Unofficial Portkey Archive

The tension in the Weasley house that night was almost as suffocating as the heat. It had been over twelve hours and Harry was unable to find Hermione. This was ridiculous-Harry always found Hermione. He wished that there were a Marauder's Map of the whole world.

As soon as Harry stomped around the house trying to find her, assured himself that his invisibility cloak was still with him, implying that she wasn't merely hiding somewhere in a corner, he felt like a caged animal, restless and angry. He had run into Ron then, coming home from the joke shop for lunch, and, in a move more characteristic of Hermione, completely unloaded onto the bewildered and shell-shocked redhead.

He told him, in as much detail as he could remember, about each of the three incidents that he had witnessed that week that lead to Hermione's subsequent actions.

Ron sighed and shook his head. There wasn't anything he could say to attempt to justify Ginny's words. "What are you going to do now?" He asked.

"If she doesn't come back in the next few hours, I'm going to look for her," Harry said.

"What about Ginny?" Ron asked quietly.

Harry sighed. "I can't worry about her right now," he said. "Hermione is my priority. But I think it's over for us. Really over. I can't be with someone who thinks it's all right to talk to other people like that."

"Talk to Hermione like that," Ron inferred with narrowed eyes.

"That, too," Harry said absently.

"That, especially," Ron challenged.

Harry stopped and looked at him. "What?" He demanded crossly.

"Nothing," Ron said, but it was unconvincing. "What are you going to do now?"

"The plan's the same, Ron," Harry said. "Find her. Find her and bring her home." This was said with some hesitation. Harry didn't really know where home was, anymore.

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Tracking charms didn't work. Letters sent with Hedwig were sent back unopened and seemingly unseen. If Harry was restless beforehand, he was downright wild now. He was anxious to leave the Weasley compound, despite their pleas for him to stay and let the Ministry handle it.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley tried to placate him as he paced around the living room, wearing a hole in the Weasley's already threadbare rug. "Look, even a witch as bright as Hermione can't hide forever. We've already narrowed out half the world! We should know within a month…"

"A month!" This would not do at all. He had to find her sooner than a month. She would have moved on to the next place by then, he was sure. Somehow, Harry knew that if he didn't find her, she would stay lost. He didn't think she would come home anytime soon.

"…She's somewhere in the southern hemisphere of the Earth," Mr. Weasley was saying. "Just be patient a little while longer."

"Wait," Harry held up a hand, stopped him. "The southern hemisphere?" It was so obvious now where she was.

"I've got to go," Harry dashed past Mr. Weasley, bounded up the stairs to his room. Once inside, he transfigured a sweatshirt into a knapsack, instantly missing Hermione's expanding bag, and began stuffing random clothes and books and maybe should he pack his broom? And anything he could that might possibly help him find her.

Ron stomped up the stairs. Harry knew it was him-Ron was not graceful by any means. "Dad says you're leaving," Ron said in the doorway.

"Yup," Harry said shortly, popping the `p' sound. He didn't stop packing. "Don't try and stop me."

"Me stop you?" Ron scoffed. "Why bother? Not even Hermione could do that when you were on a roll."

Harry whirled around. "Is there something you want to say, Ron?"

Ron pursed his lips, stubborn.

"No," Harry insisted, throwing down a t-shirt. "Go on, say it. You've never had any trouble saying what you've thought before, especially to Hermione." If Harry had the ability to breathe fire, there would be steam coming out of his nose.

Ron shook his head, red creeping up his neck. "It all makes sense, now-why you always defend Hermione; why Hermione and Ginny hate each other; why Hermione always dotes on you; why you broke up with Ginny; why Hermione didn't want to start something with me-"

"Hold on," Harry interrupted, frowning. "I thought you said it was mutual?"

Ron sighed. He sat on the bed, wrinkling Harry's shirt. "I let her do a lot of the talking. It was evident I wasn't who she wanted. I don't want to be with someone who I know won't be completely happy with me. Plus… what I said earlier to you-that wasn't a total lie. We wouldn't have been happy together, not ultimately, but it still hurts, knowing someone doesn't want you." He looked at Harry. "I think I've always known that she's wanted you and just never thought she could have you."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "But she and I-we're so different."

