Into the Dark

Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

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Into the Dark

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Summary: They say that those who try to forget someone never even really loved them, but sometimes it just hurts too much to remember.

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Chapter I: Prologue

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In Bermondsey in Burberry, you held me at the barricade, the pigs arrived with tear gas

And I wept at the mistakes we made

We stalked the streets like animals

And danced as windows shattered

For our island, for the thrill of it, for everything that mattered

Oh, how could anyone not want to rip it all apart?

Oh, how could anyone not love your cold, black heart?

(Barricade by Stars)

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“You know, I've never actually believed in all this,” she admitted with a sniff, roughly wiping away a stray tear that was running down her cheek.

“In what?” the doctor asked, genuinely intrigued as he propped his chin up on his fist, taking on the classic, cliché pensive pose—one that rather suited the almost pensive-like doctor, she noted.

“This,” she repeated, waving her hands around, aimlessly motioning towards the entire office. “All of this. I've just always thought that—well, I don't know…” she finally admitted with a pitiful sigh. She tried to compose herself, stop the tears and the wave—tsunami of emotions that were simultaneously hitting her, breaking past every defense she had tried to build for her protection.

“I've just always felt that you shouldn't run away from problems, shy away, just because you're scared of some pain. I've always thought that… that life's made up of its little ups and downs because that's what makes it so perfect, that's what makes you appreciate the good all the more, you know? Irony though," she let out a sarcastic and spiteful laugh, none too amused. "That's karma's little bitchy gift, I suppose,” she angrily spat. “I mean it really is ironic that I, of all people, am here now… asking you to do this…” she let her voice die out as she made a move for the box of tissues before her, grabbing one and letting out a large, heaving cry as she blew into the tissue.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he lightly patted her extended arm, which was limply lying on the table as the other clutched onto the used tissue as if it were a lifeline, with his available hand. “You know, I have a mantra of sorts with these sort of things,” the doctor confided in her, raising his head off of his propped up hand before moving the arm and crossing it with his other as he cocked his head to the side. “It's a quote by Alexander Pope actually, from a poem called `Eloisa to Abelard,'” he explained. “And in it he makes this one poignant point when he says: `How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! / The world forgetting, by the world forgot. / Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!”

She scoffed. “Well I guess it'd be rather hypocritical of me to disagree now, wouldn't it?—given why I'm here and all… although, I must admit that I'd really like to…”

He shrugged, chortling lightly. “But I wouldn't be so pessimistic about it.”

“I just—” she stopped herself with a deep sigh, aggravatingly running a hand through her hair. “I just hate myself for being so weak. I suppose… it kills me not to be able to face my problems head on. After all, isn't life supposed to be about all of the little blunders and screw ups?”

He shrugged helplessly, again. “If it was, then I'd be out of business.”

She laughed lightly despite herself. It was a morose and hollow one, though, more so out of self-pity than for the joke itself. “Do you… do you think I'm making the right decision by doing this?”

“Well I don't really know you, now do I? I'm afraid that you're the only person that can actually answer that question,” he honestly answered her with a sympathetic smile.

“Yeah,” she nodded, pulling her lower lip between her teeth and biting it lightly. “I suppose so… but, if you were me, would you do it?”

He let out a deep breath, pausing for a second before he answered. “If it hurts so much that you don't know how to go on with the pain, how to go through every day with that constant reminder in your head of how much it hurts, then yeah… I really would.”

She nodded, letting them both fall into silence, again.

--

One need not be a chamber to be haunted;

One need not be a house;

The brain has corridors surpassing

Material place.

~Emily Dickinson, "Time and Eternity"

“How does this actually work?” she suddenly asked a good five minutes later, breaking the quiet. As she spoke the question she looked up at him, almost innocently as she bit her lip lightly and fidgeted in her seat, looking up at him with a wide-eyed anxiety radiating off of her.

“We'll go from the beginning to the end…”

“How exactly?” she pestered.

He paused for a second, eyeing her oddly. For a second she thought that he might kick her out, saying that she wasn't ready for something like this. Thankfully, however, he didn't. “See those blue potions aligning the wall behind you?” he asked.

She tuned towards the wall, scrutinizing it for a minute before turning to him and nodding sharply.

“It's called memoria novus ordo,” he informed her.

Hermione winced. “Memory new order?”

The doctor shrugged, immediately comprehending her additional, silent question. “Someone wasn't feeling particularly creative, I suppose. It truly is an atrocious name, isn't it?”

Hermione laughed lightly despite herself. “Yes, I suppose it is,” she admitted with a shy nod.

“Well, either way, it's effective,” he assured her. “What it does is while you're on the potion you'll reiterate stories of your time together and the potion'll manipulate them, deciding whether to erase them completely or reorganize them so someone will take this person's place in your mind.”

“How does it do that?” she asked, thoroughly intrigued. “How does it know when?”

“It all really depends on how important of a lesson it was. If it's something that had a great impact on your maturation or mental development it merely alters the memory so someone will take this person's place in his stead… ergo why we call it safe brain damage. How exactly it does this though, no one quite knows. I suppose you could say that it has a mind of its own.”

Hermione winced. “Not sure how reassuring that uncertainty is,” she admitted. “But once… once I do this…”

“No turning back,” he shook is head, clearly anticipating her question before she had even finished uttering the words. “If you go off the potion too soon it will leave your psyche so disrupted that you'll be incapacitated. He'll be out off your mind either way since you're going to put something with the essence of him in that potion… it'll just immediately erase him and anything associated to him if you try to stop the process after drinking the potion.”

“Why?”

He shrugged regretfully. “No one truly understands the exact workings of the potion to tell you the truth. I suppose people are just too thankful for the miracle that they're afraid to rationalize it. I, however, believe that that might be the first step in the process, deleting his face and name and any situation where he comes up before it moves on to rebuilding the memories… but, then again, this is the mind. No one can really find all of the answers to the brain, it's just a theory.”

“But is it safe?”

He nodded. “I've never had a misstep with it save for when people tried to break free of its influence. We've begun restraining people though, to stop them from trying to… I figure it's better to take away their choice then leave them permanently brain damaged—an insurance policy, if you will. You do, however, have to realize that this is voluntary brain damage. You can't simply forget that.”

She swallowed, trying to rid herself of the growing lump in her throat. “So it's all or nothing?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much, yeah… so are you sure you want to do this?”

She sighed, letting out a deep breath as she turned her attention and sight back to the potions. Numbly, she nodded. She threw the used tissue into the nearest bin before allowing the doctor to lead her to wherever it was that the entire mess would take place.

--

Author's note: while the rest of the story will be entirely different (in terms of me not even bothering to look at the previous version except for the sake of ideas and gaining a sense of where it all went so horribly wrong) I was semi-pleased with my prologue and have decided to keep it with revisions. Do not be deterred, however, this is not the same catastrophe as before, I promise that!

And many thanks to my super amazing beta, Searcy!

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Chapter II: A Life Put in Retrospect

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“The Past - the dark unfathomed retrospect!
The teeming gulf -the sleepers and the shadows! The past!
The infinite greatness of the past!

For what is the present after all but a growth out of the past?”
-Walt Whitman

Ron groaned at the sound of a fist pounding against his front door. Her groaned as he heaved his body off of the chesterfield that he was lying on while watching the telly box that his father had had installed in his flat as a housewarming gift.

“Damn fucker,” he muttered, cursing whoever stood on the opposite side of that door, interrupting a peaceful moment of bumming and helping himself to overwhelming heaps of fried chicken legs. It was simply the sort of religious moment that no one should impede.

“What?!” he snapped as he whipped the door open.

“Hey,” Harry murmured, sheepishly standing at the doorway with his hands stuffed into his pockets and back slouched.

Ron's brow furrowed as he sent Harry a look of utter puzzlement. “What the hell are you doing here? This is my day off, come on,” he groaned, pouting a bit as he spoke.

Harry merely rolled his eyes in reply. “Don't be an idiot. It's important.”

“What is it?” Ron begrudgingly asked.

“Is Hermione here?”

Ron frowned, cocking his head to the side. “Why the hell would she be here? She lives with you, you dolt!” he pointed out, albeit unnecessarily.

If possible, Harry's shoulders drooped even lower his posture a mess that would give Molly a fit. “So she's not here then?”

“No,” Ron shook his head. “What the hell is this about?”

Harry sighed, scratching his neck as he forced his body to straighten. “Hermione and I got into a fight… she walked out,” Harry admitted. “It was a big one so I thought I'd give her some space, but, Ron… now it's been three days and no one knows where the hell she is.”

Ron's eyes bulged and he immediately ushered Harry in, deciding that it might be necessary to forgo his ritual bum day. “So… what? She's disappeared then?”

Harry looked at him, totally helplessly as he seated himself on the chesterfield. Ron, in contrast, paced before him and the telly.

“Fuck,” Ron whispered when Harry finally, reluctantly nodded.

“I know,” Harry admitted. “I… it was a huge fight,” Harry announced. “We both said some things that we probably shouldn't have,” Harry explained as he ran a hand through his hair. “We broke up. She walked out, without anything, but her wallet. I've been everywhere, Ron, I don't now where else to go.”

“But why am I the last one to find out about this?” Ron snapped at him.

“I figured she wouldn't be here since it's the most obvious place and easiest one for me to check,” Harry admitted. “What am I supposed to do, Ron?”

“Merlin, you've really gotten yourself into a right royal fuck of a mess, haven't you?” he asked, rhetorically.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “I know I should trust her, Ron, but it's not exactly as if I don't have enemies out there. I'm a fucking auror and her boyfriend, she's an easy target,” Harry noted, his hands flailing as he ranted. “I shouldn't have let her go, I should have made sure that she had—

“Calm down,” Ron snapped. “Don't make this about you right now,” he ordered.

“What are you talking about? I'm not—”

“Yes you are,” Ron halted him midsentence for the second time. “Hermione might be hurt and you're talking about what you could have done to prevent it. You're a fucking auror; you know that there isn't time for that shite. Seriously, Harry, what are you gonna do now?”

“I'm going to call in a few interns, set them up on this job. Hopefully I can avoid having the head of the department find out since it's the weekend,” Harry supplied. “I'm thinking I'll run a credit check, have them run checks on a few more places I guess are possibilities.”

“Okay,” Ron nodded. “Let me just change and I'll head out with you.”

“You don't have—”

“She's my best friend, Harry, so yes I do,” he cut in. “You make that call while I change and then we'll head out.”

--

“He… he was my everything. It's pathetic, I realize that now, but, nonetheless, that's the truth,” she spoke. She wasn't sure where the words were really coming from, but from the second she sat in the chair, downed that potion and allowed herself to be strapped down she found herself reiterating every memory, every feeling she had about Harry and all she could say was that it hurt like a bitch.

“From the second I saw him, I loved him, maybe not in the romantic sense, but surely in a platonic one. It's odd, I know, but I could see a partner in him, solace… oasis. I looked at him and immediately just saw someone that I knew I would be able to connect with on a wholly different plane and it thrilled and scared me all at once. It was brilliant really, a once in a lifetime feeling to be sure.”

She sighed, pausing for a second before beginning again. “But he didn't quite seem to reciprocate that little epiphany—he nor Ron, come to think of it. It actually took guilt and anger to get them to really notice me. It was Ron's belated guilt over having made me cry, which inadvertently put me in danger, and Harry's anger over Ron's cruelty… and the repercussions of it that forced them to finally see me. After that they seemed to accept me… but, at times, I still can't help but wonder what would have happened had that giant never come… had—had they never seen what those taunts could do to a person…”

“You think they wouldn't have been your friends were it not for that twist of fate?” she heard an anonymous voice ask her. She had no clue where it came from, but it just seemed to act as a cloud over the memories she was reliving in retrospect. It appeared to guide her from memory to memory.

“No…” she wanted to shake her head, tried to, but couldn't. It was a shocking revelation, that loss of control over something so basic as her own body. That inaction seemed to cement the reality of the situation for her.

She forced herself to continue replying. “I think they would have gone on ignoring me save for when they needed help with homework, maybe…”

“Mhm,” the voice hummed.

She had never thought that a simple hum could hold such clout until that very moment.

“I was the bookworm of the lot and for some time I even honestly thought I was content with that title. I mean the fact that I was useful in that respect was undeniable; I'd been saving their hopeless arses from first year and on with the help of my books. Yet, in the end, it just wasn't enough. Despite how hard I worked for my intellect I hated that that's all I'd ever be recognized for. People noted Ron and Harry's bravery, but never mine. It was as if I didn't exist, and at that time I never expected Ron to come to my defense—I mean, he wasn't exactly the most gentile of blokes back then nor a good mate of mine, really—but what killed me was that Harry never saw it either, not once.”

The voice hummed again before asking, “Did anyone ever notice you then?”

“Yes… Neville did. He… I don't think anyone realized how close the two of us were, for a long time I considered him a far better friend than Ron or Harry. He came first for so long, but no one ever noticed that. They all only noticed Harry and Ron, and they only ever noticed me when I was with them, assuming they were my only mates then since they didn't see me when with anyone else. But Neville… Neville always saw me, he was always interested in what I had to say, my thoughts, or worries. He cared.”

“Are you two still friends?”

“Best of… Ron and Harry only even noticed the extent of it about a month ago really.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” the voice halted her, stopping her from going off on a tangent.

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

“Tell me about your friendship with Neville, what was his role, explicitly.”

“Like I said, he was the one that cared. Ron and Harry noticed me when they needed me—that not really ever changing until we finally reached seventh year… Neville was surprisingly intelligent, maybe clumsy and forgetful, but beneath the surface was one of the most profound individuals I'd ever met… and he really… he just cared,” she reiterated—not even sure why when such repetition was usually so unlike her, but all she knew was that she needed to… felt compelled to.

