The Melting Pot

The Melting Pot

Harry Potter had been many terrible things in his short life—orphaned, abused, neglected, bullied, threatened, and hunted among them—but for the first time in his life he found himself, of all things, homeless. The Dursley's were long gone, still displaced and protected somewhere, and Harry had absolutely no intentions of ever living with, or even having contact with, them ever again.

Hogwarts was still in ruins—Hermione likened it to the Roman forum, although Harry had never been there or had a clue as to what it looked like. The once majestic castle was completely unlivable and even if it was Harry wasn't sure if he could live there again. How could he sit in the Great Hall and simply eat his breakfast without seeing Fred's unseeing eyes as he laid on the rubble floor, or the way Tonks' and Lupin's cold fingers still brushed each other, their love alive even when their hearts were not? How could he fly on that Quidditch pitch without seeing the proud stands crumble down, Gryffindor's falling first, the remaining Slytherin one cold and proud and alone in the darkness? How could he walk out into the courtyard, wondering if he was inhaling Voldemort's residual remains? How could he ever visit the Headmaster's office without seeing someone else's memories? How could he ever pass through the boathouse without hearing that last shaky whisper?

Luckily for him, the Weasley's took him in without another thought and so he was at the Burrow, one of the few unchanged structures in his life, and he had remained there comfortably for the last three months.

Yes, physically, the Burrow was the same, but the absence of Fred had left its mark. George moved back home in that time, stating simply, painfully, that the shop was still being rebuilt and that it was too quiet and lonely there, anyway. Percy hung around the house more than ever before, clearly attempting to make up for lost time. Everyone pitied him, tolerated him, but many times he seemed out of place and everyone seemed to know it. Mr. Weasley was busier than ever helping rebuild and reconstruct the Ministry and seemed to barely be home, much to the distress of everyone. Charlie went back to Romania, but floo'd home one weekend every month and he, along with Bill, alleviated a lot of the tension. Fleur was as gentle and graceful as could be, and Mrs. Weasley had grown to love her.

Understandably, Mrs. Weasley took it all the hardest, and strove to make everything seem as normal as possible. She fussed and fretted over Harry more than ever before. Harry, polite and grateful, tried to rebuff her smothering attempts—he loved Mrs. Weasley, but after not having a mother for so long, he was used to fending for himself, and her overbearing ways were making him anxious.

Hermione theorized to him one night that after losing one son she probably felt the need to “not have you as a substitute for Fred, per se, Harry, because that term is just so crude, but she probably just needs to fuss to feel useful and normal. She doesn't want to lose another child, and that includes you. And as you are the one who usually is close to death all of the time.”

Hermione was living at the Burrow as well; she was terrified at the idea of going to Australia and having to face her parents. Ron didn't understand it at all, and thought that they would be glad to see her and that her fears were for naught, but Harry had the suspicion that Hermione had placed the spell believing she would never have the need to reverse it and that she was unsure if she could do it successfully. The implications of his thoughts left him sick and he tried not to dwell on it.

Outwardly, Ron remained relatively unchanged, but Harry could see the cracks in his façade. He had a tendency to stick close to the Burrow, not wanting to leave the premises too long or too often. Hermione mused that he had finally grown some sensitivity, as he was incredibly gentle with his mother and George. It annoyed George more often than not when Ron followed him to the joke shop every day to help with repairs and stocking, but it was evident to see that he enjoyed the company.

As for Harry, he felt as though he was back at Kings Cross with Dumbledore again—in limbo. His whole life had been dictated by the doings of Voldemort—and the manipulations of Dumbledore—and the idea of free will seemed foreign to him. What did he want to do with the rest of his life? He had told McGonagall he wanted to be an Auror back in his 5^th year, but did he want to do that for the rest of his life? Hunting down Death Eaters and other unsavory people? Or had he already gotten his fill of it the past several years of his life?

It seemed that while he had no expectations of himself, everyone else seemed to have high ones. The Ministry, including the new minister, Kingsley, expected him to rise through the ranks and become their go-to Auror and a symbol of unwavering support in their new campaigns and post-war resolutions. Hermione expected him to, at the very least, sit and take his NEWTs. And Ginny…Ginny expected that they would have been back together by now. But they weren't.

Harry wasn't quite sure what was holding him back. He loved her, to be sure, and he had missed her all of those long months that he was away, but he didn't feel like he was ready for a relationship. He felt that he needed to figure out some things for himself before getting another person involved. He couldn't commit himself to a relationship when he felt so… lost.

He had told Ginny this a few weeks after he returned home and felt that he couldn't put it off any longer. Her excessive flirting and obvious hint-dropping were stressful. She didn't take it very well, although Harry knew she was trying to be understanding. There were times that the tension between the two was as thick and heavy as the heat itself.

He agonized over it and he could tell that when Hermione witnessed his unease with Ginny it put her on edge as well. Like Mrs. Weasley, Hermione had become fiercely protective of him as of late, had been ever since that awful night when he told her and Ron that he was going off to die. It only annoyed him when she was at her most overbearing, but otherwise it was nothing new, really: Hermione had been protective of him for the last seven years and he had grown to understand and appreciate it, for the most part.

The next chapter of his life began in mid-August, at the peak of summer. It was sweltering. Harry found himself quite unaccustomed to such heat—living in threadbare tents on windy, rocky cliffs during tumultuous winters had made him more used to the cold. There was only so much cooling charms could do, and it was draining to constantly recast them.

The heat made everyone incredibly cranky and left them drained, even if they didn't do much. Harry found himself taking frequent naps and couldn't bring himself to care that he was, as Hermione put it, “wasting the day away”, although even she succumbed to naps every once and a while. The heat was exhausting.

It was late afternoon when Harry awoke from his latest nap, and he found himself uncomfortably sticky with sweat and a damp forehead. He flicked his wand out, cleaned up his sheets, and dragged himself to the bathroom to take a cold shower. He must have taken at least two or three of those a day, and he felt guilty for using up so much water, but it kept him sane and refreshed.

Not bothering to towel off, he slipped on clean clothes and made his way down the stairs to the kitchen.

At the kitchen table, Hermione was researching on installing an air conditioning system into the house. Ron kept looking over her shoulder and asking her questions, both fascinated and appalled at the contraption.

“So it's like a wind box, then?” Ron asked, pointing at the box. “Is that why you put it outside? Then how does it get inside?”

“I wonder if I would have to put vents in the house as well,” Hermione was muttering to herself, ignoring his question. “Could I get it to self-sustain with magic, or would I have to install electricity as well? Are there charms for this?”

“Harry,” Ron scowled at Hermione, “do you know how this thing works?”

Amused at Ron, grateful that the two hadn't started arguing (yet), Harry meandered over. He passed Mrs. Weasley, who handed him a glass of lemonade as she put supper in the oven and went upstairs to fold some laundry. Approaching the table, he peered over Hermione's other shoulders, looking at her various books and brochures.

“It's called an `air conditioning' machine, Ron,” he said. “It runs on electricity and it funnels cool air throughout the house, making the temperature more bearable.” At this, he took of his glasses and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his t-shirt. Sweat kept dripping into his eyes, to his disgust. His bangs were damp. “It turns on when the house temperature reaches a certain level, and turns off when it's sufficiently cool, so as not to waste energy.”

“But why does it need to be outside as well?” Ron wanted to know. “Does it take the cool air from the wind outside?”

“Well—“ Harry mopped his brow again. He had no idea. “Erm—”

Hermione's hand whipped out a brochure. “Here, Ronald,” she said, shoving it at him. “If you're so interested, you can read about it. Stop breathing on my shoulder. You're making the heat even worse.” Ron swiped the brochure out of her hand, grumbling, but grabbed a glass of lemonade from the kitchen and went out on the porch to read it, passing Ginny, who was on her way in after an afternoon jog. She smiled brightly at Harry and Hermione and then continued to where her mum was, fixing herself some lemonade.

Hermione continued to read for a moment, Harry skimming along over her shoulder. “How was your meeting with Kingsley?” She asked him casually as she turned another page. Harry had met with the new Minister the day before and the meeting had lasted all day.

“Fine,” he said.

“What was it about?” She wanted to know. Behind her, Ginny rolled her eyes.

“About me becoming an Auror,” Harry answered. “When I wanted to start training and all that.”

“You need training?” Ginny raised her eyebrows. “I guess practical experience doesn't count for much these days.”

The corners of Harry's mouth turned up and he shook his head. Ginny visibly brightened at the sight.

Hermione, on the other hand, furrowed her brow, just slightly. Harry could see the shape of her eyebrows change and that stress wrinkle appeared between them, on the bridge of her nose. “Are you… do you still want to become an Auror, Harry?” She asked hesitantly.

Ginny looked at them curiously, an eyebrow raised. “Isn't that what you told McGonagall you wanted to do during fifth year?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, it is…” It didn't sound as convincing as he had hoped.

Hermione looked a little uncomfortable at this. “Well… I just thought… maybe you would want to do something else?”

“Like what?” Ginny demanded, but then a smile lit her face. “You could be good enough to be a Quidditch player!” She said excitedly. “You're the youngest Hogwarts Seeker in 100 years! Or, you could coach…”

Though for different reasons, both Harry and Hermione frowned. “I don't know…” said Harry.

Hermione stayed quiet, but her expression remained the same.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Hermione?” She queried, a tad condescendingly.

Both Harry and Hermione started at Ginny's tone, and Hermione went onto say meekly, “I realize that I don't `understand' Quidditch like some people but I had always thought that Harry would pursue a career outside of the entertainment industry. And I only asked about being an Auror because—“

“So you're saying Quidditch is worthless then?” Ginny snapped. “And has absolutely no value to society. Just because you don't know how to have fun—“

Hurt flashed over Hermione's face before her cheeks brightened. “I never said that,” she narrowed her eyes. “Entertainment is a perfectly respectable and necessary industry for a society's economy and general morale, but it isn't the most important thing. It isn't the only thing. I just always envisioned Harry as taking a more active role in helping people.”

Ginny threw her hands up. “For Merlin's sake, Hermione! Isn't that what being an Auror is? And also,” here she sneered in disgust, “you don't own Harry. You don't just get to envision his life for him and expect him to act it out like a puppet in your play. Besides,” here she smiled and slid closer to Harry, placing a comforting arm on his shoulder. “The only people who should be deciding on what Harry is going to do with his life is Harry and his future life partner.”

