hermione would never do anything to hurt us so we don't believe for a minute that you guys had an affair."
"James!" Harry exclaimed, surprised that his thirteen year old son could speak of the subject so casually.
"What?" he asked with a hint of a frown, "it's not like we're stupid…"
"Or deaf," Albus added.
"…right, or deaf," James agreed with his brother, "mum kept having a go about how much time you spent with Aunt Hermione and suddenly you stopped. It wasn't right. And now she needs you."
"You're the only one who can help her, Uncle Harry," Rose said, "you're the only one who can bring her back."
Harry looked at the three children - James looking so much like a shorter, squatter Ron it hurt; Albus, a smaller version of himself while Rose was the splitting image of a young Hermione. The two younger kids had a bond that sometimes scared him, Albus and Rose inseparable throughout their childhood and even more so now they were at Hogwarts. And James, the strong, quiet protector of his brother, sister and cousins. He couldn't be more prouder of them than he was right at this moment.
Guilt suddenly hit Harry like a bludger - he was being asked by an eleven year old girl to help her mother, but he wasn't sure he could. He and Hermione hadn't spoken since his visit nearly two months ago (he didn't count when he came with his head of department to tell her Ron was dead - even then, she accepted the news with calmness and turned his offer down when he asked if she wanted him to stay) and his relationship with Ginny was on the verge into exploding into something extremely painful.
The three in front of him must of seen his hesitation as an indication of him declining their request as they all started talking.
"Please, Uncle Harry," pleaded Rose, taking a step closer.
"We know something's going on with you and mum," James admitted, coming next to Rose, "Lily's told us that you two have been fighting a lot more than usual…"
"…and we know that you and Aunt H aren't getting on," Albus added, also coming forward, "because Hugo told Rose that you've hardly visited since we've been at school…'
"…but Albus and I will deal with mum," James continued, "and whatever happened between you and Aunt Hermione doesn't matter now. She needs you, dad."
Harry looked at the three of them again and knew they were right.
"You lot seem like you've got this all planned," he smiled briefly, "what would you like me to do?"
The three exchanged quick looks before Rose nodded to the others and came that little bit closer to Harry.
"When everyone leaves, stay," she told him strongly, "stay until you get her to talk."
"Rose and Hugo will come and stay with us," James also advised, "so you won't have to worry about anything but Aunt Hermione."
"Okay," he agreed to which he found himself being hugged madly by his niece. After a few moments, he pulled back from her so he could look at her, noting that her eyes were once again swimming with tears, "your mother is a strong woman, Rosie. The strongest I've ever known."
"I know," the young girl sob quietly, "but this time, I don't think that strength goes all the way through."
Harry pulled back suddenly as the memory of another conversation from a life-time ago struck him - a conversation he only remembered just recently. Regaining his composure, he returned to the wake with the kids and waited until the last of the guests left. James, Albus and Rose were true to their word, doing enough to distract Ginny away from him and made it so there was only Harry and Hermione.
Picking up some of the used plates, cups and saucers that had been left on the table, he made his way into the kitchen where Hermione was methodically putting things away.
"Here you go," he offered, freezing when she jumped in shock at the sound of his voice. She turned to him, her hand covering her heart, telling him that he had startled her. He put his dishes on the counter, as he apologised.
"I thought you'd gone with Ginny and the children," she told him briskly, quickly turning back to the dishes, "you don't need to be here."
"I want to help…" he started but was cut off.
"I'm fine," she interrupted, "I don't need your help."
"Don't lie to me Hermione."
She paused with what she is doing, but didn't turn around. Harry just waited.
"What do you want?" she finally asked, her voice tight.
"I want to help you," he replied firmly, watching her every move, "I want to be your friend, be there for you…"
"I thought we ascertained that you and I were no longer friends," she spat, turning to look at him, her face hard, "and nothing you could do would help me."
She pushed by him as she left the kitchen and went back out into the lounge, gathering the remaining discarded plates as she circuited the room. Harry followed her with his eyes as he watched from the door jam.
"I'm worried about you," he ventured.
"Don't be," she growled, "I'm fine."
"Rosie doesn't think so."
Hermione stopped and looked up at Harry in horror, her toughness disappearing in a heartbeat.
"Rosie?" she repeated, softly. Harry walked over to her and gently ran his hands down each of her arms.
"She came to see me," Harry explained, "her, Al and James. She's scared she's going to lose you too."
"Oh, my poor baby girl," Hermione gasped as she sunk down onto the couch. Harry took the dirty plates that she still had out of her hands, put them on the table then sat down next to her.
"Hermione," Harry carried on soothingly, "talk to me, please. Let me in…"
"I can't," she breathed, her eyes staring at their entwined hands.
"Why?"
"Because if I start, if I let myself feel, then I'd hate myself even more than I already do."
Harry closed his eyes with weary realisation, the truth was now beginning to be exposed.
"It wasn't your fault…" he began and she looked up at him with anger in her eyes.
"Wasn't it?" she fired at him, "do you know what happened the night before he went on that stupid mission?" Harry shook his head, no. "We had a row. Not just a normal row but an almighty shouting match. Do you know what about?" He had an idea, but stayed silent and let her continue. "About you, Harry. About how you were going to get the Head Auror position and how unfair it was because you both started at the same time. About how you always got everything and he had nothing. About how you were ruining his sister's life and breaking his family apart. And when I stood up for you, he accused me of betraying him, that I'd always put you over him."
