A/N: Written for Sing-Me-A-Rare Volume 3. So much love to my amazing Beta UnicornsAndWrackspurts51, I couldn't have done this without your encouragement.

Song Prompt - Lost by Dermot Kennedy.

But if only you could see yourself in my eyes
You'd see you shine, you shine
I know you'd never leave me behind
But I am lost this time
Are we destined to burn or will we last the night?
I will hold you 'til I hold you right
But if only you could see yourself in my eyes
You'd see you shine, you shine

Hermione sat in her chair still and quiet as she watched the sun begin to peek over the horizon. Hours earlier, unable to escape the demons that followed her into sleep, she had retreated to her balcony with hopes that the crisp autumn air would calm her racing heart.

Wrapped in an old quilt stolen from her parent's bed, she watched as the world around her lit up in oranges and reds. Goosebumps raised on her skin as a breeze blew around her and she pulled the blanket tighter, determined to ignore the exhaustion creeping into her bones.

With a shake of her head and a resigned sigh, she stood up and made her way back inside. "Might as well get this day going, eh Crooks?" She said as she threw the quilt across her bed and headed for the door. Crookshanks stretched and stood, looking unimpressed with his mistress but jumped down from his perch anyway and followed her to the kitchen with a swish of his tail.

She flicked her wand as she entered the kitchen to unlatch the window over the sink, opening it to allow the post owl entrance when it arrived. Crookshanks circled her legs whining loudly for his breakfast as Hermione pulled out the kettle and started water boiling for her morning tea.

After filling and setting his bowl down, she scratched her grouchy familiar behind the ears and went about making her own breakfast. It was just as she sat down with her toast and tea that the post owl flew into the room and dropped her morning paper on the table along with a package.

Her eyebrows drew together in confusion at the sight of the box. No one had sent her a letter recently, much less a package, as her friends were all busy getting on with life after the war. Putting her curiosity aside, she fed the bird a bit of her toast and thanked it for her mail before it flew off with a soft hoot.

As she nibbled her toast, she turned her attention to the Daily Prophet that now lay open beside her plate. Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the absolute rubbish written there - another sensationalized story of the Golden Trio's adventures. "Ah yes, Rita...it was a bloody dream, a romantic adventure! What an absolute cow!"

Crookshanks meowed loudly as if in agreement before bumping his head into her foot.

It had been six months since the war ended, and though the funerals were over and Hogwarts was back in session, Hermione couldn't find it within her to celebrate. She had helped where she could, working to rebuild the castle and Hogsmeade but when she closed her eyes she still saw the faces of the lives that were needlessly lost.

Sitting in on every Death Eater trial was hard but necessary for her to be able to move forward, something her friends could not understand. She sat there for days, her heart aching for the young men and women whose lives would be forever changed due to a madman. The trials had come to a conclusion a month ago, each of the accused being sentenced to time in Azkaban no matter the severity of their crimes.

While Hermione agreed that the trials had been fair and that some men deserved every second of their sentence, she had been unhappy when even the young Death Eaters who had clearly been forced into the position were given time in the unforgiving prison as well.

She had argued in their favour over and over that a mark on their arms meant nothing if they had never embraced it nor even wanted it in the first place. After all, how could she agree with that sentiment when she had been similarly branded by an equally mad woman? Kingsley and the rest of the Wizengamot had dismissed her pleas and with a wave of his wand, their fates had been sealed.

Her eyes moved from the newspaper back to the mysterious package, and she sent her dishes to the sink to make room for the box. It was simply wrapped, brown paper with brown twine tied in a little bow. There was no note and though she knew in her gut that she had nothing to fear, she waved her wand over it to scan for any curses or similar nasty surprises it may hold.

Seeing no curses or traps revealed, she pulled the string to unravel the bow and pulled the edges of the wrapping back. Her fingers worked quickly to reveal a simple wooden box with a lock and a note that read "You hold the key to my heart".