“I see.”

Â

--

“Fuck I was really hoping she'd be there. She loves that damn pendulum thing,” Harry cursed.

“Do you think we should call Neville?” Ron offered as they exited the Harris Museum.

Harry sighed, tiredly rubbing his face. “I really don't want to have to, he'll have my head if he finds out.”

“But you have at least checked in to see if she was there, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugged. “But I just told him we had a fight and I wanted to make sure she was safe. He didn't think much of it since, you know, fights happen.”

“And you didn't even bother telling him how serious the situation is?” Ron supplied, a tinge of disappointment marring his tone.

“We don't know anything yet.”

Ron shook his head. “You're just scared of Neville is all, but he deserves to know,” he argued.

“Fine,” Harry groaned. “If we don't find anything by the end of the day I'll call him and he can help us,” he offered.

“Good. Now, where next?”

“I haven't received any calls from the office, but we can drop in and see what progress the ones in training have made.”

“Fine,” Ron nodded. “Lead the way.”

--

“Girls never really liked me,” Hermione admitted with a frown. “I think that with my insecurities I always came across as extremely stuck up or cold. It's odd because it'd always seem as if I was the one who didn't find them worthy off my attention when really it was the other way around. I didn't think they'd be interested in me... I thought that they'd find me dull.”

“I loved the boys, they just accepted me as one of their own. A lot of people say that it's a curse to be one of the boys, so to speak, but I relished that sense of acceptance. It was what I had always wanted. I just wanted to be needed and wanted. I needed to feel as if I had a place.”

“We had a rocky start, one that I think will always be marred by my own insecurities. In the end though, they were always there when I needed them. The relationship was about as reciprocal as our personalities would allow it to be. I mean, boys will be boys, so Harry was always a tad closer to Ron. And Ron, well he has that whole cliché redhead temper that sometimes got in the way of our friendship. Still, they were the best friends that they could be, I'll admit that.”

“…It's odd to simultaneously resent and love a person … but, nevertheless, it's still very possible, isn't it?” the voice probed.

“Yeah,” she admitted, her voice catching as she spoke. “But, with time, I still managed to fall for him.”

“Who?”

“Harry,” she breathed out his name, almost longingly. “It hit me totally off guard. One second he was just the attractive best friend, and then… all of a sudden, out of nowhere really, I was falling. I was falling harder than I knew I was capable of.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “He made me feel safe and dangerous all at once, it was amazing. With him, I could take risks that I would never even normally consider, but still feel as if I was doing the most natural thing in the world. It felt as if there wasn't any risk to what I was doing. It was… I don't know… just somehow innate. I didn't always have to follow the rules. I could break out of my shell and be that person that I wanted to be, but was afraid of at times… I felt like I could be me, the me I'd always wanted to be,” she breathed out wistfully.

“Take me back,” the disconnected, distorted voice suddenly ordered her.

The order took her so off guard that she paused for a minute before finally asking, “To what?”

“When you first realized you were in love with this Harry.”

She felt as if a large lump in her throat, she was incapacitated. She wanted to avoid telling him, she didn't want to revisit those memories. She hated those moments… the thought of that ignorant, idiotic happiness.

“You have to,” the voice informed her, as if reading her thoughts; which, she admitted to herself, it probably was.

She let out a long, heaving breath. “Okay… well, it was sixth year and Harry decided that I had gone on avoiding brooms for far too long.”

“Harry, no,” I screeched, my voice reaching such high octaves that it managed to pierce my ears, too. “Don't, please!” I begged, somehow smiling despite my fear.

“I don't know if I can do that, Hermione…” Harry replied with a stupid smirk that I desperately wished I could just wipe off of his face. “It's just not right, is all. I mean not knowing how to fly is just wrong, love!”

“Oh come on, please!” I cried as he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, making his way over to the quidditch pitch with a broom in his other hand.

“Please!” I begged again, but the request came upon deaf ears as he just merrily continued upon his way, a wide grin spread across his face, too.

He finally set me down when in the middle of the pitch, grabbing his broom and forcing me to seat myself on it before moving onto the space right behind me.

“I'm scared, Harry,” I timidly admitted, wincing at the way my voice broke as I made the admission.

I could feel his smile growing against my throat before he moved to kiss my cheek before whispering in my ear, “I'll be right here the entire time. No need to fret, I'd never let anything happen to you.”

“Okay,” I nodded with a blush as he kicked off the ground and slowly headed upwards.

“Don't squeeze those eyes shut, Hermione, you're ruining the entire point of all this.”

I sighed, silently cursing him for forcing me to do this. Finally, though, I slightly opened my left eye, grimacing as I noted how high up we were. I squeaked in fear when I fully opened both. “Oh my God!” I gasped.

Though the bastard only laughed, lightly squeezing my waist. “It's okay, I'm here.”

I smiled despite the fact that I knew I should berate him for being so cocky about his effect on me. Instead, I leaned back into his chest, letting myself trust him and forget my fears. He made me feel so… illogically safe, even in the worst of cases.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” he whispered into my ear as we hovered above the school.

“Yeah,” I breathed in agreement, surprising myself with how I wasn't scared, regardless of the fact that we'd achieved such unnatural heights.

He grinned, moving my face to look at his. “I promised I wouldn't let you fall and I kept my word, didn't I?”

And at that moment I realized: no, he hadn't. The only dilemma was that it just wasn't the literal sort of falling that was the problem at that point, which really only made it all the trickier.

But, in response, I only whispered a weak “yeah”, moving my eyes from him to the sight before us, trying to ignore the rather daunting epiphany that had hit me.

It was official, I was screwed.

It was a slow process from there on out, and a really awkward one, too,” she admitted. “Falling in love with him was such a drastic turn. The epiphany… it shocked me to the core, honestly. It scared me, the realization that I really didn't have any control, that I couldn't do anything. I've always been a rather pedantic individual so it… it was disconcerting. I didn't have that control anymore, I was at a total disadvantage.”

“How so?”

She couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine. No matter how long this ongoing conversation with that disembodied voice lasted, it never failed to creep her out. There was something so ominous about it, so finite.

She sighed, trying to compose herself. She wanted to sigh, lick her lips, gulp that terrible lump in her throat that constantly made her feel as if she was handicapped. She wanted to do something.

“Don't fight it, just say it. You need to,” the voice commanded.

She tried to nod, even though she knew she couldn't. “I'm Hermione Granger, the plain bookworm… `one of the guys,' that's hardly Harry-Potter-girlfriend material. There were girls out there like Ginny and veelas like Gabrielle who were all vying for his attentions. How could I possibly compete with something like that?”

“Well apparently you could,” the voice noted.

If she could, she would blush at that reminder. “Yeah. In all honesty, how still baffles me. I mean I've always been very secure in myself, but in terms of the physical aspects… well I could never bring myself to drudge up any confidence there. Plus, it didn't really help that, because I was Harry's best mate, spiteful girls were always more than willing to point out all of my fallacies. Actually, they really seemed to enjoy that,” she bitterly confided.

“And you believed them?”

“How could I not? They were so beautiful, and I was just the plain girl with the books, hardly anything to write home about… so to speak,” she quickly amended.

“Plain, really?” the voice asked, sounding genuinely intrigued and surprised.

“Compared to them, most are…”

--

“Avery,” Harry snapped at the passing Auror in training as he and Ron entered the office.

The nineteen year old stopped dead in his tracks upon hearing his name called with such sharpness. His back was stiff as he slowly turned to face Harry, meekly asking, “yes?”

“Have there been any updates on the job I sent you on?”

“Um… well…” he stammered, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. “I haven't had any, but you should also ask the others… maybe they did.”

Harry glowered. “So you haven't been keeping in contact over status with your team?” he asked, raising a threatening brow.

“No,” his eyes widened as he enthusiastically shook his head, trembling under Harry's piercing glare. “It's just that the last time I had a chance to speak to them was about half an hour ago and… I mean, you never know… something could have come up since then,” he explained.

Harry let out a low growl under his breath before ordering the Auror to go get an update from his team and then meet him in his office with an update and all of the details. The nineteen year old scurried away so fast that Ron couldn't help, but chuckle.

“You're an arse, you know that?” Ron asked, clapping Harry on the back as they made their way to his office.

Harry shrugged. “They're grunts, it's what they're here to do.”

“Doesn't excuse what you just did to him,” Ron replied, shaking his head. “I wouldn't be surprised if he had an accident after that…”

“They'll learn… I did,” Harry noted as he opened the door to his office, letting Ron in first.

“Yeah,” Ron nodded, immediately letting himself fall into the chesterfield. “But they also didn't have the savior of the wizarding world to contend with…”

Harry merely retorted with an acerbic look Ron's way as he took a seat on his desk across from Ron.

“Don't give me that look,” Ron ordered. “You're a prat at work, it's a wonder Hermione doesn't berate you about it on a daily basis.”

Harry grinned. “She's never seen that side. I'm the picture of propriety around her when she visits.”

“Of course, why aren't—”

“Sir?” a voice was suddenly heard from outside the door, quickly followed by a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” Harry grunted.

“Can I come in?”

Harry rolled his eyes and Ron had to choke a laugh. “Get in here, Avery. Just get in here,” he ordered through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching as he spoke.

“Hi,” Avery greeted them as he came in, a shy smile gracing his face.

“This is pivotal recon, Avery,” Harry cut in, his tone curt. “Just get on with it.”

“Right,” he agreed with an enthusiastic nod. “We did a credit check, but nothing came up. Then, Altman did a search on her name to see if it came up on any databases, and she did!”

Harry paused, waiting for Avery to continue, but nothing came. The auror in training simply stood there with a gleaming smile, clearly proud of himself and his team.

“And?” Harry goaded, his tone terser from the aggravation of having to deal with boys who he deemed wholly incompetent. He truly loathed aurors in training.

“Well apparently she did a rush order at Ikea this morning. She came in, bought her items, and paid for it to be shipped to a place in Notting Hill. She paid cash according to the records,” Avery informed him, offering him a copy of the receipt.

“And the address?” Harry asked.

Avery's eyes widened. “Pardon?” he asked.

“The address, the one that everything was sent to… what is it?” Harry asked, glaring.

“I'll be right back,” Avery hastily promised, quickly rushing out the door.

“Idiots,” Harry muttered, turning to Ron and rolling his eyes. “This is ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded with a wide yawn. “They kind of really are imbeciles.”

Harry shook his head, staring out the door as he promised, “I swear, I was never that idiotic.”

“Or so you think,” Ron chuckled. “Plus, we had Hermione there to save us… cover for us.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Ron, what if we don't find her?”

Ron's brows met as he stared at Harry with a befuddled look. “Of course we will,” he scoffed. “Didn't you hear the kid? We've got a bloody address! We'll just go there, talk to her, and… and I don't know, but it'll be better. It will,” he said, punctuating his assurances with a confident nod.

“Ron, the fight… it—”

A cough abruptly interrupted him and Harry turned to face the doorway, where the sound had come from. He didn't bother with any niceties, but simply extended his hand and waited for Avery to drop a piece of parchment with the address into his hand.

“Thanks,” Harry gruffly offered. “Now go.”

The auror, flummoxed, simply nodded enthusiastically and quickly made his way out of the office, intent upon bothering his agitated superior as little as possible.

“I stand by my statement, you're an arse,” Ron repeated.

“I said thank you, that should be enough, now get up,” he ordered as he moved off of his desk. “We have to get to Notting Hill as soon as possible.”

--

Author's Note: I suppose you could say that the story is still in the preliminary phases, everything is being set up at this point, but I hope you enjoyed it. Please review!

As usual, many thanks are sent to the most wonderful beta a girl could ever hope for, Searcy!

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Chapter III: Things Amiss

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A memory is what is left when something happens
and does not completely unhappen.
-Edward de Bono

"Well… here it is," Ron pointed out once he and Harry finally arrived at the townhouse Hermione was supposedly currently residing in.

"Yeah," Harry nodded.

"We should go knock now, right?" Ron asked once he noticed that Harry wasn't making any move to do anything.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, but he made no move to follow through.

Ron frowned, eyeing Harry with puzzlement. "So are we going to?"

Harry nodded, again. "Just give me a minute. It… it's odd, you know? I mean, we're supposed to be living together, but here's some new place I've never even heard of and someone tells me she's totally moved into it already. It… it's just odd."

"Yeah, but it's Hermione," Ron said, clapping Harry against the back. "She always did move quickly… you know what she's like, she knows what she wants, or thinks she does, and she just goes after it. She's sometimes impulsive."

"Yeah, but we just fought, Ron. I know we broke up, but…" Harry paused, running a hand through his hair as he took in the sight before him. "It just wasn't real, I guess, but… look at this."

"You don't know anything for sure until you knock on that blasted door, y'know?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "You're right, let's go."

--

"When did you two finally get together?"

"Seventh year, Halloween," Hermione answered, she couldn't help the bubbly… pinkish feeling she got at the mention of the memory. It was a classic, as far as she was concerned, perfection personified.

"I need you to take me back. Show me the memory," the voice ordered, but softly. The voice was gentle with her, she felt comforted. It was as if it was guiding her to safety rather than constantly telling her what to do. She found its presence oddly soothing.

"Okay," Hermione whispered.

"Gopple-googger, Hermione, you look brilliant!" Luna gasped when I came out of my personal bathroom at the Heads' dorm and into my bedroom where I was preparing for the Halloween ball with my recently acquired friend.

