Disclaimer: All the normal disclaimer stuff applies here – not mine, belongs to J.K Rowling.
A/N: It switches from Hermione's to Harry's perspective. Hope it isn't an utter failure…. Enjoy, I guess.
____________________________________________________________________________________
I stumble through the thick, relentless snow and I can feel the salty tears leaving tracks on my cheeks. My legs threaten to give out and, exhausted, I collapse in a shivering heap on the icy grass. Finding no comfort in my recent memories, I think back to when I was happy; this seems to take a while. Willing myself to remember the memories I blocked not too long ago, my mind retrieves his face. As I picture his untidy shock of ebony hair, and his alabaster skin, a warmth grows slowly from deep within my body. I close my eyes, wishing the image to stay, but the face I imagine fades – almost excruciatingly slowly – and is replaced with the most painful image I have ever known.
White and gold streamers, similar to those at her brother's wedding, fall gently from the trees and adorn the shimmering white marquee above our heads. The man standing opposite myself grins cheekily, and his nose scrunches adorably, squishing the freckles that cover his nose and cheeks together. His smooth, gelled hair – which appeared even redder in the sliver of sunlight that was falling on his face – contrasted brilliantly with the gold suit he was wearing. I never really liked that suit – it was her choice, after all – and I give a small smile back as a courteous gesture, that's all. As my eyes wander, I look out over the crowd seated on the cream-coloured chairs and my gaze now returns to the lily bouquet I hold in-between my hands.
I look to the left of me and stare at the beautiful gown of the bride. Her sleek, smooth, red hair is the mirror image of her whole families, and falls lightly at the middle of her back. My eyes search her face for any signs of regret, but find none. I let out small sigh of disappointment as I look into the beautiful emerald eyes of the groom. He looks happy, and he is. He's happy with his choice, and I can feel that. I can see it in his eyes. They are gleaming with love as he stares at his wife, and they do not wander or stray from his bride's. He opens his mouth, and I realize we must be up to the "I Do's", and I plaster on a smile. He closes his mouth, and leans into the kiss that all newly-married couples share – it's tradition, I guess. I feel the tears welling up, and I blink them back, not daring to show any emotion other than joy. One devilish tears escapes my desperate eyelid and trickles down my cheek. It's funny; I can feel that tear… Or maybe it's the tears I am crying in reality.
"Oh well. Maybe they can pass as tears of joy…?" I think to myself.
The two pull apart from what seems to have been quite a passionate kiss, and stare into each other's eyes for what seems like an eternity to me.
That image stays, against my will. I open my eyes, and the sounds of the rowdy cheers from the redheaded twins and their family seated in the front row resound through my empty head. I gaze around, taking in the newly revealed surroundings, still barely visible in the light provided by the rising sun peeking over the horizon. Suddenly, it dawns on me, as a manor in the distance pulls my eyes into focus. I'm going to his house.
"Why on earth would you even think of doing that?" I reprimand myself. "He probably doesn't remember who you are, or want to, anyway..."
Laboriously pulling myself onto my feet, I take a moment to relieve the light-headedness with a spell. She rarely used magic anymore and was a little rusty, so she had to try a few times to get it right. Imagine that, the supposed "smartest witch of her age" having to try more than once at a spell as simple as that. That was preposterous. Preposterous, but true. I giggle a little at this, closing my eyes as I burst into a loud fit of laughter and begin to cry. But these tears don't sting or taste of seawater, like their predecessors – they are tears of a sick kind of happiness.
As I wipe the steady stream flowing down my cool cheeks, I open my eyes and the gentle breeze stings as it dries them. The faint silhouette in the distance stands magnificently on the top of a tall hill, and subconsciously, my mind forces me to take feeble steps and once I regain the feeling in my feet, I find myself walking briskly towards the manor. I only realized just how far I had walked when I found myself slowing down and I was about to step onto the first rickety step at the front of the hauntingly beautiful house. A creak from the wooden platform below my right foot wakes me from my reverie, and I see a light turn on in the window, slightly to the left above me. Frozen, I wait for any signs of movement and, hearing none, I exhale a sigh of relief.
