Disclaimer: HP-so not mine. If it is, it would totally be ten times more famous than it already is. No, not because of my (non-existent) ingenious creativity and (again, non-existent) amazing writing skills, but because of Harry and Hermione.
Rating: PG-13 for mild language
A/N: I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for not updating in almost five months! I've been swamped with real life, mainly university.
Finally, this is what I've come up with. Not my best work, though. But I think it's pretty worth it. Now, listen up: I filled this chapter with two things: details and emotions. So, I hope those two will get you to forgive me for lack of updates. This is Harry's POV and I established Harry as one big confusing mess of a character-incredibly imperfect but you'll see that Hermione will love him no less. This time, you'll see Harry as more of the over-analyzing freak than Hermione. So, consider yourself warned. It's longer than the past chapters but it's just because I included here a Harry's POV-version of chapter three. So, if you hadn't read that yet, I suggest you do because this will make lesser sense if read independently.
Hmm…what else? You'll see a lot of questions-some are even misplaced. I don't know but that's just the way they are. Sorry to confuse you but if I arrange them any differently, they would confuse me and that would confuse you even more. Okay, now I'm confused. Lol.
This is a hard chapter to write as I just came off from my writer's block. So, be gentle.
I am absolutely indebted to my beta, Elodie Tristie. Her amazing beta-skills make my stories rock with awesomeness!
First, I'd like to say that I'm uploading this as a birthday present. :) I'm turning nineteen tomorrow, April 15! Yay for me! Though it is my birthday, I want this as a present for you-yes, you, my dear reader. I hope you like it.
~*~*~
Questions - his mind was full of questions, completely overwhelming what was left of his sanity. In the oddest of moments, when adrenaline was the only thing pumping and emotions nailed at his every being, a part of his murky mind could formulate questions - unfathomable, absurd, instant, odd, pointless, senseless questions. Like there really was a part within him keeping control, filing everything that was happening; a part that bombarded his resolve with bared-true inquiry, interrogating this built-up and fake persona. Is this natural?
~*~
He had been following her - and Ron - three days after he supposedly left them. They never found him or got a clue to where he had been hiding because of this. Wherever they went, there he would be. That was how he had been living his life for two years, despite an added responsibility on his part. Was it even called living? As if fate wanted him back with them, he had found out that they broke up during his accidental meeting with Ron just a month ago.
And now, he was once again engaging in what had been his favourite hobby since he'd left: following Hermione. She was driving and he'd almost lost track of her. She hadn't stopped for anything and he did. He had begun to think she was getting suspicious that someone was following her. Knowing Hermione, she'd lead her `pursuer' until she brought him to his comeuppance. But more than that, his primary worry was scaring her then, and the possibility of this leading to his discovery. So, he had slowed down. He realized now what a stupid decision that had been.
At first, he debated whether this is worth it. He thought he should quit doing this and take care of his other responsibilities at home. Home. He knew why he called it home. Because his family was there; his only family at the moment. But he couldn't turn away; she pulled him in even without her knowing.
He was looking desperately for that red sedan along the stretch of road. Finally spotting her car parked away from the road, he stepped out of his own car. Suddenly, he trembled and instinct told him to move fast. Something's happening.
Passing her car and running towards the path that sloped upwards, he spotted her seconds before, like his worst nightmare, and he saw her disappear over the edge of that cliff.
"Hermione!" He found himself screaming before rushing at the end of the cliff.
He got there so fast yet he did not witness her make that fall, nor did he realize that she did not scream at all. His heart was pounding against his ears and he vaguely registered that he could hear every breath he took.
He got to the edge of the cliff, out of breath, his eyes roaming the vast sea and its shore for any sign of Hermione. He found none. His mind was in total shock and chaos that he did not waste time. He found an answer to his non-existent question within five seconds. He removed his jacket and jumped in right after her.
All he heard was the fast and stomach-wrenching swish as his body plummeted down the cliff-face and a muffled splash when his body hit the water. Dread, is it?
