Unofficial Portkey Archive

A/N: Thanks for your feedback for the last chapter! As I predicted, some of you loved it, some of you not so much. Thanks to everybody for being polite, though! I very much appreciate it. As I've mentioned to a few people, I am by no means asking you to approve of their behavior (I certainly don't), but to kind of accept it for what it is. Some aspects may not be the most original, but hopefully I can convey things in an original enough way for people to be pleasantly surprised by the outcome. Also, hopefully I can just plain surprise people with some aspects I plan to bring up. Either way, please keep reading and giving me feedback!

This chapter is technically more filler than anything, but I felt it was necessary to convey where the characters are emotionally right now after the events of the last chapter. Hope you enjoy.

Thanks to cranksatnyc, noorelisa, UKwildcat820, miss moony, hphg74, Bexis, MarenKPotter, justduck, VampLvr, h/hr4ever11, Charlotte, and an Anonymous reviewer for the feedback!

Chapter 34: Breaking Mirrors

Ron walked rather lazily up the steps that led to his and Hermione's flat. Usually he would just Apparate directly into the living room, but he figured Hermione might appreciate some sort of warning after three days without him - he didn't want to startle her, after all.

When he reached the door, he gave it a sharp rap and promptly turned the knob, but found it locked. Hoisting his bag over his shoulder, he knocked a bit more impatiently on the door.

Still no answer.

She must be out, he thought to himself as he dug through his bag. Hermione insisted he use keys to enter the flat instead of his wand so as not to attract undo attention, which he frankly found to be quite a hassle.

After over a minute of rummaging, he finally extricated the small set of keys from his bag and inserted the correct one into the lock.

As he entered the room, the first thing he was aware of was how dark everything was. Not a single light was on and the curtains blocked out any sunlight that might have shone through the windows.

But he barely had time to dwell on this fact, however, because a small hiccup of surprise sounded from the couch as he dropped his bag onto the hardwood floor.

"R-Ron? Is that you?"

Puzzled, Ron groped along the wall until he found the light switch and flicked it on. As light flooded the room, he saw Hermione bundled on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around her. Her face was pale and drawn, and her hair was a mess. She squinted and blinked rapidly at him through puffy, bloodshot eyes as she adjusted to the sudden light.

"Hey," Ron said, wrinkling his brow. "What're you doing sitting in the dark like this? What's wrong?"

"N-nothing's wrong," Hermione replied in a somewhat raspy voice. "I just - I just haven't been feeling the greatest."

"Oh," Ron said. "I didn't know you were even home. Why didn't you answer the door?"

Hermione glanced at the door behind him. "Um…people have been knocking on the door all weekend," she said quietly, pulling the blanket more tightly around her. "Just salesmen and what-not. I got tired of answering."

"Oh," Ron said again. He fidgeted uncomfortably as Hermione continued to stare lifelessly at the door. He sidestepped into her line of vision and she blinked as she quickly refocused on Ron.

"H-how was your trip?" she asked, an apologetic tone lacing her voice for her lack of attention. "Did you have fun?"

"No, not really…"

A moment of silent passed between them before Hermione realized she needed to continue the conversation.

"What did you do at the conference?" she asked.

"Attend lectures mostly."

"You get those from me for nothing," Hermione replied. Ron could sense that she had meant the statement to be humorous, but she had spoken half-heartedly. Nonetheless, Ron gave her a small smile in an attempt to cheer her up.

"And those blokes aren't nearly as good at it either," he said jokingly, but then fell silent again. The aura of the room was downright depressing, and he found very little desire to talk.

"Are…are you feeling well enough to go out?" Ron finally suggested after the silence had persisted for almost a full minute.

Hermione frowned slightly, as if this idea were quite adverse to her, so Ron was quite surprised when she finally nodded in assent.

"I just have to clean up a bit," she said softly, and then retreated into the bedroom, still clutching the blanket around her shoulders.

Ron furrowed his brow as he sat down in the spot Hermione had vacated. Although Hermione had insisted she had been ill, he couldn't help but feel that her behavior was a little off in a different way. She seemed quite preoccupied by something, and whatever that something was was clearly upsetting her. Why else would she be cooped up in the dark like this? And not only was she sitting in the dark, it looked like she had been crying as well.

Maybe she would tell him what was bothering her over dinner.

But Ron's musings were soon interrupted as Hermione exited their room, still looking quite cheerless, but presentably so.

