Unofficial Portkey Archive

Thank you for your support and patience. Here is the next chapter, in which Ron comes to a realisation, Hermione and Harry clear the air and Luna is caught peeping at the bedroom door. Fairly self explanatory, I shouldn't need to clear up much with this chapter. Enjoy.

I don't own them.

"He needs you, Ron. You have to go. You know him better than anyone, you know the real Harry, not the hero, not the `boy who lived,' you know Harry. Harry Potter."

"Hermione," Ron protests, though he knows that his words make little difference. She has made up her mind.

"Look at what he has done to you. Open your eyes, you just expect me to pick up where Harry and I left off? Cup of tea and ring around the blasted rosy? He got you … you know," He motions," And now he's going to up and leave you. Have you lost your mind?"

Hermione's clenched fist unfurls to cover her abdomen.

"Don't blame Harry. I knew of the consequences too."

Ron can't help but think that Hermione would have been a good mother. Kissing every skinned knee placed before her, advice at the ready, knowledge, her greatest gift. Patience, the way she puts up with him and with Harry, the greatest influence in moulding her children, forgiving and tolerant, a good example. Respectful, conveying clarity, she is the mother who spoils her child, who takes her child by the hand and introduces them to the wonders of the wizarding world. Harry would have her on the highest pedestal.

The realisation seems to startle Ron. It does little to mend his heart, the ache so profound that his knees become weak and his body buckles, the weight of his knowledge both comforting and confounding.

"You're in love with Harry," He mumbles, wincing as he gives life to the notion.

Hermione will not sugar-coat the truth anymore.

"Yes," She nods, acknowledging the truth in his words.

"It's not like you to take risks," Ron continues, fumbling for the seat that Harry had vacated earlier. "Not unless you're prepared, not unless …" He looks up at Hermione. "Not unless you're sure."

"Please don't blame Harry," Is all that Hermione can say.

How did I miss this? He wonders. What about Ginny? When did things change?

As if she is able to read his mind, Hermione tries to offer some closure.

"I think it's always been this way for us, certainly for me, I suppose I can't speak for Harry … But he's has so much on his shoulders, so much to think about without having to think about me," Hermione muses, derailing her train of thought, the look on Ron's face like a sickening blow.

"None of the other things matter without you," Harry says from the doorframe where he leans into the room. He pushes his hands into his pockets and steps forward, crossing the threshold. He shakes his head as he approaches the two.

"I'm sorry, Ron. But it has always been Hermione. I am in love with Hermione. I know you wanted it to be Ginny," He hangs his head, the guilt silently, irrevocably berating, "… I know you wanted it to be Ginny, but it's not. It's Hermione."

Harry meets Hermione's eyes, gaze upon gaze, acknowledging that it's all alright, that they'll make it through this and he will come back to her.

Ron's back is stiff, anger seeps like a silent assassin, cherished resentment long harboured, burns his soul like a white-hot coal grasped in the palm of his hand.

Harry knows all of the signs. The way that Ron's face scrunches at the corner of his eyes, crows' feet, the Muggles call them. His nose turns red, the very tip, a natural reaction, and his body's way of reacting to the unfortunate misfortune he finds himself facing. Harry notices the way that Ron's feet are braced, for such a sturdy frame, Harry knows that Ron can be nimble when the need arises.

"I don't like what you did," Ron states calmly, his jaw flexing as his self resolve crumbles. "I don't like what you did to Hermione, what you have done to my sister, I don't like it. Am I making myself clear?"

"Perfectly," Harry assures him, his foot inching closer to the bed, closer to Hermione, closer to breeching the gap between the too, fiercely protective, his paternal instincts coming into their own, the charm of his ill fated parental bond not forsaking him.

"Ronald," Hermione tries. "Ron, please."

Silently, Ron rises. His fists balled up, his thumbs tucked in tight. He raises his arm, Harry has already braced himself and he does not flinch, he remains stoic as Ron's hand makes contact with the corner of Harry's mouth.