He resurfaced, barely registering he can swim. He looks around but his eyesight is blurry. His glasses -where the hell were his glasses? Raising his hand, he shouted, "Accio glasses!" and his glasses came zooming at him. Finally able to see, he swiveled around, searching maniacally for Hermione. Hermione? His mind called out to her.
Seeing nothing, he swims farther out the ocean. The waves were crazy - angry, brutal. He could not see Hermione. Where was she? Going back down underwater, he swam and swam until his lungs ached.
He'd gotten far enough when the waves released their anger on him and carelessly drove him a few meters back to where he'd fallen. Frustrated, he screamed and dove beneath the surface. Finally, he sees her. A little further from where he was, he saw the most frightening and scarring image he has ever seen: Hermione floating unconscious, her arms listless beside her. This was very far from what his murky mind recalled of his second task at the Triwizard Tournament. There, Hermione seemed to be alive somehow - at least, more alive than this.
She seemed to be nothing more than a marionette doll whose strings were cut, and now hung lifelessly, held by water around her. Darkness surrounded her and soon enough it would engulf him. Acting quickly, he swam towards her, making sure he didn't loose sight of her. Despite the darkness, a halo of light around her, which he had learned to associate with her, guided him towards her.
He almost lost it when he touched her; she was ice cold. Does death feel like this? No! Granted, the water was cold but her being that cold was just plain wrong. Grabbing her slender waist, he swam towards the surface making sure that Hermione's head surfaces. Finding it incredibly hard to gain control of his motions because of the angry waves, he grabbed Hermione tightly and apparated both of them to the first place that came to his mind.
They reappeared at the top of the cliff and he managed to catch her before she fell. Ever so gently, he laid down her form on the ground, both of them dripping wet, and tried to recall any first aid he knew.
Breathing fast, he grabbed her wrist and released a breath when he felt a very faint pulse. Not knowing what else to do, he held her face gently before shaking her.
"Hermione?"
Nothing.
"Hermione, please wake up," he said desperately.
One hand grabbed her chin and the other squeezed her nose as he parted her lips. Reaching down, he locks his lips with hers before breathing out, giving her a shared breath. A couple more breathes and he felt her body heave. Pulling away quickly, he watched as Hermione choked out water before falling unconscious once again. This time, her breathing seemed normal - if not ragged.
"Open your eyes, Hermione."
He stared down at her, his own breathing uneven. What should I do? He'd come so close to loosing her.
He couldn't just leave her here, no matter how desperate he wanted to stay out of discovery. He intended to be gone for just a minute so he can get a few clothes stashed away at his car. But walking proved to be difficult and painful when he realizes he jammed his feet into a rock while trying to save her. It took more than five minutes to limp his way from the top towards his car, which he left on the road in his haste to get to Hermione.
When he finally came back, carrying a very thick blanket, he found her near the edge, unconscious and bleeding all over.
For three sickening seconds, he holds his breath.
She is sprawled horribly near the edge of that blasted cliff. Hermione! His heart screeches to a halt.
Rushing to her side, careful to not startle her in case she is conscious, he gently wraps her in his thick mackinaw before scooping her up in his arms marveling at how she weighs almost nothing to him.
~*~
He stood in front of his bathroom mirror. How had he changed in the past two years? Right at that moment, he hated it; right at that moment, he hated the sullen and miserable person he had become.
Rubbing his face, he kept himself tuned in to any sign of movement from the other rooms. Letting his hands dropped from his face, he looked back at his reflection in the mirror and gave a little tired smile. He imagined it hard enough that it seemed almost real to him, his face reverting back to that of the carefree Harry Potter again. Surely, this is the Harry Potter that Hermione Grangers deserves… right?
He tore himself away from the mirror and stood at the doorway of his bathroom, watching the occupant of his bed. She was sleeping, and the wild mane that was her hair fanned out on his pillow. He took the comfort from the fact that his pillow - his sheets and his shirt - would smell like her for a while.
He let his eyes roam over her body underneath the sheets. He couldn't see what was beneath those sheets now, but he knew the hands that tirelessly worked over potions, essays, and spells.
Were they for only that? No. He knew these same hands had worked unwaveringly over his own tired form, trying to heal the wounds, cuts, and bruises.
