Survivor's Guilt

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

Acknowledgements: Thanks to Katdemon1895, Alix33, and all those at Seel’vor’s group: including but not limited to Alysson, Christoffer, RalphS, Strumwulf, and Tommy. Also, subconsciously, I was possibly influenced by the writings of apAidan.

A/N: I don’t write angst. I tried it once and it wasn’t that good. I was going to write something mildly humorous and waffy to incorporate the text passage at the very bottom (before the omake), but somehow, after the first page, the angst just started to flow. I suspect I have issues that even I don’t yet realize.

More A/N: This story incorporates some of my thoughts about children fighting in wars, loss of innocence, explanations as to why Hermione did the things she did, and also dips into religion. I want to be clear that I’m not trying to make a big deal about which religion is used. I just wrote what I knew and don’t claim to know much of anything. I’m not trying to preach or to convert anybody. Much like Tears of Red and Gold, this just needed to be written and I don’t know what to make of it. I wrote it all in one sitting and the proofreading has only been superficial. It literally turned my stomach as I was writing parts of it. Thoughts?

XXXXXXXXXX

“Hermione, are you sure?” he asked. A tremor had worked its way into his voice. This boy – well, more a young man, a man she had seen confront uncountable numbers of dementors, who had faced down armed Death Eaters, who had killed the most terrible dark lord in living memory… was nervous because of her.

Judging the seriousness of his question, Hermione strove to give a good accounting of herself. She swallowed, took a deep breath, gathered all her not inconsiderable courage and said, “Maybe… I think.”

He closed his eyes and scrunched his brows tight for a moment as he took a deep, calming breath. “Maybe? I think? Hermione, this is your life you’re talking about!”

“Yes, it’s my life. Why do you care?”

“Because I love you!”

“Well… well… Gah! Why are you telling me this now?”

“I don’t want you to make a mistake. I wanted you to know he’s not your only choice.”

“And I suppose YOU’RE my other choice?”

“If you want me, then yes.”

“No, no, NO! You do not get to put this on me!”

“Hermione, I just wanted—”

“It’s not always about what you want, Harry. For Merlin’s sake, I killed for you!”

“For God’s sake, you mean.”

“What!?” she demanded.

“You’re trying too hard.” He said simply. “The Hermione I know still wears a cross around her neck,” Her hand went to her breast. “She still says her prayers before bed, even if she only barely moves her lips,” Her face went pale in shock, “and despite how loudly you swear with Merlin’s name you guiltily ask God for forgiveness each and every time.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“We may be magical, but in the end, we’re all God’s children. And one can often recognize another.”

She looked completely uncertain for a moment. Then her eyes hardened and she turned away. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m tired, Harry. I’m tired of watching you get bruised and beaten, stabbed and burned, cursed and killed. If I hadn’t been consumed with the need to avenge your death, then seeing you dead would have killed me. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch you almost not comeback and then when you do comeback, it’s into the arms of that fat, redheaded, slut.” She turned to face away from him. It wouldn’t do to let him see her tears.

“Hermione, he’s dead. Voldemort’s finally dead. It won’t happen again.” He said softly. He put his hands on her shoulders.

She spun around and knocked his arms away. “Oh yes it will! If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that I know you, Harry Potter. That ‘saving people thing’ well, it won’t get better, it will only get worse. Now, you’re not famous for something you don’t even remember doing, you’re legitimately famous for killing a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad dark lord. And don’t think he’s the last. No, not by a country mile. There are a million or more magicals worldwide and you can bet there are at least a few dark lords on the rise at any given time. They’ll all be gunning for you. What’s worse, you let that frog spawn, piece of putrefied toad snot, Draco Malfoy and his fucking, pureblood, fascists parents live.”

“They weren’t high of my list of concerns at the time. I hadn’t forgotten about them, they just weren’t a priority. I would have gotten to them eventually, but someone else got to them first.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that!”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“There was that time with the Felix Felicis potion.” She said, grasping for straws.

“I was lying to Ron. Have I. Ever. Lied. To. You. Directly?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” she admitted almost as soon as he had asked.

“Have you ever lied to me?”

“No.”

“Will you ever?”

“Can’t imagine—”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Then, no.”

“Why are you marrying him?

“He’s safe! He’s normal!”

“He’s boring and he’s a dullard.”

“I can live with that! I can settle… I can become a housewife, stay-at-home mom, or even a baby factory. I don’t care anymore, just so long as I don’t have to be involved with the pain that is your life.”

“Is that really how you see life with me as being?”

“Since I’ve met you, I’ve not stopped worrying about you. Not for a day, not for an hour, not for a minute, not even for a second. Harry, it’s just too much. I. Just. Can’t. Do. This. Anymore. I just can’t.