I immediately blushed, taking no notice of the odd terminology since I'd gotten used to it ever since we'd started getting closer back in August when we ran into each other at Diagon Alley and finally had a chance to really talk a bit. She was odd, but sweet and genuine, never fake. I loved being around her; she made me feel as if I could be myself, and unabashedly so. I felt comfortable with myself when I was around her.

"Thank you… but do you really think so, you're not just being nice?"

"Well it wouldn't be very nice of me to lie, would it now?" the perfect Tinkerbelle replica replied. "Besides I think you make an awesome Peter Pan to my Tink… I really loved that film when you introduced me to it!" Luna gushed.

I laughed, looking down at myself. "But do you really think it was a good idea to forgo the tights and wear these pumps… they are rather high, after all…"

Luna groaned and sent me a disbelieving look. "Have you any idea how incredibly sexy you look, Hermione? Your legs are to die for, flaunt them in that short dress and those heels! You do them justice, I promise!" she assured me with a wide smile, her words and tone so sweet that I couldn't help, but giggle just a bit.

Still it did nothing to assuage years of insecurity, so with a shy shake of my head, I sent her a doubtful look. "Come on, Luna, I'm hardly beautiful."

Luna laughed, the sound incredulous rather than joyous. "You really don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

"How beautiful you are."

"Don't lie," I weakly mumbled, shifting my gaze downward at those words.

"But I'm not, and I'm not just talking about right now either. You're not the general perception of it, but you're so much better, in my opinion. Look at yourself, Hermione," she ordered me, pushing my chin up and forcing me to stare into the mirror before us. "You've got this amazing, curly, sex-hair-"

"Luna!"

"Oh don't act like a prude, we both know you're not a virgin," she chastised me with a wicked little grin on her face, truly befitting of her character, too. "It's absolutely ethereal, Hermione, and any bloke who fails to realize that is an idiot who doesn't deserve you… even if he is the savior of the wizarding world."

Those words drew a surprised gasp from my mouth. "How… how'd you know?"

She tilted her head to the side, a soft smile gracing her lips. "We haven't been friends long, Hermione, but despite that we've spent a lot of time together, gotten rather close, and I've learned how to read you. Don't worry, though, Ron and Harry are absolutely clueless like typical blokes."

"How long have you known?" I quietly asked.

"Not long… only realized about two weeks ago, actually."

"You could have told me."

She shrugged. "I was biding my time, waiting for the right moment."

I nodded, silent. "Well you definitely chose a good one," I smiled, flushing a bit.

"Glad to hear it… come on, let's got party-hearty like it's 1999!"

I loudly laughed, rouging. "That's it, no more muggle movies for you, this is becoming ridiculous!"

--

"It's been five minutes and she hasn't answered yet even though you've been pounding on it, maybe we should just come back later?" Ron offered.

"No," Harry grunted, adamantly shaking his head. "Doubt her wards are that strong yet, we're going in."

"You know… somehow I don't think she'll find breaking in all that appealing…"

Harry sharply turned to him, staring him down with determination. "Do you really think I give a fuck at this point?"

Ron puffed out his cheeks as he let out an exaggerated breath. "This is ridiculous," he noted. "You're both idiots."

"I'm not the fucking idiot. She is," Harry argued before whipping out his wand and muttering a few unrecognizable spells that soon forced the door to open on its own.

"If she tries to hex my balls off for this, I'm going to turn on you in a second," Ron informed him as he reluctantly followed Harry into the house.

"Fine with me," Harry murmured as he took in the sight before him. The living room was so different from the one they had shared. It screamed that a girl lived there; it made the fact blatant, as opposed to their eclectic abode. Everything was so perfectly placed, as if it belonged in a catalogue. Every angle was considered, every ostentatious detail taken care of… it was picture perfect, just waiting for a catalogue photographer, as far as Harry was concerned.

It was disconcerting, how different it was from the space they'd shared. It was almost as if another person lived there, as if someone else had prepared the space. It didn't scream Hermione, but any woman out there hoping to decorate their first home. It wasn't personal, there weren't any pictures of her or friends, just interesting magazine shots placed in frames.

Harry honestly didn't know what the hell he was supposed to make of the sight before him.

With heavy legs he made his way out of the room and into the kitchen. The colors at least seemed reminiscent of something Hermione would enjoy. The warm blues and chocolate brown were inviting and comforting, just like she'd always enjoyed her kitchens to be. It was always one of her favorite rooms, reminding her of the times she'd spent with her mother and father, watching them prepare dinner as they sang along to Sam Cooke or did something that drew an utterly cliché picture in Harry's mind. They were her favorite memories, and at least that room provided that, but something was still off. Harry couldn't find the toaster oven, coffee machine, or kitchen aid that Hermione was so dependent on.

It was a great room, but it just… it wasn't for her. It couldn't be.

Harry sighed has he scratched his neck, turning towards a staircase in the room and climbing up them to the second floor. He reluctantly moved upward, a bit scared of what he would see next and simultaneously curious. There was simply something off about it; the air of it didn't scream Hermione. She'd enjoy it, find it pretty, he was sure, but it just wasn't her, specifically.

It was weird.

--

"May I have this dance?" a voice I knew all too well asked me from behind the second Luna and I walked into the hall that had been converted for the event. I turned around and had to stifle a laugh at the sight of cape, mask, and moustache clad Harry. "Oi, no mocking! I've been told I make a rather fetching Zorro," he immediately defended, reading my thoughts. He always was rather talented at that, too.

"Well your fan club would also probably assure you that you make a sexy ogre. They're rather biased, I'm afraid," I told him with an impish smile.

"Well I bet I could," he retorted, looking rather glum.

Luna giggled. "I think what Hermione's trying to say is yes, she will dance with you. She simply needs to mock you a bit first to ensure that the order of the world is restored and all… we'd hate to have nunerbugs attack the dance because of some sort of misbalance, you know. But now that that's over with, feel free to take her for a turn on the floor," Luna pushed Hermione, none too gracefully either, into Harry's awaiting arms.

"Will do," he winked at Luna before grinning down at me. "Ready?"

I bit my lip as I looked up at him. "I thought you hated dancing."

"Well the sight of you in that sexy little outfit was incentive enough. I'd hate to see some other bloke groping you on the floor when I could be," he replied with a cheeky smile as he pulled my body flush against his once we reached the dance floor.

I hushed a gasp for the sake of my ego. "And who says I'd want you to grope me?"

"No one," he admitted. "I'm just praying that you might be okay with it… so okay with it that maybe you'll even consider reciprocating," he answered, his eyes twinkling as he entwined my arms around his neck before moving both of his hands to the small of my back, rubbing soft and seductive circles into it.

I tried desperately to retain a visage of calmness as he did that. "Because it'd be unfair for us to be on unequal footing…" I ventured, flirtatiously, as I took some initiative and toyed with the strands of hair brushing his neck—an act that he appeared to genuinely enjoy as he closed his eyes, releasing a soft hum.

"Of course," he said, his voice hoarse. It took him a few minutes to recollect himself, but when he finally did the look was back in his eyes and I had to stop myself from melting at the sight of it. The reality was so much better than anything I could have dreamed of. The look he sent me was simultaneously caring, gentle, and downright raunchy.

God, I was so screwed at that point!

"So what do you say, Hermione?"

"To what?" I asked, moving my head to rest at the crook of his neck, deeply inhaling his scent, yet another element adding to my slow seduction.

"How about a date with a promise of groping later on?"

My body stiffened and snapped back as my eyes widened. That was unexpected, to say the least. "A… a date?" I sputtered, rather unattractively.

My reaction appeared to illicit a bit of insecurity as I felt his hands clench from behind me, crackling. "Yeah… as in… in a non-platonic sort of way, of course…"

I nodded numbly. "Wow."

"A good wow by any chance?"

I paused for a minute, stunned to silence, but when I finally regained control of my body I sent him a full smile. "A fantastically mind-boggling wow," I replied before pulling his face to mine and capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

...

After stumbling through two guestrooms Harry finally found himself in a room he was sure was meant to be Hermione's. The bedroom was light and airy, just the way she liked her room to be. Harry found some clothing in her closets, but the selection was sparse. He did, however, have to wonder how it had managed to get there. When Hermione had left she had taken some clothing with her, but that wasn't it. Those items he saw in there weren't in her luggage when she packed. He was sure of it, absolutely secure in the fact.

With a deepening scowl and a shake of his head he walked out of the room and made his way to the next one. What he was met with left him paralyzed.

Harry's fists clenched as he took in the sight of the last room… the library. He saw all of her books lining the walls and, he thought, even a few new selections in addition to those she'd housed at their flat.

It was a daunting revelation. It struck him to the core. It was over. The rest of the rooms may have come off as temporary or slightly cold, but that one was personal. That room was everything Hermione loved in a library, exuding both Hogwarts and warmth… it was everything she'd ever wanted.

He didn't know when she'd done it exactly, but she'd definitely managed to permanently erase everything they'd once had. The place was completely devoid of his presence. She was clearly wholly intent upon beginning anew, without him.

The thought left him shaken. He honestly wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to the situation at hand. Though they'd supposedly broken up, he'd never expected it to last, to stick. They were both so passionate… they were fiery people who often let their ire get the best of them. He'd fucked up, but it was supposed to be temporary. Wasn't it?

So why was she giving up?

How could she just give up like that?

"Fuck," he breathed out with a heavy and tired sigh as he walked over to the dark wood table by the window. He carelessly kicked the chair aside as closed his eyes, letting out a heaving breath, letting his balled fists smash down against the table, supporting his weight. He tried to let the sunlight comfort him as he stood there, he tried to close everything out, he tried to forget.

"Um… mate?" Ron cut in, interrupting what was probably the first peaceful, albeit traumatic, moment he'd had all day.

"What?" Harry asked through gritted teeth.

"What's that?"

"What's what?" he asked, not bothering to move a muscle as he replied. He honestly couldn't bring himself to give a damn at that point; not after what Hermione had done, regardless of her reasons. He was simply too exhausted, both emotionally and physically.

"That… that paper lying between your hands. What the fuck is that?" Ron asked, his tone trilling with confusion and a tinge of fear.

"There's no paper there, Ron," Harry tersely informed him, silently asking himself what sort of a danger it was to his best friend if he suddenly began seeing things. Was Ron going crazy on him now? He honestly wasn't sure if he could handle a delusional friend on top of everything else. It was just too much.

"Um… yeah, there kind of really is."

Harry heaved another angry breath; letting it turn into a low and guttural growl towards its end, before prying his eyes open.

And lo and behold… there was a note.

Harry turned to Ron, utterly confounded. "That wasn't there before."

Ron nodded, eyes wide. "I know! You… you just reached the table and suddenly poof! It… it just appeared, and out of nowhere, I swear!"

Harry blinked, staring at Ron for a minute, utterly perplexed, before returning his attention to the mysterious popping note. Slowly he picked it up.

Dear Mr. Harry James Potter,

Apologies, but you have been forgotten. So, on behalf of Hermione Jane Granger,
we request that you cease any and all contact with her. She has chosen to end all
ties, past present and future, with you and it would be most gracious if you'd
assist her in this endeavor.

Sincerely,

The Make a Dream Foundation
Making your Nightmares Go Poof since 1997

"What the fuck is this?" Harry voiced once finishing with the unsatisfying and uninformative, but ominous note.

Ron shook his head as he finished reading from over Harry's shoulder. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "It sounds like all sorts of bad…"

Suddenly, their thoughts were interrupted by Harry's ringing phone.

--

"That sounds like a nice memory," the voice noted.

"It was," Hermione agreed. "I can't even think of a happier moment in my life. I felt so beautiful… desired."

"So you two were good together?"

"Yeah… being with him helped me grow so much. I became a better person because I was with him. I feel as if… being with him helped me break out of my shell. I was able to feel more secure in myself. I didn't feel inferior or as if I didn't deserve to be with him, as opposed to other girls. I had my place and I loved it… and Harry… when he looked at me I felt as if I was the only person in the world. Harry looked at me as if I was the most wonderful thing he'd ever come across. I don't think that anything can be so exhilarating."

Harry's brow wrinkled as he read the name on the screen of his WiziCell. "It's Neville."

"Weird," Ron murmured. "Pick it up then," he goaded, "let's find out why he's calling."

"Probably to berate me," Harry commented, rolling his eyes before he accepted the call. "Yeah?" he grunted.

"What the hell did you do?" Neville shouted.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry stiffly replied.

"Oh really? Then why did I just receive a letter from the 'Make a Dream Foundation?'"

Harry's eyes widened. "Wait… what?" Harry stuttered, his breaths coming out in short puffs as a fit of shock hit him.

"Exactly!" Neville shrieked.

"What… what does it say?" Harry asked.

"It… it's weird, Harry," Neville warned.

"Just read it," he ordered.

"Okay," Neville agreed.

Dear Mr. Neville Longbottom,

We write to inform you that Hermione Jane Granger has chose to purge
Harry James Potter from her memory. If you could please do her the service of
assisting her through this period we are sure that efforts of a caring best
friend would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you.

The Make a Dream Foundation
Making your Nightmares Go Poof since 1997

"Harry… what's going on? Is Hermione in trouble?"

"I… I have no clue," Harry admitted.

Neville let out an angry breath, a snarling sound escaping him. "Where are you?"

"Hermione's new place."

Harry was met with a pregnant pause. "N—new place?" Neville stammered.

"Yeah."

"Fuck, Potter," he breathed out. "Fine," he snapped, gulping a terrible lump in his throat. "Text me the address, I'll be at the door in ten."

"Okay," Harry nodded.

--

Author's Note: So sorry for the late post. I wasn't receiving replies here and actually forgot about updating here until a reviewer noted that I had three up at other sites, but only 2 chapters up here.