Hermione's voice was quiet and her stare was cold as she said, “At least I see Harry for who he really is, not just some figment of schoolgirl daydreams.” Slamming her book, she whirled around and went upstairs before Ginny could say another word.

Ginny and Harry were quiet for a moment in shock before Ginny huffed. “The nerve of her,” she hissed. “Implying that I don't know you. Well, she's just--”

Harry sighed. “Leave it alone, Gin,” he said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable being placed in the middle once again. He would've stopped their tiff earlier but had the impression that neither girl would have appreciated such a tactic.

Shaking Ginny's arm off, he left the kitchen and stepped outside to the porch. To his surprise, Ron was sitting on the swing and was engrossed in the pamphlet Hermione threw at him. “These machines seem great!” He said excitedly to Harry, who sat down next to him.

“Hmm,” was all Harry said, feeling distraught. Was Hermione mad at him? Did she expect him to stand up for her? She had never appreciated it when Ron feebly attempted to do so in the past, but he felt like her expectations for Ron versus her expectations for him were different… why was that, anyway? She always seemed to expect more out of him and at times it was incredibly annoying—yet most of the time, it made him want to achieve them; or, at the very least, when he didn't, he felt like crap.

Ron finally noticed Harry's face. “What's wrong with you?” He asked, still glancing at the pamphlets.

SLAM! A door inside slammed. It was impossible to tell who did it, but Harry guessed it was Ginny. She was theatrical whereas Hermione was the type of girl to cry it out in a corner, hidden and alone.

Ron raised an eyebrow. “What'd you do to piss Ginny off?”

Harry shook his head. “Bugger if I know,” he said. “I think I pissed both Ginny and Hermione off. I'm not quite even sure what I've done … it's like I'm you or something! Girls.”

Ron smirked and shook his head a little. “You don't know what it's like to have a sister, Harry,” Ron said. “The theatrics, the tears, the whining, the yelling… Living with Ginny and Hermione has taught me a few things over the years… like whenever Hermione yells at me, it doesn't even affect me anymore.”

Harry looked at him curiously. “How are things between you and Hermione?”

Ron shrugged. “Fine. I guess. I don't know. We're still friends, I think. We kind of tried a little earlier in the summer, you know, to be something more, but… it didn't feel right, you know? Maybe our timing was off or maybe we're just not meant to be like that.” Ron shrugged again. “I don't know. It hurt a little bit, but I figure we're both better off.”

Harry frowned. How did he never notice anything? “How do you figure that?”

“We talked about it quite a bit… I think for a while we thought that, you know, we might be good for each other, balance each other out… but eventually, we came to the conclusion that maybe we're too different, that in the end we would have tried to change the other person to make them more like the other—and if we loved each other enough, we would be happy with making those changes.” Ron sighed, shook his head. “But I don't think that would've been right. We're both too stubborn; we wouldn't have changed. And we only would've ended up resenting each other. And besides,” Ron looked at Harry sideways. “In relationships, you should want to be with someone because of who they are—not who you want them to be.”

0 0 0

Harry had a knack for being in the right place at the right time—or, in his perspective—the wrong place at the wrong time. A tense few days after the debacle in the kitchen—days consisting of Hermione and Ginny not speaking to him or each other—Harry found himself awakening from another nap. The house was blissfully quiet. Ron and George were at the shop; Mr. Weasley was at the Ministry, taking a curious Hermione with him; Bill and Charlie and Percy at their respective places of work; and from the smells wafting up he could guess that Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were starting dinner.

Harry began to wander down the stairs to see if they needed help, but paused mid-way down when he heard Ginny say, “I don't know what to do about her, Mum! She's driving me spare. She thinks she knows everything!”

Mrs. Weasley chuckled a little bit at that. “Ginny, dear, you've been saying that for years now! Hermione has always been rather… well, you know! But that's who she is. Why is it bothering you so much now?'

“It's just that… she thinks she knows what's best for everything and everyone!” Ginny burst out.

Mrs. Weasley made a clucking sound. “So this is about Harry, then?” She said dknowingly.

“Do you have any advice, Mum?” Ginny said desperately. “For years she's had control over Harry and he just lets her because it's easier. But when he and I finally get back together, I don't think I can take it! How do I stop her meddling?”

“Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley said patiently. “For years, Hermione's been the primary—and at times, only-- female figure in Harry's life. You might have to accept the fact that Harry will always, in some way, look to Hermione for advice. And it isn't in Hermione's nature to not give it. When you and Harry were dating a few years ago, was she like this?”

“Yes,” spat out Ginny. “She doesn't understand him like I do! She just kept harping on him about how he needed to keep up with his schoolwork, even when he was so stressed out with The Dark Lord and Quidditch! She treats him like he's a regular boy like everyone else, but he's not! Harry's never been regular! He's a hero!”

Mrs. Weasley was quiet for a moment before she said, “It sounds like you two have very different perceptions on who Harry is.”

Ginny seemed to ignore this and grumbled, “Snape was right, after all: She really is an insufferable know-it-all.”

Mrs. Weasley sighed. “Be kind to Hermione, Ginny,” she said gently. “It's a different world we're living in now. And Merlin knows change is hard.”

Harry had heard enough. His head was so full of thoughts he felt like he was drowning in them. He turned around and went back upstairs to his room, shutting the door softly behind him.

He didn't bother going downstairs for dinner.

0 0 0

Harry slept through the rest of the day and into the night, although he was vaguely aware of Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley coming in to check on him at various times throughout. He knew they were worried about him—and he was, too. Ginny's words—so hateful and more spiteful than he had ever thought her capable of—ate at him. And there was just something about what Mrs. Weasley said, too, about the girls' “perceptions” of him that made him uneasy. Who knew the real Harry? Who was right? Or were they both completely wrong? Or, were they both right, in parts? And which parts were they right about?

Harry arose early that morning, and padded down to the kitchen for some tea and peace and quiet. To his surprise (or not, really,) Hermione was already at the kitchen table, hair pulled back into a braid and in her robe, frantically scribbling on Muggle-lined yellow notepads.

She saw him and brightened. “Hullo, Harry,” she said cheerfully. “Lovely morning, isn't it? The sunrise is just gorgeous today.” Harry looked outside at the window. Streaks of passion orange and deep pink streaked across the dark sky, a parade introducing the vibrant sun.

“It is,” he agreed in a sleep-tinged voice before clearing his throat a bit. “Mind if I join you?”

She shook her head, a big smile on her face. “Of course not,” she said.

Bustling around the kitchen and making himself some tea, he asked her absently, “What are you working on over there?”

“Oh, just some lists,” Hermione said, “I just—I guess I just never considered how many jobs there are out there! I've read books, you know, about the different positions in the Ministry and I went with Mr. Weasley to go there and it's just overwhelming! And then, of course, there are the jobs outside of the ministry positions to consider. I just don't know which path I can take—which job will allow me to help the most people.” She bit her lip, which Harry found suddenly and inexplicably adorable, both her lips and her earnestness, and said quietly, almost to herself, “I just want to be sure.”

About what? Harry wanted to know. About her career? Ron? Her parents? Her life? But before he could ask, they were interrupted by the opening of the door. Ginny walked into the kitchen, in running clothes and looking damp. They all greeted each other cordially, some more than others, and Ginny went to fetch a glass of water and some breakfast.

At the table, Hermione sitting and Harry standing next to her, they were quiet for a moment, Harry contemplative, and Hermione furiously writing.

Without looking at him, Hermione asked, a bit hopefully, “Have you given any thought about when to take your NEWTs? You'll need them if you want to become an Auror, don't you?”

Harry dropped down to the seat across from her, acutely aware that Ginny was probably listening in on their conversation. “Err…” he said. “I don't know. I mean, Kingsley told me I wouldn't need the NEWTs to become an Auror…”

Hermione frowned. “You've never liked special treatment before,” she reminded him.

He squirmed uncomfortably. “I suppose, but you know, I've never been as keen on studying as you have…”

“Harry James Potter,” she said shrilly, getting that manic look in her eyes that Harry dreaded, “I wouldn't have taken you for someone who takes the easy way out of things…!”

“Oh, can it, Hermione,” Ginny snapped, rolling her eyes. She set her glass down on the kitchen table, on top of Hermione's lists, leaving a wet ring on them that soaked through the pages. Ginny moved around the table and came to stand at Harry's side, her hand resting on his shoulder. “ `The easy way out'? Harry's never had it easy in his life! He deserves this—he defeated The Dark Lord, you know! It's the least the Ministry could do for him!”

Hermione began to turn red and her jaw clenched. “Voldemort or not, Harry's never wanted to be treated differently than everyone else. Accepting special treatment now will only lead to a cycle that would cause resentment from Harry's peers and coworkers…”

Ginny sneered, “Resentment? They should be bloody grateful for everything he's done! They should be kissing the ground he walks on.”

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. He sure as hell didn't want any of that business. He had gotten his share of wizards thanking him when he was a bewildered 11-year-old, and a weary 18-year-old didn't fare much better to such praise either.

Hermione caught Harry's movement and hissed, “Harry wants no such thing! He doesn't need any more hero worship. He already gets enough of that already,” and it took all of her self-restraint not to add on “from you” to the end.

Ginny narrowed her eyes, catching the unspoken ending anyway. “Harry deserves all of that and more!” She yelled, her wand hand clenching and unclenching in anger. “He's given up everything for the Wizarding World! His parents, his godfather, his childhood…” Ginny snarled nastily at Hermione. “And what have you given up, Hermione? Hmmm? A few hours of study time? The chance to be Head Girl and lord over everyone else more than you normally do?” Ginny was furious, her face as red as her hair. In contrast, Hermione had paled, her jaw and hands clenched. “You've lost nothing. You think you've lost your parents? They're conveniently on an island, waiting for you stop being a pansy and come reverse the spell you put on them! You can just snap your fingers and you'll have them back! But not Harry! You didn't lose your parents, like he did. You didn't lose your brother or son, like we did. You didn't lose your sanity for a year, like I did. You lost nothing! You sacrificed nothing!”

Harry noticed how Hermione's brown eyes were beginning to get glassy, her fingers were clenched to the point of being white and translucent; he could see how close she was to losing it. The time for silence had passed. Ginny's comments were no longer frustrated or exasperated; they were malicious and bordering on cruel.

Harry stood up and shook her hand off of his shoulder. He said quietly, firmly, “That's enough.”

Ginny snapped her head to look at him, as though she had forgotten he was in the room.

