Authors Note; I do NOT own Harry Potter-- J.K. Rowling does. This is my first Harry Potter fic, and so far, I am quite proud of it. Lost and Found Love will be on hold for now. I have ran out of inspiration for it, sadly. Anyhow, enjoy the first chapter, and please review with your comments.
This will be a Harry/Hermione, Ron/Luna, and Ginny/Dean fic. Although I hate Ginny with a burning passion, I also respect J.K. Rowling and Ginny's importance to a plot.
The Meaning of Love
Secrets and Memories
Winds of Autumn
So much had happened in the past year. It was an amazing feat to sit back and go over it all, seeing what could have been done better and what had been complete mistakes. And yet, the most brilliant witch of the age did so, her knees pulled up to her chest as she lounged beneath a tree beside the great lake. She couldn't help but think about how close they had come to not succeeding, more than once. How close they had come to demise.
She remembered her fallen comrades, knowing in her heart that she could have followed them. Remembering how much worse it had been than death. Remembering, always remembering. Bittersweet memories, a mixture of the horrible and the special.
"Hermione?" Looking up, the brown haired witch smiled, patting the seat next to her. Neither of her two best friends knew, and she had no intentions of them knowing.
"Hey Harry," she said softly, hugging her knees tightly to her chest. Harry had tried so hard, done things that she had thought impossible out of the boy, all to save --quite literally-- the world. He looked so much more burdened than he had before the final battle. She had honestly thought that perhaps after the threat of Voldemort had been wiped away that he would be more... Free. But she couldn't deny the facts, staring back at her from Harry's emerald eyes.
He blamed himself for all of it. The deaths that had been dealt in the final battle, the deaths that had torn him and others apart in the attempt to draw Voldemort out into the open, the deaths of so many innocent people, all reaching for a common goal. Remus and Nymphadora Lupin, Fred Weasley, Sirius Black, Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, Lily and James Potter (Harry's own parents, for goodness sake!), Neville Longbottom's parents, Alastor Moody, and so many more nameless fellow Hogwartians that had fought beside them.
Hermione offered him a small smile, knowing that there was something on his mind. She could read him as easilly, if not more so, than she did the words in her favorite books. "What is it, Harry?" she asked softly, reaching to take his hand. Lacing their fingers together, she kept her grip light, knowing that he often paced when upset or bothered, knowing that he often gestured in such a mood. To hold his hand any tighter would restrict him from something that was as natural to him as breathing.
Harry sighed, raking a hand through his messy raven hair, displacing the ordinarilly untamable locks even moreso than usual. Squeezing Hermione's hand back lightly, his gaze surveyed the school grounds. After the battle, it had taken months, even with magic, to clear the wreckage. How could he come back here? The new Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, had invited all those students that hadn't returned for their seventh year back, to complete their seventh year. It would be the largest seventh year class in history, with the original sixth years being seventh years this year, along with whatever students that hadn't graduated.
Seeing Hermione tilt her head from the corner of his eye, he closed them and dragged in a deep breath. "I don't know if I can come back," he said raggedly. "Everytime I look out here, I'll see it again. See their scared faces, the curses flying back and forth, the death and destruction." Blinking the stinging tears from his eyes, he dropped Hermione's hand, pushing up to stand. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he stared blankly into the Forbidden Forest on the edge of the grounds. How many times had they been there, the Trio, so close to possible horrendous consequences, and came out alive, teeming with the adventure they'd had? But they'd always managed to come out alive, whether by some stroke of brilliance from Hermione or himself, or just plain luck.
"Harry," she said softly, standing beside him, her heart quite literally breaking in her chest for the pain she saw written on his features, embedded in his very soul. "Listen to me." Framing his face with her hands, she made him look at her. What she saw there terrified her. "You saved millions of people, Harry. Those who fought beside us, they knew what they were against, they knew that there was a chance they could die. And they still fought, they died valiantly. You're their savior, Harry. You're the reason they can face the future, knowing there's no more Voldemort to fear."
Blinking, rendered useless in the face of Hermione's passionate declarations, Harry nodded slowly, lifting his hands to her wrists. They felt so tiny in his grasp, suddenly reminding him that this was 'Mione. His 'Mione. She was a woman now, not just an enigma that was his best friend. Biting the inside of his lip, he slid his hands up her arms, over the bend of her elbows, to her shoulders, and finally up to her face, cupping her jaw softly as she was doing to him.
"Thank you, Hermione," he said softly, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. His lips lingered there for a long moment, and he knew that she noticed. She had stiffened, braced to pull back, but he beat her to it. "Don't stay out here too long. Molly wants us all back at the Burrow before dinner." Dropping his hands, shoving them back into his pockets, he headed back toward the school. Ginny and Ron were inside, putting the finishing touches on some of the destroyed interior, trying to get it back to rights before the start of term.
Hermione smiled sadly, watching Harry go. Watched him go back to Ginny, who came out to meet him on the steps, wrapping him in a tight hug and leading him inside. Sighing, Hermione sank back to the grass, leaning back against the tree. Sometimes, she wished that she could simply drift into nothingness and simply forget it all. Forget the secrets, the pain, the love.