-->

Chapter IV: The Crime of Love

--

“The crime of loving is forgetting.”
-Maurice Chevalier

“Hey,” Harry greeted with a grunt as he opened the door for Neville.

Neville rolled his eyes. “Don't give `hey' me,” he immediately chastised. “I may be a bit scared of you at times, but when you hurt Hermione… well, it's different then. You can just fuck off then,” he bitterly replied, punctuating the expletives solely because he wasn't used to using them as often.

Harry frowned, surprised by the words uttered. Neville had never been that bloke; he was the reliable one, the nice one, the one who never got in the way. It was a wholly different facet of his personality—one that Harry loathed just a smidge… or possibly more. The bitterness simply wasn't something that he was accustomed too and it made the gravity of the whole situation all the more palpable.

“So… are you going to let me in?” Neville derisively asked.

“Right,” Harry nodded, scowling as he further opened the door so that Neville could pass through.

He couldn't help, but watch Neville as he made his way into the townhouse. There was something so different about the man. It was an off-putting change. Everything about him simply had an air of abhorrence towards Harry. His back was so stiff that his anger was more than clear. It wasn't the laid back Longbottom that everyone was so accustomed to, that much was more than clear.

As soon as Neville walked into the living room he paused, cocking his head to the side, his gaze taking on a calculative air as he assessed it.

“It's odd, I know,” Harry commented in a futile attempt at creating some sort of peace or common ground. “I thought the same thing when I first came in here. It's really weird, it's both Hermione… and not, right?”

“Yeah,” Neville whispered, his brow furrowed and creases marred his forehead, “I guess that's what it is…”

“Come on,” Harry ordered. “Ron's upstairs in the library, we can talk there.”

“Okay,” Neville nodded, allowing himself to be led out.

--

“He made me feel as if I wasn't boring and plain, but fascinating and stunning. I don't know if you can comprehend how amazing… life altering something like that can be, but I can assure you that it's the most fantastic feeling ever. He completely altered my perception of myself. While I still have my insecurities—they were simply too deeply ingrained for me to just forget them—they aren't debilitating anymore. If anything the thought of them is empowering… the reminder of how much I've progressed… having something to fight for or towards… proving everyone wrong… showing that there are more facets to my personality.”

“He,” she paused, the conclusion suddenly striking her with such force that it she had to back peddle for a second to reassess. “He changed me,” she finally admitted, her voice a hoarse whisper. “He made me better… he built me up,” she finished, her voice choked as she forced the words out. “He loved me wholly and completely, just like I did him.”

“So what changed then?”

“I don't know,” she admitted. “But he stopped.”

“Stopped what?”

“Loving me.”

How can you know something like that for sure?”

She let out a self-deprecating sigh before explaining. “When… when he doesn't look at you the same way anymore, with that awe that he had in his eyes for so long… that's something that's hard to miss. It kills you. Trust me.”

“I'll take your word for it then,” the voice replied. “But why did you stay with him if he wasn't there… or invested anymore?”

“I didn't, not initially at least.”

“What do you mean?”

“I ended things. Broke up with him.”

“What happened?”

“It was a year after we finished school. I ended things then. I guess I was pretty lucky actually…”

“How so? I'd always assumed that breakups are terrible things when you still love the individual,” the voice noted.

“There is that factor,” she admitted with a small laugh. “But he and I were also always very publicity and media shy… we ensured that our relationship never turned into a media frenzy, we kept the whole thing very quiet actually. It helped a lot. It was a lot less painful to deal with the whole thing when I didn't have it plastered everywhere, advertising the news of our breakup. Made it easier to properly wallow. I had peace… at the very least, I had that.”

“But it didn't last long?”

“No,” Hermione replied, her tone quizzical. “It did, why would you ask that?”

“Well something must have changed,” the voice noted. “Something to get you to this point.”

“I guess something did change,” she admitted.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “We got back together. He was charming as ever and I believed him. I'd missed him so much… wanted him so badly that I was desperate to believe him.”

“Desperate?”

“Yeah,” she divulged, rather ashamed by her admission. “He just… I don't know what it is about him, but he can make me feel so complete… whole.”

“Then why are you even here?”

“Because… because even though he can make me feel so amazing, practically superhuman even, he can also destroy me like no other. He can break me so easily… effortlessly even. I'd rather just always feel average than have to experience this ridiculously tumultuous roller coaster of highs and lows. It just… it hurts too much for me to handle. I'm not strong enough for something like that. It may be terribly weak of me to say that, but even I have my limits.”

“hmmm,” the voice hummed.

“Hmmm?!” she incredulously scoffed. “I pour my heart out for you and the only words… the only consonance you can offer me is a blasted hmmm?”

“It's not my job to be your therapist,” the voice pointed out.

“No, but you could at least be somewhat reciprocative!”

“I am.”

“Oh really, how?”

“I'm helping you… making it possible for you to move on from him,” the voice reminded her, reassuring her. “Now, take me back.”

“To what? When?”

“To when you were broken… and then the reunion.”

“I… I'd really rather not. It's not something I like to remember or even dwell upon. It… it hurts and it's embarrassing.”

“Hermione,” the voice was terse and cutting.

“Yes?” she hesitantly asked.

“You don't have a choice in the matter. You wanted help, now you have to do what I say. Take me back. Take me back now.”

--

“Something about all of this just feels off,” Neville announced as Harry showed him into the library.

“Well of course something feels off, you dolt. Hermione's gone missing!” Ron sneered, rolling his eyes at Neville's stupidity.

“Not that,” Neville retorted, immediately scowling. If there was one person who he'd never been able to forgive for his rudeness in their youth it was Ron. At least Malfoy had the excuse of terrible manners courtesy of his father. Ron was simply a berk, as far as Neville was concerned. “This apartment isn't Hermione.”

“I know,” Harry cut in, stopping Ron from making some sort of exclamation that would only serve to make the situation tenser than it already was.

“No, I don't think you really understand,” Neville said, shaking his head. “Everything here's from IKEA.”

Ron squinted as he repeated Neville. “IKEA? What the bloody hell is that?”

“Are you sure?” Harry simultaneously intoned.

Neville nodded in reply, the tips of his ears pinking a bit as he admitted, “I like interior design… I order their catalogue and a few other periodicals. Trust me, I'd recognize IKEA. The furniture's pretty distinct most of the time… and this looks exactly what their showrooms would be designed like.”

“But… no,” Harry shook his head. “No.”

Neville sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the doorframe. “Harry, I don't know what the hell's going on here, but it's something big. Hermione doesn't even really like IKEA all that much.”

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, rolling his eyes as he scratched his neck. What the hell has she gotten herself into this time?”

“I don't know,” Neville admitted with a sigh, shrugging his shoulders. “Harry, Hermione's not a total bint… she can make stupid decisions when overly emotional, but something has to bring that on. What did you do?”

“I just… we got into a fight. We both said things, which is why I just don't understand how she can do this. She's never just run off like this, and… and this letter,” Harry picked up the little card, “what am I supposed to make of this? What does it mean? I'm forgotten? What the fuck?!”

“It means she's an idiot,” Ron quipped.

Neville merely sent him a dirty look in reply.

“Don't give me that look,” Ron defended. “She's my friend, too… but it sounds like she did something stupid, and I won't deny it if she did. Unlike you, I'm a tad bit more realistic when it comes to my friends”

“This just doesn't sound like Hermione. She's not the type to run away like this.”

“Well… people do idiotic things. Also, what the hell is the Make a Dream Foundation anyway?” Ron asked.

“No clue, never heard of them,” Neville replied. “You, Harry?”

“Never,” he shook his head. “But I called into the office and am having some trainees do recon on the firm.”

“Okay, good,” Neville nodded. “Has anyone looked into her credit card and bank records to see whether there have been any charges in the past few days.”

“No charges,” Harry replied. “But she took out a huge withdrawal a few hours after our argument apparently. I checked out the records myself after she hadn't been home in a day. Usually we'd try to rehash it all out. When she didn't come home after so long I got worried and decided to check up on her…”

“Great,” Neville muttered with a sigh. “What the hell are we going to do then?”

“I have my laptop, I'm going to connect to the internal database and do some research… why don't you two try getting her on her WiziCell, maybe you'll have more luck than I did… other than that, I think our only option is to wait until we have information on the foundation.”

“I hate this,” Neville muttered as he whipped out his phone.

--

“I just can't do this anymore, Harry,” I admitted with a whimper, and I can't deny that the heartbroken look on his face brightened my spirits just a bit. It means too much to know that he really did care after all.

“Can't… can't do what, Hermione?” Harry asked, his words coming out almost hesitantly. He was afraid of my reply, that much was obvious. I think he knew what was coming; I just don't think he realized why I was breaking down right before his eyes like that.

“I can't just stay with you like this, Harry. I… I think it's time we took a break,” I told him, biting my lip as I watched his face turn ashen.

“But—”

I shook my head, effectively cutting him off. “We've been together a year now, Harry,” I said, pausing to try to gulp the growing lump in my throat.

“And they've been great…” Harry goaded. I don't know why he was trying so hard, but for some reason I think he was scared to let go. Ron and I… we're his security blanket, in a way. We keep him grounded and we were the sole constants in his life. I think he was just terrified of losing that.

“Harry,” I shook my head, my eyes so wet with tears that they began to sting if I kept them open too long. “I'm not happy anymore… not like this, and I don't think you are either.”

“But I—”

“No, please,” my voice cracked. “Please don't do this, Harry. I… I've honestly thought about this for a long time and… and I just think this is for the best. You'll trust me on that, won't you?”

He reluctantly nodded, his hand creeping across the table, reaching for mine. He squeezed it. “I'll give you your space,” he promised. “But it's only for now. I'm not letting you go, Hermione.”

“I'm not leaving, Harry,” I promised. “I'll always be your friend.”

“I don't mean like that,” he told me. “I mean I'm not letting go of us. You need space now, Hermione, and I get that… I honestly do, but I'm not going to let go of what we have. It's something good… better than I'd ever hoped for so you can forget about me just giving up.”

“Don't… don't do this to me, Harry,” I cried, a whole new storm of tears taking me over. “It… it hurts.”

“And I don't want to hurt you, but I think… in the long run and all, we'd both be a mess without the other, and I'll prove that to you, Hermione,” he promised me.

“I think that that was the most excruciatingly painful night I'd ever had to experience. There he was… saying everything I'd always wanted to hear,” she explained. “He said the things he'd never said while we were together and I had to turn him away. It… it pained me so much, but I had to.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” she asked, befuddled.

“Why did you have to turn him away? If he was saying everything you'd always wanted to hear, why were you letting him go?”

“Because he was confused.”

“How so?”

“He thought he couldn't be without me. We'd been together for so long that he was just so used to having me there… in that way. He needed to realize that he didn't love me as much as he told himself he did,” she explained, her tone about as rational as could be.

“And you're sure?”

“About what?”

“That he wasn't in love with you,” the voice questioned.

“To be this sure, I have to be right… don't I?”

--

“I… I think I've got something,” Harry announced after two hours of relentlessly typing away on his computer while Ron took a nap and Neville ordered them all some food.

“What'd you find?” Neville asked, his interest instantly piqued by Harry's words. His head had snapped towards him so quickly that Harry was surprised that his neck was able to handle the brutality, but he supposed it was only natural, too.

“It's not much,” Harry admitted with a dissatisfied frown. “But I've managed to find something at least. All of the searches I did for the foundation didn't come up with any results, but I decided to try one for licenses in case this firm needed them and I got one,” Harry explained.

“Okay… and?” Neville asked. “What license is it? Do you have any addresses or contact information?” he pushed, his eyes wide and disbelieving over the fact that Harry could be so idiotic as to not even bother with such pivotal details. He was an auror, for fuck's sake. Weren't they supposed to be more intuitive than that, or something to that extent?

“Well, fuck. If this is the best of the force protecting me, then I may as well run while I can, like Hermione,” he bitterly sniped to himself. Angry as he was, however, he wasn't about to put himself in direct contact with Harry's infamous temper. Hermione had warned him about the tumultuous storm that ensued when Harry went apeshit and made him promise, on numerous occasions, not to put himself in harm's way. Apparently, Harry was a bit unstable. Neville wasn't sure whether that was honestly supposed to be a surprise, but Hermione had sounded like she was revealing the best kept secret ever when telling him so maybe others were just blind?

“Memoria novus ordo… and no. At least not yet,” Harry replied, pulling Neville out of his all consuming thoughts. Neville noted that his tone was rather bitter, but he didn't appear to be reaching for his wand so he considered his personal mission accomplished.

Ron, however, merely cocked his head to the side as he listened to the exchange, puzzled. “What the hell is that?”

“Dunno, never took Latin,” Neville blandly pointed out, rolling his eyes. The bastard was a berk, simple as that as far as he was concerned. Maybe he could respect how protective he appeared to be of Hermione, but really… sometimes Neville was even wholly doubtful that Ron could even spell idiot. “Can you look it up in a translator or something, Harry?”

“On it,” Harry muttered, riveted by the screen before him as he began typing again. “Hmmm,” he hummed, his lips thinning as he read from the screen.

“What is it?” Ron impatiently snapped.

“Says that memoria novus ordo means memory new order.”

Neville heaved a heavy breath, wincing. “Well… I guess at least we know that there's got to be some truth to those cards I guess…”

“Apparently Protozoa Incorporated is the manufacturer and licenser for it,” Harry further informed them. “I'll forward this to the trainees, see if they can follow up on this and get me a contact… Maybe we can talk to someone and get an address for this `Make a Dream Foundation' from them…”

“Well there has to be one,” Ron nodded. “I mean how the hell would Hermione even know about them if their name wasn't anywhere…”

“I have no idea,” Harry admitted. “Honestly,” he breathed out, clutching his forehead with his right hand, squeezing to try to ease his headache—among other aches, though he was loathe to admit it—over the situation. “I don't know what the hell she's thinking now. This is all just a bit too insane, in my opinion. Don't you think?”

