1. All or Nothing

All or Nothing

By cakeandmilk

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, O’Town, or the lyrics in this story. They belong to their respective authors/composers/singers.

Rating: G

Summary: Here is another fic from cakeandmilk’s treasure chest! In the midst of writing a longer fic, a girl named DarkChoco nursed a plot bunny inside my head with the song “All or Nothing” by O’Town. Naturally, I would ignore the said plot bunny and went on with writing the longer fic. But I just couldn’t. Hence, my first attempt at a song fic. I hate summaries, they ruin the surprise, but fine, I’ll give one anyway: Ron and Hermione broke up and this is how Ron deals with it. A bit of a tissue warning because it is sad (for Ron anyway). (No major spoilers but post-DH without the crapilogue) H/Hr? Well, you guys decide.

A/N: Oh, please, please, read and review guys! I want feedback on how this story would strike H/Hr fans. Thanks so much to Elodie Tristie for beta-ing!

~*~*~*

His blue eyes stare straight ahead. His spot on the floor gives him a panoramic view of his room. Naturally, it is a mess. His stare flickered, then landed on the phone which lay beside him. His expression remained the same –shocked, relieved, rebellious, sombre, and angry.

It began as any other normal day would. He woke up, had breakfast, went to work at the Ministry, went home after six, and prepared for dinner with his girlfriend – like any normal day. But it turned out in a way he wasn’t expecting. Or maybe, subconsciously, he was expecting it for some time. But this didn’t quite ease him so he, in turn, gave into denial up until this very moment.

Half an hour before, his stare had often alternated between the wall and the phone, wishing it would ring. But nothing happened – the phone had remained silent. His stare never left the phone, but his eyes lost their focus.

I know when he's been on your mind
That distant look is in your eyes
I thought with time you'd realize it's over, over
It's not the way I choose to live
And something some where's gotta give
A share in this relationship gets older, older

“Do not make this harder for the both of us, Ron. I missed dinner, big deal,” she said, voice shaking.

“That’s why I’m making this easier, Hermione.”

“By asking me to choose,” she questioned, her voice climbing an octave higher.

Silence.

You know I'd fight for you but how could I fight someone who isn't even there?
I've had the rest of you now I want the best of you I don't care if that's not fair

“He is gone, Hermione,” Ron whispered. He flinched when he realized how wrong that statement had sounded.

“He is not dead, Ron! He is missing,” she snapped.

“He is not here.”

“Ron, I am really confused.”

“Are you really?”

'Cause I want it all
Or nothing at all
There's nowhere left to fall
When you reach the bottom it's now or never
Is it all
Or are we just friends
Is this how it ends
With a simple telephone call
You leave me here with nothing at all

“Why do I have to choose?”

“Because that is the way it is. Because we both know it is a choice between me and him.”

“How?!”

There are time it seems to me
I'm sharing you with memories
I feel it in my heart but I don't show it , show it
Then there's times you look at me
As thought I'm all that you could see
Those times I don't believe it's right I know it , know it

“Do you think of me, Hermione?”

He imagined her reeling from the sudden change of direction.

“Of cou-”

“As much as you think of Harry? As much as you fret over where he is? As much as you think of him every bloody minute of every bloody day even when I am the one you are with?” he continued, running over her sentence.

Silence, again.

“Then you’ve already made your choice,” Ron accused.

“Harry is missing Ron. As his best friends, we have the duty to find him,” she said. He could hear from the other end of the line that she was almost crying.

“He left, Hermione. It has been a year and I do not know if it is for good. Now I do not want it to be for good. But this, this can’t go on. Let’s face it, Hermione. Harry bested me at everything. At one point I thought that was not the case, because I have you. But now, even after he is gone, he still bested me on vying for the attention and affection of the woman I love.”

She was openly crying at that moment.

“You know it’s true,” he whispered; his tone, surprisingly, not accusing, but more of accepting.

Don't make me promises baby you never did know how to keep them well
I had the rest of you now I want the best of you it's time to show and tell

“I’ve made my choice, too, Hermione. I choose not to be on the sidelines any more. So, now, I’m offering you a way out. We cannot pretend any more like we are the perfect happy couple. Maybe once we were. We were. I want all of it, Hermione. Not just part of it.”

