Chapter Five.
There is never a full circle.
"A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing
nothing."
-George Bernard Shaw
London.2003.
"I think... I want us to be able to talk. Like we used to." Harry leaned forward, uncomfortable in his chair, and suddenly in his own skin, "I want this, not London, not this apartment, though I'm not denying either, but us. I want you and me to be like home for me. I want to be able to just tell you things. I want you to be able to tell me things."
"I miss that." Hermione nodded, "When I lost you... It was hard to move on, I would get phantom pangs."
"Me too." He smiled, "I moved to a different city, a different country. I made friends with one of my most bitter enemies, and hey, that's life. I know that. But I couldn't seem to move on. I couldn't manage to find myself without you. I tried. I dated this girl a couple of times. I got a job for awhile. But I would come home and stare out the window and think about all the shit we went through."
They had moved to the couch in the living room, where Harry had slept the night before. They sat with space between them, still unable to connect non verbally. That space between them came to mean something to them, because it wasn't just on the couch, it was in the air around them, in their hearts and minds. It was a space without depth or time, without hope or truth. It was a space that had been branded on their skin, lest it be forgotten by the happiness that came in intermittent bursts in the years since.
"I dated Chaz for almost two years. We were talking about moving in together. We were talking about so much..." She turned her head, a wave of something dark passing over her, "I didn't think I could trust after him. He... I miscarried."
"I know." He said guiltily, "It was in your letter."
"Right." She let the words roll over them. Miscarried. A life had grown and ended inside of her. At the time she had no idea how she was going to live past that, "I forgot that I wrote that."
"Really?" He arched an eyebrow, "Why would you lie about that?"
She smiled a weak smile, "Because I wanted you to think that I wrote it so casually that I could forget it." A tear slipped down her face while he watched. It was followed by so many more, "I...I didn't..."
He pulled her to him, past the invisible space inside them, over the real space on the couch. She shuddered with her sobs against his chest, he only held her tighter. Waiting for her to regain composure, knowing in his heart that if he let her go she would fall apart. She had always been a rock, his anchor against the waves. Now he would be her rock. He would anchor her through the pain or he would drown with her.
* * *
New York City. 2002.
In her hotel that night Ginny tried desperately to make herself feel something for Neville. Wanting to fall in love with Neville was the reason she had flown out to the states. She had always remembered him as this sweet, kind boy. The kind of person that any girl would and should marry. Gentle and polite. With a courage that always came out unexpected, no matter how used to it you were. He had become good looking, he had become wise. He was perfect.
Except.
Except he wasn't Harry Potter. Which had been a problem for almost every boy around Harry Potter at some point or another, and had been a consistent problem for Ginny since she was old enough to like boys. Because none of them were Harry Potter, not even Harry Potter. He had let her down, crushed her, ruined her and left her floating in a void. He hadn't even seemed to care. It didn't seem to bother him.
And here she was, laying awake in a hotel room, thinking about him when she wanted nothing more than to be thinking about Neville. He was supposed to be the one that would cure her of Harry. Neville was supposed to be the answer to her desolation. He was going to swoop in a rescue her from her despair. Instead she was here, he was at his flat and never during the entire conversation they had shared had there even seemed to be a glimmer in his eye that was more than friendly.
She got up and turned on the light, stood in front of the mirror and examined her naked body. She was an attractive girl, she had worked hard to be so. She exercised, ate right, exfoliated. Standing there, looking at herself, she wondered what it was about her that was so broken that it showed up on her skin. She could search for years and never find the scarlet "H" that she assumed everyone else could see. She pushed her hair down, tried and failed to force a smile. Suddenly her eyes looked dark, her freckles seemed freakish, her stupid orange hair served to illuminate the unattractive features of her face.
She shook her head, looked again and saw the beautiful girl in the glass again. The person she knew she was. The person she refused to let him erase from her. She set her jaw, narrowed her eyes, and pushed her bottom. She winked at herself.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She let her body fall to a slouched standing posture. Her features pulled by her own revulsion for herself, "Just get over it!"
She ran to the hotel bed and buried her face in her pillow. She cried. Again. It was all she felt like she ever did. How did she let herself fall apart so completely? She rolled around until she finally fell asleep on her damp pillow. In two days she would be back in London. Away from Harry, away from Neville, away from her latest pathetic attempt to move on.