"Shit," Harry spits, his hand working his chin in circles, testing his jaw, trying to rub away not only the physical pain, but the ache that manifests in his heart.

Ron shakes his hand, but there is no satisfaction in the act of violence, he will claim the sole act as a knee-jerk reaction, nothing more, nothing less. A final warning of sorts, too many have already suffered.

"Ron," Hermione cries, trying to push herself up, trying to throw her legs over the side of the bed, trying desperately to find a wand so that she can fix Harry with a conjured cure-all.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," Harry raises his hand to placate Hermione.

"What?" Ron shrugs, suitably amused. "We all knew that it was coming."

"You're a brute," Hermione offers. "That's what," She says with a huff and folds her arms across her tender breasts.

"Right, well," Ron looks at Harry who glares at him from the corner of his eye. "I've done what I wanted to do. I'll let you two talk now."

****

"You're really going to leave, aren't you, Harry?"

Harry paces the length of the room and then turns, coming back to the head of the bed where he began his incessant march of speculative doom. He pulls his glasses from the bridge of his nose and rubs his tired eyes.

"Yes," He sighs.

"And there is nothing I can do to convince you otherwise?" Hermione asks.

"No," Harry confirms her suspicions.

"Then I guess you are going to have to promise that you will come back in one piece, aren't you, Harry?"

"I know that you need me right now," Harry replies. "I know that you need my support, and that losing our son is one of the hardest things that we have had to deal with, and we have had to deal with a lot of really bad things, Hermione. But if I don't do this now, if I don't beat Voldemort to the Elder Wand, then there will be no second chance."

Hermione is stunned, she audibly gasps. Harry's hard glare becomes soft, his expression wholesome. He shrugs.

"I was hoping maybe one day, you and me …"

Hermione smiles, her lips are turned up and despite the fact that she is deathly pale; she manages the most beautiful smile, one that soothes the hate around his heart in an instant.

"I just wasn't sure," He says sheepishly. "After everything that has happened, I know what I want, and I want it with you, Hermione."

Hermione shakes her head vehemently.

"You don't have to wait, Harry. You're already a father. Our son may not be here right now, but you are definitely already a father. Take strength from that, hold onto that when you need it most."

"I don't cry often," Harry sniffs, dragging the rough cuff of his woollen sleeve across his damp cheek. "See what you do to me, Hermione?"

"You have sacrificed enough already, Harry. You must be strong now. You must not give up."

"We can do this, Hermione. We can win this war, and when I come home, we an have baby James, we can have James Junior, James Harry, we can even have James Ronald if it means the rest of my life with you."

Hermione pats the mattress beside her and makes space for Harry to hop in next to her. He does so reverently, ever cautious of her ailments, he handles her like the finest china, one hand around her waist while he manoeuvres them into a spooning position with his chest pressed up against her back. She can feel his heartbeat; they beat in tandem, syncopated like the rhythm of the night. It builds that which is broken, and finds its way into the secret places of the soul.

Harry's fingers brush across the cool cloth of her nightgown and he presses the palm of his trembling hand against her belly, almost as if he can reach his child. He wonders if he tries a little harder, it he does a little better, that maybe, just maybe, baby James is still there and this sickening reality is nothing more than a terror concocted by the fragments of the Dark Lord, the ones that abundantly haunt him.

"Does it hurt?" He wonders, his thumb grazing the place where the child that he has fathered will no longer take rest.

Hermione shakes her head. "No. It doesn't hurt. It's just tender."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm so sorry."

Hermione's shoulders shake and Harry can hear the whimpers that she tries to stifle. He will not deny her this right.

"Better to have loved, and lost," She chokes on the words that are stuck like a lump in her throat.

"That doesn't make it right, Hermione. Nothing can make it right. I just hope that he has found peace with my parents."

Hermione is hopeful. She still likes to believe that there is light at the end of the tunnel.

"I have to go," Harry whispers into the wisps of her thick, downy hair.