“I—I’m sorry, Ron,” she finally said.

“Right. Me, too,” he said and turned off the phone, and he knew, this time, it really is over.

Staring at the phone now, he is seething with anger. He hated that bloody phone from the moment he bought it. Yes, he bought it when he learned that Hermione had one. He bought it so he could talk to her more often. But now, he hates it.

Their break-up was as simple as it could be. No shouting for a change. Drama is still present, because how unexciting it is without it? But it still wasn’t easy, especially over the phone. Personally, he preferred doing it in person. Why? So, you can grovel and beg? he thought bitterly. No, so he can make it formal (oh! how naive he was), and he knew Hermione deserved more than just a phone call. But the situation presented itself when she failed to remember their 8^th-time-postponed dinner because she was busy looking for Harry again.

On second thought, maybe it is better with the phone. At least he didn’t see her while he was breaking her already broken heart because that would be painful, if not traumatic. And she didn’t see him breaking his own heart. He supposed he should be proud of himself for handling the situation well and because he knew, deep down, it all boiled down to this anyway. Their relationship has reached a dead-end and it just so happened that he was the one who sealed that final lock of the box labelled “Ron and Hermione”, which was destined not to be opened again. Now, he just needed to throw away the key. He was getting there.

Harry disappeared the night they were celebrating the 1^st anniversary of Voldemort’s death. No note, no goodbye. He just… disappeared. They, Ron and Hermione, knew that he wasn’t kidnapped or anything like that. They often referred to it as going on a vacation. After a year, Harry wasn’t back from his so-called “vacation”. After a year of Hermione futilely searching for him, Ron had had enough.

He always thought Harry and Hermione had — and still has — something special, something even he can not fathom. No one can and ever will. He accepted the fact he could not understand it. Now, he realized he does understand it. He'd been trying to have that with Hermione for years. But he just couldn’t.

Oh, yes, for a while the two of them had been happy. At least he had been happy. But lately he had just been miserable because she didn’t and just couldn’t give him what he desperately craved for—her whole heart. He knew why: because she gave it to Harry the moment the three of them met each other.

There. He was not in denial any more.

He stared at the phone, knowing it would not ring. That signalled it; he threw away that imaginary key.

And then the pain came. Finally, the tears fell.

~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N3: So, what do you think? Should I write a companion piece where Harry would return and H/Hr would have their happily ever after? If you think I should, better give me the details about how you guys want it to go. ;)

A/N4: Thank you to those who continue to read and review my other fics, especially “A Tune For His Music”. That one was my baby and I am so proud many of you liked it. I appreciate it much. Please keep the reviews coming! Hugs and kisses.

2. Gone With the Wind

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update, with RL and all. Okay, here it is. What you guys are asking for: Ron and Harry meet. Given your suggestions with the previous chapter, I had a hard time coming up with an interesting enough chapter. But hey, I managed, right? I've been listening to all of **Blue October's albums when inspiration struck. R&R much appreciated! Also, I decided not to associate this and the next chapters with a song. Let the emotion drip from the words and not from any music. But hey, you can tell me in your reviews what song comes to mind when you finished reading. ;)

BOOK 7 spoilers! PG-13 for language.

*Thanks to Elodie Tristie for beta-ing!

** I have so much admiration for Blue October that I even asked my classmate to lend me all of Blue October's albums. Yep, you got that right. My iTunes has all of Blue October's albums. Listen to them, they're awesome!!!! They give me plot bunnies.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter—not mine.

~*~*~*~*~

He awakes with a start. Looking around, he realizes he fell asleep in the middle of writing a letter to Hermione.

Groggily, Ron stretches the kinks in his neck and back before staring glumly at the creased paper in front of him. He had written less than thirty words on that paper and yet the letter seems brimming with how he is feeling — uncertain, nervous, and yet determined. Every crease and fold in that paper shouts a thousand possible meanings for him.

What to say? There goes that blasted question again. Ever since he first started to entertain the thought of writing or talking to Hermione a month ago, that bloody question had never left his troubled mind.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he registers the unopened bottle of firewhiskey a few inches away from the parchment.

He stares at Hermione's photo lying slapdash at one corner of the table. The photo is magical, of course. In it, Hermione is facing sideways, scrutinizing something. She then gives a beatific smile and nod. He stares at it, willing the image of Hermione to cast her face in his direction so he can see it fully. But the photo remains the same.