“Hermione…”

“No, Harry. I’ve made up my mind. I’ve done the reading –and not a word from you about being your bookworm— and I know there are expectations that the Weasleys have for me. Certain ways they expect me act, to behave, things they expect me to do.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Harry, what I’m saying is that I can’t see you anymore. Not like this. I’m going to be a married woman soon, and Hermione Weasley can’t be seen spending time alone with a man that is not her husband.

Visibly pained, he asked, “Hermione… are you saying you don’t want to be my friend anymore?”

“Yes—I mean—no , I mean… I don’t know. It doesn’t matter what I want. What matters is what I have to do, and what I have to do is not associate with you anymore. Maybe… maybe we’ll see each other at King’s Cross when the children are going off to Hogwarts, but that’s it.

“So, this is really it?”

“I guess so.”

“You guess? The Hermione Granger I know would never settle for a guess. She’d have to be sure.”

“Then it’s a good thing the future Hermione Weasley isn’t like that.”

The light seemed to go out of Harry’s eyes.

“Try to be happy for me, Harry. I’m going to be part of a good family, I’ll have kids, raise a family and everything will be okay.”

He spoke softly. “Okay. Yes, everything will be okay, but only okay. Can you really live a life of mediocrity when you, Hermione Granger, could do such great things?”

“If I stayed with you much longer, then it wouldn’t be Hermione Granger, ally of the Chosen One, it would be the Dark Lady Granger and people would talk of me like that mad bitch Lestrange.”

“You can’t know that—”

“DON’T tell me what I know! I might do great things, but they would be terrible things. I’m already stained with blood on your behalf and I will be damned if I compound that anymore!”

“Hermione, it was a war… It’s over, try to put it behind you.”

“It is NOT over! The people I killed are still dead. I tore a wizard’s throat out with my teeth, Harry. I shoved another witch’s wand through her eye when she was trying curse you from behind; I heard her death rattle after the fighting stopped. I killed the last three Malfoys in cold blood and I was happy about! I’m a murderer and I should be dead!” She fell to her knees and covered her wet eyes with the palms of her hands. Harry tried to wrap his arms around her.

“Don’t touch me!” She screamed. “This is all your fault. I became a murderer for you! I did it all to protect you! Now look at me. People want to give me an Order of Merlin and say what a good little witch I am but I hate what I did, I hate what I am, and I hate what you made me.

“You’re punishing yourself.” He said with dawning realization.

She sniffed. “And what if I am? Don’t you think I deserve to do some penance for my crimes. If I hadn’t killed Draco because I worried he might try and kill you later on, Hell, I might have tried to marry him instead of Ron. A racist bigot who thinks people like me should be servants, slaves or worse has got to be worth even more than marrying a brain dead, momma’s boy, with Neanderthal ideas about women and consigning myself to whoring myself out to my own husband when he gets drunk enough to want to touch me.”

Harry honestly didn’t know how to respond to that.

“You didn’t know, did you? He doesn’t find me attractive at all. He only wanted me because he was under the mistaken impression that you wanted me.”

“I do want you.”

“Hah! No one wants me. You didn’t want me at the Yule Ball, you wanted the Chinese bitch. And when you had a chance with me later, you chose a potions book over me, a goddamned potions book! You even chose that redheaded slag, who bedded half the boys in Gryffindor tower over me, so forgive me if just this one time in my life, I don’t believe you.

“Would it help to know that I have nightmares about what we did during the war?”

“Whoop de doo. You can’t seriously expect that just because we both had a shit time trying not to die that you can understand even a fraction of how truly awful a person I am?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“Yes, of course, I’ll suddenly tell the man I had a crush on since he was eleven all the horrible, shitty, godforsaken things I did just to keep him alive.”

“Well, we’re not leaving until you do. Start when you’re ready.” He flicked his wand several times and the room’s already present privacy charms where trebled and every potential way out was locked down and tied directly to his core.

She glanced around the room, taking in the solidness of the wards, and the analytical side of her nodded in satisfaction that she was partially responsible for the extremely proficient wizard in front of her.

“All right, but remember that you asked for it. First, let me say that when we were in Bathilda Bagshot’s cottage, after you were unconscious, I found out she was still alive, but her body was a rotting husk. I did the merciful thing, but I didn’t have time to be gentle. A.K. straight to the chest, and then I picked you up and ran like our lives depended on it. The stories just get worse from here on.” She stared at him, challenging his resolve.

“Keep going.”

And so Hermione told Harry Potter every dirty little thing she’d ever done in the service of the Light. Every Witch, Wizard, and Muggle she’d taken the life of to keep Harry Potter alive. Harry’s face got progressively paler as the minutes passed by.