Ron gave him a crooked grin. "You're listening to what Ginny implies," he said with confidence. "How Hermione doesn't understand you and blah blah blah. You two are different, but it's good. You-err what did Sirius say about your parents?-You two complement each other."

Harry sat down, too, next to him. "But she's like a sister to me."

Ron laughed. "Really, Harry?" And he's choking on irony. "How can you know what having a sibling means? You've never had a sister."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but stopped.

"Look, you consider my parents `like parents' to you, right?" Ron pressed.

Harry nodded.

"But it's not the same thing as having parents?"

Harry had to remind himself that Ron didn't mean to be cruel. He nodded again.

"So no matter what you say, although you can say Hermione might be `like' a sister, she never will be, and using that as an excuse to not be with her is weak and not going to work forever."

Harry couldn't even think. He struggled to keep his mind blank. It was hard not to go down roads and paths that he didn't think he could ever-or would want to-access.

"I thought…" Harry struggled. "Did you not believe me, then, in the forest, when I told you that Hermione was like a sister to me?"

"I believed it then," Ron assured him. "I know you believed it then, too. But I don't believe it anymore… and I don't think you do, either."

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In the end, even Ron couldn't stop Harry, but both knew that he wasn't really there to try, anyway. He even helped him to pack and gave him his Deluminator.

"I should've given you this earlier," he said with a tinge of regret. "I tried it myself, but she must not be speaking of me and-I couldn't apparate to where she was. I don't know what it means."

Harry took the small device and held it in his hand. "Maybe it's because she's so far away," he mused. "She's in Australia, Ron. Your dad said she was in the southern hemisphere, and that's the only place I can think she'd be." He zipped up his bag. "Are you sure you don't want to come, Ron?"

Ron shook his head. "No," he said. "You need to make this trip alone, I think. You two have things you need to talk about." He laughed. "Plus, Hermione and I are actually in a good place right now and I'd like to keep it that way for a little while longer."

Harry envied him this status but understood. "You sure you'll be able to take care of your parents for me?"

"Well, this isn't the craziest thing we've ever done, so I don't know why they would freak out now," Ron said dryly. "But you never know with parents. I'll delay them and the Ministry from trying to drag you back."

"No matter who's in charge, they still like to try and sink their claws into me," Harry shook his head.

Ron sighed. "Will our lives ever be simple?"

"I always thought that the end of Voldemort would make them that way, but I'm beginning to think we weren't ever destined to have normal lives."

"We'd find it boring, anyway," Ron told him consolingly. "We might be happy, I guess, but I think maybe we'd be a little restless."

It was hard to say if he was right, but it was comforting to think that he was.

The two snuck down the stairs-it was dark by then, past midnight, and the Weasley's were in bed by then.

Ron stopped him before he left. He held a piece of folded paper in his hand. "Give this to Hermione when you find her, will you?" He asked casually.

Harry looked at it, and though he was curious about its contents, nodded and put it in his pocket. "What is it?" He asked, though he knew it was none of his business.

Ron smiled. "Just in case you need some more incentive to bring her home."

Harry cracked a grin. "Thanks, Ron," he said quietly. "I'm glad-I'm glad I have you supporting me."

To his surprise, Ron turned a little red. "I haven't always been fair to you," he said. "Or very supportive, for that matter. And it's time that I start, so… if you want Hermione, I'm going to support you all the way, mate."

"But I don't-" Harry stopped, flabbergasted. That was the whole problem-Harry didn't know what he wanted in life, including Hermione.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Get out of here, would you? Before my parents wake up?"

Harry grinned. "All right, all right, so impatient." And with that, he apparated away.

Because he couldn't secure an international portkey legally (or illegally, for that matter) Harry decided to travel the muggle way-by plane. Granted, it would take significantly longer and was a bit more expensive, but he figured that the Ministry wouldn't be able to track him that way either.

He did have to use magic to procure identification and a passport, and he went a step further and gave himself a fake name so that if by chance the Ministry did try and track him the muggle way they wouldn't be able to find him.

James Evans boarded a flight for Australia that same day, preparing himself for the incredibly long flight. He wondered if Hermione had done the same just a little while earlier.