“I don't care who you think you are,” he said slowly, deliberately, feeling the blood pumping in his veins, feeling his heart and a tick in his left temple throb with adrenaline and anger, “but you will never be in a position where you get to talk to Hermione Granger that way. Not in sixth year, not today, not ever.”

Ginny's face was chalk white as Harry swung around to face Hermione—

Who had just disapparated with a loud CRACK!

Harry swore, and, ignoring Ginny's whimpers, left the kitchen to look for her.

0 0 0

Note: I've been working on this for literally months and it was supposed to be a one-shot but it kind of involved into a 3 or 4-parter. Sorry if characters might be a little OOC. I'm trying my best to keep them in character but this story is more about me just writing as opposed to achieving some goal. And I just missed writing about my favorite OTP.

I hope you enjoy it, regardless.

Cheers and Happy New Year!

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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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.

0 0 0

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.”

0 0 0

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.

0 0 0

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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III.

It was much later that evening that he learned that he was in a small town outside of Melbourne called Williamstown. Hermione's parents ran a dentistry practice and up until two weeks before had no knowledge of having a daughter at all.

Luckily for Hermione, her counter spell worked perfectly with no mental damage at all, but the emotional consequences were almost too much for her to bear. Her parents, understandably, Hermione reminded herself (often), were incredibly upset with her and could barely look at her. The first night after she removed the spell was probably the worst: her parents, normally so contained and rational, were furious, and there was a barrage of yelling and crying and screaming. Amidst all of that emotion, the little family at least got to the root of all of their pain. What it boiled down to was that the Granger's felt betrayed by their only child and once Hermione told them the truth—the real, nitty gritty truth, not the sugar-coated, watered-down version of what had been happening for the past three years of her life—they were livid. If they had known this was what it was really like at that school, they fumed, they wouldn't have let her go back.

And that, Hermione answered, was precisely why she never told them. Leaving Hogwarts—leaving Harry—was unthinkable. Unfathomable.

The Granger's had always known how devoted Hermione was to Harry and Ron—especially Harry—yet they were surprised at the depth of her loyalty and were a bit dismayed at it as well. She had picked a boy over her family and her own safety and in many ways that was unacceptable. Her parents loved each other, but were nevertheless not ones for grand gestures and overwhelming emotion. To see such traits in their daughter was alarming and the way her actions affected them was intolerable. Very bitter words were exchanged that night.

Nearly a month later, things were better. Tense, yes, but better nonetheless. The Wilkins/Grangers were still deciding on whether they would remain in Williamstown or return to England. Which life would they choose? Understandably, they were conflicted, memories of two different identities swirling around in their heads. Hermione thought that perhaps they would understand her plight a bit more because ever since she found out she was a witch, she felt like she had two identities as well, although, unlike her parents, Hermione never doubted which one would win out.

She hesitated on whether she should bring Harry home with her—she sensed that he was a bit of a sore spot with her parents and that they guessed the depth of her feelings for him. Harry, at least, knew part of this, and easily stayed in the hotel nearby. They decided not to tell her parents about Harry's presence until absolutely necessary. During the day when her parents were at their practice, she and Harry met up to explore the little town. Right by the water, they explored the piers and beaches, going to maritime museums, lighthouses, and pavilions.

Harry felt a lightness in him that he hadn't experienced in a long while. Thought it was instinctual and almost compulsive at this point, he didn't have to look over his shoulder constantly, plan what or where he was going to next, worry or fret about the lives of his friends (and of himself) or anything else that had been plaguing him for several years.

Hermione seemed different as well. She was still Hermione—still hell-bent on educating him about Williamstown's history and Australia's culture, still fretting over him constantly—but at the same time there was an air about her that made her smile a little wider, her toffee eyes sparkle a little brighter… and there was something in the way she looked at him. There was a relief there, and a clear stark emotion that he had only seen glimpses of in the past. It was like Hermione felt she could finally show what she had been masking for so long.

Harry and Hermione were alone—not because Ron had left them, or because they couldn't allow anyone else to be with them for safety reasons, or because they were searching for illegal and highly dangerous soul fragments—but because they just enjoyed being together and for a while, they didn't need anything or anyone else. It felt like, in a weird way, as though they were starting over. There was an innocence about them that reminded Harry of their first year. They frolicked on the beach and played like puppies, they laughed about the smallest things, and they couldn't bear to be apart. And yet, it wasn't like it was when they were eleven. There was some tension there, an awareness of the other in a different way. They snuck looks at each other when they thought that the other wasn't looking. She admired the straightness of his shoulders and he thought her freckles were cute. They allowed themselves to see each other in ways that they had denied and repressed for so long.

One day they were walking along Nelson Place when something flitted into the sun. Harry saw its shadow upon the ground and blinked. If he didn't know any better, he'd think it was a snitch—but no, it was a bit too ungraceful for that, swooping and swerving and was it carrying something?

It was a tiny little thing with little tufts of grey hair, and it hooted happily when he saw him him and Hermione.

“Pig!” Hermione said excitedly, extending cupped hands to the little owl, who dropped into them without ceremony. He crooned and preened under her hands and Harry took the large letter from his hands.

As she cooed at the exhausted little owl, Harry opened the letter with Ron's spidery handwriting on it.

Harry--

Hey, mate, haven't heard from you in a bit so I'd thought I'd check in. Hope you've found Hermione by now (if so, and if she's reading over your shoulder—hi, Hermione!)

If so, are you coming back any time soon? The Burrow's driving me nuts, mate. Everyone here belongs in the loony bin, I swear, myself not included for obvious reasons.

Mum and Dad were pretty peeved about your disappearance, but they weren't surprised. It's pretty obvious that you'd be going after Hermione. It's not like you to wait around when that kind of thing happens.

Bill and Fleur pop in often, which is nice, but Fleur is moody as hell since she's so preggers, which, of course, sets Mum off. She's going nutters over her first grandkid. The women here are driving me mad, I swear, especially Ginny. That girl is loonier than Luna Lovegood herself.

Whenever you get back, you're going to have to deal with her, because it's been like living with a Hungarian Horntail around here and it's gotten so bad even she and I have gotten into it. You made my sister mental, Harry: this is all your fault! But I suppose she's always been a little bonkers concerning you, hasn't she? Regardless, the delusional woman still think she has a shot with you, but we both know who you really lo—

“Is that from Ron?” Hermione asked, a wide grin on her face. “What's he got to say?”

“Oh, you know,” Harry said airily, trying to fold up the letter in a way he hoped wasn't too suspicious, “just asking after us, checking in, that kind of thing.”

Hermione pursed her lips together. “Hmmm,” she said, an eyebrow raised.

Harry swore inside his head.

“So,” she said, Pig on her shoulder, as they walked back towards Harry's hotel, where Pig was promised water and treats before his long journey home. “How does Ron feel about your adventure, coming to find me? I'm surprised he didn't come with you.”

Harry shrugged. “I asked if he wanted to come, but he said that you and he were getting along lately, and he wanted to preserve that bit of peace for a while longer.”

Hermione laughed at this.

“Plus,” Harry carried on, “he knew that you and I had things to work out and all that, so he lent me his Deluminator and helped me leave.”

“So that's how you found me,” Hermione said, amused. “I've been meaning to ask you about that.”

They had kept it light ever since that first night—Harry knew the kind of emotional strain Hermione was under and didn't feel right in worsening it, but now, suddenly, Harry felt the urge to ask before the moment got away from him. “Err, Hermione,” he said, “whatever—why didn't you and Ron—umm.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, luckily still amused as opposed to offended. “Why aren't Ron and I together?” She clarified. “I don't know why I thought it would work, I mean, just because you kiss someone once and argue with them doesn't mean there's repressed—“

“Hang on,” Harry interrupted. “When did you two kiss?”

Hermione turned pink. “Um. Well. It was when we were in the Chamber of Secrets during the, um, the final battle. When Ron and I went to get the basilisk fang. I, uh—well. I was just so proud of him for his idea and then he said something rather kind about house elves and-- You know how I get overly excited sometimes?”

“Oh.” Harry said. It was a bit disconcerting when it was Hermione who initiated the kiss. He had assumed it was Ron. “So… why didn't it work then?”

“Well,” Hermione fidgeted and Pig squawked in protest. “We were—too different. I think we—especially I—thought that our differences would help both of us, that we would complement each other somehow, but those things would only drive us apart. I had a moment where I saw the rest of our lives playing out and I saw arguments and fighting and constantly trying to work towards a middle that no one was willing to give. There would be no compromises, although we would always expect it from the other person. I couldn't—I couldn't live the rest of my life like that.”

Harry just looked at her. He had a feeling that that wasn't all.

“And.” She flushed even harder than before. “He—he had this idea that I wanted to be with someone else instead of him.”

His green stare bore into her but she refused to look at him. “And who is that?” He asked lowly.

Hermione looked towards the sun. “You.”

Neither said anything for a moment, and Harry let that sink in for a moment. He knew that, of course, but hearing it come from Hermione meant something different. No one was ignorant here; no one was blind anymore. But what to do with this newfound knowledge? It was disconcerting that he couldn't discuss this with Hermione. How ludicrous was it to discussing wooing a girl with the girl herself?

“That's interesting,” Harry finally said lightly as they strolled into Harry's hotel. People glanced at them oddly, Pig still on Hermione's shoulder, but no one said anything, luckily. “That's what Ron said to me before I left.”

“But why would he think that?” Hermione furrowed her brow. “Did he think—did he think that something happened?”

“He did at one point,” Harry said as they got into the elevator and pushed the button to his floor. “When he came back—when we were in the Forest of Dean. The locket made him see things that weren't really there.”

“Like what?” Hermione wanted to know. “Did you see them?”

“Yes,” Harry hesitated. He and Ron never told her what exactly happened with the Locket. “Tom spoke through the Locket, telling Ron all of his deepest insecurities and fears—about how Mrs. Weasley always wanted a girl and not another boy and how—how you always preferred me over him. Then a version of you and me appeared—we looked um, pretty sinister and wicked—and that locket version of you told him that nobody would look at him when I was around.” He paused, cleared his throat. “And then we kissed.”

Hermione looked at him closely. “It wasn't just a kiss,” she deduced.

“No,” Harry looked away this time, fumbled with the key in the lock. The door opened after three tries and they went in. “It wasn't.”

Hermione considered this for a moment. “Show me.”

Harry sputtered and raised an eyebrow as he set out snacks and water for Pig, who made a little bed in one of Harry's shirts on his nightstand. “Show you? How am I supposed to do that?”

“Think of the memory,” Hermione said, “and maybe I can use legilimency on you? And just see that memory, I promise!”