A small cry escaped her lips and her fingers covered her mouth as she reached into her shirt with her other hand and pulled out the silver chain she never took off. Holding the tiny skeleton key between shaking fingers, she tried to ignore the burning in her eyes. "It's okay, Hermione...you're okay," she recited with a deep breath. Gathering her courage, she reached out and slipped the key into the lock, opening the box.

With the contents of the box revealed, she could no longer hold back and her tears spilt onto her cheeks. She reached in, softly trailing her fingers over parchment filled with precious words written in perfect penmanship.

She knew that handwriting like she knew her own; she knew exactly who these letters had come from, but how had he gotten them to her? Her mind whirled as she pulled the first envelope from the box, her name elegantly written across the front.

20 September 1991

Granger,

I'm not sure how you've done it, but you have burrowed yourself under my skin and I can't seem to ignore your presence. Somehow I find myself watching out for you between classes, in the great hall and in the library, incensed on your behalf. Me, a fourth year Slytherin, worried about an ickle Gryffindor firstie! I can't explain it. Perhaps these protective feelings come from missing Ingrid, my baby sister… Perhaps they're something else altogether.

You intrigue me; you're so tiny but you're a fierce little thing… and though you hide it well, I can see you wilting under your classmates' jeers. Their behaviour is abhorrent and anyone who hasn't noticed the sheer brilliance that I have witnessed from you isn't worth your time or your tears. You're only in your first year and have demonstrated magic not typically learned until fourth year! I'm impressed.

Also, that Weasley boy is a twat, ignore him.

T.R.

Hermione finished the letter with a watery laugh. How had she not known about this? He'd never mentioned any letters written to her before but she found herself unable to care as she peered into the box.

Placing the first letter back on top of the stack, she quickly refilled her cup and brought it, along with the box of letters into the sitting room. She wanted to be able to take her time; no doubt these letters would bring up many memories.

Her mind went back to the day she learned she was a witch and then those first days at Hogwarts. With her heart full of hope, she had walked into the castle ready to begin this new exciting chapter in her life. Finally, after feeling out of place for so long, she would be with others like herself. Her hopes of friendship had been quickly dashed, however, and she had spent most of that first month at school heartbroken and lonelier than ever.

A smile spread across her face as she thought back to the first time she met Thorfinn Rowle. She had been running late to potions after the staircase moved and in her hurry, down the corridor, she had run straight into the large fourth-year boy. She had apologized profusely as she gathered her scattered books from the stone floor, but the boy had shrugged it off and easily helped her up. Brown eyes met blue and though his face held no emotion, those eyes were warm and kind.

She had noticed, after that first run-in with the Slytherin, that he seemed to be near her more often, as his letter confirmed. His presence had become a comfort to her, a reminder that though she was alone, someone had cared enough about her to help her.

With a sigh, Hermione pushed down the ache in her chest and pulled the next letter from the stack. This one was dated the first of November, the day after the troll incident.

That first Halloween at Hogwarts had proven to be the worst she had yet experienced, and she had found herself scoffing at the words Professor McGonagall had spoken at the Sorting. After pushing her feelings down for so long, Ron's words that day had ripped into her and she rushed past him and his friends, determined to be alone when she fell apart. No, these kids were nothing like a family.

In her rush toward the ladies room, she hadn't seen Thorfinn watching the scene unfold. He stopped her in the hall before she could escape into the bathroom and knelt in front of her. She looked into his eyes, so full of concern for her, and lost the last of her resolve. If he was shocked by the way she threw herself into his arms and clung to him, he didn't show it. He simply wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her back as she sobbed into his robes. When her tears had finally slowed sometime later, Thorfinn cupped her cheeks in his hands and gently wiped her tears away.

"Fuck them, little one. They don't deserve your kindness or your tears."

He had nudged her toward the bathroom to clean herself up and she had spent the rest of the day there. She didn't want to see them, didn't want to see the looks they'd send her way knowing that they had brought her to tears.