“Well I wouldn't know, really,” Neville immediately retorted. “I mean, neither of us even know why the hell she might even consider forgetting you, Harry,” he broached, raising a brow so as to challenge Harry.

Harry's back stiffened at the thought, but he didn't bite. Instead, Harry informed them, “Well… then all I can say is tough luck. I'm not letting her do something stupid that'll just fuck us both over. She can just forget it.”

“Well what if it's what she wants?” Neville pushed and the scowl marring Harry's face deepened. The creases in his face were so deeply etched that Neville couldn't help but think how shock he'd be if they didn't leave marks afterwards. Young as Harry was, he didn't think any skin could take that sort of abuse.

“She doesn't know what she wants. Not really. She took things for face value and stupidly acted on her emotions and that's that,” Harry tersely informed him.

Ron decided to make a reappearance at that point. He initially paused, biding his time, considering how to phrase his second question as he wet his lips. “Harry…”

“What?” Harry gruffly asked.

“Maybe you should consider that she actually was in the right frame of mind…”

“No,” Harry cuttingly grunted.

“But, Harry—”

Harry's whole body whipped towards Ron in what felt like a fraction of a second. The look in his eyes, the power emanating from his body… it was the must frightening sight Neville had ever seen, and for once he saw that supposed “Chosen One” who'd managed to kill such a powerful wizard. For once he saw what the talk was all about and it scared him shitless.

He'd always known Potter was unstable, but he'd never realized how much clout there was behind it. Maybe Hermione was on to something after all…

Still, he couldn't help, but put himself in the line of fire. Screw Hermione, he figured, she left me with the bastard anyway what'd she expect?

“Fuck you, Potter,” he spat. “This has been a long time coming, by the looks of it, and you can just stop pretending! No more bullshit. She left you.”

“No,” Harry pushed. “You… you don't even understand. You never thought I was good enough for Hermione; you don't get us. She… she's it for me, Neville, and it's the same for her, too. I know it.”

“Maybe you believe so, Harry, but—”

“No,” Harry replied, the word lengthened as he stared Neville down. “You can just fuck off if that's all you're going to say. It's not like that with us. We're young, and so what? It's why we fuck up all of the time, but if she did this… well if she did this I'm still not giving up, and I know she wouldn't want me to. Not if she was in the right frame of mind,” he adamantly promised.

Neville hated to admit it, but he had to respect the devotion there. After so many years of being the odd one out, he was used to watching people, detecting lies, and the arse really did seem to love the chit. Why the fuck she cared about him, however, still perplexed him.

“I… I hope you're right, Harry, but I'm just not that sure,” Neville admitted. And he honestly did because if it came between Harry or some ominous company, even he could admit that Hermione was safer with Potter… solely of the two, of course. In other situations, he might not be so kind in his assessment.

Ron sighed, finally deciding to join the testy conversation he'd so been hoping to avoid rejoining, for fear of putting himself at risk of the testy temper that had made its appearance. “Harry… get your head out of your arse. Neville… just let him be,” his voice was soft, but words authoritative and the two listened. “Hermione's what's important,” he reminded them. “We're all going to have to grow up during this… and then maybe later we can have that pissing contest Hermione keeps talking about…”

Sadly, Neville was quite sure that Ron was totally serious about the latter. The imbecile had always been a bit too intrigued by that idiom.

Still, even though his words weren't eloquent or kind, they got the desired effect. No one spoke for the next hour, instead they worked on whatever they could to further the investigation.

--

“Do you think he ever truly loved you?” the voice asked.

“I don't think it's a question of that so much as whether he was ever in love with me,” Hermione admitted.

“That sounds like a terrible thing to question,” the voice noted. “How long were you together?”

“Going on about six years now. There were points in between during which we'd take a break… they were pretty short, but we both managed to fit in a few dates with other people.”

The voice hummed.

“Yes?” Hermione asked, loathing that hum more than she ever thought it was possible to despise a sound so simple as a hum.

“I'm just wondering why you'd put yourself through that for years on end then… that questioning. If it hurt you so much, why'd you let it go on?”

“I… I don't know. I guess I just thought that there was something worth fighting for. I wasn't ready to give up on that hope.”

“And now there isn't?”

“I don't know,” she candidly admitted. “Maybe I'm just more jaded than before?”

“Sounds like a small excuse to use for losing your memory is all… willingly undergoing brain damage…”

“But… isn't it always the small things that make up the truly terrible ones?”

“I don't know,” the voice admitted, loudly exhaling. “But you better hope so, don't you think?”

--

Author's Note: Many apologies, this took longer than expected since I was so busy with other work (blogging for work *sigh*… I truly loathe blogging) that I didn't have as much time as I'd like to write this. I have however, promised myself I wouldn't let this story become utter crap again so I refuse to post unless I genuinely like a chapter (as opposed to last time when I was sometimes “eh” about them).

Many thanks, again, to my ever so wonderful beta, Searcy.

-->

Chapter V: In a Moment's Hatred

--


“Years of love have been forgot in the hatred of a minute.”
~Edgar Allen Poe

“The company's called the Pfitzer Medical Relief Organization,” Harry continued informing them. “According to what I was able to dig up, they `specialize in providing the relief that no one else can deliver by providing the perfect potions to assist your psyche!'” he read off the screen with a disbelieving scoff and shake of his head. “Blimey, what the hell is she up to?” he asked as he threw his head into his hands, groaning.

“But what a shiter,” Ron grumpily muttered. “How does running away from something help someone?”

“Forget about that, it's hardly all that important right now!” Neville snapped. “Do you have any information on then? Anything that could be a lead?”

Harry heaved a heavy breath as he pulled his head up so he could look at the screen. “Um… no, just a basic customer service contact number. It could take hours to get patched through to the right person though,” Harry explained. “I'll forward this to the trainees at the office and have them do some recon. It should take an hour max for me to get a direct number since they have resources that I can access without being in the ministry. It should take them an hour, tops.”

Neville nodded. “Okay, good.”

“Do you think Pfitzer can get us a number or address to the Dream Foundation?” Ron asked.

“Even if not, they can probably give us an idea as to what Hermione's up to,” Neville offered.

Harry shook his head, clenching his jaw as he typed a message to the office. “Not an option anymore,” he told them. “Shit's hit the fan and I don't know what hell she's done to muck all of this up, but I'll bet we're losing time.”

A pause passed before anyone said anything, but Ron was the first to break the silence. “What did you tell them then?”

“Nothing, just that I needed product and distribution information is all, they don't need to know anything else,” Harry told him before snapping his computer shut with a firm and commanding hand. “I'm going to go out into the balcony in her room… I need some air,” he told them before stalking out of the room.

--

“The thing I loved most about us was that it never had to be about the overdramatized romantic gestures. I'd always loathed that sort of random romance that had to be planned. It wasn't organic, too forced and constructed for me to construe it as natural,” Hermione admitted.

“What would you consider romantic then?”

“Imperfection… loving someone for those stupid faults that get on your nerves, but you still can't imagine living without. Realizing that you love a person so much that you genuinely want to listen and read between the lines, that you want to know all of the nuances and neuroses. Caring. That's sexy to me.”

“And did Harry do that? Did he give you that?”

“Better than I ever imagined possible,” Hermione divulged, her voice choked as she made the admission.

“How so?” the voice asked, curious.

“Like… he didn't just know my favorite ice cream, but which company to buy from and how long before the expiration date I considered best. The latter… it's so nonsensical, so unimportant, given that I'd eat it regardless, but he'd still take the time to check that it was at least three weeks before expiration.”

“It's the little things that count, right?” the voice commented with a small chuckle.

“Yeah,” Hermione breathed out. “And he was aces at that.”

“It's rare that you'll ever find someone like that.”

“I… I know,” Hermione admitted. “I didn't think about it before, but you are right… you're absolutely correct.”

“You sound regretful rather than in awe of my stupendous genius” the voice lightly teased.

Hermione laughed. It was a short, but welcome reprieve. “You have an in.”

“Mmm,” the voice hummed.

“I really have when you do that.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“Hermione, tell me what you loved most about being with him.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so, and you have to,” the voice informed her, and without the slightest bit of hesitation.

The incessant knocking on my door was giving me the worst headache imaginable, I swear! It was terrible and he just wouldn't give up. Instead, he shouted, too.

“Hermione, I'm not leaving until you talk to me!”

“Harry, leave me alone!” I screamed in reply. I just couldn't understand why he was so wholly incapable of giving me some space.

I simply wanted to wallow in my self-misery, have a chance to let go a bit. So, I promptly informed him of my intent, screaming at the top of my lungs so as to ensure he heard me. It wasn't my classiest moment, and hopefully not my defining one. “Let me just have some space, Harry. I just want some time to myself.”

“Fuck that, Hermione,” he spat. “I've given you two weeks of your precious space and they've been hell! I'll be damned if I let you tell me you like that. Open the fucking door.”

How was I supposed to react to that? As prolific as I was, it was so terribly romantic, too. He wanted me… he needed me. “What more could I want?” I asked myself. So, I unbolted the door and let him in.

“Finally,” he breathed out, immediately pulling my body to his with a vice like grip. He kissed me so passionately that my toes even curled a bit in the way that they always do when you have a really fantastic first kiss. He could always bring me tingles like that. I don't know what it was about him, but he was so in tune with my body that it was preposterous! No man should understand my body better than I do even.

“Harry,” I whimpered. “Harry… you can't just do this. You… you don't know what I want.”

Harry, however, merely grunted in reply, tightening his hold on me. He held on to me as if for dear life and I found it excruciating. “Just give me a chance… let me try to make you happy. I can. I promise. I'll fix things, I will. I'll work less hours, be here more… I won't take you for granted again.”

“I know you can make me happy, but it's not that. It was never about your work or anything, Harry, honest!”

“Then what's it about?” he asked, pulling away a smidge so that he could look me in the eyes.

“I just… I really think it's best for us to be apart. We both… we've been together for so long now, and… well we don't even really know what else is out there either,” I rambled on, stuttering as I spoke. A deep rouge crept cross my face as I ducked my head, that explanation wasn't going according to plan in the slightest. In my head I'd sounded far more eloquent and reasonable, but in reality… well when brought to fruition it was a train wreck.

It was the worst thing I'd ever had to do and the pressure was getting to me. Still, however, I was convinced that it was for the best. He didn't know it, or realize it, but he didn't look at me the same way anymore. He really didn't. It was clear that he didn't think of me in the same way and I needed him to become cognizant of that fact. It was best for both of us—like jumping a sinking ship, I suppose.

“Hermione,” he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I just… I thought things were good between us. Really good.”

“They were, I just—”

“Then why?” Harry pushed. “Why give up? Why not let things run their course? Why not give this a real shot? I think we have something pretty damn brilliant here, I honestly do. I'm not ready to let go of spectacular, Hermione.”

“Harry,” I sighed. “I know that it might seem that way now, but—”

“No buts,” he hushed me, shaking his head. “And it is that way, no doubts about it. Come on, Hermione,” he goaded. “Don't make me beg because you know I will if I have to. I honestly will.”

“I… I don't want to make you beg,” I admitted.

“Then don't. Give this… us… another try.”

It took me a good five minutes or so to finally muster up a reply—the one that I wanted to give, but needed to avoid. In the end, I couldn't even bring myself to say the word, but merely nodded in response.Â

“Why are you doing this?” Hermione couldn't help, but ask when she finished regaling the voice.

“Doing what?”

“Making me show you these memories. I just… I don't see why it's necessary,” she told him. Her throat felt dry and she had to force the words out. It killed her to have to relive those moments. They were so beautiful and reminded her exactly what it was hat she was running away from. It brought the weight of her decisions into light in a way she wasn't comfortable with.

She had no shame in admitting that, especially if it meant she could avoid having to re-experience those memories.

“I'm not doing it to hurt you,” the voice replied. “In all honesty, none of this will even matter in the long run. This whole ordeal you're experiencing with me won't impact you in the slightest, at least as far as you're aware. You'll forget all of this in a matter of hours. This is just a momentary pain.”

“Doesn't mean it hurts any less,” Hermione argued.

“I know,” the voice assured her. “But it's pivotal. For your maturation, it's crucial. You need to understand that I have to be able to see what it was that made you who you are. If we don't do this, I can send you back now… I can send you back, but you have to be aware of the fact that you'll be broken. More so than you are now, too, because you'll be left at the emotional maturity of a shy eleven-year-old girl.”

--

Half an hour later, a ringing was finally heard. Harry grabbed for his phone as fast as he possibly could.

“Mister Potter, sir?” a voice was heard from the other line.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“We've managed to find someone we think might be useful to you at Pfitzer.”

“You think”

“Well he's head of the sales and distribution department so if anyone would know where the products went and what they do, it'd be him.”

“Good. Name and contact information?” Harry asked, immediately reaching for a pad and pen to take notes with.

“Frank Newman. Company code 7FL and personnel code O23.”

“Right, thanks,” Harry distractedly replied as he penned he words before snapping his WiziCell shut. “I got the contact information, so I'll be in the other room for the call if something comes up,” he announced to Ron and Neville as he moved to collect his things.

“Why the hell do you have to go into the other room to make a blasted call?” Ron asked, incredulous.

“Because you'll just keep interrupting with a comment or to ask me what's going on,” Harry dully informed him. “But don't worry, I'll be sure to take good notes,” he assured Neville who had a perturbed look on his face after Harry's proclamation, even motioning to his notepad as he spoke.