I turn around sullenly, and begin to head back. To where? I don't know… But somewhere is better than nowhere, right?
"I can't tell him right now. He's happy, and God knows what that would do to his and his wife's relationship…" I think to reassure myself that what I am doing is right.
The squeaks of bed-springs pierce the silence of the breaking dawn, and the stairs – no doubt old and most likely wooden – creak as loudly as the step that had awoken the inhabitants of the manor.
"Shoot", I mutter to myself and, despite my aching muscles, I manage to run and hide quickly enough behind a large tree trunk.
_______________________________________________________
"Harry…. Harry… Harry!"
"What….?" I mutter drowsily, as I rub my tired eyes and fumble for my glasses on the bedside table.
"I heard something… coming from outside," whispers a troubled voice from beside me. "Get up. Please…"
Finally, feeling the familiar shape of my round glasses, I attempt to put them on. After many stabs in the eye, I manage to push them into place and I focus on the form beside me. The face of Ginny Weasley, my wife, is visible through the small slanting ray of light coming through the partially opened floral curtains – of her choice – that adorn our bedroom window.
"Ginny, love, it was probably just the wind…" I say, in what I hope is a soothing tone.
"Please, just go and check for me…" she begs.
"Alright, but if it's nothing, I think I deserve breakfast-in-bed for getting up so early," I say, my words absolutely dripping in sarcasm.
A soft giggle is my answer and, as I reluctantly pull myself from under the covers of our four-poster king-sized bed, she disappears through the door in a flourish of pink silk. Instinctively, I peer through the curtains and out the window to see a retreating form run behind a tree in our front yard. Slightly intrigued, I tiptoe carefully down the stairs. Thank goodness they aren't creaking today – shit, I spoke too soon. Peering through the peephole, I can see a girl, with a slim frame anxiously staring at the door, waiting for it to open, I think.
Turning the door handle cautiously, I push the door open slightly. Her red, puffy, tearful eyes widen and she draws herself further behind the tree. Backing away from the door, which remains ajar, I wander through the kitchen and exit my manor through the back door. Wincing as the snow beneath my feet crunches, I silently make my way around to the side of the house, where I can see the girl clearly. There is something familiar about her, but I can't put my finger on it. Without making a sound, I walk swiftly to another tree, only a few metres behind her own. Her eyes do not wander from the door, and I can't help but wonder what she expects to happen.
"Uh, hey… You…" I say, hesitantly for fear that she might run.
She spins around as fast as lightning, and brandishes a short stick. I look more closely and I recognize this stick, not as a stick, but a wand.
"A wand? You have a wand?" I exclaim, shocked at the presence of another, well, another wizard – or in her case, witch.
"Of course I have a wand, Harry."
"Harry…? How does this girl know my name?" I think frantically as my mind whizzes through all the possible answers to the question.
"Oh no… I was right…. He doesn't remember me…" she whispers sadly, her head bowed as if in prayer.
"Remember you? I don't even know who you are…" I stammer, lost for words.
The gaunt stranger in front of me starts to shake uncontrollably, and for a moment I think she's having some sort of seizure, but then she lifts her head and her deep, dark brown eyes bore into mine with the sadness of a million unshed tears. And then it hits me like an Unforgivable. Those eyes… That uncontrollable hair…It's her…
_______________________________________________________
I try to put every emotion I can think of when I see his face into that gaze, but the look on his face puts all my efforts to waste. My mind reels as I contemplate what he could be thinking right now. A strange girl, with a wand, turning up at his house and expecting him to remember who she is… He was probably going to call the police – or contact the Ministry – but somehow he remains completely motionless, not moving a single feature. In my mind, my plan begins to unravel – my flawless, fool-proof plan is falling apart at the seams. I lean back until I feel the cold, jagged bark on my spine and I slide onto the grass in hopeless despair. Burying my face into my hands, it is only now that I realize I am crying. It's funny how numb one person can make you feel.
Standing up after what feels like an infinite number of days, weeks and years, I mutter a small apology for my inconvenience and trudge my cold feet through the still thick snow.
