Endless

Croyez

Rating: PG
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 30/12/2009
Last Updated: 30/12/2009
Status: completed

Love is the emblem of eternity ; it confounds all notion of time ; effaces all memory of a beginning , all fear of an end.

Chapters

1. Endless

1. Endless

Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine. Except the basic plot for this.

Author’s note: Just something I wrote a few years back. I don’t write fan fiction anymore, but I’ve always liked this, so here it is.

“Oh—God.”

He closed his mouth abruptly, rather taken aback. Her tone, her choice of words, the widening of her eyes…it was all expected, of course, but still he got an unpleasant feeling from it all. Like it had already started to go wrong, and he hadn’t even spoken. But, he supposed, it would have gone wrong anyway. He didn’t know how he should act, what he should say…it had been years since they’d last seen each other. And the conditions in which he’d left probably hadn’t set well with her at all. Sure enough, the way she gazed at him told him that his presence there troubled her beyond simply being angry, surprised or even relieved.

He cleared his throat, feeling even more nervous than before.

“Err—”

“H-Harry.” It was more a statement than a question—as if she’d actually been expecting him to appear at her door at any time.

He nodded, racking his brain for something to say, but failing dismally. Her effect on him was as strong as it had been before; already he felt himself giving in, wanting to envelop her in his arms and kiss her, just as he had dreamed of doing since he had left her side. His arms gave an involuntary sort of jerk, clearly ready to do as he wanted, but he held them back. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from hers—from that look she was giving him.

“But you’re…here.”

“Yes, I—”

“B-but…oh—you’re alive!” she seemed a bit undecided on whether this made her happy or not. As she spoke her eyes and face practically lit up in relief; a smile was even tugging at the corners of her mouth. But then she seemed to consider what she’d just said, and her expression was once again cold and uncomfortable.

His heart could sink no lower.

“Yes, err—we need to talk about that—”

“No,” she said quickly, her voice firm. Her wide eyes never left his, regarding him with distrust and coolness, “Don’t say anything,” she added, glancing behind him at the hallway. Some of her coworkers were looking at them curiously as they passed, and a few were whispering to each other and pointing at Harry. With an annoyed huff, she walked around him and shut the door.

“Couldn’t think of anywhere else to corner me? Do you realize what you’re doing?” she hissed, “I’m currently in hiding, and you’re legally dead! If anyone found out who we were, we’d end up in the cover of the Daily Prophet by this afternoon!”

“I—I’m sorry. But I had to talk to you.”

“We don’t need to talk.”

He frowned, “But you deserve to know why.”

“I deserve to know? Don’t give me that rubbish,” she snarled, and for the first time the expression on her face was completely clear to Harry. She narrowed her eyes, striding over to her desk, “I don’t want to hear it, anyway. It’s no use to me now, and either way, nothing can justify what you did.”

Her words stung. He felt worse, if possible, than he already had. He had known this was going to be hard, but never had he imagined it being like this. Having her eyes glare at him so openly; hearing as she spat out the words, loathing in each syllable…

And feeling her hand slap him right across his face, hard.

“The nerve of you, coming back after all this time—after you broke all your promises and left me to die because I thought you had—”

She held herself back, sucking in a breath. When she spoke next, it was in a voice of very forced calm. He knew her well enough to know that a wrong step from him and she would revert to anger in the blink of an eye.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t have gone to do—whatever it is you went to do,” she continued, and he could see it in her eyes that she wasn’t lying. She really didn’t blame him for going, “But I just can’t forgive you for not telling me where and why, for promising it wouldn’t be for long, and then coming back three years later expecting me to act like it was all just a silly mistake that we can just forget about!”

He gave her a pleading look, “Please, just let me explain—”

“Let go of me!”

He released her hand, which he’d grabbed without realizing as he spoke. He closed his eyes, trying to think of something to say to make her listen. But it was to no avail. She was right, as usual. He sighed, “Just listen to me, please.”

“Not a single bloody letter, Harry! Not one! And all the stories in the papers…the flood in Dublin, the massacre in Vienna, dragons loose in Romania…” she shuddered, “Each time they announced how many people had died I wondered whether one of them was you. Every day, Harry—every time they so much as mentioned an attack or an accident, I thought of you. Do you have even the slightest idea what that’s like?”

“Of course I do!” he exploded suddenly, “Of course I know what that’s like! You—you disappeared from the papers all of a sudden; nobody knew where you were or if you were still even alive! I didn’t know, and I had no way of finding out! I imagined the worst things…”

“You could have come back.”

“What do you think I’m here for, then?”

She didn’t say anything. He took the chance, taking her hands, “I know you wanted me to write to you. I wanted to write to you, too. But you have to understand how dangerous it would have been, Hermione—”

She pulled her hands away, “Nora,” she hissed, giving him a reproachful look.

“What?”

“Nora. That’s my name now.”

“Oh. Right,” he said, remembering she was in hiding, “Has that worked? They’re not still trailing you, are they?”

“It’s worked, more or less…some think I died the attack on the Ministry, most suspect the truth. Either way, they haven’t found me yet,” she shrugged, speaking in a low voice, “I see you managed that, though.”

“With a little help, yeah. And I see you haven’t changed at all.”