“Fine,” Neville reluctantly nodded. “But you better not screw this up, Potter. I get that you have to be the one to do this since you're the auror and calling from the ministry line and all, but still…”

“Trust the savior of the wizarding world a bit, won't you?” Harry dryly sniped before turning and walking out of the room.

As he walked towards Hermione's bedroom he took out his phone. “Connect to company 7FL.”

He was met with a beep before a voice was a heard. “Connected to the Pfitzer Medical Relief Organization, what personnel code do you wish to be connected to?”

“O23,” Harry ordered as he walked through Hermione's door, throwing his things onto her bed before taking a seat on it himself.

A moment later, he was met with a voice. “Jack Newman here, how can I help Mister Potter?”

“Auror Potter,” Harry corrected. “And I was calling to ask about a product of yours.”

“Hmmm,” Newman hummed. “I'm not sure how much of an asset I can be, but I'll try.”

“For a case I came across some information that informed me that you license the potion Memoria Novus Ordo to the Make a Dream Foundation.”

“I'm not too fond of the fact that the ministry has access to that,” Newman admitted with a chuckle. “But yes, it's true,” he then confirmed. “And how is this at all relevant to you?”

“I was hoping that you could provide me some information on this potion and foundation.”

“Well the potion's an amazing one really. It can wipe a memory, person, or any element in general from someone's memory and all without even altering their psyche in the slightest bit.”

“Sounds presumptuous,” Harry doubtfully commented.

“I know,” Newman smarmily agreed, or at least Harry found it to be so. “But it's not. Our success rate is astounding, and it doesn't even damage a person in the slightest. This potion's brilliant; on its own, it manages to reconstruct the entirety of the individual's memory so as to make up for the missing component.”

“Make up for it?”

“Yes, it's of the utmost importance! By eliminating something you eliminate all traces of its effect on you, you have to compensate for this. So the potion rebuilds the memory so as to substitute those moments with others that provide the same formative elements so as to ensure the person's proper maturation. By all counts, a patient is the same person they were before they ever even took the potion… sans whatever it was they chose to forget, that is.”

“Cor,” Harry quietly muttered. “Sounds… brilliant,” he commented, struggling for an adjective before finally settling on the one chosen for him by Newman.

“I know,” Newman assured.

“And the Make a Dream Foundation?” Harry then asked.

“I'm afraid I really can't say anything without a warrant,” was his reply, and it even had a tinge of regret. “There are privacy contracts that I have to abide by, I hope you understand.”

“I do, and I was prepared for that. I'm not interested in your dealings with them,” Harry assured him. “That's the least of my worried. But this is your sole licensed provider in the UK and they've come across our radar for a few reasons that need to be looked into so I was hoping you could provide me with an address.”

“Well I'd have to check my records to see if I even have any…”

“I have time,” Harry immediately informed him.

--

“You really love him,” the voice cut in.

“Yeah,” Hermione reluctantly disclosed.

“And he loves you, too; it's so obvious.”

“I guess,” Hermione admitted with a sigh.

“You guess?” the voice asked, and regardless of how just he may have been to note it, Hermione didn't appreciate his undertone of condescension.

“Fine,” Hermione begrudgingly replied in a clipped tone. “Yes, I do.”

“Then why are you even here?”

“I've already told you!” she huffed, disbelievingly.

“I know,” the voice assured her. “But it baffles me why you'd go to such an extreme. This is essentially brain damage that you're voluntarily inflicting upon yourself.”

“You… you wouldn't understand,” she murmured.

“Try me.”

“I'm… I've always been the strong one, the one that others could rely on… the one who would bear anything for the sake of a loved one… I'm strong, I know I am,” she informed him. “But when it comes to my emotions… when it gets personal… I falter then. I wholly invest myself in those situations and I don't have the strength to pull myself back like I can when it's a physical pain. I… I guess I'm weak,” she finished with a whisper, her voice progressively dying as she continued with her explanation.

“Admirable trait, to care that much.”

“Save for the fact that it can kill you,” Hermione retorted. “If… if I were to do anything else, I'd just go back to him, to the way I already was. I'd always go back. This is the only solution.”

“Sounds sad… a bit pathetic even.”

“It does? You sound surprised though… I'd assume you deal with situations such as this on a daily basis.”

“No,” the voice informed her. “Usually users aren't this self-destructive.”

“I'm not self-destructive!” Hermione scoffed, disbelievingly. The mere thought of that left her utterly appalled. She couldn't comprehend that… that… well whatever the hell he was—that wasn't important anyway—he was wrong.

She was sure of it, a hundred percent so. Well maybe not that certain, but she was a student of knowledge and science so, really, reaching such a caliber of surety would be wholly impossible for a person like her. Still though… possibly ninety percent or so, and that was pretty astounding on a comparative scale!

“I'm not wrong,” the voice intoned. “And ninety percent isn't as much as you'd like to believe.”

If they could, her eyes would have widened. Instead, she was left unattractively sputtering like an imbecile.

--

“She's forgetting me, erasing me from her memory and rebuilding it so that she won't need to exist without me. What the fuck?” Harry snapped as he walked into the library.

“Well,” Ron drawled. “I guess we got the answer on why Hermione's at the Make a Dream Foundation.”

“What do you mean she's rebuilding her memory?” Neville asked.

Harry growled as he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at its strands. “She's bloody barmy, “ he spat. “She decided to forget me, but because she's Hermione and she thinks of everything she apparently made sure to account for the effect I've had on her. The potion rebuilds her memory to save the characteristics that her association with me brought her… or something like that. I was too angry to even think or listen as rationally as I probably should have,” Harry reluctantly admitted.

“It's okay,” Neville said, not quite sure if he meant it, but even he had to pity Harry at that moment, he was kind of reminiscent of a kicked dog. It was always a sad sight; even if the dog bit you, you had to feel sorry for it.

“I got an address we can go to. Newman wouldn't tell me anything on their business with them, but I don't even care about that as much,” he disclosed. “We can head over now if you're both ready.”

“I can't,” Neville told him. “I got a call from my girlfriend about five minutes ago. Apparently something urgent, she needs me to come home. I'll join you two as soon as possible, but I need to take care of this, too. She sounded really worried,” he explained.

“Is she okay?” Harry asked.

Neville nodded. “Yeah, I think so. She wouldn't say what it was over the phone, but she told me that I'd regret not coming. I'll be there as soon as I can, I promise. I wouldn't just leave Hermione—”

“We get it, Longbottom, don't worry,” Ron cut him off. “Hurry along now so that you don't waste anymore time and just call Harry once you finish and he'll tell you where to meet us.”

Neville nodded, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, I'll see you two. Good luck,” he wished before disapparating.

--

Author's Note: so sorry for the unprecedented wait, but I've actually managed to complete the story and it will slowly be updated as my beta goes over it and I review it accordingly.

Also, since for some reason that is totally beyond me, I'm in a sudden writing mood and am taking one-shot prompt/challenge requests at my livejournal.

Again, many thanks to be best beta in the whole wide world (who always leaves me humbled with her immense talent), Searcy!

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Chapter VI: Straddling Between Life and Death

--

“And we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead.”
~Thorton Wilder

It was three in the morning and the knocking at the door couldn't be ignored. I hated mornings, but having my rem cycle interrupted in such an annoying fashion was the worst by far.

With a groan I hauled my body up and stumbled through my flat towards the door. I fumbled blindly; just barely missing a pile of books I had left lying on the floor. Thank god I did or I probably would have cracked my head open.

With a suffering sigh I yanked my front door open, not expecting the sight before me in the slightest. “H—Harry?” I stuttered, my eyes wide as I was suddenly doused with a burst of energy.

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry greeted me, the left corner of his lips rising just a smidge, but I could see he was excited to see me. Beneath the battered and bruised skin, was a man who looked so ridiculously complete at the sight of me.

It was a disconcerting realization, but it warmed me in a way I'd never expected. The deep heat that settled in the pit of my stomach was wonderful.

“Harry… what are you doing here? What happened to you?” I asked, stepping forward and lightly touching his face. I let my finger drag across his cheekbone, tracing what looked like a deep gash that slashed his skin. He immediately leaned into my touch and the other corner of his lip rose, too.

“I've missed you,” he whispered as he raised his hand over mine, clasping my hand in his. Slowly he brought my fingers to his lips, lightly kissing them. “I've missed you so much,” he told me with a groan.

I smiled. “I missed you, too,” I whispered. “Come on,” I told him, moving my head so as to motion towards my flat. “Let's go inside and get you cleaned up.”

“Wait,” he hoarsely stopped me. “Just wait a second… give me a second. It's been a month and a hellish one. I just want to look at you. I've missed you.”

“I know, you've told me,” I teased.

“Smarmy girl,” he grinned.

“What happened, Harry?”

He shook his head. “Can't say.”

“I know,” I assured him. “But what can you tell me?”

He shrugged. “We just got back from Austria and… I didn't want to go anywhere, but here,” he admitted. “I'm sorry about totally cocking up your night by waking you up like this, but I needed to see you.”

“I'm glad you did.”

“Thanks,” he whispered before finally making a move to let me lead him into my flat.

“Why don't you go take a shower and I'll collect my balms to help you with those cuts and bruises,” I offered.

He nodded and I turned towards my office, well aware that he knew how to find his drawer and my bathroom. Instead, however, he stopped me, grabbing hold of my hand and forcing me to turn to him.

I cocked my head to the side, brow furrowing. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I just missed seeing you. It… I can't tell you how amazing it is to see you again.”

I couldn't help the blush that spread across my face, that tender look in his eyes just did me in. “I wish I could say the same for you,” I quipped. “But I'm afraid a face full of scars and grime isn't your most attractive look, love,” I teased.

He chuckled, his eyes merry. “But I missed your voice most… hearing you, the feeling of being with you.”

“Careful, Potter, people might say you've gone soft…”

“Granger, you did me in five years ago. That's old news by now,” he informed me before pressing a soft kiss to my forehead and making his way to my bedroom.

“There was something about the way that he looked at me that night. I've never seen him look at me like that… or I didn't see it before, I don't know,” Hermione rambled.

“It was a beautiful look,” the voice intoned.

“Yeah,” Hermione whispered. “It really was. It… it made me feel so amazing, as if I could do anything. I know that that sounds a bit ridiculous—”

“No. No, it doesn't,” the voice assured her.

“Loving him was so easy at moments like those,” Hermione admitted. “He could make me feel invincible without even really trying.”

“And other times?”

“What?” Hermione asked, curiosity piqued.

“What about the bad times?”

Hermione breathed out a heavy breath. “Those were terrible. We just… we know each other too well, we know exactly which buttons to push and it makes us so destructive and combustible at times. We can hurt each other like no other.”

“Show me. Show me what brought you here…”

--

“Harry, what did you do?” Ron couldn't help finally asking as the two made their way from the apparation site to the building where the Make a Dream Foundation was located.

“I don't want to talk about it,” Harry stiffly informed him.

Ron stopped in his tracks, yanking Harry's arm as he did so to force Harry to face him. “You have to realize that I don't really care all that much about what you want and don't want. Neville's not here so I don't have to worry about stirring something up that just leaves you two hexing each other rather than focusing on Hermione. We're alone now and I need to know. This… this is serious, bigger than the two of us. I need to know what the hell it was that brought you two to this point.”

Harry shrugged, frowning. “I… I honestly don't know. I've been working a lot of overtime lately. I haven't done that in over a year now, but with the Rene Pelletier case…” he groaned. “I know I've been fucking up, but the case was huge. I knew she was angry about it, but I couldn't just stop half way through. So I promised her that I'd take her away as soon as it ended. It was supposed to be one month of just her and me, wherever she desired. But it's been five months since that promise and the case has been solved for two of them, but the court proceedings start in two weeks and I want to be here for that, but who knows when that'll end…”

“And she got fed up?”

Harry mutely nodded, raking a hand through his hair. “We came to blows over it. She… it was just so weird,” he admitted. “She kept going on and on about how I didn't love her and how we may as well just call it quits—”

“What?”

“I know,” Harry enthusiastically nodded, his eyes wide. “And I just… I was so furious. I couldn't believe that she could doubt me like that; I was insulted. Ron, I love her more than anything, I'm more in love with her than I ever thought possible. It's been six years and I love her more than ever before. I—I just couldn't understand why she couldn't see that. How could she think so little of me?”

“Well… I mean…” Ron struggled a bit as his shoulders slumped. “You know how Hermione is. Under all the brawn and all… and I'm sure she does—”

“I do,” Harry regretfully informed him. “And I know she loves me, but I couldn't help but doubt it then. I know she probably didn't mean it in the way it came off, but it was in the heat of the moment and I was feeling bitter. So… I told her that if she was so sure that I didn't properly love her, then I must not. I told her she might as well leave and not bother coming back to me. Ron, you have to understand that I didn't mean it, I really didn't,” he confided. “As soon as I said those words, I knew I buggered it all up and I wanted to take it back, but she left before I could say anything. She even slapped me when I tried to make a grab for her so that we could talk.

Ron's eyebrows were strung together as he gaped at Harry. “You… you two are idiots, even by my standards. I mean… people call me the imbecile, but look at you two,” he spat.

“I know,” Harry breathed out, dragging his hand through his hair again. “I know,” he repeated. “But… I didn't mean it, I swear. I love the chit, I really do… even when she's being a bit nutters.”

“Damn shame she doesn't know it, too,” Ron shook his head before turning away from Harry and taking long and purposeful strides towards the Make a Dream Foundation headquarters.

Harry let out a self-deprecating sigh before readjusting his cap and following after Ron's steps.