"M-M-Mione?" stutters a small, but deep voice from behind me.
"Yes…?" I reply, suddenly feeling a small glow from deep within my being, similar to before, only this time his face was real and within reach. I try standing up, and after a few attempts I am upright, but breathless from the physical exertion.
"What happened to you, Mione? What did he do?" said a stunned Harry Potter, sadness inscribed on his perfect features like words written on parchment.
"Well, you know things change… Nothing really…" I reply, trying my hardest to avoid the inevitable.
Again, almost like the Jelly-Legs Jinx had been cast from someone I couldn't see, my legs gave out and I fell hard onto the snow below me. My head hit the ground, and the last thing I remember seeing was a very worried Harry Potter standing over my fragile body, before everything faded to black – like the credits in a Muggle movie.
Muffled voices broke the silence of my unconscious mind and, being the extremely determined person I am, I decided I was fine. I sat bolt-upright throwing off the knitted blanket that covered my body, and stood up quickly. Despite feeling slightly light-headed, I marched determinedly toward the muffled voices and they became clearer with every step I took. I reached the door to what seemed to be a large kitchen, with numerous visible pots and pans scrubbing away at themselves.
"Harry James Potter! Just what do you think you are doing bringing her into our home?" screeched an obviously unhappy Ginny Weasley.
"What on earth are you talking about, Gin? It's Mione, my best friend in the whole world!" retorted an equally as angry Harry, although I thought I could hear a slight tone of desperation in his silky voice. "What is wrong with wanting to help a friend?"
"There is nothing wrong with helping a friend, Harry." Ginny said, in a noticeably softer tone.
"Then what is the problem?" said an exasperated Harry, slumping into a kitchen chair.
I jumped back slightly, removing myself from his line of sight. Just as well, because at that moment his stare wandered to where I had been standing a moment ago.
"It's just… her. That's all."
My jaw dropped in perfect synchronization with her shocked spouse.
"Her?" I whispered to myself.
Harry echoed my thoughts. "Her?" he repeated, standing up.
"Yes, her. Now shush, you don't want to wake her up from her precious slumber." She said, with contempt dripping from every syllable.
I moved into the doorway, and sighed with relief when no-one saw me.
"Well, what's wrong with her?" demanded Harry.
"She bugs me. First she married my brother. I would have much preferred to have sister like Lavender Brown who I could actually relate to. All Hermione ever does is read. And that hair, don't get me started on that mane… Has she seen – wait. Does she even know what a comb is?" sneered Ginny.
A dry sob broke out from my chest, and upon hearing this Harry turned to face me with a look of deepest remorse on his face.
"What are you looking- Oh." Ginny said rounding the corner to face where I stood, unable to move.
Regaining my senses, I began to back away from the doorframe. I turned around as silent tears began to fall from my tired eyes, and glanced back just as I reached the door long enough to see Harry shoot Ginny a hateful glare and quicken his step to catch up with me.
Slamming the door shut in Harry's face, I stumbled down the few stairs unable to see through my tears. Wiping them from my eyes, I hurriedly undid the buckles holding my Jimmy Choo stilettos onto my ankles and pulled them off. Running as fast as I could down the hill on which the 'House of Hate' stood, I tripped. As I tumbled towards the ground, I felt a firm arm wrap itself around my waist and I stopped, suspended in midair. Gently, I was lifted into a more comfortable position and the hand didn't release its hold on me.
Refusing to look into the face of the person who had helped me, already knowing who it was, I allowed myself to be pulled into a warm embrace. Quietly, I sobbed into his now tear-stained shirt and he wrapped his arms around me comfortingly. I caught my breath when he let go of me, and stared deep into his emerald eyes until he broke the silence.
"Mione, love. What happened?" he whispered into my ear.
"I left him."
Need I say anymore?
"Why did you do that? What did he do?"
"Lavender Brown."
"What?"
"Here, look at this."
I reached into the pocket of my small coat and pulled out, then handed to Harry, a small yellow piece of paper. On it, written in Lavender's unmistakable elegant writing, were:
Won-Won…. I'll be here tomorrow again. Tell me when she's working, so I can come around then.