* * *
London. 1997.
"He moved out?" Hermione said, "He just up and left?"
"Yeah." Harry said softly from the throw rug he sat on, reorganizing his now emptier bookshelf, "He moved out."
"Is it because of you?" She flopped down on the couch, "Did you finally catch him masturbating or something."
"No."
She sat in silence. Knowing what she wanted to say, but having trouble finding the words. Harry silently shuffled books around, the scrapping of their spines against the flimsy balsa wood the only noise in the room. She rolled her head over, guilt consuming her features, "Was it my fault."
Harry sat silently, his shoulders moved up and down with his breathing, with his attempts to compose himself, "Yes."
"What did he say?"
"You don't want to know."
She sat back, thinking small dark thoughts. Part of her knew he was right, because she suspected what had driven Ron away, but she did want to know. She wanted to hear it said aloud. More so, she wanted to hear him say it out loud. The one thing they had spent years refusing to say, the thing that she knew they both wanted to say. Finally she built up her courage, steeled herself against what would likely be a very messy conversation, possible an argument.
"He won't talk to me." She began, "And I do want to know..."
"You broke up with him, not the other way around." Harry spun around, his eyes the dark green she had first observed when he really began to fight his seven year war.
"So?" She had become reckless with passion, love and war are so very few degrees separated.
"So? So!" He stood up, "Hermione, he's the one that needs closure, not you! He's the one that needs to understand why you left him. Because he thinks it's something else."
She rose from the couch to meet his face, "What? What does he think, Harry? What is he so off base about that he needs all this closure? What did all of the arguments we had make him think was the signifier of a healthy relationship?"
Harry backed down, his eyes shifting back to their usual light emerald, "I didn't mean to say that it was wrong to break up with him. I only meant that..."
"Meant what!" She shouted, "Goddamn it, Harry! What is this about? Did he think I wanted to fuck you? Is that it?"
Harry turned his head away from her, "Yes."
"Say it, Harry." She poked him in the chest, "Say the words."
"Why?"
"I need to hear it! SAY THE WORDS!"
"What is this!" His head snapped back, anger in his face and his dark green eyes. Passion boiling below the surface, "What the fuck is into you!"
"I want to hear it! I want to know what it is that the good saint Ronald had to fight against in dark sinning little me!"
"I never said that!"
"Are you taking his side?!" She bore down on him, but he rose to her face, all fury and indignation.
"I'm not taking sides! I'm tired of having to take sides!" He grabbed her shoulders, "You're the one that isn't supposed to ask me to. You're the one that's supposed to understand that I don't want to choose between the two most important people in my life!"
"Well, I don't understand!" She shot back, "For once I want you on my side! I want you to love me more!"
His eyes widen, his eyebrows rose until his brow furrowed, "Is that what this about?" He asked quietly, "Is he right?"
She boiled for seconds, trying to keep it contained and failing, "YES!"
"What?"
"Yes, Harry. Yes. Good God, YES! I want you to love me, I want you to make love to me. I want you to be a part of my life and a part of my body."
"I..." He stepped back.
She stepped closer, her finger pointed at him, "And don't you dare pretend that you want differently. Don't you look me in the face and tell me that you don't love me. That you don't want me."
Harry backed himself into a wall. He glanced behind, as much to assure himself there was a wall to his back as to let her know it too. She reached out, grabbed two handfuls of his hair and yanked his head to her own. Pushing her mouth onto his until not even a stray thought could separate the two of them.
He pushed himself off the way and into her. Returning the kiss they had waited years to share. Giving her every ounce of his loneliness. When they finally came up for air, after having some how found their way to the ground, him on top of her, she smiled, threw back her head and let out a satisfied moan.
"Finally!"
Her elation was cut short when she felt him get up. She sat up to find him sitting in front of his bookshelf, arranging the books. She blinked twice before her sense returned to her.
"Harry?"
He breathed out once, a ragged, barely controlled animal breath, "I think you should go."
"Harry, I don't-"
"Go."
She collected herself and left. He sat arranging what was left of his books, their spines scrapping the flimsy balsa wood the only noise in the room, save for the faint sound of his restrained sobbing.