He knew the arms hidden beneath those thin sheets, exhausted from carrying so many books.
Were they for only that? No. He knew these same tired arms had held him close and safe from everything.
He knew the long, slender legs which had run between classrooms.
Were they for only that? No. He knew those same legs had been bruised and beaten-up in her attempts to always go to and with him, to always find him.
He knew the wonderful body that, time and time again, held him and shielded him from curses and harm.
He knew the wonderful being that was Hermione.
Tearing his eyes away from her with some effort, he went to the window and stared at the sky.
The dusk never failed to mesmerize him - the quietness of the transition from light to nightfall. For him, nature is at its full glory during this transition. His eyes fell from the sky and unto the lights below them. His house was located on a top of a hill. Not too high but still distanced from the merry village which spread around the foot of the hill. The house was a cottage, larger than what is expected of such a building and fairly larger than any of the houses within the village, but its simple wooden structure stood out from its imposing appearance. That's one reason he bought this house to begin with. It was the perfect house for them. But he hadn't been living there. This is not the way a house should be lived in. At least his house-mate made this house feel like home.
He looked back at her sleeping form. Her cheeks looked unhealthy; her skin pale; her lips marred by a frown; her eyebrows melding and sweat glistening on her forehead. He realized she was having a bad dream.
Slowly, he approached her, his eyes mesmerized by memories he couldn't stop from submerging - memories he wasn't sure how he knew of: Hermione whispering assurance into his ear; Hermione holding his hand tightly while she kept a constant vigil over his shaking, dreaming form; Hermione kissing his scar whilst he twisted in his sheets, trying to escape a realistic nightmare. None of those memories were real. Not that he knew of, at least. Surely they hadn't happen. No, they had. Only, he was sleeping as these memories were being made. Then he realized that, even though he was asleep, his body, his brain, and his heart were always still painfully aware of Hermione.
As if he were being pulled forward, his eyes closed before his lips touched her slick forehead, the emotion giving it warmth. He was so distracted by her smell and her soft skin that he failed to realize a small gasp from below him.
Leaning his forehead to hers, totally unaware of the eyes following him or of the ragged breathing warming his neck, he boded his time, letting her presence overwhelm him.
A soft "Harry" finally, although barely, pulled him out of his quiet heaven. Brown met green. Finally, he straightened up, unable to tear his gaze away from her face. Was I even blinking?
It must have been seconds or even minutes, but he felt the time stretch between those glorious moments. What is she thinking?
Gingerly, she sat up and took in his shabby appearance. She seemed to be grasping for words. Was I grasping for words, too?
"You're here… I…" She choked on her throaty voice.
Slowly, he nodded. She looked confused. Do I look as confused as she was? He opened his mouth before closing it again. What to say?
Her eyes filled with tears. A moment of panic struck him. She was hurt, so much that he could tell.
Her eyes narrowed. Fear clogged his brain. His eyes softened and he gulped.
"Where were you?"
Her words were normal - as if she was just asking him where he'd gone after disappearing for an hour and not two years. But her tone and her shaking voice implied heavy emotion. Hiding from you; following you; being miserable without you. What am I supposed to say?
There was a long pause before he settled for "here." As if realizing this nowhere was a normal place for him to be, she looked around the room. But her tone remained ice cold.
"Where is `here'?" she whispered.
"My house."
He could see the play of emotion and realization in her face when it dawned on her that this wasn't Grimmauld Place, or any known potential house for him.
"So, you've been… living here."
It was a statement. She was breathing hard. He could see her willing herself to leash her emotions, willing herself to build up all inhibitions before it is too late. Surely, she knows I can see this? No need to pretend.
"Yes," he answered.
"For the past two years?"
"Yes."
Her eyes registered irritation, her hands balling into fists. He realizes he had to stop his own hand from reaching out to her. He wanted to touch her, to hug her, to hold her. Is she feeling the same way too? He looks at her. She's losing her patience.
"Are you happy here?"
"Yes."
"Have you been a monosyllabic talker for the past two years you've been secluded here, or is this a special occasion?" she snapped.
He looks down at his hands. He wants to say more but couldn't bring himself to form the words. What to say??