“Snape told me legilimency was more complex than just simple mind reading,” Harry frowned.

“And it is!” Hermione insisted. “But if you bring this memory to the forefront it's almost like seeing it out of a pensieve.”

Harry remained unconvinced. “Have you ever tried this before?”

“In theory,” Hermione squeaked. “Harry, I promise I won't go digging around in your mind! I just want to see.”

Harry looked at her darkly. “All right,” he said, but he was still doubtful. He couldn't deny Hermione anything these days. “Do it.”

Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it at him. “Legilimens.”

Harry recalled the memory for her to easily find, trying desperately to separate his own feelings for it and give it to her as objectively as he could remember it. So instead, he focused on her face as she saw the memory.

She cringed slightly when Riddle spoke to Ron, saw into the dark part of Ron's heart, and her eyes grew wide when she saw that beautiful, untamed, evil version of herself echoing those sentiments, and then her pupils dilated and her cheeks flushed when she saw them wrapped around each other until the Locket was destroyed.

Hermione gasped and both lost focus. She left his mind as abruptly as she came and his mind felt empty.

They looked at each other for a moment. “Ohh,” Hermione breathed. “Ron and I—it was doomed from the start, wasn't it?”

“With that visual running around in his head?” Harry quipped, feeling flustered. “Yeah, probably.”

They laughed as the tension broke, but Harry could still feel it lingering a bit when he hugged her good bye. Things were a bit different now with that image floating around in both of their heads. He wondered if she would think about it as often as he had, as of late.

Once Hermione left, Harry took out Ron's letter again. There he read on. Ron, it seemed, had come to a revelation of his own. He realized that being an Auror wasn't what he wanted to do with his life—he had had enough deadly adventure for a lifetime. Instead, he would devote his creativity and energy to helping George run the joke shop. He had spent more and more time there as the summer went on and he found that he worked well with George—perhaps they would never be as in sync as he and Fred were, but for both, it was enough.

Harry was happy for Ron, truly. He only wished that he could find some sort of certainty as well. Looking out at the window at Hermione's retreating figure, he thought that perhaps he had.

0 0 0

“I forgot,” Harry said to her suddenly. The next day the two decided that they had seen their fill of Williamstown and had taken the train and ventured into Melbourne, leaving the recuperating Pig in the hotel room with the window open. It was late afternoon and they were currently walking through the famous Royal Arcade. He slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew a slightly crumpled folded piece of paper. “This is from Ron to you. He wanted me to give this to you when I found you.”

Hermione smiled in surprise and took the paper. She unfolded it and her smile grew. She read it once more and then re-folded it and put it in her purse. Harry was now incredibly curious as to what Ron had written, but figured if Hermione wasn't going to share it he wasn't going to pry.

They continued on to the National Gallery of Victoria and then ended up along the waterfront again. As they ambled on, their hands kept brushing, both incredibly aware of the contact and yet unable to stop. Hermione flushed a bit but moved a little closer anyway.

Harry wasn't quite sure what they were doing. Did she want more? Did he? He wondered suddenly what would happen if he and Hermione didn't ever try to move beyond friendship and married other people. Would he look back upon this time with no regrets? Or would he always wonder…?

The sun was setting, slipping behind the water. “Time to go?” Harry said lightly.

Hermione nodded. “It's going to take forever to get back to Williamstown,” she sighed. “People are probably heading home and clogging up the trains.”

“We are magical, you know,” Harry teased. “We can just apparate back to my hotel room.”

Hermione laughed. “Sometimes I do forget,” she said. “Especially around my parents. I don't do magic around them. They cringe when they see my wand.” She deflated a bit.

Harry grabbed her hand gently. “You can always be yourself around me,” he told her simply. She smiled brightly at him, pleased and surprised, and they apparated away.

They found themselves back in Harry's hotel room and it was hard for him to let go of her hand. To his surprise, she seemed reluctant to do the same, and the result was that though their palms were separated, their fingers were still lightly intertwined. Harry felt as though a potion was racing through his veins and his fingers tingled. They had held hands many times before, but this felt new entirely. The connection between them felt electric, though they were joined only by the tips of their fingers. They stayed connected even as she led him from next to his bed until they reached the doorway.

“I'll see you tomorrow?” She cleared her throat.

“Of course,” he grinned, enjoying the sight of her flustered. It meant that she wasn't the only one feeling this way. “You know I'm only here for you.”

She flushed deeply as she stood in the doorway and Harry decided to do something he had never done before. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, once, softly.

Hermione stared at him with wide brown eyes, reminding him of a doe.

“Good night, Hermione,” he said quietly. I love you, he said in his mind, and the shock of thinking that thought alone made his own eyes grow large.

Their fingers dropped. “Good night, Harry.”

0 0 0

Harry woke with a start and tried not to snap his head up. It was 2:06 AM and there was someone else in his hotel room. As his hand started to inch slowly towards the wand on his nightstand, the other person said his name.

“Harry.” He snapped up. It was Hermione.

Lumos, he muttered in his mind and the lights came on. Pig hooted in protest. Hermione was standing at the foot of his bed and even with the bad light and his bad sight he could tell there was something terribly wrong.

Fumbling for his glasses, he set them on and saw her face was tear stained. “Hermione?” He threw off his covers and ran around the bed to get to her. She sat down and looked at him miserably. “What's wrong?”

“My parents saw us together the other day,” she said, a bit shrilly. “And they confronted me about it tonight! They were terribly upset about it and they don't want me to see you anymore. They told me they wanted to stay here in Australia and that they wanted me to live here with them. Anything less would be seen as me picking magic—and you—over them. Again.”

Harry stared at her. “What?” he breathed. “Are they serious?”

Hermione nodded, stricken. “Yes,” she said. “I don't know what to do, Harry. I can't—I can't—” She started to breathe heavily and Harry pulled her into a hug before she completely lost it.

“It'll be all right,” he told her. The idea of losing each other when they were just starting to come together seemed unthinkable. He couldn't completely fault Hermione's parents for trying to keep their daughter close—hell, that was why he came for her, wasn't it? Because losing her wasn't an option. But her parents didn't have any idea how he felt about Hermione—how much he cared about her. To them, it seemed like he was just using Hermione, but then again, wasn't that how Hermione herself felt, to a certain extent, a short time ago? Harry hoped she didn't still feel like that now. How could he prove to Hermione—and her parents—that things were different? That his feelings were different?

“Tell them I'd like to talk to them,” he told her, tipping her face up.

“Are you crazy?” She leapt out of his arms and started pacing the room. “Do you like the prospect of getting killed? Because you know, Voldemort may have wanted to kill you, but my parents are dentists and they have the scary tools to do some damage, you know!”

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or be terrified. “Hermione, you know this needs to be done. We can't—the alternative isn't an option.”

She still looked a bit alarmed. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Harry nodded, trying to look resolute. “This is a good plan.”

Hermione looked unsure for another moment, but then she relaxed minutely and her expression changed. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Harry, when have any of our plans actually worked? We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose!”

Well, that sounded familiar…. Harry's eyes narrowed. “Cute, Granger.”

Hermione just smiled.

0 0 0

Notes: Another update! You all have given such lovely reviews I felt that you needed to be rewarded for it. I'm a little surprised at how many of you are out for Ginny's blood (not that I blame you a bit!) The meat of this story, however, is Harry and Hermione's relationship. It's fun to write tentativeness, and I'm reluctant to have them get together because the build-up is so much fun.

Thank you once again for your lovely, honest reviews. I appreciate them so much!

M. Elena

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IV.

Although Hermione left shortly after, Harry couldn't go back to sleep. He was too keyed up on what would happen the next day and he spent the night going over various scenarios in his head. It reminded him of when they were on their Horcrux hunt and he had yet to decide if he hated the feeling or not. On one hand, it was nice to have something to focus on and plan for, yet he still wasn't sure if this was something he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

Eventually he got out of bed right before sunrise, pulled on some warm clothes, gathered some paper, pen, and the disgruntled Pig, and walked to the waterfront to watch the sun rise. Pig flew along next to him as they walked, eager and full of energy after three days of rest. Harry knew he had to send him back today and the knowledge saddened him a bit. He missed having a companion—thinking of Hedwig always sent another pang to his heart. Yet perhaps now was the time to start again, to find something new. It seemed like he was now in the habit of trying new things.

He sat down along a dock, letting his feet dangle over the edge. Under the ever-growing light, Harry penned two letters: one to Ron and the other to Ginny.

Ron—

Found Hermione; she was in Australia just as we thought. However, there are some complications regarding her parents. They weren't too pleased after learning what she did and are now insisting that she abandon the magical world and stay with them in Australia.

I'm not coming back without her, so I'm afraid you'll have to manage your family for a bit longer. Cheers to you becoming partners with George! I think it's a good fit, mate, and I'm happy for you. Hermione is as well.

Sorry about Ginny, and I'm even a little more sorrier to say that she'll be a bit more crazy after today—sent her a letter as well, completely ending everything.

Maybe you can go live with George. Is the joke shop habitable again?

Give your family my regards, and let me know about Fleur and the baby!

Harry

Ron's letter was easy, but Ginny's was much more difficult for Harry to compose. He still felt a flare of anger when thinking about Ginny's hateful words to Hermione that day, but he couldn't completely burn that bridge, as tempted as he was. Before she was his ex-girlfriend, she was Ron's sister, and part of the family who took him in. He tried to remember that as he penned his letter:

Dear Ginny,

I'm sorry; I should have written this letter much sooner. Our conversation seemed unfinished when I left for England and that is my fault.

I think maybe I gave you the wrong impression when I told you at the beginning of the summer when I wasn't ready for a relationship. I was being cowardly and very un-Gryffindor like. I should have told you the complete truth: I don't want to be in a relationship with you.

There are a lot of reasons why it won't work but I think it ultimately comes down to the fact that we aren't well-suited. When we dated a few years ago I think we had a perception of each other that isn't true anymore. I can't be the hero you want me to be. I've done things that can be considered heroic and brave but that's not who I am, not really. I'm just Harry. What I want—and what I need—in a girlfriend is a partner, not a fan.

I also think we wouldn't work because of how you treat Hermione. Yes, Hermione can be overbearing and controlling at times, but first and foremost, she is my best friend. She has sacrificed everything for me. As a muggle-born, she had more to lose than any of us, yet she never left me, not once—not just last year, but every year before that. I can't tolerate being with someone who disrespects Hermione the way you did the day she left.