Many hours later, he landed in Sydney. It was gorgeous there, and the cool air was a relief from the sweltering England, but Harry sensed that Hermione was not there. He pulled out the Deluminator and flicked it. The light flickered, but was weak, and all was silent. He didn't hear a thing.

Harry wandered around Sydney for a little while, walking along the beaches, staring at the distinctive skylight at night, and wondered what he was doing there. If Hermione wanted to come back, if she loved him the way everyone thought she did, she would come back eventually, wouldn't she? If Hermione Granger wanted to be found, she would be.

What would it come to? If he never found her, could he ever go back to England? Somehow, it was hard to imagine it. Go on with life as though it was normal. This was a different sort of grief than death-this was almost worse, this uncertainty, this in-between. Death was final; this was not. It was a type of emotional purgatory and he detested it immensely. He knew he couldn't move forward without her.

He played with the Deluminator, flicking and unflicking the cap, waiting and hoping. For two weeks, nothing changed. He scoured the city, looking around, performing basic tracking spells, trying to frantically remember what names Hermione gave her parents. He finally remembered the name "Wilkins" but there were no Wendell or Monica in any of the Sydney directories. He even tried, like a Muggle, searching the internet for the pair, but shockingly, nothing came up. Perhaps, Harry reflected, they were in a small, less-populated area in which dentistry websites weren't necessary.

It was just shy of three weeks when the Deluminator flickered. He was lying in his hotel bed on his back, flicking and unflicking the cap in a way that he now knew developed into an anxious tick when he heard it. It was a faint whisper, but her nonetheless, "Oh, Harry…" it was a sigh.

Harry sat straight up in bed, stiffening. "I wish you were here with me…" The Deluminator glowed brightly.

"Hermione," he murmured, feeling the adrenaline begin to shift in his veins. "I'm coming to you."

Harry's whole being began to glow blue and the light of the Deluminator enveloped him completely, until he, and the Deluminator vanished like a burning star in the night.

When he came to, he was stumbling and falling into sand. A muffled gasp was somewhere behind him and he whirled around. Even in the darkness he could make an outline of disorderly curls and knew-

"Hermione?" He croaked out. He brushed off his pants and wiped his glasses on his shirt. When he put them on, she was standing in front of him, wrapped up in a blanket and looking broken.

"Harry?" She whispered, almost afraid to disturb the silence. They were the only one on the beach for miles and miles, and the waves crashing on the shore hid the sounds of his frantically beating heart.

Harry thought there was something rather spectacular about Hermione just then, even though her browned and freckled face was tear stained and her curls were being whipped about by the ocean spray. The pale moonlight did something to the lines of her face in a way that called to him. This was someone who understood loneliness, grief, pain-a certain shade of emotion that he knew as well. Looking at her made the weight of such emotion lift from him. He did not have to bear it alone, nor did she; they could share the load with each other, and better yet, they would make the other strong. This was the only thing Harry was certain of anymore.

The quiet between them wasn't odd. Though she could be voracious, particularly when discussing anything remotely academic, Hermione by nature wasn't an incredibly talkative person. She and Harry had shared many companionable silences in the past, and, in the recent past, many tension filled ones as well, but never had such a silence been so intense before.

Harry didn't know how to approach it, didn't know which move to make next. Her stare was unnerving, almost, and it was almost laden with expectations. Harry felt his stomach tighten with nerves, almost the way he felt right before a Quidditch match when he on his broom and about to take off. Anticipation. But for what, exactly? He could feel it under the skin of his nails, remembered Ron's words fleetingly in his head you complement each other but was Hermione what he wanted? How could he even think about another person when he was so unsure of himself?

Luckily, the decision was taken out of his hands when he saw a tear slide down Hermione's crumpled face. Without hesitation, Harry cupped her cheek and wiped the tear away with his thumb. He frowned.

"Don't cry, Hermione," he murmured, feeling unnaturally at ease with touching her and comforting her like this. Usually it was she who would physically comfort him, with a hug, or hooking her arm with his, or putting her head on his shoulder. She almost always initiated, and although he had a few times before, especially when they were alone together for that brief time-he had never felt so at ease as he had now. This felt inexplicably right.

"I was hoping you would come," she cried brokenly, "but I wasn't sure whether you would."