"Ready?" Ron asked, standing up.

Hermione nodded silently as she collected her purse from a hook near the door.

"Where d'you want to eat?"

Hermione's face was shadowed by a veil of hair as she checked the contents of her bag. She paused, and when she spoke it was almost a sigh.

"Doesn't matter to me," she said finally, slowly continuing her rummaging and not looking up. "You can pick."

**********

Ginny frowned as she watched Harry attempt to sooth a crying James.

She had returned home from the Quidditch match yesterday afternoon to find Harry in an absolutely foul mood. Beyond a rather curt hello, they had barely exchanged a dozen words with each other. Mostly Ginny would just talk, and her husband would sometimes give a vague nod, if any response at all.

To top it off, James had been absolutely unmanageable since she had come home as well. She guessed that he was teething, and he cried almost non-stop whenever he was awake. She attributed this to Harry's irritability, which seemed to grow more and more pronounced with each passing hour.

"Come on, buddy," Harry murmured tiredly as he rubbed James's back in a circular motion. "I know it hurts, but it'll stop soon…"

He stared vacantly at the wall as he said this, and Ginny was a bit concerned by the dark circles under his eyes. Although they had taken turns soothing the baby, it seemed that he still wasn't getting much sleep. He hadn't even bothered shaving since the day before the match, further enhancing his haggard appearance.

"How was work today?" Ginny asked offhandedly, although Harry had already been home for almost an hour.

"Fine," Harry responded, little to Ginny's surprise.

She waited a moment, idly flipping a few pages of her monthly issue of Witch Weekly to see if Harry would bother continuing the conversation.

He didn't, of course.

"Have you had any more leads on Dolohov?" she continued.

"None."

She gave him another chance to speak, but again, nothing came of it.

"The article for the match is going really well," she finally said. "Krum was a little reluctant to be interviewed, but he seemed quite eager to give me some exclusive quotes after I mentioned I was Hermione's sister-in-law."

She saw Harry, predictably, give a small nod, but was surprised to see a flash of emotion cross his face before it hardened into an unreadable mask once more. Or perhaps not completely unreadable - if anything anger could be discerned from his stony expression.

She cocked an eyebrow, confused by Harry's change in expression. She had spoken about her article multiple times - why would he seem angry now?

"Is something the matter, Harry?"

Ginny thought she saw the slightest tensing of Harry's shoulder, but she might have been mistaken - he was already tense to begin with.

"No," he said brusquely, his back turned to her. "Why?"

"Don't even act like you don't know why!" Ginny said, exasperated. "You've been acting like a git since I got back."

"How d'you mean?" Harry said, a note of cautiousness in his voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we've got a new record for the longest sentence spoken in the last forty-eight hours!" Ginny said sarcastically. "Quite the accomplishment!"

"I'm - I'm just not in a talkative mood," Harry said defensively. "I don't see why you have a problem with that."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "There's a difference between being uncommunicative and giving me the cold shoulder for two days, Harry!"

"Well, I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I've just had a lot on my mind."

"That might've been useful information to know," Ginny said. "I'm your wife, you can tell me these things - it sort of comes with the territory. So what's bothering you?"

Harry shook his head. "It's just…just some work stuff. There's nothing you can do about it."

"Maybe if you just talked about it you'd feel better anyway."

"No," Harry said a bit more vehemently as he shook his head again. "It's…private. Classified. I can't talk about it with you."

"Then who can you talk with about this?" Ginny said with irritation. "Because I'm frankly sick of your bad mood."

Harry looked as though he were about to make a retort, but then closed his mouth and glanced away for a moment. When he turned his gaze back to her, there was a bit of remorse in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Gin, really. I shouldn't be taking this out on you…especially you. I'll try not to act like such an asshole."

"Baby ears!" Ginny said as she gestured to James, who had finally grown quiet in Harry's arms. "And you're forgiven if you actually hold to that."

Harry nodded, but Ginny could already see his face beginning to take on the same emotionless expression.

Sighing, she stood up and placed her magazine on the chair behind her. Harry glanced at her sudden movement, and Ginny reached out to take the baby from him.

"We're all taking a walk," she said briskly. "Go change into a more comfortable shirt so you can join us."

Harry showed little surprise at her outburst, and simply left for their bedroom without another word.