Now, as she read the words of regret and guilt filling the page, she couldn't help but shake her head. He had no reason to blame himself for the actions of others, and still, he beat himself up for leaving her in the bathroom to head to his last class and then to dinner.

The next letter was dated March of her second year. He had been particularly angry in that one but recalling his words she knew it had come from a place of fear. Seeing her petrified couldn't have been pleasant.

Little one,

I am so bloody angry I don't know what to do. You're so still and your hands are cold like stone. What in Merlin's name were you thinking? I know your insatiable curiosity isn't easily subdued but Salazar, Hermione… you could have died.

Sprout is working on the cure, and when you wake up we will be having a talk about your reckless Gryffindor behaviour.

Thorfinn

Hermione read through the morning and into the late afternoon, her tea going cold and her stomach knotting in hunger. It was only when Crookshanks whined loudly from his perch on the windowsill that she laid the letter she had just finished on the table and stretched. "Seems I've lost track of time Crooks," she said apologetically as she stood and brought her teacup to the kitchen sink.

Her mind wandered as she went through the motions of making a sandwich and crisps. She started thinking about the subtle changes in each letter, the names he called her and the way the tone of the letters became more flirtatious as time progressed.

A smile tugged at her lips as she thought back to her third year. Thorfinn was in his sixth year and though he was a brilliant quidditch player, he was determined to do well on his OWLs. It was that year, as they sat together in the library working on their assignments that she had found herself more aware of the blonde. He'd grown taller and broader over the summer, and if her blush was noticeable when he smiled at her, he didn't say anything.

By Yule, she knew her crush was obvious no matter how she tried to hide it and she had worried that she was making a fool of herself. He was a Pureblood after all, and a Slytherin to boot, and while his friends and family tolerated their friendship, arelationship was not so easily accepted. Now, reading his letters it was clear that he had known all along.

She smiled as she thought back to a previous letter and felt familiar butterflies begin to swirl in her tummy.

I know I should be focused on my Potions essay, but you're sitting across from me with that adorable crease between your brows and it's damn near impossible. How can I concentrate on the differences in using crushed lacewing flies as opposed to leaving them whole, when you blush so prettily every time I smile at you?

Cheeky git, she could practically hear his teasing voice as she remembered the words, and Hermione laughed to herself as she poured herself some pumpkin juice.

She sat at the table eating her sandwich and wondered what he was doing right then. She missed him terribly and her heart sank as she thought of the harsh conditions he would be living in for the next year.

Her crush on him that year had never wavered or waned and had, in fact, become all-consuming as they exchanged letters over the summer. Her giddiness only grew upon seeing him in September, all muscle and long blonde hair. He was gorgeous and reminded her of one of those hulking Viking warriors in the movies.

Thorfinn was no help, just as big a flirt as he usually was, and he had done everything he could to make her blush. She sometimes thought there was something just under the surface of his playful taunting, and though it was all she wanted, she hadn't allowed herself to be hopeful for it.

They continued to study together that year as Thorfinn prepared for his NEWTS, but it seemed his friends had found any reason they could to pull him away from the library and away from her.

With him being a seventh year, Hermione had often found herself melancholy with the reality that he wouldn't be there next year. It was their last year together and it felt as though she saw him less and less. It didn't help that the Triwizard Tournament was all anyone had been going on about, and poor Harry was caught right in the middle of it.

It was during one of the many times she was alone in the library that Viktor Krum approached her table. She remembered the confusion she felt as the Bulgarian champion asked for permission to sit. They quickly formed a friendship and Viktor happily joined her when Thorfinn was absent.

He had been sitting with her on one such evening when Thorfinn had walked into the library, an indifferent expression on his face. Hermione looked into stormy blue eyes and felt her face flush, apparently, the attention Viktor was paying her was ill-received by her Slytherin. She hated that he'd been angry, but part of her had been incensed, how dare he be angry with her when he had left her to have fun with his friends? Another part of her, the one she tried to keep buried, had been excited by his reaction and eager to push him.