He shakes his head, jumbling his already disordered thoughts before looking out of the window and into the dead night that surrounds Muggle London.

He stands up to open the window. Fresh, cold night air hits his face squarely and he finds himself almost smiling. Almost. Settling himself comfortably, he languidly positions his elbows on the window frame and stares at the hushed neighborhood.

For a moment, he thinks of glorious days in the Weasley yard playing Quidditch with his family. A small smile forming on his lips instantly dissolves when he remembers his family. Ginny is back at Hogwarts for her seventh year. She is safe, albeit miserable. You can just guess why. The man of her dreams and knight in shining armour refused her as his damsel in distress. Another fairy tale tragically ends for the youngest Weasley. He thinks of F-…George. Just George. He thinks of the face that belongs to two of his brothers, instantly sobering when he realizes the harsh reality that he has only one brother with that face now. He looks up and stares at the sky, instantly spotting the brightest among the stars.

Quietly, he talks to his lost brother. He tells him how George is not the same without him; how the poor bloke never smiles; how much he is being missed. He does this so very often after the war. At times he finds himself wondering what it feels like to be where Fred is. Before his thoughts trod down a dangerous path, he quickly stops himself.

He exhales and his eyes catch a shadow near the pavement. At first he ignores it but when a car passes by, its headlights reveal a shadow over the pavement where no one is standing.

He looks closely; his war instincts telling him this is very unusual for a Muggle neighborhood. He squints, staring unrelentingly at that spot on the sidewalk, waiting — and then he sees it. A black shoe suddenly appears a few inches from where he was staring. He sees the shoe for approximately three seconds before it disappears right before his eyes.

Softly, he leans away from the window and closes it. Retrieving his wand from his back pocket, he puts on his duffel coat and quiet as a mouse, proceeds to his dark living room. He makes sure not to make a sound as he approaches the window.

Ever so gently, he pushes down the blinds and stares resolutely at the pavement.

A shimmer and a muffled ruffle of clothing is all it takes for Ron to back up and open his door in a flash, his wand poised for attack when he suddenly finds himself frozen from sheer fright at the black mass standing at his door right in front of him.

Unbeknownst to him, that same black mass nearly had a heart attack at his sudden appearance, as well. Slowly, a shaft of moonlight reveals the black mass to be none other than Harry Potter.

“Ron,” Harry said, his voice pitched high.

After the confusion wears out, Ron's eyes narrow and his position relaxes infinitesimally.

A few minutes later, he finds himself sitting in his Chesterfield with Harry shuffling uncomfortably in front of him.

Ron takes time to ponder everything. Here is Harry after a year and a half of absence in his most awkward appearance yet. He is wearing his usual clothes, Ron notes. Nothing changed from the day he left. Aside from that, he can not, for the life of him, concentrate on trivial things like appearances when here is his best mate, his rival, appearing ever so vulnerable in front of him.

“Wh-” Ron tries but he does not know what to ask. Should he ask what is he doing here? Should he ask why he is back? Should he ask why he left? Should he ask if he had seen Hermione?

Harry looks up at him warily—almost wincing the moment he tried to say something.

Finally, Ron Weasley, the best friend, takes over.

“Why did you leave?” His voice sounds choked up all the same, an angry edge to it.

“Ron, I can't…”

Fury rears its ugly, malevolent head and Ron slams Harry against the wall.

“You left! You left without a decent goodbye! You left, you bloody bastard! You left us!”

Though surprised, Harry does nothing. He acts willingly and with acceptance under Ron's violent hands.

Ron pushes him roughly before letting him fall in a broken heap on his floor.

“I can't… Ron, I can't…”

“What?!”

“I can't stand it anymore!” Harry Potter found himself shouting. “The bloody Wizarding world! The sodding attention! I can't stand it! You and Hermione!”

Ron's head snaps up and he glares mercilessly at Harry. “What did you say?”

“You — you and Hermione,” Harry began, “I can't stand it! You're so happy and I'm not.”

“Don't blame us for your own misery, Harry.”

“I know! That was why I left! I cannot bring myself to blame you, so I left.”

He sees Harry crying. Bloody bastard. Breathing in and out, he tries calming himself down. Finally, he sits back on his couch before looking over the broken man on his floor.