*********

Hermione walked slightly behind Ron as they were led to a small table near the back of the Muggle restaurant he had chosen. Normally she would have been pleased by the privacy warranted by the secluded spot, but at the present moment she was absolutely dreading it. Being surrounded by dozens of noisy diners would have made the evening a much more enjoyable affair. The less they could hear each other, the less they would talk, and the less they talked the better.

As they were seated, their waiter pulled a small pad from his pocket.

"What would you like to drink?" the man said, turning politely to Hermione.

"Water, please," she said, just loud enough for the waiter to hear. She didn't even bother looking in his direction.

"Alright," he said, seeming a bit put-off by Hermione's reticent behavior. "And for you, sir?"

"I'll have a beer," Ron replied more genially.

The waiter nodded. "I'll have your drinks ready in a moment," he said, and walked away to fetch them.

The couple sat wordlessly as they perused their menus, and Hermione was grateful for a legitimate excuse to stay silent. The walk to the restaurant had been much more awkward, as Hermione was unforthcoming in conversation and Ron had no idea how to react to her unusually taciturn demeanor. Periods of silence were not uncommon between them, but generally it was an amicable sort of silence born from years of knowing each other. This was a different sort of quiet, heavy and charged with tension from what was not being said.

The waiter returned after a few moments and set down their glasses. Hermione mumbled a thank you and Ron immediately placed his order as soon as the man had taken out his notebook again. Hermione glanced to the menu and picked the first item her eyes fell upon - she really didn't care what it was.

The heavy silence returned as soon as the waiter left, and Ron fidgeted uncomfortably. His discomfort made Hermione feel even guiltier than she already did, but she still couldn't bring herself to speak. She could hardly look him in the eye, let alone hold a conversation with him.

"You, er, you've been pretty quiet…" Ron finally stated, adjusting his fork uneasily. He set it down and raised his eyes to her face. "Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

No, at the moment I'm pretty sure everything is wrong, Hermione thought.

"Really, Ron, I'm fine," she replied, turning her eyes to his long enough to flash him a reassuring smile. Apparently it was convincing, because he returned her smile, seeming a bit relieved, and she felt an especially painful pang of remorse.

No matter his faults, he didn't deserve what she had done to him…no one deserved that.

"Good," Ron said. "I was just feeling a little worried about you. You've seemed sort of off since I got back." He shook his head, chuckling. "Guess my super-sharp intuition is a little hazy tonight."

Hermione felt another pang at his light-heartedness, as well as the irony of his statement: for once, he was right on the mark.

"Well, don't mind me, I guess," Ron said. "How was work today?"

Hermione blinked a few times. "Actually," she said slowly. "I didn't go to work."

Ron furrowed his brow, just as Hermione expected he would. "You didn't go to work?"

Hermione shook her head, mentally cursing her predictably responsible nature. "No," she said. "I didn't."

"Wow," Ron said, running a hand through his hair. "You really must have felt bad - you almost never miss work!"

Hermione nodded. She'd only missed work for four occasions: Harry's wedding, her own wedding and honeymoon, her father's funeral, and the hooky-day she had spent with Harry (which Ron had no idea about).

"A Pepper-Up Potion didn't do the trick?" Ron asked.

"Um, we were out," Hermione replied.

"I bet Harry would've brought you some if you'd owled him," Ron said.

Hermione physically winced at the mention of Harry's name. "I - I know he would have, but I knew he was busy with James…I didn't want to bother him."

Ron shook his head in wonder, but didn't reply straight away as the waiter arrived at their table with their food. He took a large bite of his steak before he looked once more at Hermione, who had only just picked up her fork.

"Merlin, I figured you would've brewed the potion yourself before missing work."

Hermione moved her vegetables around a bit with her fork. "Well, I had…a lot to think about."

She doubted any statement she had ever spoken was as deviously truthful as the one she said to Ron.

She was certainly not lying - she did have a lot to think about.

As Ron nodded in understanding, she knew he couldn't possibly understand what she had been thinking of. If he did, she doubted very much that they would be sitting in this restaurant, speaking amicably to one another. She honestly doubted that he would ever speak to her again if he really knew.

She had spent days thinking, and days trying to stop thinking…about that night, about the following morning, about her lack of self-control…

But mostly just about him.

She hoped that having time to herself would've allowed her to regain some sense of composure, some rationality that would make her understand her actions and, more importantly, how to rectify those actions.