"Are you ever going back?" Her voice was masked with false bravery.
"I don't want to."
He was almost afraid to look at her, to see her features register the hurt, at least until she masked it again. But he did, and with unbelievable effort, he fixed his expression to be impassive.
She stood up, wobbly on her feet. She didn't ask the question that would feed the fire; she didn't ask the question that would solidify the lie; she didn't ask the question that would hurt her the most; she didn't ask why. She just stood up, and walked towards the door before looking back at him. Is she leaving?
"I… I…"
And like that, by her unsure utterance of a one-letter word, his entire being resigned to the fact that she was incredibly hurt. Is there anything more cowardly than letting her walk away? There was nothing; he was the epitome of cowardice and stupidity. There she was, practically telling him to come back - to come back to her - and all he could do was stare stupidly, almost manically, at his bed sheets.
His brain calmed him, telling him this was for the best. That he should let her go, because that would be the best option for her; that having him out of her life completely would be a blow to him, but it would totally free her of all Harry-related worries.
His heart was the panic-stricken part of him, pleading him not to do this; that he promised - non-verbally - Ron that he wouldn't hurt Hermione again. His heart told him that they could be happy. If only that could happen.
He was so deep in thought, wallowing in his own self-pity, that he barely heard her footsteps across the floor, sounding faint every step.
Should I be selfish? Should I let her go? Should I bring this upon her? Should I decide? Or let her decide?
The last faint footstep signaled it: his brain and heart settled on an agreement. Standing up, he rushed towards the direction of his front door. He stopped short when he saw her peering expressionless at something inside one of the rooms. Why does she look numb with shock? And then he remembered. He held his breath, not knowing how she would react.
Finally, she gasped as she tore her attention from what was within the room and turned to look at him, standing just five feet away from her.
With her eyes glistening, she said, "I… I… should… go." And then she ran the remaining distance between the room and the front door.
"Wait, Hermione!"
He rushed after her, but paused at the room - the sight of which had provoked her to flee - to check on its occupant. A cherub-faced, black-haired, brown-eyed little boy standing in his crib stared up curiously at him for a moment before giving a small gibberish gurgle.
"It's okay," he said reassuringly to the little boy, before resuming his trip to the front door.
He went out of the screen door and saw Hermione, still dressed in his oversized shirt, hair unkempt and playing merrily in the breeze, standing at the edge of his porch. Her exquisite face is a picture of spell-binding befuddlement. Slowly, her eyes roamed over the sloping driveway and towards the twinkling village below them.
She took a deep breath, mesmerized by the beauty laid out before her. She walked across his yard towards the fence, her bare feet seeming to be marking her path for him to follow.
He stared at her, drinking in every movement and emotion playing across her face: after a final deep breath, her face resumed its tensioned state. Eyebrows partially up and mashed together, nose flaring, and mouth set into a thin line.
"Hermione," he started.
She walked calmly towards the driveway, completely ignoring him.
"Hermione, wait," he kept on saying as he followed her. "Hermione, please."
He overtook her and obstructed her way. "Please, just stop!"
"I'm sorry."
Her face softened measurably upon hearing the words.
"Forgotten," she said stiffly.
He couldn't believe his ears. As easy as that? And then she stepped away from him and continued her walk towards the village below.
"Wh-- Wait! Where are you going?"
"I'm going home, Harry."
"I'm sorry, Hermione. Please hear me out."
"I've heard enough. You don't want to go back… because of your… life here. It's okay, Harry."
"No, it's not! Please."
She kept on walking, her steps wavering but her stance remained determined. Determined to what? Walk away? I saved her and she's walking away? For one torturous moment, he felt a bitter taste overwhelm him.
"You can't walk away after that, Hermione!"
"After what? And why not?"
"After luring me in to save you. You jumped from that cliff knowing I'd save you. Because I have that `saving people' thing, right?" As soon as the words were out, he felt the cold and bitter slap of regret wash over him. Oh, wait. The slap was real. Ouch.
She stood in front of his shell-shocked face and stinging cheeks, and tears pooled in her blazing eyes. With one last disappointed look, she turned away.