“--And after they first took me away, they found that the Imperious didn’t work on me since you’d shown me how to beat it, they tried to rape me straight away. They wanted to break me. I actually almost bit Rudolfus’ dick off before they stunned me. After that first aborted attempt, they didn’t dare try and touch me again, so they resorted to Cruciatus. You know how that ended. I almost wish you had let them kill me then. A few more people would probably still be alive.”

“Almost?”

“You’d probably be dead if I had died there, so in a way, I’m glad I survived.”

“Is that it?” His mouth felt dry.

“Oh, one more thing. You know how I told Ron that cock-and-bull story about memory charming my parents?”

“Oh, Hermione… no…”

“What?”

“You didn’t—kill— your parents, did you?”

“Hah! No, but the thought had occurred to me. They didn’t want me to go with you. They forbade from me from going to you and tried to lock me in my room. They didn’t understand that I had to go. I had to keep you safe. I DID memory charm them to forget all about me and move to Australia. That much is true.”

“Then what was the lie you told Ron?”

“The lie was that I was going to go off and find them and restore their memories.”

“WHAT!?”

“You heard me. I had just finished my 6^th year at Hogwarts, and we weren’t supposed to cover memory charms until 7^th year. Memory charms are incredibly complex. You don’t honestly expect that even I, genius though I am, could pull off two incredibly complex memory charms on the fly with no practice and somehow be able to undue it all over a year later?”

“Actually, I really did.”

“Oh please. It makes no sense. For all intents and purposes, the parents of Hermione Granger are dead. In their place are those pale imitations I made so that I could go fight for you in a war.”

At that, Harry moved. She hadn’t seen him move, but he was there regardless. He wrapped his around around her and her chin was resting on his shoulder. He was squeezing her so tight that she couldn’t wiggle her way free or push him away. “Harry, I said don’t touch me!”

“I’m sorry, Hermione, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I never knew how much you cared for me, I’m sorry I never knew all the things you did for me, I’m sorry that you gave up so much because you cared for me more than anyone else, and I’m sorry I didn’t see it until it was almost too late.”

“It is too late.” Then something broke deep inside her and it was if a torrent of long held back tears came flooding forth. Deep wrenching sobs came from her body somehow her arms found themselves wrapped his neck. How long she cried, neither could really say, but she only stopped when she had no more tears to shed.

She just sat there, on the floor, wrapped in Harry Potter’s arms, the one place that she had always wanted to be, but by her own choices she had decreed she would never be again.

“Hermione, will you let me take care of you? I owe you so much.” He stroked her cheek.

“I’m still going to marry Ron. Just because I feel better after a cry doesn’t change what I’ve done. I’m still a murderer and I deserve to be punished.”

“No, you were a soldier and sometimes soldiers have to do things that they aren’t proud of. You were and are a very young soldier and I’m a terrible friend for not seeing how much you were hurting.”

“You couldn’t have known, Harry. And you couldn’t have done anything. I’m so fucked up, that it would take a lifetime to unfuck me.”

“Then that’s what I’ll give; a lifetime and more. My offer is still on the table. I would be honored to have you as my wife. Together we’ll get through this and I think you can still accomplish great and wonderful things.”

“I DON’T want your charity. I’m a filthy murderer, not a charity case.”

“It’s not charity, you are not filthy or a murderer, and you’re most certainly not a charity case. I love you, Hermione Granger, all of you.”

“What makes you so sure that I won’t one day snap and murder you in your sleep? I’m dangerous, you know.”

“So am I. I killed Voldemort, remember? Being killed by the one I love, if that’s the risk of being your husband than I would gladly take that chance. I just want to know one thing. Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

Harry let out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he’d been holding. He decided to press his luck.

“Do you love Ron?”

“No.”

“Have you slept with him?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but NO. Are you done asking me questions or should I ask you about Cho Chang and Ginny Weasley?”

“We’re done.”

“Then let go of me, I have to get some sleep. I’m getting married tomorrow.”

“B-but I thought…”

“This isn’t a fairy tale. Even here, you can’t wave a magic wand and fix someone as screwed up as me. You don’t want any of what I have to offer. Believe me, everyone will be happier all around this way. This way, when I snap and go on a murderous rampage, the first person I’ll kill is Ron.” She stood up.

“I don’t know what to do…”

“Do what you normally do when that happens. It seems to have stood you in good stead over the years.”

“Normally, I ask you.” He chuckled a little at the absurdity of the situation.

“Well, as it happens, I do have some advice for you. Give up on me, Harry. I’ll be a Weasley later tomorrow and we will likely never see each other again. Just do two favors for me, okay?”

“Anything.”

“One, think up good names for your children. I’ll bet you broke up with Ginny before you came here, but I’m sure she’ll take you back if you ask her nicely.”

“Good names?”

“Yes, for your children. Pureblood custom says that the man gets to choose the names.”