But her rationality, once so kept and headed, had seemingly perished under Harry's gaze that night. She had exulted in his touch, and now she felt drowned by it. She thought that if she waited, away from his burning eyes and tempting hands, she could take control like she always did.

Instead, each thought had brought her further and further from control. All she could do was cry, and her sobs only increased when someone knocked on her door. She had stifled her anguished cries, however, because she knew it was him. He had knocked on her door for an hour straight - today, yesterday, and the day before. And she knew that he would continue to come every single day until she opened the door.

The rest of their meal passed with idle chit-chat, and Hermione sent her meal away when Ron was finished although she had only taken a few bites. When they exited the restaurant, they located a secluded alley and Apparated back to their flat.

Hermione placed her bag on the coffee table, feeling inexplicably exhausted by her short outing. She closed her eyes and ran a hand tiredly over her face, craving the sheets of her bed even though she had seen far too much of them over the past few days. But just as she was about to turn around and wish Ron a good night, she suddenly felt an arm wrap around her waist.

"I've missed you," Ron said, kissing the side of her face.

Before she could think about it, Hermione jerked away, spinning around and taking a step back before her brain caught up with her.

Why did I just do that?

Ron looked at her in confused amusement. "Geez, jumpy much? What's wrong?"

Hermione stared at him blankly as he approached her again, and finally shook her head.

"No," she said. "Nothing's wrong." Maybe if she said it enough, it would be true.

Maybe if she continued to tell this to herself, she would stop imagining the hum of a radio in the background, or the feel of someone else's touch on the small of her back. Maybe if she said it long enough, in time, she would stop thinking-stop feeling to the depth of her soul-that the red-headed man kissing her right now was the wrong man.

And maybe, with a little more time, she would stop wanting to kiss someone else…the dark-haired man who was supposed to be the wrong one.

Really, maybe time was all she needed to re-right her world, the one that was recently turned upside down by an event that made her so painfully and guiltily aware which of her worlds-the world she was currently living with a red-haired man who loved her, or the flashing glimpse in a breaking mirror of the life she had lost with her emerald-eyed best friend-actually felt upside down.

Maybe.

***********

Harry sighed deeply as he selected a T-shirt at random from his closet.

Deep, measured breaths - those were supposed to clear your mind, weren't they?

But even as he gulped at the limited air in his room, Harry knew all the world's oxygen couldn't succeed in such a task during the past few days.

He pulled at the buttons of his shirt in agitation, pulled the shirt from his shoulders, and threw it harshly into the corner of the room. Before he could pull the clean T-shirt over his head, he couldn't resist peeking at his image in the mirror hanging over the dresser. As his eyes darted to his chest, he was plagued once more by the thoughts that had been running rampant in his head for days.

The bruise on his chest, which had been roughly half a foot in diameter just three days previously, was now the size of a small fist.

It had taken him hours after Hermione had left to notice the significant change, and even more hours to find the energy to ponder the difference.

The mark had been decreasing in size steadily since he had received it, but never in such a burst as this. It had taken almost eight years to reduce to half its original size, and yet it had made the same reduction within hours.

His fleeting theories were not enough to convince him of the cause of the change, and he had been wanting to ask Hermione about it for days - she would have the answer. She'd always had the answer.

But for the first time in his life, he couldn't ask her.

In an almost unconscious burst of anger, Harry's fist shot forward and collided with the mirror. The glass crunched under his knuckles, and tiny fractures laced from the point of impact. A hiss of pain escaped his lips as Harry pulled his hand back, and he observed his bloody fingers for only a brief moment before his eyes returned to the mirror.

His image was reflected oddly in the various shards, and he thought it strangely befitting to the current state his life was in. Broken and distorted.

"Harry, what was that? What's taking you?"

He tore his eyes away from the mirror at Ginny's call.

"It's nothing," he said. Then, more quietly, "Reparo."

He watched the shards of mirror on the ground float back up to rejoin the mending mirror. The glass seemed to meld together, and soon he was staring once more at his crisp image. He felt that it was a façade compared to the broken picture he had observed before.

Sighing, Harry slipped the shirt over his head and cast a quick healing and cleaning charm on his hand as he left the room.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Couldn't find a clean one."

"It shouldn't have been too difficult considering I washed laundry yesterday."

"Well, I was looking in the wrong place then," Harry said shortly. "Let's go."