"Hermione, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." He chased after her. "I'm sorry. Please. Please don't walk away!"
She stopped. Without turning, she spoke loudly, "And why shouldn't I? You did."
He didn't speak for a while, letting her words wash over his numb being. When he spoke, it took a lot of effort, his voice cracking with heartbreak. "Because I truly regret that. And… And I need you to hear me out."
She turned around to face him, her features baring everything she felt - unashamed. Slowly, he closed the distance between them and hugged her fiercely. He noticed she was shaking from standing barely clothed on a damp sloping driveway, crying.
"Please listen, Hermione. I've been running away but I'm ready to tell the truth now," he said. "Please."
He felt her nod and whispered, "Just so you know, this is a chance I'm giving."
With a soft pop, he apparated her back into his bedroom, where it was warm and, hopefully, comforting for her.
She sat down on his bed and wrapped the sheets around her. He sat down beside her and stared for a full minute at the covers.
"After Voldemort," he started. "I didn't know what else to do. I'd fulfilled my purpose. I'd defeated The Dark Lord and I had no idea what to do next. I'd been so focused that I forgot what it was like to live normally. I have no idea how to be happy. And I kept blaming myself."
He fidgeted with the sheets while she listens, her breathing calming his frayed nerves.
"And then the Wizarding world wouldn't leave me alone. I wanted peace. I wanted some time to think. And they just couldn't give it. I kept on thinking that this is how they'd repay me after risking my ass off to save their bloody world." He expected her to react against these harsh words towards the world they both loved. But she didn't. He guessed she understood it, in a way.
"I felt bitter," he continued. "I'd decided to turn my back on this world and focus on things that matter. Like my friends. Like you. But you were happy with Ron. The two of you were so happy that it made me question my own ability to find happiness. I didn't know what I was feeling then. Anger, frustration, sadness, I don't know," he seemed to waver. "I thought back and I realized I was happy before. And that's in majority because of you. Every ounce of happiness I'd felt before was entirely because of you."
"I look at you and I know why I've lived through Voldemort. I look at you and I realize why I haven't given up with all hell I've been through. I look at you and I see a future that I wish was set in stone. I look at you and I realize everything was worth it. I look at you and see that you look at me the same way, too."
"But I couldn't take you away from Ron. He makes you happy. You make him happy. I don't want to be less of a friend to both of you after you stuck by me through everything."
"And I just couldn't take you away from a life without a miserable companion. I'm always going to be broken, Hermione. I'm always going to need fixing, and even if you truly felt the same way I feel for you, I couldn't doom you to a life like that."
He finished at this point and there was a long moment of silence.
"So, you ran away. Because you don't want to be happy, because it puts mine and Ron's happiness in jeopardy," she stated.
"Yes. I thought I was being noble. That this is what I should do. The two of you have practically given your entire life devoted to helping me that I realized this peacefulness - peace away from me - is the least I could give you."
"Harry," she begins. "You're definitely not being noble."
He nodded.
"Don't you realize? We've been here for you since day one. If we'd wanted a peaceful - and miserable - life, we wouldn't have stuck by you through everything. Don't you understand, Harry? This - this big mess of a life wouldn't be a life if you weren't involved. This is how we live. With you by us. This is how we are and how we should be. Meeting you was the greatest thing that happened to me, and I know Ron would say the same thing. He... He may not show it the way a normal person would, but I know he was thankful you were there.
"I'm the reason his brother died, Hermione."
"No, you're not! Dammit, Harry. When are you going to stop blaming yourself for every death? It was a war!"
He wanted to laugh at her choice of words, but he just couldn't.
"I know I said that you have this `saving people' thing but I can honestly say that you also have this highly annoying `blaming myself' thing."
"But it's true. I've been away for two years and yet I continue to ruin your relationship with Ron."
"Stop it! I gave you a chance. I said I'd hear you out but I refuse to tolerate you verbally lashing out in front of me." She took calming breaths.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I've promised myself I wouldn't do this anymore, but I keep holding out."