Before she could launch into his arms, and he knew that she would, Harry put his arms around her and held her close. He let her cry for a little bit before he said, "You silly girl-" (he doubted anyone had ever called Hermione Granger `a silly girl' except for perhaps Snape, but he never said with as much affection as Harry was saying it now-) "How could you think that? You've always come for me-why wouldn't you think that I'd come for you?"

Hermione pulled away from him, furiously wiping at her tears and breathing out a bitter laugh. "How can you not know? Harry, when Ron and I fight you always take his side, you let Ginny belittle me constantly. I didn't know if you would come for me, or just expect for me to return when I was done sulking. It only makes sense that you would stay at the Burrow with your best friend and your girlfriend…"

Harry felt stunned. "Hermione, I-"

Hermione stepped away from him and scoffed. "Don't say you had no idea I felt this way. I never said that you did, Harry. I just-I feel like I've devoted my whole life to you and I don't-" She clasped her hand over her mouth, and the look in her eyes and her deep breathing made Harry think momentarily that she was about to vomit-Harry knew she was catching herself from saying something she would regret. But he had to hear it.

"Say it," he said firmly, and it was like he was back at the Burrow with Ron again. What was wrong with them? They had never treated him so cautiously before- "No, I don't care if you'll regret it later-clearly this is something you've thought about quite a bit. So just-out with it, then."

"I don't know how it happened," she said and she's still crying, genuinely upset, "but somehow, along the way these past seven years you-you've become my world. I constantly think about you, worry about you… when I'm not with you I'm wondering what you're doing, if you're all right and healthy and happy, but I feel like you don't even-even notice when I'm not around. I know you need me, but you don't want me."

Harry furrowed his brow. He didn't understand what the difference was, to be honest, but he did understand that Hermione felt, overall, unappreciated by him, though he had no clue how to fix it. How could he make her understand when he wasn't so sure that he understood himself?

But he had to try. To lose Hermione like this was something he didn't think he could bear, and that thought alone propelled him to speak.

"I came for you," he said, speaking slowly, trying to formulate his thoughts before speaking them aloud, "because I know what it feels like to lose you and I don't think I could ever get over that. I thought I lost you in second year to the basilisk, and yes, I needed you as well, but that didn't explain why I would sneak into the Hospital Wing at night and try to hold your hand. I thought I lost you in fifth year at the Department of Mysteries and at that moment, I couldn't think, I couldn't move, when I thought you were gone, and it was only when Neville said you were breathing was I able to breathe as well. I thought I lost you when Ron left us alone all those weeks and you were so broken, and I didn't know how to fix you. I knew I couldn't lose you when you told me you'd come with me to face Voldemort. And I knew that when you left the Burrow a few weeks ago that I never wanted to feel that I had lost you again."

He couldn't bear to look at her as he said all of those things, but he swung his gaze back from the dark ocean to her. Her dark eyes glistened again, wide and wondering. A bit of doubt was still there.

"Hermione," he said urgently, "the war's over now! If you want to be technical about it, I don't need you anymore, not for the ways that you're implying, but I want you, anyway, I need you in a different way than before, don't you understand? Why else would I insult my best friend's little sister, disobey Ministry orders, and travel the muggle way to come find you?" He shook his head, frustrated. "I know how to survive without my parents, I know how to survive without Sirius, and Ron, and Ginny, but I don't think that I would have a clue how to survive, or live, for that matter, without you."

His fists clenched. He had the overwhelming need to touch her, to assure her in a way that perhaps his words could not.

Hermione pressed her lips together, struggling not to cry. She leaped and threw her arms around him, and for a long while they stood together, the only witness to their reunion the dark waves kissing the shore behind them.

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Note: Hello, all! I'm glad you're enjoying this story thus far; you all have been very kind in your reviews and they have made my day immensely! From this point forward I'm a bit unsure of my characterizations of Hermione and Harry-it's harder to guess how your characters will act romantically towards each other than I thought it would be! I'm really just trying to get it right, and it's hard because since JKR never wrote them that way, I don't know if there is a right way! This story is an exercise in characterization for me, so thank you for coming along for the ride.

Once again, thank you for your lovely reviews. I adore you all and your support.

Thanks again!

M. Elena

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