"Fine," Ginny said. "Get the stroller."

Harry nodded as he picked up the collapsed baby carriage. Ginny hoisted James a bit higher on her hip and led Harry from the house without another word. He popped open the stroller when they had reached the sidewalk and James was quickly transferred into the seat.

Harry glanced sideways at Ginny as they began walking. She pushed the stroller at a brisk pace, and a frown adorned her pale face. She was still not pleased with him, obviously. He hated to think what would happen if she ever found out about what had actually transpired between himself and Hermione…

He looked away as the thought crossed his mind, shame coursing like poison through his veins.

"Did you see Hermione over the weekend?"

Harry almost stopped dead in his tracks at Ginny's casual statement.

"No," he said, more loudly than he had intended. He cleared his throat before he spoke again. "Why d'you ask?"

"Just curious," Ginny said. "I figured with both Ron and I being gone you two might have gotten together for lunch or something."

Harry swallowed. "We didn't."

Ginny shrugged. "Okay. We might have to all get together in a few days to do something then. Maybe we'll have them over for dinner."

Harry didn't reply, instead choosing to clench his fists in the pockets of his jeans. He had a strong feeling that such a gathering wouldn't occur, especially if Hermione had anything to do about it. Three days of pounding on her door with no answer certainly insinuated as much.

He had thought of just Apparating into her house on multiple occasions - if he could get in, that is. For all he knew, Hermione had removed his permission through the wards. He honestly didn't want to find out if she had, and he knew that bursting in unannounced and without permission would only hurt matters between them.

Unfortunately, this knowledge didn't reduce his desire to barge in there anyway. Out of all the years he'd known her, not once had she avoided him like this - if anything it was the other way around. He knew they would have to talk eventually, and the longer he waited the more anxious he felt about the impending discussion.

A pair of fingers suddenly snapped in Harry's face, and he jerked his head toward Ginny, dazed.

"What?"

"I was just wondering why you haven't been listening to a word I've said for the past ten minutes," Ginny said, anger evident in her voice yet again.

Harry inwardly winced at her accusation since it was obviously true. He'd had no idea that ten minutes had passed let alone that his wife had been talking during that time.

"Let's just go back," Ginny grumbled when Harry continued to stay silent and James began whimpering in his stroller. After about fifteen minutes they had made their way back to the recently vacated home.

The rest of the evening passed with much crying on James part and not much else. Ginny maintained a stony silence in response to Harry's distractedness, but he still couldn't bring himself to speak to her. Each time he turned to look at his wife, images of Hermione would push themselves to the front of his mind. His conscience simply wouldn't let him face Ginny under these circumstances, and the fact that his conscience tended to sound-achingly so-like none other than Hermione only served to prolong his muteness.

I've already got you in my head enough without hearing you give me a lecture on the same matter as well, Harry thought dejectedly.

It was around eleven at night and he was still up with James, whose cranky disposition had only been invigorated by their short walk. But he was finally growing drowsy on Harry's shoulder, and after a few more minutes James was set gently in his crib, asleep for the time being.

Harry crept softly from the room, across the hall, and then opened the door to his own bedroom. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that all the lights, including Ginny's bedside lamp, were off. The room was almost pitch black, and he made his way silently to his side of the bed.

Taking extreme care not to jostle the mattress, Harry lowered himself onto the bed. As he gently pulled the quilt to cover him, he breathed a tiny sigh of relief.

"Harry?"

Harry bit back the groan that threatened to escape his lips.

"I just felt you get into bed. I know you're awake," Ginny said from beside him.

Harry nodded, knowing the gesture was lost in the darkness.

"Fine, don't talk," he heard Ginny huff. "Just listen."

Harry heard her adjust slightly, and imagined that she had just turned on her side to face him.

"Look, I know you don't want to talk to me about whatever's wrong with you, but this has to stop. It's not even so much that you've barely spoken to me, but you seem genuinely upset about whatever it is."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat as he stared at the ceiling. He felt Ginny's hand on his upper arm.

"I can tell this is hurting you - I don't know why, but you've literally seemed ill for the past few days. I just - can you please talk to someone soon? Try to figure this out?"

Harry lifted his arm-the one Ginny wasn't touching-and ran his hand over his face. His eyes closed involuntarily. He was too damn tired to figure this out - to figure out why it hurt so much.

"Alright," he said, his voice sounding hollow. "I will."

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