* * *
London. 2003.
Harry set down a cup of tea and some biscuits on the table in front of the couch, Hermione sniffled, wiped her nose on her sleeve and thanked him with big puppy dog eyes. He rubbed her shoulders as she sipped her tea and nibbled at one of the biscuits.
"If you'd like I can whip up some cucumber sandwiches." He said, "It always seemed to cheer up Malfoy to have a couple cucumber sandwiches, not that I'm in any way comparing you to Malfoy, I'm just-" He smiled and rubbed his head, "Honesty, I'm just trying to be useful."
"Been awhile since you've been around a crying girl, hasn't it?" She gave him a weak smile.
"Uhm... Yes. Yes it has." Harry's smile started to show teeth, "Whenever Amber cries that is a strictly Malfoy task. I go to my room."
"Do you miss it?"
"Living with Malfoy?"
"Yeah. You two seem to be very close these days."
Harry sat down on the couch, "You know, I actually do a little."
"How on Earth did the two of you ever manage to get along?"
"Patience." He answered, "We had our problems. Both of us. Mine were with you, his with the world. We solved them in different ways. He picked drinking."
"Wow."
"Now there is no alcohol allowed in my home." He smiled at her, "And Malfoy is married. I am one hell of a problem solver."
"How did you deal with your problem?"
Harry sat forward and put his hands on his knees, "In a couple of ways, really. I started reading a lot, walking all the time, staring out windows, stopped sleeping too well." Suddenly his expression grew dark, "And I took out my frustrations with you on Ginny."
Hermione leaned back and reflected on her roommate, "I had always wondered about that."
"I was so stupid for you, and I didn't want to admit it." He shook his head, "And the worst part is, when she came over I knew that I was being horrible to her. I could feel it in my bones, but I couldn't stop myself."
"What possessed you to be so mean?" Hermione put her hand on his leg, "That's not like you."
"No. It's not." He sighed, "I just... I guess I thought I had to be a little mean to make my point. I didn't want her dwelling on me. I... I know I botched that one. I know I did it all wrong."
"You were young, the had just ended. You were so introspective and mixed up then." She rationalized.
"I know. There are a million of excuses for what I did. But none of it changes that I did it." He shrugged, "I had always wanted to talk to you about it, but you and I were doing the love-you-hate-you dance by then."
"People make mistakes, right?" She cupped his hand, "Maybe that has to apply to you as well."
He smiled at her, "I really missed this. Just talking to you, telling you about this crap. I forgot how much it made me feel better."
"I know." She pointed to the tea and biscuits, "You're the only person I've ever really been able to share with."
"Where did it all go so wrong?" He mused.
She put her head in her free hand and sat contemplatively for a moment, "I think it would be difficult to trace it back to one particular moment."
"Yeah." He leaned back on the couch, freeing her hand from him, "You probably have something there."
"Do you think it's always going to be this way between us?" She asked.
"What way?"
"You know." She indicated the both of them with her hand, "The sometimes it's okay to touch, sometimes it's okay to talk, sometimes it's awkward and trying just to muscle up the nerve to do either."
"I don't know." He leaned forward so he could look her in the eye, "But that kind of gets to the heart of what this talk is about, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, but how do we get it to go away?" She smiled.
He shrugged, put his hands up as if to gesticulate but lowered them instead, "No, what I mean is, I don't know if it ever will. It will or it won't. But right now it's hard to be around one another."
"True." She slumped back.
He pulled her forward, he needed her to see him, to understand him, "So, is our friendship worth putting up with the moments that are hard or awkward? Am I worth it to you, because if not that's okay, really it is. No hard feelings. But I want to be your friend. You're worth all the shitty pain, 'Mione. You're worth it."
She raised her hand to her mouth, her eyes watering against her will, "Oh, sod it all. I'm going to cry again."
He smiled and stood up, "Cucumber sandwiches, coming right up."
* * *
New York City. 2000.
"Don't go anywhere." Harry raised his arms to show Draco that he didn't want him to move, "I'm going to make us some cucumber sandwiches."