--

“You never have time for me. All you even care about is this stupid case!”

“He raped and murdered over ten little girls, and those are just the ones we know of. How the hell can you even call that stupid?” he asked, furious and incredulous.

I immediately stepped back a bit, but it wasn't because of his biting anger so much as my regret. He was right; I was being petty and self-centered in that regard. I shouldn't have been so callous. Still, I was too angry to apologize. Instead, I pushed forth.

“I know it's an important case, Harry, but it's over. You solved it. It's been two months since you solved that damn case… five months since you promised me that we'd get away.”

He dragged a hand through his hair and shifted his weight from one foot to the other as his scowl turned into a frown. “I know that I've been fucking things up late—”

“No!” I cut him off and his eyes widened a bit at the force that followed my words. “I'm so sick of this, Harry. Why don't you just end it already?”

His eyes widened and his jaw went slack. “What are you talking about? Where did that—?”

“Oh come on, Harry!” I spat. “Don't act like an idiot now. It's so obvious.”

“What the hell is obvious, because I'm clearly not seeing it?!”

“You don't love me, Harry!”

He squinted a bit, trying to discern where my sudden outburst had come from. “Hermione, I know I mucked things up, but—”

“There aren't any buts, Harry!” I exclaimed, my arms wildly flailing around. “I look at you and all I see is regret.”

“Regret?” he repeated. I could tell that he didn't know what to make of my whole outburst; he was baffled. He'd never quite seen me like this.

“Yes,” I nodded. “I regret ever being with you because every time I look at you all I see is a man who's stuck with me. All I see when I look at you is that you're not in love with me anymore and you haven't been for a long time, years even.”

“How can you say that? Can't you see that—?”

“Clearly I don't, Harry. Clearly something's missing here, something that's making me doubt everything we've built together. Can't you see that? Can't you see how much this is killing me?” I cried, tears streaming down my face.

“Hermione,” he whispered, making a move towards me, his hand reaching for me.

I immediately stepped back. “No,” I shook my head. “I won't let you just kiss this away like everything else, Harry. This is serious. You're not in love with me anymore. Don't you realize how much you're hurting me by forcing me to be here… to watch you fall further and further out of love with me.”

“I'm not—”

“Yes you are!” I pushed. “I can see it, don't make a fool out of me, not anymore than you already have.”

“Where is this even coming from? Hermione—”

“I've been thinking this for months, Harry,” I informed him, my tone cutting.

“You… you what?” he asked, his breaths coming out in short puffs as he stared at me, wholly befuddled. “I... I can't believe you…”

“What is there not to believe, Harry?” I asked.

“That you could think that…”

“How can I not. I just have to look at you, that's all it takes! I told you, I told you that we shouldn't be together—”

“You said you were happy.”

“Well maybe I lied!”

He retreated at that, stepping back and staring at me with wide eyes. “Well maybe you're right then,” he whispered.

“About what?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

“If you say it's like that, then I probably don't love you at all. You're the smart one, you figure it out,” he retorted. “Maybe you should just leave… leave and don't bother coming back, there isn't anything here for you anyway.”

I hadn't been expecting that. I honestly never expected him to say something like that. His words and tone were just so cold that it cut me to the core. I didn't know what to say so I did the only thing I could, I ran. I turned and I made my way towards the door.

“Hermione,” he whispered, he sounded so broken, but I wasn't going to let him make a fool of me again. He'd said his part, he made his feelings more than clear so when he made a grab for me I spun on my heel and slapped him.

The red angry mark on his face was one that I instantly regretted leaving on his cheek, but I wasn't going to give him the chance or time to prolong that hell. I ran out the door, slamming it on my way out.

I ended it once and for all.

“I was a bitch,” Hermione admitted, her tone flooded with regret. “I pushed him to say those things. I see that now,” she told the voice.

“Good, because you were a fright.”

“I know,” Hermione reluctantly said. “He… he didn't deserve to be treated that way. Even with everything, he always… he tried to be there, he tried so hard to be his best for me…”

“You were lucky to have him,” the voice imparted.

“I know… do… do you think I forced him to say what he did? Pushed it on him?” she asked, a tremor of fear striking her as the realization hit her. “Going back… looking at it. Things are different… I can't help, but wonder…”

“I can't say for sure, but, to me, that doesn't look like a man who isn't in love.”

“You think?”

“Yeah,” the voice divulged. “I genuinely think he's in love with you and that you're as blind as a bat… or however the adage goes.”

--

When Harry walked through the door of the office that housed the Make a Dream Foundation, two things immediately struck him, springing to his attention.

The waiting room was so incredibly clinical. The place was white and spotless, as if they doused the entire room with bleach on a daily basis. Even the furniture and electronics were the most brilliant shade of white, he almost felt as if it redefined the color white for him, showing him just how white white could get. It… striking was the only adjective he could muster to depict it.

Then his jaw went slightly slack at the sight of the contraption in the far right corner of the room. It printed small business card sized papers, which, once complete, floated. They levitated about half a meter above the contraption and then *poof*! Poof, each disappeared with a slight mist left in its tracks. He didn't know what the hell it was, but he knew what it produced, he was positive about that. He'd held that very same note in his hand just earlier that day.

“What the hell is that thing?” Ron asked, eyes wide as he stared at the contraption that had left Harry perplexed, too.

“That's hardly important,” a snippy voice cut in, drawing Harry and Ron's eyes to who sat behind the secretarial desk. “Welcome to the Make a Dream Foundation. How may I help you?” she asked, a smile suddenly blossoming.

“I'd like to speak to Healer Calvin,” Harry informed her.

“Well I'm afraid that that simply won't be possible until you fill out a form,” she informed them, quickly using her wand to levitate two forms and quills to Harry and Ron.

Harry glared at the paper before returning his attention to the woman manning the desk. “I'm Harry Potter of the Auror D—”

“Sir, I know who you are,” she assured him. “And while I would love to personally thank you for all that you have done for our world, I cannot do so on behalf of Healer Calvin. The Healer has a strict policy about not endorsing any ort of preferential treatment.”

“But he's—”

“If you'd just fill out the form,” she pleaded, “I'll get it to him as soon as possible and make sure that it's immediately brought to his attention,” she assured him.

“With a low growl, Harry stiffly nodded as he snatched the parchment and quill from where it was still floating before him.

“Thank you” her smile widened. “And feel free to take a seat, our sofas are spectacularly cozy!”

“And blinding,” Ron lowly muttered as he followed suit and grabbed the materials, too.

--

“I… I love him,” Hermione murmured. It was odd, that sudden rush of cognizance. She had known she loved him, only a terribly unparalleled love could lead her to do what she decided to do. Yet there was something about that moment of realization, too, when she was forced to come to terms with the fact that it wasn't as destructive as she'd assumed.

It was sudden, unprecedented. There wasn't any logic behind the change, and she hated that more than anything, but there wasn't any doubting it: her perception was misconstrued.

She loved him and she didn't think she was ready to let that feeling go. No, she was damn sure of the fact that she wasn't ready to let go of something that had been in motion for over six years.

“I know,” the consoling voice informed her and she could sense a tinge of empathy and regret in his words.

“I was… I didn't think!” she argued, her tone hurried as she tried to explain, tried to convince him. “I wasn't being pragmatic… I was too emotional. I… I was wrong. He… he's the best and worst thing that ever happened to me, but I… I really wouldn't change a thing about him… I wouldn't—” she admitted, her voice breaking as she spoke. The cries were excruciating to hear, even to her own ears. She'd never been in such an emotional state, she didn't even know how to deal with herself at that moment. “I don't want to forget him. I love him, I really do. I don't… I don't usually muck things up like this, I don't. He screwed up and he's hurt me so many times, but I love him and I've done the same to him, and… and he loves me, too, regardless! I need him. You have to see that I'm not really me without him. I'm in love with him! Don't… don't make me—”

“I… I'm afraid that I don't have a choice in the matter. It's over,” the voice informed her and she couldn't help, but note the tinge of reluctance that seeped through his words.

“No!” she cried. “It can't be. It just… it can't. There… there has to be another way, this can't just be it. You don't understand. There can't possiblybe only one way, that's just not how the world works. I can find another way!”

“But I do,” he replied. “I do understand. I can see that you want him, that you miss him, that you were hurt, but I can't fix all of this for you now. You made the choice; I told you that the decision would be finite. This is your fault, you made this mess. There isn't any going back now, Miss Granger. You were aware of these consequences.”

“But… but this can't… this can't just be it!” she stammered. “There has to be another way. There—”

“I'm afraid there isn't. This is it, Miss Granger.”

“But—”

“No,” the voice cut her off.

She sighed, her breath shaky and broken. “I love him. I know I can find another way, I'm positive,” she repeated.

“And it's a damn shame that you're wrong,” the voice noted. “But what's done is done.”

“But I… I was wrong!”

“We all have to mess up sometimes.”

“But—”

“I'm afraid it really is over, Miss Granger.”

--

“Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, what a surprise,” Healer Calvin greeted them as he let them into his office.

“Is it, really?” Harry dully asked as he seated himself.

Calvin smiled, shaking his head. “No, not really, but it's an honor nevertheless. How may I help you?”

“I think you know.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed. I'm not sure about how much I'm at liberty to divulge. This is after all, Miss Granger's business, not yours.”

“I'd say that given the fact that she's trying to forget me, it would involve me, too.”

“See, some might say that, but it's really about the patient. It doesn't actually have anything to do with you so much as her psyche and her moving on. This whole process was entirely about her, not you.”

“You… you don't have the right to do something like this!” Ron burst out.

“You're right,” Calvin conceded. “But she does, and she was the one that did. She took the potion, drank it herself, and she went through the whole process of forgetting Mister Potter. She did it all, and she had the right to.”

Harry sat there, wholly shocked as he listened to the Healer's words. “How can you just toy with people's lives like that? How can you just forget about everyone else out there? There's a whole wizarding world out there that worships “the trio”, how can you ignore that?”

“It wasn't ignored,” Calvin informed him, quite simply. “As far as Hermione is now concerned, what the wizarding world sees is what everyone else wants them to see. She believes that you two were acquaintances who only ever spoke of anything regarding your tasks to kill Voldemort. You came off as close because there was so much to discuss in that regard and you couldn't very well tip off the general public about it. In fact, she always found you to be incredibly self-centered and whiney.”

Harry shook his head, entirely perplexed. “I love her. I'm in love with her, how can that not count for anything? How am I just supposed to forget that?”

Calvin shrugged. “If you'd like, I can offer you the—”

“No,” Harry gruffly grunted. “I don't want your potion. I don't want to forget and I don't want her to either.”

“It's too late for that,” Calvin told him. “She's gone and she's forgotten everything.”

“How can you be sure? How are you certain that she's forgotten?”

“I haven't spoken her since she first took a sip of the potion,” he admitted. “After the process is complete, the patient is lulled into a state of a coma for three hours or so before they wake.”

“So… so you don't even know for sure then?” Ron cut in. “she might still have her memory… her proper memory?”

“No,” Calvin shook his head. “I'm certain of the fact that she doesn't, absolutely certain. I have thousands of previous trials to support me in this respect.”

“Un-fucking-believable,” Ron grunted before pushing his chair out and stomping out of the room, muttering and cursing Hermione as he escaped the room.

Harry sighed as he let his head fall into his hands, which were propped up on his knees. “No… no one should be able to do this,” he said, his voice muffled by his hands, but Calvin was able to understand him regardless. “You shouldn't be able to just toy with people's lives like this. It's so wrong.”

“But clearly necessary, this is a lucrative business, Mister Potter.”

With a bitter laugh Harry raised himself up off of the chair. “I'm sure it is,” he cynically noted. “I'm not surprised that people would want to run away from their problems, but you shouldn't take advantage of their vices like that. You're a bastard.”

“I've been called worse, I must admit.”

“Of course you have,” Harry sighed, his shoulder slumped as he turned to make his way out of the room, following Ron's lead.

“Mister Potter, I truly am sorry for your loss,” Calvin said, stopping Harry in his tracks. “I doubt it means much to you, but it's rare that I see a case like this. She did love you though, and she did regret her decision at the end. She didn't want to forget you, but she was too far gone and what's done is done, I'm afraid.”

“But… it can't be that simple.”

“You're right, it's not,” Calvin agreed. “The rub is that if you try to make her remember you can cause a mental breakdown.”

Harry's eyes widened as he turned to the healer. “What do you mean?”

The healer sighed. “Her entire memory has been rebuilt and if you try to force another reality onto her and it does work, theoretically, the two will combat one another. Each perception of reality will fight for dominance and it could break her psyche. She'd go insane, Mister Potter.”

“That… that can't—”

“I'm afraid that that's the reality of this situation,” he regretfully conveyed.

--

Two hours earlier.

With a groggy start, Hermione raised her head. She squinted as blisteringly bright light seeped into her room. Gripping at the comforter, she tried to gain lucidity, but felt like she was failing.

Groaning, she somehow found the strength to pull her body up, against gravity. She considered it the single greatest feat she'd ever achieved. That move required more physical force than she ever remembered putting herself through, even with the war!

“What did I do last night?” she asked herself as she rubbed her eyes as she straightened her back, wincing when she heard it crack a bit.

“That's attractive,” she muttered before turning to search for her WiziCell. Finally, she found it on top of her tattered copy of Wodehouse's A Damsel in Distress, which sat by her purse. Fully opening her eyes for the first time, she took in her surroundings. “Wait a minute… how the hell did I get here?”

--

The sound of “Bennie and the Jets” rang as Harry and Ron made their way to the apparation point, both quiet and pensive as they walked. Harry's eyebrows pulled together once finding the source of the ringing. “It's Neville,” he told Ron.