“You are stupid,” he says.

Harry nods but does not say anything.

“I wish you hadn't left,” Ron says menacingly.

Harry looks up at him, a bit taken back.

“If you didn't leave, Hermione and I would never have broken up.”

Ron notices his friend's eyes register a kind of confusion.

“What?” Harry stares at Ron, befuddled.

“We would never have broken up if you never left.” Ron finds himself uttering the biggest lie he has ever come up with. Yes, his statement is a lie. He knows that whatever happens, whether Harry left or not, he and Hermione will end up where they are now: apart.

Harry stares at him, dumbfounded. Ron chuckles mirthlessly. “She never gave up on you. Never gave up on looking for you,” Ron said and one look at Harry confirms that he knows this. “And yet you never showed up, for her sake. How bloody selfish could you get?”

“No more than I have already accomplished,” Harry mumbled.

“Doubt it.” Ron casts his best friend—yes, still his best friend — a knowing look.

Harry looks at him, not comprehending the words and what they imply.

“I'm sorry,” Harry finally said. “Right now, I'm confused.”

“Hermione has the answers,” Ron replies coldly. He gets up and approaches his friend. Bending down until he is eye level with Harry and his eyes full of hurt, anger, and fear, he says, “You didn't need to leave us. You just have to…talk to us when the Wizarding world was bothering you and we would have understood.”

He stands up and casting one final look at his friend he says, “Look for her… and Harry?”

Harry looks up at Ron Weasley, his best friend, his brother.

“Stop hurting her.” Which means Go back to her. Tell her you love her. Don't leave her again. With that said, he climbs the stairs.

Ron collapses at his bed—weakened by the ordeal. He hears the soft pop associated with an apparition before his eyes fell on the parchment sitting atop his bedside table.

On it are the words:

Hermione,

I'm sorry, I made a mi Can we start over? I miss you…

Good day, Hermione.

How are you? Any luck with finding Harry? I heard he-

Where are you?? I've been looking all over for you. We should talk I-

It doesn't have to be this way, does it?

A lone tear drops onto the paper and smudges the word `day' in the second line making it transform entirely into another word: `bye'—a word he's been desperately avoiding. He lets the parchment fall from his hands and onto the duvet, ignoring the mocking way it seems to stare at him.

Snatching the firewhiskey and opening it, his eyes find Hermione's photo. Sadly, he observes her smile and follows her gaze—Harry. His breathing shallows when he notices what he failed to notice earlier. Next to Hermione's beaming picture is a haphazardly clipped photo of the Golden Trio in the Daily Prophet moments after the three of them emerged from the Great Hall the day of the Final Battle. Realization hits him full force when, looking back at Hermione's picture — he sees her staring straight at Harry Potter's tired form.

Taking another swig at the newly opened firewhiskey, he pushes both pictures until they fall from the edge of the table and onto the floor.

Harry's back.

~*~

A/N: What do you, guys, think? Oh, and since I love my readers so much that I want to torture them with teaser for the next chapter, here is one:

She breathes in but finds it difficult, almost painful. She feels something…lips? Lips pressed tightly to hers. Air, pressure, and then something bubbles from inside her.

A/N: Whew! Pretty nasty teaser, eh?

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3. Dancing

A/N: You guys want angst? Here, go crazy. This is the result of reading “The Lovely Bones” by Alice Sebold and from listening too much to Blue October. Okay, now on to Hermione's point of view—sort of. It seems to me that we focused on Ron for the past two chapters. So, now, I feel the need to show you a bit of Hermione's miserable life without her best friends.

The bold and italicized parts are flashbacks—memories, if you will—from Deathly Hallows and this fic's first chapter.

FAR FROM A FLUFFY CHAPTER. MAJOR DH SPOILERS. A bit OOC for our dear heroine. Don't say I didn't warn you. R&R please.

~*~*~*~*~*~

She stands at the edge of a rocky cliff. That is what it feels like — a rocky cliff which she is more than tempted to jump from, which leads her to where she is right now. She had been driving for miles, never stopping, never turning back. That is until that moment she stomped on her brakes and glanced around only to find herself in a deserted road, looking over a cliff. She stepped out from her car—a red sedan, nothing fancy—and, as if on a trance, approached the edge of the cliff slowly, looking straight out to the black sea below it.