Despite that, I want to be friends. You have been a loyal friend to me for many years and I appreciate it very much.

Sincerely,

Harry

Harry grimaced as he read it over, but there was no good way to tell someone you didn't want her any longer. It would hurt no matter how gently he put it.

Not wanting to dwell any longer, he sealed both letters up and gave them to Pig. He gave the bird a snack from his pocket and the little owl hooted his thanks, turned, and flew away into the sunrise.

Harry breathed in the crisp Australian air deeply. He had been complacent and listless this summer and in the cold, clear Australian sunshine he felt he could think better here without the stifling heat. Hermione's presence helped as well. He had the sudden rush that, for once, perhaps things would turn out all right in the end.

Harry walked along for a while, stopped in a café for a light breakfast, and then headed back to the hotel. Despite his earlier cheeriness, now he felt exhausted and knew that tonight wouldn't be any easier.

He felt slightly disheartened without Pig and with the thought that he wouldn't be spending the day with Hermione. However, he found a surprise waiting for him at the hotel—a note on his bed from Hermione.

Harry—

My parents agreed to meet with you this evening at 8 o'clock sharp. I'm to come and meet you at your hotel and apparate with you here, but I'm not allowed to be there during the conversation. Do you, by chance, have your invisibility cloak with you?

Can't stay and talk, parents are timing how long I'm here.

Miss you.

All my love,

Hermione

He couldn't help it—he traced the letters of her name until he fell asleep.

0 0 0

He awoke when the sun was setting and his head felt foggy and heavy, exactly how he didn't want to feel when dealing with Hermione's parents. Luckily, he had a couple of hours before Hermione came to fetch him, so he went down to the dining area of the hotel and ate supper. Feeling sufficiently more refreshed after a full stomach, he nonetheless went back to his room and paced for another half-hour before Hermione was due to arrive.

She found him sitting at the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

“Harry!” She gasped. “Are you quite all right?”

Harry stood up resolutely, a bit ashamed he had let her see him like this. “I'm fine,” he said. “It's just—”

She bit her lip and reached for his hand. “I know,” she said. “I'm scared, too.”

The clock read 7:58.

“Shall we?” She held out her hand.

He takes it, interlacing their fingers firmly, and within a moment they were gone.

The Grangers' house was, on all accounts, a very normal two-story house surrounded by other similar looking homes. In the distance one could see the water and the few boats on the water glow like fireflies. The night was unexpectedly warm and Harry wished more than anything he and Hermione could be alone. Tonight would've been the perfect night for him to finally confess how he was feeling and see if she was feeling the same. He didn't think any further than that—he knew he would need her help in figuring out where to go from there, regardless of the outcome of his confession.

Things never went the way he wanted them to, of course, and now he was here, in front of the Granger's home, trying to gather any residual courage he had to face them.

“Did you bring your Invisibility Cloak?” Hermione asked him.

Harry shook his head. It was in his hotel room, but he didn't bring it along. “I need to face them myself,” he told her.

He could see Hermione getting defensive and about to give him a lecture. He took both of her hands in his. “I'll tell you all about it,” he told her. “I promise. But your parents don't want you there, and you need to build the trust back up, don't you? Start here.”

She sighed and deflated a bit. “You're right,” she muttered.

Harry grinned at her. “Finally,” he said. “It only took me eight years.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but was smiling as well.

“Go wait in my hotel room,” he told her, “if you don't want to go anywhere else. I'll come get you when it's over.”

Her lips twisted and she was still obviously displeased, but she nodded anyway. She looked at him for a moment with a hard look before it melted and she threw her arms around him. “You don't have to do this, you know,” she whispered in his ear.

“Yes, I do,” he told her, putting his arms around her and holding her tightly to him. “Go,” he whispered.

She stepped back, sniffling, and left before he could say anything else.

Taking a deep breath, he went to the door and knocked.

A few moments later, Hermione's father opened the door. A tall, nondescript man with straight brown hair, Robert Granger stared at Harry with the same knowing look Hermione gave him. Behind him was Hermione's mother, Helen, a petite woman with long dark curly hair who was anxiously wringing her hands together in a gesture that strongly reminded Harry of Hermione.

“Mr. and Mrs. Granger,” Harry greeted them, trying to keep his voice steady. He could tell based purely on Mrs. Granger's nervous tick that he would need to remain calm enough for everyone. He also had the suspicion that behind Mr. Granger's tranquil façade was a ticking time bomb. Harry would have to tread very carefully.

“Harry,” Robert replied. “Please, come in.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, wiping his palms on his jeans. He entered and they led him to a sitting room where everyone sat down. Mrs. Granger offered him tea and he declined. He could just see himself spilling hot tea everywhere and making things even worse.

“How long have you been in Australia, Harry?” Robert asked.

Harry cleared his throat. “About two and a half weeks,” he said.

“You came looking for Hermione?” Helen jumped in suddenly.

“I did,” Harry said. “Um… she left England rather abruptly. I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

“And bring her back to England with you,” Helen concluded sharply.

“That was the plan, yes,” Harry said. “And I don't plan on leaving without her.”

This bold declaration had both Grangers sitting up straighter, on edge. “Is that so?” Robert demanded. “You wish to take her away from her parents again, do you?”

Harry felt a little bad; he hadn't thought about that. “It may have started out that way that I wanted to bring her back to England with me,” he said slowly, “but now I'll just go—or stay—wherever she is.”

Helen looked at him shrewdly. “You sound very dedicated to Hermione,” she sounded almost surprised.

Harry shrugged. “She's been dedicated to me for almost eight years—and I want to be dedicated to her now.”

“Is this—this Voldemort character—Hermione has told us he's no longer living,” Robert fished. To Harry, this was a remarkable, small, victorious moment—a muggle using Voldemort's name without fear and without consequence. He felt a bit of pride. He—and Hermione—helped to create this fledgling world. If only he could convince her parents that she belonged in that world she created.

“No,” Harry said. “He's gone now. His followers have been accounted for. The threat is gone.”

“For now,” Helen broke in. “But who's to say when another madman might threaten the magical world again? Hermione—Hermione will always be looked down upon because she's not like everyone else and we can't allow her to put herself in more danger! You can't tell us that was never a chance of her being killed—or that she was almost killed—in the past few years.”

Harry thought of Malfoy Manor and the Battle of Hogwarts and every time in between. “I can't,” he said. “But you can't say that there are no threats in this world as well. She could get killed in a car accident, she could be murdered at gunpoint! You can't keep her locked away just to keep her safe. That's not really living, is it?”

Helen glared at him hatefully; Robert tensed, but was quiet. “You of all people should understand about a parent wanting to protect their child,” he said.

Harry flinched. He hadn't realized just how much Hermione had told them. “Of course,” he said. “But I highly doubt my parents wanted me to be locked away in exchange for such protection” even though that was what had ultimately happened. But his parents hadn't made that decision—Dumbledore did.

“You seem very selfish for wanting Hermione to live in this world with people who hate her on sight,” Helen concluded.

Harry had to calm himself down before he said something he regretted. “Have you asked Hermione what she wanted?” He asked instead.

Robert started to turn a bit red. “She wants to go back! Says there's still work and rebuilding to be done. She wants to leave us—again!”

Harry realized, with a clarity that would have made Hermione herself proud, how the Grangers felt. The magical world had been taking their daughter from them a little bit each year—consuming her until she was almost unrecognizable to them. She went from being Hermione, their daughter who happened to be a witch, to Hermione the Witch. She had gradually stopped spending summers and Christmas breaks with them, instead choosing to be with him and the Weasley's. And then to learn of such a betrayal so that she could follow him and potentially get herself killed was unthinkable. To hear that she wanted to go back—that she was leaving them again—was more than they could bear. They were being a bit selfish, yes—but more than that, they were scared. And lonely. And heartbroken. And betrayed. And Harry couldn't fault them for that.

“It might not mean much,” Harry said quietly, taking a new approach, “but I'm so sorry. For the pain I have caused your family. I'm the reason why Hermione left you and wants to leave again. I'm the reason why she was put in danger—although she probably would've been in danger anyway for her status.” He looked at them. “I understand wanting to keep Hermione close. That's why I'm here—I—don't know how to live without her. I never realized it before but she's the voice I hear in my head. Whenever I make a decision, I wonder if she would approve or not. I like spending time with her more than anyone else I know. I—” He stopped abruptly after seeing the looks on the Granger's faces.

Robert looked at him squarely, and when he spoke he sounded sure. “You love her,” he stated.

Harry responded automatically: “Of course.”

Robert shook his head, waved his hand a bit impatiently. “No, no. You're in love with her.”

Harry hesitated. It seemed a bit odd to admit this to her parents before the girl herself, but it was true nonetheless. Besides, he was sure that Robert Granger would know if he lied. “Yes,” he said.

Helen looked surprised, but Robert did not. “This is not some teenage infatuation,” he concluded.

Harry shook his head. “No,” he said. “I've known Hermione for almost eight years. I've thought about this a lot and—nothing seems more right to me. I'm sure.”

Robert tried not to visibly soften in the face of such sincerity. Helen already did. She seemed to deflate a bit. “Will we ever see her again?” she asked resignedly. “I don't—we don't know what to do! We don't know if we should stay here and answer to a name we know is fake, but going back—we do like it here. And we do miss England, but… “

“Helen,” Robert sighed, looking upwards, bemoaning his talkative and flustered wife.

“Where—where do you want to live?” Harry asked, a bit bewildered at the change of topic. “Here or England?”

“We like it here,” Robert answered, “but I think it ultimately boils down to wherever Hermione ends up.” He looked at Harry and smiled a little sadly. “She's all we have, you know.”

Harry smiled a crooked grin. “I guess it's all up to her then, where we all end up.”

Robert gave a little laugh. “I guess so.”

0 0 0

“Well?” Hermione stood up as Harry apparated in. She rang her hands nervously.

Harry shrugged, gave a little smile. “Fine, I suppose,” was all he said, knowing it would drive Hermione mad.

It did. She looked at him, almost uncomprehending, the look in her eyes bordering on hysteria. “ `Fine?!'” She shrieked. “You're going to have to give me a little more than merely `fine', Harry James Potter!”

Harry looked at her for a moment, feeling a sense of peace and calm settle over him, assuring him that his feelings were valid, that his actions were right. He held out his hand to her.

“Come,” he said. “Let's go for a walk and I'll explain everything, I promise.”

She looked at him, still skeptical, but she put her hand in his. It was a known fact that Hermione Granger would follow Harry Potter to the ends of the earth, but she was getting the feeling that he was willing to do the same for her.