She gave him a rather sad skeptical look. Like she wished to believe him but couldn’t bring herself to do so, “Harry—my hair is black and straight. I even have hazel eyes…I mean, I don’t feel like myself anymore. It’s like somewhere along the way, I got…lost among all the masks and lies,” she mumbled, her voice low and defeated. He felt a surge of anger at this—at the Death Eaters, for causing her to take such measures; at the Ministry, for not being a bit more helpful in catching them…but mostly, at himself. He had defeated Voldemort, but still he couldn’t manage to get to his followers. And it hadn’t been for lack of trying—for three years, he’d been looking for ways to finally defeat them. But they just seemed to become stronger everyday, more immune to anything they did.

And he could only watch as the people he cared about tried to survive.

“Well,” he said hoarsely, “you’re still Hermione to me. The same one I fell in love with years ago.”

He’d thought this would get her to smile, perhaps, but her expression just darkened. She fixed him with a cold stare, “That was a long time ago,” she said briskly, her voice barely audible as she looked away from him again. It was clear she didn’t want to talk about this, but somehow he just couldn’t stop himself from blurting out the truth to her.

“I thought of you every day, Hermione,” he said softly. He felt his throat become dry as she flinched at the sound of her own name. This wasn’t the life he wanted for her. He gulped, “I never forgot about you. And I never stopped loving you…you know that, don’t you?”

She regarded him silently. Then she sighed, and again he saw how truly fragile she looked.

“Yes, I do,” she said softly, and for a fleeting, blissful moment he actually believed it would all turn out fine. Then she continued, “But I did.”

Three words. That’s all it takes to render a man completely hopeless and desolate in a matter of seconds. This was the type of pain Voldemort had never understood, because he had never been able to love another with such intensity.

But Harry had.

“Love needs trust and we—well, I don’t think we need to get into the details. But in short, Harry, I trusted you with my life and yet you couldn’t seem to trust me enough to tell me what you planned on doing for the next three years—

“It’s not like that! I was trying to keep you safe!”

“Open your eyes, Harry! When have I ever been truly safe?” she shook her head, looking at him incredulously, “I’ve never felt more secure than when I’m with you. When we’re apart—well, look at the state I’m living in! It’s bloody madness.”

“I didn’t…I…” he found himself at a loss for words. She was right, of course.

“And then when you didn’t come as you promised…I waited—I really did. For a long time after you said you’d be back. But everyday my trust faded, until I didn’t believe you’d ever come back,” she looked away from him, biting her lip, “What did you expect? For you to arrive and find me happily waiting?”

He felt so tired all of a sudden. It made him sick to think of the idea she had about all this. Though it surprised him that she would believe he’d forgotten about her, he could understand how she had gotten to that conclusion. He hadn’t written, hadn’t communicated with her in any way. But how could she believe that? After everything they’d been through, could she actually believe he’d just woken up one day and decided she wasn’t important to him? It was ridiculous—she was Hermione. She knew better. She knew him better than that.

But still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he could have done something. That he could have found a way to talk to her—to let her know he was fine and that he loved her.

“N-no…” he stammered, trying to find a way to explain, “I—I knew it wouldn’t be…I knew you would be upset—”

He stopped talking. It was pointless. It was as if his mouth was purposefully messing up everything he intended to say to her, so that he only made the situation worse and her opinion of him only plummeted more. He was being a complete idiot.

She seemed to think so too. Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him with a look of mingled disbelief and coolness, “And I am, in case you hadn’t noticed. I expected…so much more from you, Harry, and you disappointed me. Back then and now as well,” she sighed, closing her eyes. When she looked back up at him, there was no doubt about the tears in her eyes, or about the pain she was feeling. It seemed to come as a shock to him, before he realized that of course this hurt her—the same way hearing her say she didn’t love him hurt him. And, oddly, this gave him hope.

He loved her. Deeply, passionately and blindly, despite the time and distance they’d spent apart.

And three years ago, she had loved him that same way. He felt it—he knew she’d loved him that way.

And such emotions weren’t easy to forget.

If he hadn’t…then maybe she hadn’t either.

But maybe she wants to. “Please, just…leave,” she implored softly, avoiding his gaze as she walked around him and opened the door slightly.

His heart sank. He wanted to explain everything to her, to show her he still loved her, but somehow held himself back. Maybe it was the defeated look of her thin frame as she stood waiting for him to leave. Maybe it was the resigned tone with which she spoke. For whatever the reason, he understood that she needed time—that it wouldn’t work out if he kept overwhelming her. She had just found out he wasn’t dead, after all. That might take some getting used to. Especially if she really did still feel something for him.

He was almost out when her voice stopped him, “H-Harry?”

He turned.

“I—I am glad you’re alive. More than glad, actually,” she looked at him uncertainly, “Before anything else, I was—and am—your friend…and I care about you so much…”

She looked down, embarrassed. He couldn’t do anything but stand there staring at her with a rather dazed look on his face, before he finally realized she wasn’t going to say anything else. It was up to him, now. That had been more or less a hint, hadn’t it? Like a hidden message—I really am still in love with you and want you to persuade me to say I’ve forgiven you, even though I suppose I already have, in a way. I want you to kiss me so badly, and I know you want to, so you might as well—

Right. Who was he kidding?

“T-Thanks, Hermione. I’ll…see you later.”

And he Apparated.