For a while, she does nothing. The wind, which once was placid and warm, now picks up pace and plays merrily between her tresses, her thin clothing, and the jarred memories that clang inside her head like a bell resounding inside an empty campanile.

She looks down at her feet; they're clad in her simplest, ugliest, and yet most loved pair of shoes. She fingers her scarf, making sure it is still wound up securely around her neck. Her eyes stray from her shoes to the unfathomable waves slapping angrily and brutally at the rocks below, suddenly becoming hypnotized by the rhythmic sounds and movement.

She can taste the ocean, salty and tangy and divine, the otherwise sweet pungent air bringing the onslaught of taste to her chapped and blue lips.

She closes her eyes and she feels herself falling into that quivering sea, filled with her memories—static fragments of her confused and worn-out mind, all broken, misplaced, and disconnected from everything else. Are they real? Did they really happen?

Perhaps Hermione knew how he was feeling, because she reached for his hand and took the lead for the first time, pulling him forward.

She and Harry grasped hands and Disapparated, reappearing on a windswept heather-covered hillside.

They were standing hand in hand in a snowy lane under a dark blue sky in which the night's first stars were already glimmering feebly.

Cold. She feels so cold and yet, so light. Is she floating, she does not know. She does not really care. She likes the feeling of… whatever this is. Oblivion, she thought. She likes the feeling of sweet oblivion. She lets it carry her far away from the twisted reality she often finds herself secluded in.

“Harry, did you ever even open A History of Magic?”

“Erm,” he said, smiling for what felt like the first time in months. The muscles in his face felt oddly stiff. “I might've opened you know, when I bought it . . . just the once . . .”

She is miles from where she was. She does not know how she knows this. She just… knows. Opening her eyes, she sees darkness. She draws in a long breath and it hurts. She flails her arms wildly until they catch something soft and silk - it is her hair, she realizes. Since when did her hair became silky?, she asks herself and found no answer.

He put his arm around Hermione's shoulders, and she put hers around his waist, and they turned in silence and walked away through the snow…

She picked up the book and then walked back past him into the tent, but as she did so, she brushed the top of his head lightly with her hand. He closed his eyes at her touch…

Hermione had taken his hand again and was gripping it tightly. He could not look at her, but returned the pressure…

She gasps and trembles, feeling the tears once again welling in her eyes. She chokes back tears and everything else all at once; her throat constricts with brutal pain and a dull ache. She is drowning from painful memories threatening to strangle her and rob her of her life.

Then, another round of torture comes.

“I get it. You choose him.”

Each memory slapping her body like the waves—devastated, unforgiving, hungry.

“Because that is the way it is. Because we both know it is a choice between me and him.”

“I've made my choice, too, Hermione. I choose not to be on the sidelines any more. So, now, I'm offering you a way out. We cannot pretend any more like we are the perfect happy couple. Maybe once we were. We were. I want all of it, Hermione. Not just part of it.”

The new outpouring of memories, she notes, are in perfect order.

One rapid gush and she is there—in that clear and waist-deep pool of uncertainty and depression. She tries to make sense of it all. Why did everything happen the way they happened? Why everything that happened did happen?

She was finally living a normal enough life with her two best friends. Restored was the old glimmer and shine of the Wizarding world. She looks at it in a different way now. Gone was the appeal of it all to her. Her best friend ran away, leaving her to her own misery and despair. Her other best friend and ex-boyfriend tried to be there for her but she mucked it all up. Now, she is alone, drowning in her own misery. The Golden Trio are no more—a mere whisper floating at the back of her diffused mind like a strand of glowing, lifeless hair, cut from its origin—lonely, lost, forgotten.

She wants him. She longs for him. A year, three months, twelve days, three hours, and forty-eight minutes—time, the words hammering themselves endlessly within the recesses of her mind. How long has it been? Please… please, come back.

“Harry,” she whispers and it turns into bubbles, eagerly rushing away from her and into the surface that is her cage.

She is drowning. In her tears, it seems. She cannot breathe. Her lungs feel like a balloon filled with air and water sloshing wherever she moves, waiting to explode from her aching body. She feels a million of pinpricks lodge themselves at every part of her being—flesh to fire.