"Stubborn arse…" Things would have been so much easier those first few months of that year had he just come clean to her sooner.

23 November 1994

Hermione,

I'm doing my best here and I like to think I've done well in restraining myself, but every time that git touches you I die a little inside.

I know how you feel about me, little one and I hate that you think I don't want you. More importantly, I know why you believe that I don't. I could hex Weasley for making you feel plain, for making you feel like less than the beautiful person you are. Believe me, darling you're anything but plain. You're stunning and brilliant, you're kind and loyal. Love, if you could see yourself in my eyes… you'd see that you absolutely shine. You're the light that brightens every dark corner of my life. I'd give anything to make you mine, to treat you like the treasure that you are. One day I hope to show you just how much I adore you.

Thorfinn

His eyes had lit up the night of the Yule ball as she walked down the stairs. After hours of getting ready with the sole purpose of making him smile like that, she was pleased even though he couldn't take her to the ball himself. All of her petty classmates were jealous of her date, but the snide remarks about how she shouldn't be with Viktor had gone unnoticed because she only had eyes for the blonde watching her from the other side of the room.

Thorfinn had been there at the end of the night after Ron had shown his true colours. He'd taken her hand in his and led her to an alcove where he dried her tears and listened to her rant. It was as they sat beside one another talking about everything and nothing, that she had confessed her heart. Unable to hold back any longer, she admitted her fear of losing him once he graduated and how her heart was slowly breaking with the distance growing between them.

She had worried at that moment that he would push her away in some foolish attempt to spare her feelings. Of course, his father would never allow him to court a Muggle-born but that didn't change the way she felt! Her fears were banished just as quickly as they surfaced, when he reached over and cupped her cheek and his lips pressed softly against hers in the sweetest kiss she could imagine.

Hermione's fingers went to her lips now, the ghost of her first kiss and a thousand more lingering there. They had spent the remainder of her fourth year wrapped up in each other, unwilling to waste a single moment. But all too soon it was over and in the aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament, they agreed to remain friends.

"I don't want to say goodnight, little one. The thought of being apart from you kills me, but we still have these," he said as he held up the notebook she had given him for Christmas that year. "I don't know what the future holds, but remember that I love you. No matter what happens."

She had bobbed her head, too choked with tears to respond and when he asked her to write to him every day the promise fell easily from her lips.

Back in the sitting room, she pulled the next letter from the box, sat in her comfy chair and smiled. Autumn nineteen ninety-five, he had been off playing professional Quidditch since the previous spring and he had begged her to come to watch him all summer.

She had been trying to stay away, guarding her heart as best as she could, but finally gave in to him in August. After sitting in terror the entire time, she decided once was enough for her and had returned home that evening with swollen lips and one of his jerseys. So much for remaining friends.

Returning to Hogwarts without Finn the following term had been hard on her, even with the notebook. Though it had been her saving grace during her last years at Hogwarts and the year she spent on the run, it was a poor substitute for the man himself. She had kept her promise though, writing him every day. Through his words, she had witnessed the struggle he tried to keep hidden.

He had never come out and said it to her, but she knew when he had been forced to take the Dark Mark. His letters were becoming less frequent and the anguish he tried to cover bled through in the guilt that was so obvious on the pages. The short missive sent days after that fateful night would forever be burned into her mind.

"What do I do? Everything is broken...The devil hit his second stride. Please don't hate me, little one."

He could have told her about the long nights spent doing Voldemort's bidding, or in his case trying to avoid it. He could have shared his pain with her, but instead, he sent information. He sent anything he was able to learn that could be relayed to the Order. It was only in the aftermath of their capture and escape from Malfoy Manor, and with much convincing on her part, that she was able to pass the knowledge along to Bill.

After learning of her torture, Thorfinn abandoned his self-appointed task and focused on her. He often asked how she was doing, and though she could never blame him he told her how sorry he was that he hadn't been there to protect her. In every letter though, he expressed his wish for a swift end that would bring them back together.