He took her to the beach, the very same one where they found each other those scant weeks before. It was a bit warmer now—summer was slowly creeping back to Australia. Still, they were the only ones on that beach for miles and miles. Perfect, thought Harry.

“All right,” Hermione said, letting go of his hand—regrettably—and spinning around to face him, crossing her arms. “I've indulged you. Now, stop teasing and tell me everything!”
Harry tried not to laugh at her. He tried to imagine her as a child, the way her parents saw her, a small, six-year-old Hermione with her arms crossed, toe tapping, giving a stern look only she knew how to give. He wondered which parent she learned it from—he would guess Robert.

Shaking that thought away, he cleared his throat. “Your parents miss you,” he said. “They're afraid of losing you again.”

Hermione deflated a bit. “I know,” she said quietly. “And I love them so much—but I—I'm too selfish, Harry. I couldn't give up the magical world for them and—do what? Become a dentist like them? Or a doctor, or a lawyer? And lose everything—lose magic, lose Ron…lose you,” she whispered. “I couldn't do that. Not even for them.”

Harry put his hands on her shoulders and she looked up at him, eyes glistening. He gave her a smile. “Chin up, Hermione,” he said. “Your parents and I talked about it, and we—all of us—have decided that wherever you go, we'll follow.”

Hermione blinked at him. “Really?” She breathed. “How—how did you manage that? I don't—but they were so—they were dead set on me staying here with them—”

“I think they like Australia,” Harry told her, “but the idea of staying here under false identities was just distasteful to them. Plus, when it boils down to it, they just want to be wherever you are.” He looked at her and let a bit of the vulnerability under the bravado shine through. “I think they had painted a picture of me as someone who just used you as a means to an end,” he looked at her uncomfortably, still a bit unsure if that was merely her parents' assumption, or an opinion Hermione herself helped them to facilitate, “but once they were convinced that I care about you and cared about your happiness just as much as they do, well, there wasn't too much they could say. So wherever you decide to go, Hermione, they—and I—will go with you.”

Hermione recognized the line immediately and she started to cry, tears of relief and sadness and happiness and everything all at once, a flooding of her pent-up emotions leaving her body.

Harry just hugged her, smoothed the curls of her hair, murmuring that everything was going to be all right now.

After a moment, she pulled back from him, wiping her tears, laughing, “Merlin, I feel like a wreck. I thought this would go away once the war ended.”

Harry shook his head. “Anyone who thinks it's all rainbows and butterflies with no aftermath is delusional,” he said. “Just because the fighting and the carnage ends doesn't mean the pain does as well.”

Hermione looked at him closely. “I think we all need a little bit of help,” she said. “I was thinking about—perhaps seeing a wizard psychologist or therapist or something.”

Harry looked surprised. “They have those?”

Hermione nodded. “Contrary to popular belief, not everyone works at the Ministry, although they do employ psychologists in the Auror Department, for when aurors undergo traumatic experiences. They have them at St. Mungo's, too, but there are also private psychologists. I might go—and um, if you wanted to come with me or go by yourself, I could, maybe, help?”

Harry thought about it for a moment. He wanted to say no—he wasn't the sort to talk about his feelings—but maybe it would be good to get it out, let it go. “I'll think about it,” he said finally, which earned him a big grin.

“I'll broach the subject to Ron when we get back,” Hermione said. “I think he could use someone to talk to as well.”

Harry nodded, agreed, but something else jumped out at him. “ `When we get back'?” he asked, eyebrow raised. “So you're coming back?”

“Of course,” Hermione said, surprised, “why wouldn't I? Where else would I go?”

“Actually…” Harry drawled, “I was thinking. What do you say about not going back to England immediately? I've never been outside of the UK before this trip, and I kind of like it. You've traveled a lot—want to show me all of your favorite spots? And then maybe we could go to places we both haven't been and find some new places? What do you say?”

Hermione's smile was bright and disbelieving. “Are you serious?” She breathed. “That's—that's fantastic! But what will my parents say?”

Harry smiled to himself.

“I think we both kind of know that there's something else there,” Harry explained to the Granger's, who were raptly listening to Harry discuss his and Hermione's relationship. Apparently, although Hermione discussed Harry in-depth, whenever one of her parents tried to insinuate that she thought of Harry other than platonically, she shut them down. To hear Harry's perspective was like gold to them. “But I don't know how to—how to move forward from here.”

Helen chewed on her lip. “Maybe,” she said, “you two need to spend more time together—just the two of you—without any pressure. You—have you traveled much, Harry?”

Harry shook his head, not understanding. “No,” he said. “This is my first trip outside of the UK, ever. I've never thought traveling much before—didn't hope for it, although I suppose I did wonder about it when I was younger. Why?”

Robert and Helen exchanged looks. “Maybe you and Hermione should travel together a bit,” Helen suggested. “Robert and I had fun when we backpacked across Europe and Asia together.”

Harry gaped at them. They didn't seem the type to do something like that.

Robert actually laughed. “We were young once, you know,” he said. “Plus, we do have a bit of an adventurous streak in us—Hermione does get that trait from somewhere.”

Helen smiled softly. “Go travel together,” she said, “and things will happen in time, naturally.”

Robert nodded beside her. Harry felt like his heart was a fluttering snitch. He had captured the unthinkable: the Granger's blessing.

“They're quite all right with it,” Harry told her. “In fact, it's good because they have to get all of their things together—sell the house, take care of the practice, look for another home in England—before they can come back. And they might join us, they said, particularly if we happened to end up in Hawaii…”

Hermione laughed. “I think we can manage that,” she told him. But then she thought for a moment and sighed. “I wish we still had our house in England,” she said, “it might make things easier.”

Harry looked at her and fidgeted a bit before saying, “Well, about that…”

Hermione looked at him sharply. “Harry, what did you do?”

“Well,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair, “I may have been a bit presumptuous before I came here and… um.. I bought your old house. As incentive for maybe you all to come back? I was walking by there one day and I noticed it was on the market so I—I bought it!” He began to ramble nervously. “Not all of the furniture is the same, I don't think, but we can transfigure everything so it looks perfect—I can help - I” he cut himself off at the look on her face.

Hermione looked like she was about to have a heart attack. “Are you serious?” She breathed. “Harry—that's—that's—” She flung her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “Oh, Harry,” she said. “That's the most incredible thing anyone's ever done for me.”

Harry pulled back, licked his lips. “You know I'd do anything for you, right?” He asked. “Maybe I haven't been so good at showing it these past years, but—I've thought a lot about what you said,” told her, “when you told me that I was your world. The thing is, I may be your world, but I'm yours, completely.” He gave a little laugh. “Dumbledore and Voldemort and Fudge and Scrimgeour all wanted to have power over me, but the thing is, the only person who has that ability is you. And I don't even mind that you do. You're—you're the only I person I trust with everything—my soul, my life,” he reached up and put her right hand over his chest and swallowed. “My heart.”

Her breath came in shallow puffs and her eyes kept darting from his eyes to the small, brown hand resting on his heart. She was looking at him like he was a dream—a dream long considered hopeless—that was coming true, like he was too wonderful to be real.

Harry knew he could—or maybe should—wait until they were travelling, like Hermione's mother said to do, but now felt right. Now felt good. Why wait any longer? He felt like he had been waiting for this for years and had never known it.

“I'm in love with you, Hermione,” he said plainly. “I don't know how I didn't see it sooner, but you're the only one I want by my side, the only one who fits there.” He stopped, swallowed. And then he said it again, just because he could: “I love you, Hermione.” He waited.

Hermione's breaths were still shallow and her eyes were wide as she looked up at him. Her hand reached out to touch his face and hair. “This is real,” she murmured. “This is actually happening.”

Harry's heart leapt and broke all at once. What would have happened if he had never seen this? If Hermione and Ginny had never had that argument? Would they both have settled, then, for a Weasley? Would they have just missed each other? He couldn't imagine how long Hermione had felt this way, how long she had known. Unfortunately, he couldn't say he was surprised, though. She was the brightest witch of her age.

He leaned his forehead against hers. “It's real, Hermione,” he whispered. “It's you and me, just like how it was always supposed to be.”

Hermione smiled slowly, and it was the sweetest smile Harry had ever seen—shy and delighted and so, so loving—it took his breath away. She wasn't holding back anymore, she was showing him all of the love she contained inside. She shone like a star, and he basked in her. “Meant to be,” she said.

“Yes,” Harry said fervently, and then he put a hand on her cheek and finally, finally, their lips met. Over the past few weeks, he had thought about what it would be like to kiss Hermione—or rather—how he would kiss her if he ever had the chance—and both were better than he imagined. He kissed her the way he wanted to—long and slow and deep—and he thought if he could see them in a mirror, they would look similar to their Horcrux versions, although, they might have had the same passion, but this kiss was different. There was trust, here; there was love, here.

“Oh, Harry, I love you,” she murmured in between kisses. He didn't think his heart could soar any higher. They had to breathe, but could barely stand to let their lips separate for more than a moment.

Finally, they broke apart, giving little gasps, their lips lingering against each other. Harry's eyes fluttered open. He moved his head away a bit and noticed that Hermione's were open with a dreamy quality in them. “Just like I thought it would be,” she whispered dreamily.

Harry looked at her, amused. “And how did you think it would be?” He wanted to know.

She gave him a radian smile. “You taste like magic,” she said.

Harry couldn't agree more, and gave her another kiss to prove it.

The waves flowed to the shore, tranquil and true, and the ocean glittered from the light of the stars that shone brightly in the sky. The dog star in particular glinted and winked cheekily at the love struck couple down below, its light shining down upon them like a blessing, like a sign.

0 0 0

Notes: This was a difficult chapter to write, and it took me a really long time to figure out how I wanted the parent/Harry scene to sound, but I'm really proud of the result. I hope the wait was worth it. The only thing I'm hesitant about is that they cover too many topics in one chapter, but it needed to be done, I suppose! One more part—an epilogue—and this little baby will be finished!

Thank you again for your wonderful reviews. I'm so glad you guys have loved this little story like I do. You're all stars!

M. Elena

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V.

Sometimes, Harry was amazed at how—for the most part—smoothly everything went from there on out. He and Hermione spent a few more days in Australia, sorting things out with her parents and enjoying their time together, basking in their newfound relationship.

Things could be a little weird at times—their smiles were still shy, a little bit awkward, but then his hand would reach for hers, and then she would lean up and kiss him on the cheek, letting her lips linger, and gradually they settled into their new normal.