"I'm sorry…"
"How could you let him go on that stupid mission, Harry!" she yelled at him, standing up so she could scowl down on him, "he wasn't ready for that! He was ill-prepared! He shouldn't have gone!"
"Don't you think I know that?" Harry growled back at her, also standing so they were once again face to face, "don't you think that a day doesn't go by that I don't feel the guilt about sending my best friend to his death?"
"Why did you then?" she screamed, "why did you let him go!"
"Because he didn't give me a choice!" he fired back, "Ron stormed in on Monday and started having a go at me! Blaming me for everything that was wrong in his life and having a go about being promoted in front of him! I told him to pull his head in and think about what he was saying and that I had no intention of being Head Auror…" Hermione looked taken aback, but Harry just carried on, "when Smith came in about the mission, Ron put his hand up straight away. I told him and Smith that he wasn't suited, but he argued and argued until Smith said he was fine with Ron going as part of the team. He went to spite me, to prove that he was just as capable as I was. And it cost him his life."
"You should've stopped him," Hermione said, no longer angry, just miserable.
"I know."
"I shouldn't have let him leave mad," she added, the first tears starting to fall.
"It wasn't your fault, Hermione."
"Yes it was," she sobbed, "this whole mess is my fault. I should've been stronger. I should never have let myself fall in love with the both of you."
"What happened to Ron," Harry began, pulling her to her and engulfing her in his embrace, feeling the wetness of her tears on his shoulder, "had nothing to do with you. It was me he was jealous of and I did little to stop that. He was my best friend but sometimes he made me so mad when he couldn't see that what he had was much more precious, much better than anything I'd ever had."
"You were happy though, weren't you?" Hermione asked, pulling away so she could look up at him, "you have the family you always wanted…"
"Yeah, I do," he agreed, leading her back to the couch where they both sat down, "and I was happy. At first. My kids are my life, Hermione, but everything else is an illusion, a lie."
"How did it all go so wrong?" she whispered, pulling away from him and hugging her knees to her chest.
"Because I was too stupid to realise what I wanted, what I needed had been beside me from the beginning."
Hermione didn't say anything, the sound of her soft sniffing the only thing breaking the silence. Harry was lost in his own thoughts, realising that their admissions of guilt made the reality of what happened to Ron even more painful. The thing was, Harry knew that it wasn't Hermione's fault and he also knew that she would be thinking the same thing - that it wasn't Harry's fault either.
"What happens now?"
Her voice brought him back and he looked across the couch at her - hunched over, her eyes red with tears, their trails coating her cheeks. She was pale and there was a hollowness that hadn't been there before Ron's death making Harry wonder just how much she'd eaten over the past few weeks.
She was watching him, waiting for him to lead her once more, like he'd done so often in the past. She was counting on him.
"We grieve," he told her, unwrapping her arms from her legs so he could hold her hands, "we learn to forgive and we carry on."
"I don't know if I can," she admitted softly.
"I'll help you," he carried on, but before he could say anything else, she spoke.
"I wanted him to die, Harry," she choked out, a huge sob engulfing her.
"What?" he asked, not sure that he heard her correctly.
"I couldn't leave him," she whispered, "I couldn't do that to him. I'm not strong enough, not like you. But I wanted an end, I wanted to get out of it and after we fought, I…I wished he'd die…"
"Oh, Hermione…"
"When…when you came to tell me what happened, that was the first thing that went through my head. I wished that he'd die and he did…"
"You didn't kill him," Harry soothed, once more bringing her to him as she wept, "you didn't kill him with a wish. Oh sweetie, believe me when I say that you didn't kill Ron."
Hermione just cried harder, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. She clung to Harry, her nails clawing into his back as she hid her face into his chest. He let her cry, his own tears silent as he rested his cheek on the top of her head, his own pain and guilt melding with hers.
After a while, her tears began to lessen though she stayed securely in his embrace. When he felt he was capable, Harry took a deep breath and began to speak.
"Do you remember when Dobby sealed the entranceway to Platform Nine and Three-quarters back in second year?" he said, his hand still absently stroking her hair, "when Ron suggested to take his dad's car, it seemed the most obvious thing to do. We got into so much trouble."
Hermione let out a cross between a sniff and a snort, making Harry smile a small smile.
"And do you remember when he got his dress robes for the Yule Ball?" his question was un-answered so he carried on, "he thought it was a dress for Ginny. They were absolutely horrid, he was so embarrassed."
"He hated everything about that night," Hermione ventured, turning her face to the side so she could still speak but was still resting on Harry's chest, "the pillock. If he'd ask me first off, I would've fixed his robes for him."
"Yeah, well, Ron wasn't that quick when it came to girls," Harry told her, "then again, neither was I. I remember when he was getting ready for your first official date. After the war. He was so nervous."
"He was so sweet," she told him, "even got me flowers. I don't think I had ever seen his ears so red."
Harry and Hermione kept remembering their fallen friend well into the night, each memory as rich and fun as the last. Soon tears became laughter and as one day turned into the next, Hermione finally fell asleep.
Harry sat there with her still in his arms, glad to feel the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest that indicated to him that she was truly asleep. He thought of her question, of what happens next and just before sleep took him, he realised he really didn't know.
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