“You’re going to let Ron name your children?” He asked in honest horror.

“Well, if they’re his…” She said enigmatically.

“And the other request?”

“Remember me for who I was and not for what I’ve become. Remember me as a good intentioned bookworm who adored Harry Potter, not the murderous bitch that I became.”

“I’ll do that.”

She kissed him. It was warm and tender, and filled with the promise of so many dreams that would never be.

She broke the kiss and walked toward the door of the Room of Requirement, Harry still in a stupor. His wards were in shambles from the impact of her kiss. Her cross necklace lay in his hand. The chain had been snapped.

Before the door shut completely, he came to and Harry raced out of the room. She was gone, but Harry was nothing if not stubborn.

“Kreacher!”

“Yes, Master Harry is calling Kreacher.” The aged house elf said with a modest dip of his head.

“I need you to get a book from Privet Drive. On the bookshelf in my room, the book is entitled, “A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of "A Course in Miracles". It is vitally important that you bring it here. ” Kreacher was gone for several seconds but each second seemed like years and years. Finally, he popped back with the right book. Harry flipped through until he found the section he was looking for (Ch. 7, Section 3). Using his wand, he highlighted a specific section and then gave it back to Kreacher.

“Master Harry?”

“This is life or death, Kreacher. You remember Mistress Hermione, don’t you?”

“Of course Kreacher remembers. She is special to you.”

“You have no idea, but that’s not important now. What IS important is that you must get this book to Hermione as soon as possible. If she doesn’t read this section where I’ve dog eared the page, then things will go very badly.”

“Kreacher will make sure Mistress reads the page or Kreacher will die in the attempt.”

Kreacher popped away.

Harry returned to the room of requirements to wait. An hour passed and it was fast approaching midnight. Every tick closer to midnight his watch crept made increasingly more certain that his last ditch plan had failed.

Finally, 2 minutes before midnight, the door creaked open and Hermione stalked up to him. Her face was unreadable.

“You bastard!” she growled. Suddenly, her face was very readable. “You unmitigated sneak! How dare you try and manipulate me with books, and religion and, and, and…. Oh! How dare you!?”

“Did it work?” He asked simply.

“YES! Godamnit!” She let her forehead rest on his shoulder and her body lean against him.

“Oh, thank you, God!” Harry breathed a sigh of relief even as he brushed some stray hairs away from her face.

“Yes, thank God.” Her hands clutched at his clothes. “Now, I’m going to have to break my engagement.” Her eyes were pressed shut even as she said this. She looked up at him. “Thanks a bunch, Harry.”

“You’re welcome.” He took the repaired necklace from his pocket and replaced it around her neck.

Expecting such an act, Hermione clutched the cross tightly in her right hand. “How did you know that would work?”

“I wasn’t sure, but as you said, books, and religion, and well, it was a challenge. Gryffindors never back down from a challenge. You’ve never given into fear in your life and I didn’t think you were about to start now once you realized that was what you were really doing.”

She braced herself with her arm and she didn’t object with he wrapped an arm around her. “I’m still messed up and dangerous, you know?”

He was quiet for a minute. “Me too,” he answered and then paused. “But I think we’ve always been stronger together than apart. We’ll be all right… eventually.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Quote from Marianne Williamson:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.' We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone and as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Omake (dedicated to RalphS):

"Yes, thank God." Her hands clutched at his clothes. "Now, I'm your responsibility, Harry."

Harry wrapped an arm around her. "Gladly."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. As I'm your responsibility that means you've got to tell the Weasleys that the wedding's off."

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. "I suppose we should tell Ron first..."

Hermione looked up into Harry's green eyes, a strange look upon her face. "Don't bother. I killed him before I came here."

Harry blinked twice before he distanced her slowly so he could get a better look at her eyes. "Ron's dead?"

"Yes, I thought it likely he'd react badly to my canceling the engagement. I worried he might take it out on you." She looked up at him. "Did I do something wrong, Harry?"

Harry pulled her close and wrapped her into the tightest hug he'd ever given anyone. "No, Love, you didn't do anything wrong." He held her while he considered what he would do next. "First we take care of Ron's body, and then we decide what we do next."

"I knew you'd understand." She nuzzled deeper into his embrace.

"Not that I'm complaining, but maybe, just maybe, you should let me decide who gets to die from now on, okay?"

She yawned. "Okay, Harry."

"That's all right then," he said softly. He wondered if they could make it seem like the groom had gotten cold feet and made a run for it?

"Oh, Harry?"

“Hmm?”

"Good answer. He's only stunned."

"Oh, that's good too."

"And I may have kicked him in the family jewels once or twice... or maybe even 27 times."

"I admire your restraint."

"Thanks, I was surprised myself."