"I don't know how you found out about the… demise of my relationship with Ron, but it was agreed by… It was mutual. We have our reasons and we think it's for the best. And… And in my opinion you're being extremely selfish here, Harry. You forgot to consider something which I think is important: me."
"I know, Hermione. That's why I'm here now. I've made a terrible mistake but I hope I can make everything right."
"You were right, Harry, when you told me that you see me look the same way at you. And you still are. I don't know when or where or how. Usually I have an explanation for everything, but this time I don't. The only regret I have was that I realized it belatedly, when I was already trapped in a relationship that I know wouldn't work; when I was already at risk of hurting one of my best friends. But I embraced it, Harry. I didn't run away from it."
Finally, he felt his entire being livening up when he saw a light at the end of the tunnel… Until he realized it was just an illusion.
"Until now," she whispered.
"What?" He sounded surprised, even to him. "Why? Hermione, please don't give up now."
"I don't want to give up, Harry. But I have to. You have your responsibility here. And I refuse to be the reason why you'd end up a completely perfect family."
"Family? What?"
She looked at him morosely and, quite frankly, irritably.
"The baby, Harry."
"Baby? You mean Teddy." She looked at him dubiously.
"Teddy? Teddy Lupin?" She asked in disbelief.
"Teddy Potter now. But yes, Teddy Lupin, the metamorphmagus baby of Tonks and Remus Lupin."
Relief and realization dawned on her beautiful face and he finally let out a chuckle. "You thought that in those two years away, I'd built a family?"
She nodded.
"Let me guess, it's because of his `jet black, messy' hair."
She held her head high, trying to preserve her dignity, "Well, could you blame me? I haven't seen you for two years and when I finally do, you're living with a baby with black hair. I know that there's a point where a girl has to give up."
So this is what it feels like.
He moved closer to her. "Please give happiness a chance, Hermione."
She looked seriously at him. Her face was a familiar puzzle to behold, and he would spend his entire life unfurling that beautiful puzzle, he knew it. Finally, something fell into place. His answer for everything-
"Marry me."
Her eyes widened with shock. "Harry."
"I'm serious, Hermione. Marry me."
"You do realize we haven't… settled this yet. We haven't dated. We… We haven't even kissed for Merlin's sake!"
He stole one quick kiss from her lips and her eyes widened more.
"I don't really care if we haven't dated or what. We don't need that. We've practically dated since we were eleven. And Merlin, I would give anything for you to forgive me if you hadn't already, which I know you have or else you would've left the moment you realized you were here, in my house. I know this isn't exactly the most romantic proposal, but I need you and I want you, Hermione. And I know for a fact that the past two years have proven that I couldn't stand to stay away from you for the rest of my life."
Conflicting emotion was written visibly across her face, but his instinct told him that this was the beginning of a happy ending. What a sap. And he couldn't care less. He couldn't stop smiling.
"Then why did you wait for so long," she finally said, before pulling him into a desperately passionate kiss.
Harry and Hermione Potter. Perfect.
At that, his troubled mind found the answer to every question.
~*~*~
A/N: So… what do you think? Constructive criticisms are always welcome. I said in my uploaded author's note that I was stuck with one scene. Guess which scene it was. ;)
Another A/N: Technically, this is the end of the story, so I can mark this story as `complete'. But there's still an epilogue. Created it already but I won't give a teaser, just because. Don't worry. You won't have to wait for another five months for it. I'll upload it in a few days. Also, I have another story coming up entitled "The Portkey". That'll be a two-shot story.
Another A/N (which you can ignore): And I have another story planned out in my mind: Harry and Hermione's love story written in ink and expressed through a series of letters. That story would be completely devoid of narration, if not minimal. It will play out through letters sent by Harry or Hermione - or maybe even both - and of course through the imagination of the readers. Inspired by Meg Cabot's "Love, Rosie". The title MIGHT possibly be inspired by Nicholas Sparks' "Dear John". I saw a WIP fic by lilymione entitled `Love, Hermione' and so far I love it. So, I'll use her fic as an inspiration, too. So, there. If I ever get around to writing it, I'll let you guys know. ;)
Paalam! (Filipino word for "Bye!")
-c&m
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