"You'll be back," Hermione replies. She knows that he will return, and that once again, she will stand at his side. Right now, her life depends on it.

"I will be back, Hermione."

Hermione keeps her back turned as she feels the mattress dip once again. She can feel Harry's eyes upon her, raking the length of her body, committing this final image of her to memory. But she cannot bear to watch him leave.

"I love you, Hermione." Harry's voice is quiet, solemn. There is no hesitation in his tone, no doubt, his words are poignant, and heart felt.

The last hurdle has come, like the final hour of reckoning.

"I love you, Harry. I love you too."

****

Harry makes his way up to the highest dune. The sun is climbing upon the horizon, and brilliant shades litter the early morning sky. Dawn in upon them, and with it, the journey of a lonely boy.

Harry watches the waves, he watches the ocean and wonders if he can bottle it up, take the sea with him. If he can't take Hermione, it might just be the next best thing.

"Shouldn't you be gone by now?"

Ron's voice startles Harry and his feet sink into the soft sand. The tiny, infinite grains infiltrate his shoes and irritate his toes - but it's nothing compared to the pain of having to leave somebody behind. His heart is raw with regret.

"I'm going," Harry scoffs. "You won't have to worry about me anymore. So just let me have this moment to myself."

"I wish I could," Ron sighs, resigned to the fact that he is willing putting himself in harms way, that despite everything, this is still Harry.

Harry turns to see Ron with his backpack resting at his feet. "What are you doing with that?" He asks sceptically.

"I'm coming with you."

Harry shakes his head. "No."

"I don't like this any more than you do, but I gave Hermione my word. Do you want me to go back inside and break her heart? Would you really have me do that to her, Harry?"

"Fine," Harry relents, albeit, reluctantly. "But keep your mouth shut. The last thing I want to hear is your voice."

"As if I'd want to talk to you. I'm doing this for Hermione."

Harry should have known that Hermione would pull this on him. He really should have known better.

Harry stalks off, following the trail of blooms that will take him away from his love.

Ron shakes his head. "Well," He says to the morn. "This ought to be exciting."

****

Gingerly, Hermione shuffles around the ample guest room. She holds her side and leans heavily on the furniture as she tries to negotiate her way from the bed to the rest room.

"Hello, Luna," Hermione directs her words at the door that is distinctly ajar. "I know you're there, so you'd better come and help me up."

The door creaks and Luna ascends looking quite a bit sheepish. Her cheeks are flushed, but she does not try to hide the embarrassment that comes with being caught at the door.

"Hermione, should you be up and about already? You need your rest. Here," Luna gestures. "Let me help you back into bed."

Hermione halts Luna with a flick of her wrist. Her hand stands at attention, as does Luna, her arms braced by her side, she knows what is coming, had anticipated it ever since they all arrived.

"You know, don't you, Luna?" Hermione asks.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Hermione."

Hermione wavers on her feet, swaying as her body betrays her and she falls heavily into Luna's arms as the two struggle to make it back to the bed in the corner.

"Please, Luna. You have to tell me. You know, don't you? I'm not sure how, but you know."

Luna looks down at her shoes and lines up her feet, heel to heel, her toes splayed outwards. She nods her head, and then looks at Hermione.

"I'm still pregnant, aren't I? I didn't lose the baby, did I, Luna?"

Luna wrings her hands together before adding - "I tried to tell Harry, I promise, I did. But he would not listen, he was broken, and I could not fix him, Hermione."

"I can't explain it, Luna. I feel like I have had the wind knocked out of me, but somehow, I can sense this tiny little spark inside me. Snug and warm and strangely content."

"Oh yes," Luna beams. "He certainly is."

"Then what happened to me? What really transpired over the past few days?"

"You really should rest, Hermione. Rest until we figure out what to do next."

Hermione disagrees. She shakes her head. The mirth in her voice gives her away and Luna can do nothing but watch as the wheels turn in motion.

"Don't worry about that, Luna. Yes. Harry has gone, and we're on our own. But I have my own plan. This time, we won't fail."

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