“Hermione.” She hears someone whisper.

She reaches for that voice, but she is unable to.

“Open your eyes.”

I can't.

She breathes in but finds it difficult, almost painful. She feels something…lips? Lips pressed tightly to hers. Air, pressure, and then something bubbles from inside her.

“Harry,” she chokes; water, tears, and hurt spill from within her. Again, a pair of lips press at her slick forehead.

A minute? An hour? A lifetime passed before she opens her eyes and finds herself lying on her back, staring into the darkening clouds. Her breathing, shallow, then turns relaxed. Though it was only minutes, she felt she had stayed that way for forever.

Finally, she sits up and notices she is wet all over. Why is she wet? Her eyes trace her shaking, pruned-up hands, hands that went up suddenly to her lips—blue and bruised from the cold. She swallows and surveys herself. She is dripping. Her clothes are torn in some parts and there is a particularly nasty gash on her elbow, bleeding profusely. She tastes blood and her fingers touched something sticky. She belatedly realizes that her cheek is bleeding.

She tries moving but her legs are numb and her arms are hurting. She looks around and she sees she is still on the rocky cliff with her car parked a few yards away.

She closes her eyes and breathes in and out slowly. What happened? Did she fall? It seems like it. How did she get here? Her eyes snap open when she cannot feel the fuzzy warm comfort her scarf provided. Her hand clumsily roams her neck and chest before blindly, and desperately, searching the ground.

Where is it? Where the hell is it?

Hearing the waves below, she is suddenly hit by a realization. She looks towards the end of the cliff and into the grumbling sea. Trying hard to concentrate, she moves her legs infinitesimally, trying hard to ignore the bone-crushing pain it felt.

Adjusting to the pain, she stretches her legs farther out before trying to stand up. She takes a few steps towards the edge of the cliff before collapsing into a heap of tears, blood, and excruciating pain, near the brink.

She crawls her way towards the sloping rocky edge and more cuts appear across her skin. Her gaze roams the sea, desperation etched in her tear-filled, blood-shot eyes. She sees the scarf relentlessly hanging onto the spiky, beaten-up rock of the shore. She feels rather than sees her tears fall and add up to the angry sea below.

A sob escapes her as she reached her hand out as if by that she will reclaim her scarf.

“A-Accio sc-”

The scarf lets go from its death-grip clutch and willingly went with the waiting sea much like what she had done earlier.

That scarf was from Harry.

The pain is too much. Her gaze looses focus before blackness swallowed her.

~*~

A/N: Is it just me or does this chapter looks like a scene from New Moon? Haha. Anyway, what do you guys think? I won't give any teaser for the next chapter. I haven't written it, yet. But rest assured that it is going to be THE moment for our favourite couple. Oh, and questions regarding the past and present chapters will be answered by the next chappie. ;)

`Til then.

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5. Storm

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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6. Epilogue

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Universe is not mine. The honour belongs solely to JK Rowling. But it's nice to borrow bits and pieces to create your own story. ï�Š

A/N: The epilogue for “All or Nothing”. Treat this as redemption from my 5-months lack of updates. I'm really sorry about that. I want to present you with chapters that would blow your socks off and the writer's block delayed everything. But I think I'll manage to pull this one off. I hope. Heh. Okay, POV? You'll figure it out soon enough as you go along the story. You will find very few dialogues on the first part because this is more of an internal battle.

Angsty? Not quite. But there is bit sadness in there. Enjoy!

Thanks to Elodie Tristie for beta-ing! You've done wonders to my chapters.

~*~*~*~

It begun with the simplest of intentions: to see. He didn't expect anything grand from it.

He became adamant to get what he wanted. And he wanted peace of mind. But it was difficult when he wanted to be away from the public eye.

His purpose was to see how the Wizarding world was faring. No, that would be lying. He already knew. His reasoning was more purely nostalgic.

He apparated at Hogsmeade, careful not to draw attention. He trudged the path towards the enchanted castle, his cloak tightly drawn around him; along with the tightness in his throat. He should have brought Hermione with him; she was good at blocking out the cold and the painful memories.

He reached the wrought iron gates of the vast castle grounds. After staring at the looming construction for five seconds, the gates opened for him.