Harry was invited over for family dinners, and the Granger's were somehow completely charmed by his awkward sincerity and Hermione shone at the love and harmony in the room. During this time, the Granger's and Harry came up with a plan:

While the Granger's closed up their practice, sold the house, and tied up loose ends, Harry and Hermione would travel back to England—for a short time—to make sure the Granger's house was ready for them, and, more importantly, go see Fleur and Bill and their new baby, Victoire.

So Harry picked up his meager items, and Hermione packed up her large bag, and they bid the Granger's good-bye and they boarded a plane back to England. They spent three days in Hermione's house there, where most of the items still remained in good condition, surprisingly, and, to Hermione's amazement, the personal items that had disappeared when she erased her parent's memories had come back.

Harry frowned. “That certainly makes sense why this was a quick sale. I was wondering why that couple wanted to leave here so quickly. They had already moved out, too, when I purchased the house. Perhaps… when you gave your parents their memories back, these physical manifestations came back? It probably freaked out the owners.”

Hermione gave a little gasp and turned to him. “You think so? Well, that certainly makes a lot of sense. Good—good deductive reasoning, Harry!” She sounded incredibly surprised and a little bit impressed.

They very easily put everything back in order and when that was done, they wrote to Ron, telling them they were back. Harry agreed, with Hermione's urging, that if they were to travel the world, they needed a companion to keep in contact with everyone.

He relented, buying a chocolate brown owl with golden eyes that he named Atticus, and sent him off with a message for Ron, Hermione adding in a little missive to Ron thanking him for his little note.

Ron's scribbled response was delighted, surprised, and heartfelt, and he eagerly encouraged them to come to the Burrow to stay. Harry and Hermione, though grateful, winced at the thought of being with Mrs. Weasley and Ginny in such close and constant quarters.

After the Granger house was deemed “picture perfect” by Hermione, with every straight frame, hand-woven blanket, rose-lined china set, and all of Hermione's baby teeth, in a specially made case, all in a row, perfectly placed, the two packed their things and went to Grimmauld Place.

Harry knew he couldn't live in Grimmauld Place forever, but for now it was—in all of its grim glory—familiar, and he and Hermione padded around the too-large space quietly, nervous and fluttering, before they made the trip to the Shell Cottage to see the new, youngest Weasley.

They apparated a bit farther away, on the beach where they first landed after the hellish encounter at Malfoy Manor, and Hermione put socks and scarves on his grave, thinking it was more appropriate than flowers.

Then they were at the little door of the Shell Cottage, homey and bright, and they could hear the chatter of all the Weasley's inside. Harry took a deep breath. “Are you sure we can't just meet your parents in Hawaii?' He asked her hopefully.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. “And disappoint Ron?” She said. “He won't forgive you for that. You've already left him with his family for over a month, including three incredibly hormonal women.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah…”

Hermione looked at him hesitantly. “Is this really about Ginny?” She asked, referring to the letter. Harry had told her one what he had written to Ginny and while Hermione agreed it was for the best, she did agree that perhaps being blunt was perhaps not the kindest, though most necessary, route. Harry looked at her sharply now, trying to discern any insecurities in her tone.

“A bit,” he admitted anyway, honestly. “She's never pleasant to be around when she's angry.”

“Is anyone?” Hermione tried to say fairly.

Harry gave her a look and snorted in disgust. “Ginny's viciousness makes Rita Skeeter look like a Hufflepuff.”

“Harry!” Hermione protested, but looked much too pleased for him to take her serious.

“I have a question,” Harry said to her as she was poised to knock. “What, exactly, was written in Ron's note to you?”

Hermione gave him a wide grin. “I thought you'd never ask,” she told him, guessing correctly at his curiosity. “He ripped it out of the first page of that one book he used for advice sixth year? I guess there was a quote in the beginning of it that read: `The first person standing in the way of your dreams is you.' And then he wrote `whatever you want, I won't stand in your way. Make sure you don't, either.'”

Harry looked at her, amused and astonished. “Ron wrote that?”

Hermione shook her head, “Ron has been wiser in his old age—I can't really believe it myself, but it's good for him. He might actually be maturing.”

“He has been spending more time with Luna,” Harry mused. “He told me in one of his letters that she dropped by sometimes with personal copies of the Quibbler for him. I think he even did an interview for the paper.”

“I think she'd be good for him,” Hermione decided. “Luna is a very patient person and can put up with him.”

“More than you could?” Harry inferred.

Hermione flushed a little, but admitted, “Yes, much more than I could.”

Harry took her hand and squeezed it and Hermione met his gaze and smiled. Harry raised his other hand and knocked.

A few crashes and shouts later, the door opened. Ron's freckled face broke into a wide grin when he saw them and when he saw their clasped hands he gave a big whoop and hugged them both. Harry and Hermione both laughed, the happiness contagious, and hugged him back tightly.

“So my advice worked, eh?” Ron said to Hermione and she shook her head, still laughing.

“Yes, Ron,” she said, “you could make a lot of money with advice like that.”

Ron pulled back and said, “Well, that would be pretty difficult considering I'm now George's business partner!”

“That's great, Ron!” Harry said. “I think it's a good fit.”

“I do, too,” Ron said. “I'm really excited about it. We have this new product that—”

“Ron!” Came Mrs. Weasley's shrill voice from in the depths of the little cottage. “Is that Harry and Hermione? Don't let them stand in the doorway, tell them to come in!”

Harry and Hermione exchanged nervous smiles, hands still joined, before entering.

Ron looked back at them for a moment as if he too, could sense their anxiousness, and said, “Don't worry—no one will cause trouble.” This was said with a confidence that had not been expressed before.

Still, it was a bit unnerving to walk in. Mrs. Weasley's eyes went straight to their hands, but she hid her disappointment mostly well, giving them each a large hug and a scolding never to scare her like that again, sneaking off halfway around the world.

“Because sneaking off to go defeat Voldemort was so much worse,” muttered Ron next to her, which earned him a whack on the head.

Mr. Weasley welcomed them back in his light-hearted way, made even more jovial by the arrival of his first grandchild.

Charlie and George gave them some good-natured ribbing about their newly cemented status, but otherwise were very kind and welcoming about the whole thing.

They were guided to the bedroom to see the new parents and baby. Fleur was in bed, tired but radiant, with Bill sitting at her side, beaming at her adoringly. Surprisingly, the baby was being held by Percy in the rocker, who cooed and aahed at her in a way that shocked everyone. He had been a wonderful help to Bill and Fleur, taking an extended leave from the Ministry to come relieve the new parents and assist them. Both were always kind to him and here he felt the most welcome. His devotion gradually won over the rest of the family.

Fleur lit up when she saw them. “You two are together,” she exclaimed immediately. “I just kno' these t'ings. Oh, Bill, aren't they adorable?”

Bill grinned at them. “Congrats, you two,” he said. “It's about time.”

Both teens flushed. “We should be saying congratulations to you!” Hermione exclaimed. She went over to Percy and Victoire and both ex-prefects started to fuss over the swaddled baby. “She's perfect.”

“And why wouldn't she be?” Fleur demanded playfully. “With parents as gorgeous as us, she is destined to be a beauty!”

Bill rolled his eyes at his wife's antics. “How are you, Harry?”

“Great,” Harry responded. “Couldn't be better, actually.”

Bill's smile grew. Fleur jumped in and declared, “I knew you two would end up together. You could never belong to anyone else but each other.”

At this unfortunate moment was when Ginny stuck her head in and at Fleur's words, she scowled deeply and slammed the door behind her, stomping back down the stairs.

Both Harry and Hermione froze. Percy soothed the fretting Victoire, glaring at the door. “Some people around here,” he muttered.

Bill frowned after her and Fleur's blue eyes were ice cold. “Do not worry about her,” she commanded Harry and Hermione. “That girl needs to grow up sooner or later.”

“Hopefully sooner,” Bill said grimly. “I'll go talk to her,” he said.

Harry felt incredibly awkward, but Fleur reassured him, feeling incredibly motherly at that moment, “Bill and Ginny have always been close, despite their age. He will sort her out. Everyone but Ron has been tip-toeing around her since your letter—do not feel bad!—and it is time someone tells her the truth!”

Hermione worried her lip. “We never meant to cause any trouble,” she said.

Fleur waved her hand. “Pah! Ron certainly does not care and that shows his growth. Ginny will have to learn as well. She will find someone. Do not worry about her. Besides, I hear you two are going to see the world! How fascinating. Tell me everything!”

Hermione eagerly did, telling Fleur about their plans and the places they were going to see. As mentioned, her parents were going to join them in Hawaii, and they had talked with Ron—he would also join them for a good part of the trip, but he couldn't get away from the joke shop for too long, so for about half the time, it would be just the two of them.

Mrs. Weasley insisted that they stay for dinner and so they set up long tables outside the cottage and had a lovely large meal. Ginny stayed on the opposite side of the dinner, glaring at them from afar, but both Harry and Hermione ignored her, and if Hermione's smile was a little smug, well, who could blame her, really?

0 0 0

They left the Shell Cottage many hours later. Hermione turned to Harry as they entered Grimmauld Place and said, “You know, it was lovely seeing Victoire and the Weasley's before we leave, but I think that there's someone else we need to pay a visit to.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “Like who?” He wondered. Maybe Hagrid? McGonagall?

“When was the last time you saw Teddy?” Hermione asked him.

Harry froze. Teddy. His godson. He had seen him twice, and it was difficult to look at him without feeling some guilt, without seeing Remus and Tonks's faces. And Andromeda was so kind and motherly and lovely and it was hard for Harry, for some reason, to be around her. His heart always hurt a little bit.

“Harry,” Hermione said gently, “It's okay to grieve for Remus and Tonks, but you can't let Teddy suffer for it.”

Harry sighed and flopped on the sofa. Hermione sat beside him. “I know,” he said quietly. “I just feel like such a failure already it. I couldn't save his parents and I don't know how to interact with children—“

“Harry,” Hermione laid her hand on his arm. “You think Sirius was a great godfather, don't you?'

“Of course,” Harry said, “but—“

“But what? You didn't blame him for your parents' deaths—once you learned the truth. You think Sirius had the faintest idea how to be a godparent to a teenager? Babies are easy compared to teenagers! But you loved Sirius and he loved you and was there for you and that's all you really wanted, wasn't it? I'm sure that's all Teddy wants.”