On May second, he got his wish. He found her in an unused corridor on the fourth floor of Hogwarts after she had been separated from Ron during the final moments of the battle. He had easily taken down the opponent she'd been duelling, and they ran hand in hand into the Great Hall just in time to see Tom Riddle fall to the ground.

The chaos that followed was still a blur in Hermione's mind but she could remember the feeling of her hand clasped in Thorfinn's as Aurors attempted to pull him away from her. Hermione's screams had filled the air as she begged them to let him go and she could still hear Harry pleading with her to let him go.

She had sobbed as he turned to her, shaking off the guards temporarily to take her face in his large hands and look into her eyes. She'd stilled then, her chest heaving but her sobs quiet so she could hear his voice.

"It's alright little one, we made it. Everything will be okay, I promise. We'll be together again soon… but you need to let them take me now."

Seeing him resigned to his fate had broken her heart. She'd known she wouldn't see him, that he'd be taken to Azkaban to await trial. She had tried in vain to plead his innocence, but no one would listen. She had been able to do nothing but shake her head as the man she loved pried her fingers from his cloak and gently pushed her into her best friend's arms. It was the last time she would see him until his trial, months later.

He was sentenced to a year in Azkaban. His confession under the influence of Veritaserum revealed that he was in fact potioned and then forced to take the Dark Mark under its influence, as was the case with most of the younger men and women recently inducted into Voldemort's ranks.

Along with his being a marked Death Eater, he was also found guilty of arson after burning Hagrid's hut. He had detailed how the fire was only meant to be a distraction and had gotten out of control, explaining that he had not meant to burn the half giant's home.

As questioning went on, Thorfinn had revealed that he had not participated in any revels or murders and was only given leave to join the mission to capture Harry the previous year due to his excellent flying. Voldemort had been unimpressed with his lack of enthusiasm before his Marking, and the many times he had failed to prove himself. After his orders to capture the trio in London were unsuccessful, he and Antonin were punished severely and kept in the dungeons only to be released for the final battle.

The last items discussed had been the notebooks he and Hermione had shared, and the information Thorfinn had given to Bill Weasley. The contents of the former had revealed their relationship to the Wizarding world but also proven his desire to help the Order take down his so-called Master. The latter had solidified Thorfinn's defection in the eyes of the Wizengamot but as with the other young Death Eaters, he was given the minimum sentence.

Four months had passed since he was escorted back to his cell thousands of miles away. With her scandalous relationship out in the open, she was often the topic of conversation as she walked through Diagon Alley and the Ministry. Opinions were mixed, some saw her as a Death Eater sympathizer and others thought her tale was terribly romantic and tragic. After a month of this, she opted to stay home, away from prying eyes and nosy gossips.

If she were being honest, she felt lost. She didn't know what to do or where she fit in this world anymore. Hogwarts wasn't an option, she couldn't walk into the castle without being thrust into that dark place in her mind where explosions filled her ears and her eyes were assaulted with violent shades of red and green.

The Ministry had failed their world on so many levels that she had no desire to ever set foot in that corrupt place ever again, though she was offered a job at least once a week. It was times like this, when she thought about her life and what she wanted for her future, that she missed the warmth of being in Thorfinn's arms and the way he could calm her racing mind. He would know just what to say if he were here.

She released a heavy sigh as she reached in and pulled the last letter remaining out of the box. It was nearing dinner time now and as slowly as she had worked through each letter, Hermione felt like the last one had come much too quickly. Lifting the parchment to her face, she inhaled, taking in the familiar scents she'd long associated with the man she loved. "Merlin, I miss you…"

Slowly, she unfolded the parchment and, seeing the date, was unable to stop the sob that crawled its way from her chest.

August 18, 1998

My dearest Hermione,

I haven't got much time, Minister Shacklebolt has kindly allowed me one last letter and I want to assure you that I'm alright. I know you're angry little love, but please know that after everything, I believe my sentence was fair. A year will go quickly by and I will gladly serve my time in that hell hole if it means I can come back to you a free man. I'll spend every day thinking of our time together and though I don't deserve you, I'll cling to the hope that soon I will hold you in my arms once more.