His eyes automatically searched for Hagrid's hut. A smile bloomed across his face when he saw smoke billowing out of his half-giant friend's house. He debated whether or not an impromptu visit is in order. He decided that he thought better of it; soon, though, he and Hermione would visit their old friend.

Approaching the castle entrance, he was gripped with uneasiness. What if he wasn't ready for this? What if he'd regret coming here so soon? His hand shook when he reached for the door.

Throwing caution to the wind, he pushed open the door and, behold, his home for the better part of his life. He crossed the colossal threshold and slowly went up the grand staircase. Amazing. Hogwarts hadn't changed one bit. His chest constricted, not with pain but in excitement, as if he were his captivated 11-year old self again, experiencing Hogwart's grandeur and magic for the first time. Except this time, he knew the rooms he passed; he was familiar with the halls he wandered through; he was once again, back to a familiar home.

There must have been students around, as the flambeaus were dimly lit and there was an aura of life around; it was dramatically different compared to the ghostly castle his war-wounded mind remembered form the past years. To prove his suspicion correct, a little girl with a gold and red crest embellished on her robes rounded the corner. She stopped when she saw him. He was prepared for her to gape at his scar. He stared at her and she blinked, her blue eyes growing wider. Just as he expected her to squeal or giggle or launch herself at him, she smiled brightly and shifted the books in her hand before shyly scurrying away, leaving him totally confused. Somehow the little girl reminded him of an 11-year old Hermione Granger, all books and smiles.

He smiled, rather belatedly, and continued down the hallway until he reached a landing. With his heart pounding, he climbed the stairs and upon reaching the top, pushed open the door. After three years, he was standing, once again, at the famous Hogwarts' Astronomy Tower.

Peering over the railing, he saw the vast grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was a glorious day and students were milling about, though only a few of them wandered across his line of sight. He looked further away and spotted Dumbledore's tomb basking gloriously in the sunlight's glimmer. There was an… emptiness around the tomb. As if it were part of its own world, secluded from what was surrounded it. There was a fairly large space around the tomb that students, unconsciously, avoid. A couple would wander towards it before turning to the other direction, as if warned away by their subconscious. It looked to him as if the grave site was repelling attention.

Except for one lone student. And another, he thought when a second student approached the grave and plopped down beside his companion. He could not make out their faces. Harry wondered if those two faces had witnessed the horror that befell upon these grounds first-hand.

Shaking his head lightly, he pushed his hands forward until it touched the rail. Blood rushed to his ears. There was a distinct pounding, accompanied by pictures and images, dusty and unwelcome as it intruded his thoughts.

Albus Dumbledore died here; Fred Weasley, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Colin Creevey, and countless others died fighting in these grounds. Lives grabbed too soon by the wrath of Tom Marvolo Riddle. The weight that was lifted from his shoulders three years ago suddenly crashed down back at him, rendering him confused.

Death that had surrounded his life for the past eighteen years weighed down heavily on his burdened mind.

“It wasn't your fault, Harry,” she coos as she showers his tense and sticky face with kisses, “None of it was.”

He knew he should have believed it. Not only because it was true — despite how many times he denied it — but also because it came from Hermione. But his mind came to a constant relapse whenever he tried to convince himself. Hermione managed to break through these walls of guilt.

In reality, he does believe it. But he couldn't escape the notion that he was too late — not late enough to let Voldemort kill more people, but definitely late enough to save those people's lives. He couldn't live that down until Hermione suggested he find closure by returning to Hogwarts. And there he was, standing in the Astronomy Tower, coming to terms with sadness and defeat.

He talked to them, asking how they were and whether they were happy. He imagined Fred cracking a loud joke and everyone around him laughing heartily. He thought of Sirius teasing him for proposing to Hermione lousily. “Then again, you are a Potter,” he would say. He imagined Remus and Tonks giving him a huge grin and a thumbs up for giving their son a loving family. And then he imagined his parents, smiling wonderfully at him, their faces lit up with pride and love as they say “Well done, son.” And Albus Dumbledore would be behind them, his eyes saying it all, twinkling like they always use to.

Harry's eyes began to well up with tears and a huge smile break out of his face. He was free, at last.

“Well, if it isn't Harry Potter,” a voice said jovially behind him.