Love, Lavender.
"He didn't….. Did he?"
"Mmhm," was all I could manage to get out before the waterworks started to flow again.
He didn't say a single word, but pulled me into a tighter embrace. For some unknown reason, this angered me to no end.
"I'm sorry, Mione. I really am."
Rage filled me, and I roughly shook his arm from around my shoulders.
"I don't need your sympathy, Harry! I'm fine. Well, I will be – but that's not the point." I said, edging my words carefully with as much malice as I could muster.
His expression broke my heart, his eyes filled with hurt and confusion.
"Mione," he said, "You can stay here for a while if you like…."
"What about your precious wife? She hates me."
"She doesn't hate you." he said, trying to convince himself too, I presume.
"Oh, yeah? How do you explain the mane comment? All I ever was to her, and probably to everyone else as well, was a never ending fountain of knowledge! Well, I'm done. I can't do this anymore."
As I stood up, he did too. Wrapping a large hand around my tiny forearm, he whispered, "But I love you, Mione. I really do. And how could you think that about yourself?"
"Love? I don't have room in my heart for love anymore, Harry." I replied, putting what little emotion I had left in my cold, broken heart into it.
At that precise moment, music seemed to issue from Harry's pants pocket. Pulling out a small mobile phone, he flipped up the top and answered.
"Hello?"
A distressed, but muffled voice from the other end of the line rambled for a good two minutes, despite Harry's attempts to calm down the person.
"Ron." he said, calmly. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I slumped down and buried my head in my hands.
I was still amazed at how capable Ron was with a mobile phone. I insisted on buying myself, him and Harry one each, just in case of emergency – it surprised me that he could remember how to work it.
"Yes, I know she's missing."
More muffled voices.
"She's with me."
Muffled screams.
"At my house. And for Merlin's sake, calm yourself. She's fine."
A much calmer muffled voice.
"Drop by soon, okay. I think she really needs to talk to you."
Muffled goodbyes issued from the phone and Harry muttered a quick goodbye.
Kneeling down beside me, he wrapped his hand around my waist and whispered into my ear, "He's coming around. I think you need to talk to him, Mione."
"No. Nope, definitely not."
"I don't think you should just leave it. And Mione? How long have you been missing?"
Looking down at my tattered clothing, I realized what a state I was in.
"I guess it's been about 4 or 5 days…"
"Shit, Mione. Really?"
"Well, I couldn't exactly go home now, could I?"
Without responding, he picked me up bridal style – I couldn't help but laugh at the irony of it all – and carried me back to the house which I had just run away from. When he reached the front door, he kicked it open to reveal a furious wife standing behind three children. A dry sob broke out of my chest when I looked at the eldest one – Harry's son. He looked to be about 13 or 14.
And what broke each individual piece of my heart in half again? He was the spitting image of Harry when I first fell in love with him.
Sure, I had married Ron. And I thought I loved him, I really did, but something in the back of my mind always reminded me that it was Harry all along.
Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes, and overwhelmed by memories – painful ones at that – I fell unconscious, my tears spilling over.
____________________________________________________________________________________
"Dad?"
I rushed past my wife and children and placed the fainted woman in my arms onto the lounge in the living room.
"Dad! Who is she?"
"James Sirius Potter! Get out of that room right now. Wait in the kitchen with Lily and Al."
"No. James, you should know who your godmother is."
"Godmother?" screeched a fuming Ginny Weasley, turning as red as her hair.
"Jeesh, Mum. She can't be that horrible if Dad trusts her. Right?"
"Do not back-chat me James!"
My son turned to face me with a 'what should I do?' look on his face, but I shook my head as if to say, "Leave it. She will only get madder."
"Ginny, go check on the kids, will you?"
You could almost see the steam coming out of her ears as she barged from the room, but not before glaring at the woman on the couch behind me.
"Dad," James began in a low voice, "Who is she?"
"Her name is Hermione Granger, my best friend."
Subconsciously I added, 'And the woman I love.'