Harry swallowed, pressed his face in his hands. “All right,” he said. “We'll go see him tomorrow. But what about when we leave? We'll be gone nearly a year. He's already nearly six months old now. He won't know me when I come back.”

Hermione straightened, grateful for a problem to solve. “Simple,” she said after a moment. “We'll arrange for international portkeys. We will visit for one day once a month and then once we come back, we can see Teddy as much as we want.”

Harry appreciated that with Hermione, everything was simple—he especially liked her use of `we'. That, more than anything, calmed his anxiety.

“So it's settled,” he said.

“Yes,” she replied, but she was already writing two notes at once: one to Andromeda about a visit at tea time, and another to the Ministry to set up the international portkeys.

The next day, they dropped in on Andromeda. Her home was large but cozy, on the outskirts of a small wizarding village south of Godric's Hollow. She welcomed them with a warm smile and led them to the living area. Their shoes echoed—the house was beautiful but felt empty, sad.

“It's a little big for an old woman and a baby,” she said, almost apologetically.

“It is lovely,” Hermione insisted. “And it will feel fuller when Teddy gets older.”

Andromeda smiled. “This is true,” she said, “but I think a move is in order. Teddy and I need a fresh start, I think.”

Harry frowned. He was holding and bottle-feeding a rapt Teddy, who kept changing his hair color to try and match Harry's eye shade. “Where would you move to?” He asked.

“There's a cottage for sale in Godric's Hollow,” Andromeda said, carefully casual, “right in the midst of everything. It will be good for Teddy to be more integrated with people and other children his age, as he grows older. This was a lovely home for Nymphadora,” here she faltered a bit, “but Teddy is a different child, and I suppose I always thought that you would return to Godric's Hollow,” here her gaze focused and sharpened on Harry.

Harry shifted Teddy in his arms, moving him easily to his shoulder to burp him. Both Hermione and Andromeda smiled at the action. The first time Harry fed, let alone held, Teddy, he was visibly tense, anxious. “What if I drop him? What if I do this wrong? What if I hurt him? I don't know how to do this--” He had pleaded with the grieving Andromeda, who smiled genuinely for the first time in weeks.

“Like anything new, it will get better in time,” she assured him.

Now he was a natural, and although he was still bewildered by Teddy at times, he was getting there. “Hmm,” he shifted his gaze to Hermione, who blinked owlishly at him, bemused. “I've thought about going back to Godric's Hollow for a little bit, but I suppose it's something we'll have to discuss.”

Andromeda's eyebrows raised a fraction in a manner Hermione found eerily similar to Narcissa Malfoy, but, then again, the two were sisters. “I see,” was all she said. “Well, do keep me informed on those matters, would you? I will need to put in an offer soon for the cottage if I want it.”

“If you like it, I think you should buy it,” Harry encouraged. “I'll be there for Teddy no matter where I live.”

Andromeda smiled fondly at Teddy. “Of that I don't doubt, dear. And I do appreciate what you're doing to come visit Teddy during your trip,” she directed towards Hermione. “Have fun, though. I remember when Ted and I travelled, before Nymphadora.” Her eyes unfocused and misted over. “It was a wonderful time.”

Harry and Hermione stayed and chatted with Andromeda a while after Teddy was put down for a nap and left before supper. Their international portkey wasn't due to leave for another week, and they promised Andromeda that they would come by again and say a proper goodbye to Teddy.

Despite the wonderful day, Harry noticed that Hermione was awfully quiet during dinner. He knew she would share when she was ready but as the night wore on and she still remained introverted and contemplative, Harry grew impatient and decided to get to the bottom of it before she went to bed. It would be too easy for her to awaken the next morning and sweep everything under the rug.

Hermione was, as usual, reading a book by the fire, entitled “So You Don't Know What You Want To Do With Your Life” and Harry was half-heartedly trying to read the book she bought for him “So You Just Became a Godparent”. Around half-past eleven, Hermione stood up abruptly and shut her book with a quick “SNAP!”

“Well,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “What a delightful day. I'll just turn in then.” She went over to Harry and, hesitating just a moment, kissed his cheek, as she had done every morning and every night. “Good night, Harry.”

Hermione, to her credit, could be very quick when she needed to be, but Harry wasn't the most well-known Seeker in Hogwarts for nothing. As she bent down to kiss his cheek, he quickly flung his book off his lap, swept his right arm underneath her knees, and swept Hermione on his lap, his arms encircling her so she stayed there. “Harry!” She gasped. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Forcing you to talk to me,” Harry said firmly. “You've been acting strangely all night, and I'm not letting you sneak away from me without telling me what's wrong.”

“How—there's nothing wrong!” Hermione sputtered. “Harry James Potter, you let—”

“Hermione Jean Granger,” Harry mocked, “you tell me what's wrong!” His arms tightened ever so slightly around her as a promise.

Hermione huffed, folding her arms in a way that reminded him of an 11-year-old girl years before, pouting in her nightgown that they were sneaking out again. Harry waited, patient, and Hermione tried valiantly not to flush at the position they were in. But then she deflated and grew quiet. “It was just—I was thinking about something that happened today,” she said. She paused. “When Andromeda asked if you would live at Godric's Hollow again, you said that… that we would have to talk about it.” She looked at him, bit her lip, unsure. “You meant me?”

Harry looked at her, puzzled. “Hermione, who else would I mean?”

Hermione stood up, and Harry let her. She began to pace in front of the fire. “But—but that doesn't make any sense! Why, why would we have to discuss it? Do you think I would try and dictate where you live? I mean, maybe, maybe things are different now, but I don't want people like Andromeda—or, or the Weasley's—to think that I'm kind of scarlet woman who wants to control you!”

Harry stood up, frowning deeply. What was going on in that head of hers? What was really the problem? “Hermione,” he said gently, taking her hands in his, trying to calm her agitated breathing, “why would anyone think that? Everyone sees how right we are together. You didn't need to—to manipulate me or coerce me in order for me to want to be with you. Didn't you hear Bill and Fleur and Ron and Charlie and everyone else? This has been a long time coming.” He shook her playfully, a nervous grin on his face. “Have you been re-reading old Rita Skeeter articles? I want to be with you because you're you. And I don't want you to dictate where I live—I want us to talk about it.” It was written all over her face, he thought. Hermione couldn't quite believe that their relationship was real. That he chose her. She didn't understand—or believe—that he would always choose her. The trust in their friendship was solid, but the trust in their romantic relationship was still fragile. Did Hermione believe she wasn't worthy? Or that he didn't believe in them either?

Hermione shook her head, confused. “But—I mean why? Wherever you choose to live, I'll find a place near you. I always thought you'd end up back at Godric's Hollow, but if you don't want to, it's fine with me. Did you want to discuss renovating or—“

Harry shook his head, gave a bark of a laugh. “I can't believe you're not getting it,” he said, mostly to himself.

Hermione scowled, tried to pull out of his grasp. “This isn't funny, Harry,” she said, hurt. “I don't—I don't understand.”

Harry sighed, his eyes apologetic. He tried again. “I want to discuss this with you,” he said softly, “is because this decision affects both of us.” He swallowed, looking at her earnestly.

“Hermione,” he said, “I don't—I can't remember what it was like not to live in the same place as you. And I don't want to start. I want—I want us to live together.” Hermione stared at him, disbelieving, but then a silly grin broke out on her face and her eyes started to tear. A wide smile broke out of Harry's face. “Whether we live in Godric's Hollow or Grimmauld Place or Australia or Hawaii, it doesn't matter to me, as long as you're happy.”

“But sI just want you to be happy,” Hermione whispered, voice breaking.

Harry shook his head. “For us both to be happy. And I think that as long as we're together, we will be.”

“How long do you think we'll be together?” Hermione said hesitantly.

Harry pushed a curl behind her ear, looking clearly into her eyes. This he couldn't mess up. “I can't ever imagine us not being together,” he said simply.

Hermione stared at him a bit in disbelief, a smile breaking through her tears slowly, like sunshine. “You really think we'll be together forever?” She whispered.

Harry grinned at her. “Hermione,” he said. “It's you and me. Could we ever belong to anyone else?”

“No,” Hermione admitted, and he saw something akin to wonder in her eyes, an epiphany of sorts. “I suppose you're right.”

Harry chuckled. “I'm finally right and you're finally wrong?” He chortled in triumph as Hermione scowled. “Well, I suppose if I had to be right about something, I'm glad that—”

Unable to take his gloating, Hermione shut him up in the only way she could think of, kissing him soundly and lovingly, her lips conveying what she could finally feel: I believe, I believe.

There were still a lot of unknowns in their lives: What the next year would bring; what adventures they would have; what would happen to them when they returned; what careers they would pursue; where they would live—but Hermione knew that as long as they had each other, it didn't matter if it took them days or weeks or months of years--- they would figure everything else out.

After all, they had time now.

0 0 0

Notes: My loves, my loves, this is the end of our little journey. There were still a few plot holes that I wanted to tie-up but refrained; there was quite a bit going on in this chapter and the things I left out weren't that important anyway.

Firstly: I made Victoire's birth a couple years sooner than it is in HP universe. Whatever, I did it to suit my needs, and this story ignores the Shit Epilogue anyway, so who cares?!

Secondly: I only did the first thing to make Harry and Hermione come back and see the Weasley's. I originally was only going to mention them in passing but everyone wanted to see a glimpse of Ginny in this chapter, and goodness, you're a bloodthirsty lot! (Not that I blame you, she's a bitch) I didn't make this chapter overtly catty, because this story isn't really about Ginny, she was only a necessary plot device, really. But I hope her snotty little cameo was acceptable, anyway!

Thirdly: Ron, my dearest Ron. I can do Dumbledore-bashing and Ginny-bashing and even Weasley-bashing stories, but when authors make Ron seem conniving and manipulative it breaks my heart. Ron is not perfect, but I think HHr shippers fail to realize that neither are Harry and Hermione and neither is anyone in real life either. Ron made his mistakes but he isn't a malicious character and I think HHr fandom treats him rather terribly Ron is capable of maturing like anyone, and so that's the side of him I wanted to show. So there! (Not that any of you were hating on him, but I've wanted to say this for a long time).

Finally (Most Importantly): Thank you. The love and support I've gotten for this story has been lovely and has only fueled the fires for me to keep writing. I only started this for myself and my love for this ship, but it's definitely re-introduced me to HHr writing and reading. Thank you all for re-inspiring this in me You reviews have been wonderfully constructive, insightful, and heart warming.

I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

Until next time!
M. Elena

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