He turned around to see Ron, standing at the entrance to the Astronomy Tower. His hands enclosed those of a little girl. Harry looked at her and realized she was the child that had seen him earlier.

Bending down, Ron whispered to the little girl. She nodded, and after giving Harry another smile, she left the two gentlemen. Harry turned back to the view and Ron stood at his side staring out as well.

A few minutes passed before Ron broke the silence. “For good?”

“Yes,” Harry answered, feeling a smile break out of his face. Ron nods. The sun's violent orange rays outline the horizon, giving everything a peacefully fiery glow.

“The sun sets,” Ron started. “Like it always does. So it can rise at other places, right?”

Harry glanced at him, unsure of where he was going. “Yes.” Ron looked back at him, a bit uncertain himself. “Look, I'm not good at this poetry stuff like Hermione, so you'll just have to try to get what I'm saying.”

He turned his attention back towards the setting sun. “I think it goes away to another place, so that it can see different people… different things. So that it can take a break from one place, and enjoy another. It may take awhile, but,” he looked at Harry, “it always comes back. It has to.”

“Like me,” Harry said.

“Like you,” Ron affirmed. “You came back, mate. You always do. And I'm glad.”

Harry smiled and hugged Ron in an awkward, brotherly grasp. “Thanks, mate. I look at you as my brother. You know that, right?”

Ron grinned. “Nah. You're too much of a tosser to be my brother.” Harry laughed. “And Ginny would have a fit if she realizes she once snogged her `brother'.” Harry laughed again, more heartily.

“How is she?” Harry asks.

“Better now that she has ferret boy wrapped around her finger.” Both boys grinned. “How's Hermione?”

“Good. Same as she's always been.”

“You mean bossy and constantly worrying, like she's always been?”

“I heard that, Ronald Weasley.”

Harry and Ron turned around to see a beaming Hermione. She laughed, tears streaming down her face as she launch herself at her boys, who hugged her just as fiercely.

She let go of Harry and hugged Ron more tightly. Harry beamed, feeling happiness and pride eating at his heart. He had his entire life back.

“Oh God, I missed you so much, Ron,” Harry heard her whisper to the grinning redhead. For a moment, he saw longing in those blue eyes, as if he regretted everything that didn't happen between him and the girl in his arms. But then the longing turned into gratefulness and determination — determination to make the friendship the three of them shared worthy of forever.

“Of course you do. Where else will you find such an awesome best friend like me?” Ron let go of her and wryly pointed at Harry. “He can't even compete.”

“Oi!”

Hermione laughed and hugged her best friend again.

“And you.” She turned to Harry. “Finally!” He caught her just as she lavished him with all her attention, kissing him passionately. Harry was happy to oblige.

“Get a room!”

Hermione turned to Ron, her smile wicked. “So, Ron, I talked to Luna earlier and I heard the most interesting thing.”

Harry sniggered as his best mate turned redder than his hair.

“Yeah,” Ron said nonchalantly. “You see, we're taking care of this little girl. You saw her before, Harry.”

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed wickedly. “And you're with kid,” Harry supplied, much to Ron's discomfort.

“No, no! She's-uh-she's Luna's cousin's daughter,” he stammered, but stopped when he saw his best friends laughing.

“Sod off, you lot. What Luna and I have is…” He looked for something to say when upon looking at his best friends, he concluded “something the two of you will understand.” Harry and Hermione beamed at him as Ron dragged them from the Astronomy Tower. Finally, indeed.

It had begun with the simplest intentions: to see, to hear, to acknowledge. He ended up with more — and yet, he ended up with everything, rather than nothing.

Harry Potter gave way to happiness as it consumed him.

~*~*~*~

A/N: There. The trio's happy ever after. You like it? I wrote this in the middle of my Physics lecture stave off sleepiness.

I never got around introducing the pair of children who braved Dumbledore's tomb. That's because I want to leave that up to you. Whoever you fancy them to be, then so be it.

Thank you for sticking by me throughout the story. This is the first non-one shot I have ever written and you can see how it turned out. Not bad, I hope.

I have written another story, but it's a two-shot. It's entitled “The Portkey”. I will upload it as soon as my beta's done with it.

Paalam!

-c&m

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All or Nothing

1. All or Nothing

2. Gone With the Wind

3. Dancing

4. Author's Note

5. Storm

6. Epilogue