“Good,” Ron nodded. “He should know what we found out.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed. “Hey Neville.”

“Harry, thank god!” Neville said, heavily breathing. “It's Hermione, she's back…”

--

Author's Note: I've managed to finish the story (as has my wonderful beta, Searcy) and leave soon so I'm hoping to post the rest of the story within the next week. Please review.

-->

Chapter VII: The Dream

--
“One must always maintain one's connection to the past
and yet ceaselessly pull away from it.
To remain in touch with the past requires a love of memory.
To remain in touch with the past requires a constant imaginative effort.”
~Gaston Bachelard

Harry slowly turned to Ron after snapping his cell shut. “Hermione's back. Apparently she was in Neville's flat. He has no clue how she got there, but his guess is that we were at her place when her body was supposed to be dropped off and she has a copy of his keys so she was deposited there…”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “Um… listen, you should go and see her—”

“No, Harry, you need—”

Harry cut him off by shaking his head. “No,” he hoarsely replied. “No, you really should go. It'll make me feel better to hear how she is. Please.”

“Are you sure?” Ron asked, hesitant to go.

“Yeah. They've gone to Hermione's new place. I'd really like it if you could tell me what he thinks of that IKEA catalogue.”

Ron replied with a grim smile. “That wasn't funny, you know?”

“I know, but I thought I should try… make light of the situation and all. That's what all the psychiatrists seem to recommend about situations like these… thought I'd give it a go.”

“It failed… miserably,” Ron imparted.

Harry chuckled. “I'll be sure to give up on it then.”

“Please do. I… I'll call you as soon as I can get away, Harry.”

“Thanks, it really means a lot to me, mate. I know… I know that this isn't the easiest position for you—”

“No,” Ron shook his head. “Don't apologize. You two are my family. You're dramatic fuckers, but you're my family. It's how it goes, you do anything for family.”

“Thanks.”

--

“Oh god, Hermione,” Ron gasped as he ran to her bedside, completely ignoring Neville's presence.

“Ron,” Hermione's brow wrinkled. “Great to see you, too, but care to explain the enthusiasm?” she giggled.

“I just… I… I know that I can laugh at you at times, and I know I'm a total berk most of the time, but… I love you, and you know that, right?”

Hermione cocked her head to the side, squinting a bit as she tried to make sense of Ron's random outburst. “Ron, what are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head. “Nothing really,” he sighed as he gripped her hand. “I just… it's been a hell of a two days and I guess it just got me thinking… put things in perspective. I just wanted to be sure that you knew… that you're aware of how much you mean to me. I can be an absolute arse at times and you can be a stuck-up twit, but… but that's just us, right?”

Hermione giggled, rouging slightly at his words, but she enthusiastically nodded in reply. “Yeah… that's just us. You know, I don't understand what it is with you two, but I guess I can grow to like all of the attention. Nice change and all,” she jibed.

Ron let out an exaggerated gasp. “Talk about conceited!”

“Oh shush you,” Hermione ordered, laughing as she lightly slapped his arm. “Honestly though, this sudden rush of attention is a bit disconcerting. Did something happen?”

“Just a tough few days or the both of us,” Neville assured her. “Nothing much to dwell over. Don't worry.”

“Okay,” Hermione sang, her tone doubtful. “Whatever you say…”

--

After Ron left Harry wasn't sure what to do. He didn't know what to make of the whole situation, it was too much and all at once. He'd never once considered that Hermione would do something like that, he didn't know what to make of it all. He stood in the same spot for an hour, planted to the ground. He was sure that he came off as a nutter; especially given the looks he was receiving from pedestrians. Still, he couldn't care. He was miffed.

It was with an angry and guttural growl that Harry shook his head, as he let his body fall onto the support of a wall in a deserted alleyway he'd used as an apparation point before. He chose to ignore the fact that the ministry would berate him and Ron for having been so reckless as to choose just any darkened corner to pop into in a muggle area. He couldn't so much as bring himself to give a fuck at that point… not when everything was going so fantastically wrong in his life. Everything had managed to fall apart in less than a week and the worst part was that even an absolute stranger could correctly point out that it truly had been his fault.

He was at fault; a great deal of it did lie in his hands. He'd fucked up a life he loved… he'd ruined a woman who'd meant the world to him and done everything she could for him.

She'd deserved better and he was intent upon remedying the fact. Calvin had said that she regretted it, that she still wanted him and surely that counted for something.

He was going to grow up, he was going to prove himself, and he was going to finally be someone who deserved her.

He had to. He simply had to.

His back straightened as he forced himself into a fully upright position. He was committed and resilient, he reminded himself as he determinedly walked out of the alleyway and towards a familiar townhouse. As far as he was concerned, nothing stood between him and the future he'd ensure for himself, save for the flower shop he passed along the way and stopped into for a bouquet of the ever so cheerful daisies that always put a smile on Hermione's face.

He'd get it right this time around. He could fully commit himself to bettering himself, he was positive of it. He was done with the games and toying with her heart. He wouldn't fuck up and he wouldn't give her hope for something better without being able to follow through. She deserved better and he was sure of himself now, he knew for a fact that he could be that man now.

He wasn't going to disappoint her, not again.

He was poised, assured, ready… and at her doorstep.

He licked his lips as he looked up, taking in the sight before him. He smiled a bit as he noticed that though the place hadn't been personal before at all, Hermione had promptly taken steps to remedy that. Now there were flowerbeds hanging off windowsills, filled with lavender and all sorts of colors and shapes he'd never be able to name.

It was stunning. It was a small change, but a pivotal one… one that surely signified a huge one inside the house, too.

She'd made a home for herself… and it was a home without him.

There was something terrible about that cognizance. It wasn't the fact that she'd made a home for herself, per say, but that it was so complete without him. She wasn't falling apart at the seams… she didn't notice anything missing.

She was whole.

She could be complete without him.

She didn't need him anymore.

She didn't love him like he did her. She gave up on him.

He was sure that he'd never been more mature in his life than in that moment when he put the bouquet down by her door and walked away. He'd never done right by her before, not really… but he was prepared to do so this time around. He wouldn't take her for granted again.

This time around would be different, he swore by that fact.

--

Three months later.

“I don't know what to make of it all, Nev,” Hermione admitted as laid back on her bed with Neville by her side, staring at the ceiling.

“Make of what?”

Hermione shrugged, splaying her left hand across her forehead and lightly massaging it. “You're going to think I'm crazy,” she warned.

“Regardless, if I do, it won't be because of this alone,” he winked, lightly bumping his head against hers.

Hermione giggled a bit, but the respite was short lived and a frown soon marred her face again. “I don't know, Neville… I'm just so confused.”

“What are you confused about? Aren't you supposed to be bloody brilliant or something? I thought you knew everything,” he drawled, cocking a brow her way.

“Yeah… I wish,” she murmured.

“Just say it,” he told her. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“I feel like something's missing and I can't understand why,” she admitted. “I mean… look at me, Neville. I have an amazing house, my career's going better than I ever could have imagined… I have great friends…”

“And?”

“And I'm not happy… I feel discontent.”

Neville heaved a heavy breath as he turned towards Hermione, lying on his side so he could properly look at her. “Why?” he simply asked.

“I don't know… and that scares me. Somehow I just… I don't feel happy. Even though I know I should, it's always like something's missing and I can't pinpoint it… and I hate that!” Hermione rambled, scowling.

“Come on, Hermione, maybe you're just setting your standards a bit too high,” he teased with an easy chuckle.

“But it's not like that. It's… it's more than that. I don't really have an ideal set up in my head, and if I did, I've achieved everything I wanted by this age. I never expected to find the love of my life by twenty-three or anything,” she promised. “I'm not like that… I'm pragmatic to a fault, you know that!”

“Yeah… I do,” Neville nodded, his hand reaching for hers before comfortingly squeezing it.

“Something's missing, Nev. I just… I know this sounds ridiculous and so unlike me to say, but I feel it. I feel like there's something right in front of me that I'm totally ignoring. It doesn't make any sense, but I've never felt this way before, not until lately… these past few months,” she confessed, shaking her head as her brow wrinkled. “I don't know what to do anymore.”

“Maybe it's nothing.”

“No,” Hermione adamantly shook her head. “No, it's not,” she hoarsely promised. “I'm not really the sort of person to be intuitive and all, but I… I can just feel it. It's as if it's right in front of me, but I can't see it, Nev. I can't, for the life of me, figure out what it is that I'm missing. I've… I've felt like this for months now and nothing's changing. I feel like I'm in a rut… and I've never really had that problem before.”

“Maybe you just need a boyfriend.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “No thanks, after the date I had Friday I'm considering just going off men for a while…”

“Sorry about that,” Neville blushed, ducking his head a bit as he let out a soft laugh. “I had no idea he'd try to grope you five minutes into it… he always seemed like a decent enough bloke.”

“It was my fault for letting you set me up with someone. Don't worry about it, honestly,” Hermione waved him off. “Come on, let's go downstairs so I can make us some lunch. My stomach's beginning to protest,” she grinned as she shopped off of the bed. “How do you feel about bacon?”

“I just might have to marry you for that.”

Hermione laughed. “I doubt your girlfriend would take too kindly to that… and I think the wizarding community may skin me alive for being a home wrecker.”

“Well… we could argue that our love knew no bounds,” he offered as he slung an arm around her shoulders.

“True… but I'd prefer not to have to deal with the society pages so I'm afraid we'll have to learn to reign in our desires.”

“Have to tell you, Granger, that wasn't the kindest way to shoot down a guy.”

“I'll try to be better next time…”

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Author's Note: I am super excited about this fic and any opinions/thoughts/complaints!

Also, yet again, many thanks sent to the best beta ever, SEARCY!

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Chapter VIII: Changes, the Epilogue

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“Today I begin to understand what love must be, if it exists.
When we are parted, we each feel the lack of the other half of ourselves.
We are incomplete like a book in two volumes of which the first has been lost.
That is what I imagine love to be: incompleteness in absence.”
~Edmond and Jules De Goncourt

“Oof,” a feminine voice grunted as it came into full contact with Harry's chest, shocking him with the strength that it pounded against him. He closed his eyes as he tried to regain his breath. Fuck, that had to hurt.

That shock, however, quickly disappeared and was replaced with a distinct sense of repulsion and annoyance once he felt a hot stickiness against him, one whose scent indicated that it was coffee. He was only thankful that this anonymous girl probably enjoyed hefty amounts of milk, given that it was only warm rather than scalding.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” the voice cried.

Harry's eyes snapped open and he was met with a warm chocolate pair of eyes that he never thought he'd get to see again. “It… it's okay,” he whispered, his voice so soft that even he had to strain to hear it.

“No, it's not,” she argued, shaking her head. “I can't believe I was so careless! I wasn't even watching where I was going and then I just had to go and do this. I swear that I'm not usually this careless. I mean… I don't know if you remember me, Potter, but—”

“I remember you,” Harry quickly cut in. “it's pretty hard not to, you know… with Hogwarts and the war and all… and it's Harry, please,” he begged, hating the fact that he even had to ask her to use his given name. It had been eight months since he'd last seen her, last spoken to her and it felt like his heart was breaking all over again.

He could use a damn drink at that point. Preferably scotch… or maybe some grappa, that one was always great for forgetting.

Hermione, however, managed to put a halt to all of his pessimistic thoughts with a warm smile that he never thought he'd get to be on the receiving end of ever again.

“Well then surely you remember that I wasn't always this careless. I'm so sorry, please let me at least pay for a new shirt or something!” she offered.

“No,” Harry shook his head. “It's fine… honestly.”

Hermione blushed. “You've always been too nice for your own good, Harry.”

Harry sent her a shy grin, scratching his neck. “Not really, and I bet you've thought so, too, once or twice… but look,” he said before demonstrating a quick drying charm. “All good now.”

“Save for that terrible stain…” Hermione sighed. “Can I at least—?”

“No, it really is fine,” he assured her.

“If you're sure,” she said, her tone disbelieving and miffed. “But at least let me treat you to some lunch then. I could use a coffee to replace this one and am absolutely famished… I mean, that is if you're not busy…”

“I'm not,” Harry practically chirped, wincing at how eager he sounded to spend some time with her. Merlin he'd missed her.

Hermione grinned, clearly pleased with his reaction to her offer. “Good then,” she said, firmly nodding once. “I'm glad; I think it'd be nice to catch up with you. We never spoke much at school about things other than the war, but you're an intriguing person, Harry. I think this could be fun,” she informed him with an easy smile.

Harry chuckled. “Maybe even the start of a wonderful friendship,” he said, offering her his arm.

She took it, laughing at the gesture. “And who says chivalry's not dead?”

“I aim to surpass the norm,” he informed her, leading her towards a new café he knew she'd love.

“Very admirable,” Hermione noted. “You know, Harry… as terrible as this may be, I am glad it was you who I spilled coffee on. You… I don't know what it is, Harry, but you seem different. I think I like this person.”

“I am,” he agreed. “And I think I like this person more, too… and I think this person definitely likes you.”

Hermione rouged at that one, but the smile on her face was a pleased one as she shyly ducked her head to shield her face from view. Still, Harry caught it.

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Fin.

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Author's Note: I must admit that I was a bit surprised that everyone was so convinced that she remembered them being together… or that the last vestiges of that memory were still there and would be unearthed. The memory of what they once were is gone though…

I'd also like to thank you all for your support. This is far from my most popular story (in fact, of all of the ones I've ever written, this is the least popular) but it has received the most written support. I'm incredibly fond of this particular piece and proud of it, I hope you enjoyed it!

Best,
Cosmo

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