Draco could feel the laugh all the way from the pit of his stomach until it left his mouth and filled the room with a warmth he didn't think possible only moments ago. Harry winked and dashed off to the kitchen. Draco could hear him cutting cucumber and humming one of the random muggle songs he would come home obsessed with. Draco could picture the endless hours of Harry trying to find the official music video on Youtube, so desperate to show Draco the song in the best way possible.
An hour ago Draco had learned that, after spending so long sobering up, getting his life in order, meeting Amber and finally finding direction in his life, the place he had wanted to put his art gallery had been bought out by some trendy coffee house instead. It had seemed a crushing blow at first, but Harry had sat and talked him through it, promised that they would start first thing in the morning trying to find a new and better place for Draco to hang his friend's silly paintings.
"Harry Potter and his famous cucumber sandwiches."Draco said loud enough for Harry to hear him, "If you ever write an autobiography that just has to be the title."
"Scoff now." Harry said as he brought in a tray of cucumber sandwiches and weak green tea he had bought cold from a 7-11, "But once you've had a couple of these bad boys, you'll be singing a different tune."
Within an hour every last sandwich had been eaten and Draco and Harry sat laughing. Talking about Amber, designing a game plan for the hunt they would embark on the next day, and telling dirty jokes until the world around them, all the pain and bullshit they had both been put through in all the years since they had met to get their robes fit, faded into nothing. When Amber came by to console him she found Draco hearty and in good spirits.
She pulled Harry aside to thank him from the bottom of her heart. To tell him that Draco was lucky to have him, that she was lucky to have him, for a friend. He brushed it off in true Harry style. When she insisted, when she tried to make him understand how truly remarkable he had been, he had always been, he turned to her and pointed backwards at Draco.
"That's what friends are for."
* * *
London. 2003.
Hermione put her sandwich down, grabbed Harry's hands and looked into his eyes, "Yes."
Harry blinked, "You mean it?"
"You made me sandwiches." She smiled, "You are so worth it."
"Man." Harry smiled, "If I knew that was all it was going to take I'd have made you sandwiches in '98."
Hermione flexed her shoulders, "This feels right. You and me are friends again. It is such a weight off of me."
Harry nodded, "I know what you mean, I actually feel like myself for the first time since I came back to London."
Hermione looked at him sideways, "You are a remarkable man, do you know that?"
"With all the books about me? You kidding, 'course I know that." He smiled as she snorted and giggled.
"Would you look at that, " She began when she regained her composure, "You're making jokes again. I missed you making jokes. It feels like forever since you made jokes."
"It's good to hear you laugh at them, though that might actually be a first."
"I laughed at your jokes before!" She put on a mock agitation, "I'm sure I did at least once."
"Okay, maybe once." He smiled.
She leaned forward, putting her hand on his knee, "Harry, not to bring this back down to the serious talk again, I'm really enjoying how light this new branch of our conversation is going."
"Okay."
"But I have to know, and I know that you don't care if I apologize and I respect that, but I need to know if you can forgive me for what I did. For the way I was."
Harry put his thumb and forefinger to his chin, deep in thought for a few short moments before he turned to her, "Have you ever heard of the Doctrine of Unintended Consequences?"
"Sure. Who hasn't?" She said, "Everything we do causes something. One good turn can cause something bad to happen and vice versa and everything in between."
"Everything that's happened. Me and Ron patched things up, me and Malfoy became friends, and this right now, are all the consequences of the thing you want me to forgive you for."
"And that's all fine and well." She chuckled, "But do you forgive me?"
He smiled without an ounce of fear, regret or remorse, "Absolutely. That's what friends are for."
* * *
London.2003.
Ginny's skin was crawling. Her house was clean, her tears, the ones she had promised not to shed, had been shed. She had to get out. She had to move. She had to find something to take her mind off of Harry. She needed a place without him in it. She looked at the album she had tossed across the room. She thought about how every now and then she would look in the mirror and see some ugly woman who wasn't her. She remembered every night of doubt and pain. Every soft spoken vow she had ever sobbed out.
She knew what she needed, what she had needed for years. What she had denied herself in one of a hundred thousand different ways, and what had been denied her by the absence of a chance. The chance was there, but she was playing the same old game. She needed to talk to Harry. She needed to get the closure to move on, she needed something only he could give her, or so she presumed. She needed absolution.