Did you see their faces...they couldn't comprehend the thought of you and I being together. Even Potter looked surprised and he already knew about us. I'll admit that it seemed far-fetched to me as well back in sixth year, but I'm so bloody lucky you chose to give me a chance…

I wish you were here, I wish I could hold you and kiss you one more time. It's still and quiet here, not at all what I expected. The smell of sweat and filth permeates the air and other than the occasional sound of crying from the cell next to mine, no one makes a sound. It's enough to drive anyone mad and as I sit here, I am avoiding thoughts of how much worse it is in Azkaban. This Ministry cell is a welcome respite; at least it's dry.

Do you think they'll allow you to visit me? Not seeing you last year was terrible but at least we had the two-way journal...I'm afraid the next twelve months will be excruciating without your words to keep me going.

During the nights there, while lying in the darkness, I often find my mind wandering to my seventh year, your fourth. That was a hard year for us wasn't it little love? Seeing the hope in your eyes dim a little each day as the distance grew between us killed me. I hid my own jealousy and lied to my friends and family, even though you were all I ever thought about. Finding you crying in the garden the night of the Yule Ball after the hateful words Weasley threw at you was the push I needed to let go and be honest about my feelings. I meant every word I said that night, and they're still true today...I was lost until I found you.

You saved me that day you ran into me, and every day since. I love you more than I can express in words, and I intend to make you mine as soon as I'm released from this cell. I'll make up for every moment stolen by that madman and work every day to prove myself worthy of your love. Please say you'll wait for me.

Until we meet again,

Finn

Hermione tipped her head back, eyes closed and letter clutched to her chest. Her thoughts swam with the many memories brought forth by Thorfinn's letters and her heart both warmed from his words and broke for the time they had lost.

As she turned each memory over in her mind she was confronted with the truth that she had never allowed herself to truly grieve. Her tears fell unchecked as she cried for her parents who would never know her again, for the lives of the lost, for the friendships now strained as each of them dealt with their feelings in different ways. She cried for the childhood she lost in order to rid their world of Voldemort and she cried for the man who now paid the price for the sins of his father.

The feeling of paws kneading into her chest drew her out of the darkness and she opened her eyes to see Crookshanks watching her.

"Sorry Crooks, I'm a mess, aren't I?" she asked while scratching him behind the ears. She took a deep breath, feeling wrung out after her long cry and stood, taking care to put the stack of letters back into the box.

After a spot of dinner, she made her way back up the stairs to her bedroom with Crookshanks closely following behind. She quickly showered and dressed for bed before climbing under her blankets and pulling out her little journal. Since his sentencing, the pages were being filled with one-sided entries. She poured her heart out night after night, all the while longing for a reply that would never come.

Getting comfortable she picked up her self inking quill and wrote a short entry before replacing it in her drawer and settling into sleep.

In a small, cold and miserably damp cell somewhere in the North Sea, Thorfinn Rowle sat on his cot staring into the pages of his beloved journal. His eyes grew heavy as he devoured each word, rereading every entry from start to finish.

His heart ached as he reached the most recent entries and read each pain filled sentence with no way to answer her. He was grateful for this small mercy the Minister had granted him and though he was unable to write back, Hermione's words breathed life into him when he felt himself slipping.

As he turned the next page, he was elated to find a new entry from his little witch, and as he read the short missive a brilliant smile spread across his scruffy face.

Of course I'll wait for you, you silly man. I promise.

He chuckled lowly at her easy response and felt relief knowing that she had received his gift. He would hold on to her words and continue to count down the days until he could see his fierce little witch again, knowing that as long as he had her love he could get through anything.

With a kiss to the page, he closed the book and tucked it under his lumpy pillow before getting as comfortable as was possible and letting sleep pull him under.