Pulling her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them again, her gaze straying around the summer colors that adorned the world in late July. She loved autumn the most, the beautiful colors, the chilly weather. Not too cold, but not too warm. In the beginning, she had been crazy about Ronald because of his hair. It reminded her so much of her favorite season that she couldn't help but be drawn to him because of it. In her first through third year, she had believed it had been a trick of fate, a slight sign to show her the right one for her. Yet, as she grew older, she'd realized that it wasn't. She didn't have feelings for Ron other than the best friend feelings that she'd shared with Harry for so long.
Only, her feelings for Harry had changed somewhere during their fourth year. Maybe it had been watching him during the Triwizard Tournament, seeing him triumph in the face of such spectacular odds. Maybe it had been their close friendship. Maybe it had been there all along and it had taken that long to finally realize it.
She'd never voice her feelings. Never. She'd take them to the grave with her. Harry was happy with Ginny, escatic when they had gotten back together the week after the final battle. She couldn't tell him and put more shadows in his eyes.
Sighing, Hermione stood, dusting the grass and dirt from her fadded Muggle jeans, she tugged the light sweater closer, zipping it up and ducking her head as she trudged back up to the school. Pausing before she'd reached the large doors leading into the Great Hall, she changed direction, heading instead to Hagrid's hut. She knew he was there. She could see the smoke billowing up against the clear sky from his chimney.
Knocking lightly on the door, Hermione waited a beat, waiting for Hagrid's "Come in" before slipping inside, closing the door behind her and pushing Fang down before the massive beast could slober all over her.
"'Mione!" Hagrid beamed, looking up from the small creature he'd been caring for. Hermione hesitated a moment, hoping against all odds that it wasn't another baby dragon, or worse, a blast-end-screwt. Hagrid saw her hesitation and chuckled. "Jus' a baby owl," he said, nodding his head for her to have a seat. As she moved forward to take a seat, Hagrid sighed.
"Have you ever wondered how things might have been different?" she wondered quietly, her eyes unfocused as she dazed out the window.
"I s'pose so," he answered, studying her. She hadn't been the same Hermione since the battle, and Minerva had told him why when he'd asked. Hermione knew that he knew, but had never confessed it to him. George knew; he'd found her. Molly knew, she'd helped the girl. "Why ya askin'? Got somethin' on yer mind?"
Hermione sighed, bringing her dark gaze to her beloved Hargid's face. He'd always been there for the Trio, intentionally or not. "I just wonder, sometimes, if things had been different... then maybe people wouldn't have suffered so much, you know?" Hagrid fought back a smile. His Hermione, always thinking of others and how to remedy their pain. Especially Harry. He wondered how the dense boy could keep from seeing it.
"I know. But, sometimes things ar'nt as easy as they seem. Where ya could see yerself doin' one thing, another person couldn't. Tis jus' the way of things." Hagrid shrugged his massive shoulders. "Ye need to tell them."
Hermione's head jerked up, her eyes clashing with Hagrids. They'd never discussed it, but she's always thought that he would leave it be. "I can't, Hagrid. It would tear them both apart." Biting her lip, she blinked against the sting of tears. Damn, how she wanted to tell them. How she wanted their comfort. She just... couldn't tell them. It was enough, with Molly and George constantly pulling her aside to see how she was. She didn't need her boys to give up their lives to constatly protect her. It was her mistake, and she'd live with it.
Hagrid nodded slowly, reaching across the table to take her hand. Squeezing gently, he let her know that whatever she decided, he'd be behind her. Smiling, she turned the conversation toward the infant owl in Hagrid's care. After finding that the tiny owl was to be a gift to Harry for the deceased Hedwig, Hermione reluctantly left.
Meeting Ginny, Ron, and Harry in the Great Hall, Hermione stayed silent as they trooped up to the Headmistress's office, intent on flooing to the Burrow. Ron currently wasn't speaking to her (product of a stupid arguement over Krum) and Ginny was acting colder than usual toward her. Hermione had started taking long walks, sometimes with George, and sometimes alone, to avoid the tense air the permeated the bedroom in the Burrow that she shared with the red-haired girl.
George and her had actually bonded. They were good friends now, sharing secrets with eachother that, in current lights, they felt they couldn't share with anyone else. Hermione held George when he cried, missing Fred terribly. George held Hermione when she relived the nightmares.
Grabbing a handful of floo powder, she blinked from her thoughts as McGonagall shackled her wrist. "Do you mind? I'd like a word with you," she said, a slight tilt to her eyebrows. Frowning, Hermione dropped the powder back into the sack, standing back to watch Ginny and Ron floo back to the Burrow.
"Need me to stay behind, 'Mione?" Harry asked, leaning close to her ear from behind. Hermione drew in a sharp breath, hoping he didn't notice.
"Thanks, Harry. But I think I'm fine." Stepping away from him, Hermione offered a smile. Harry nodded slowly, then grabbed a handful of powder and stepped into the flames. Tossing the powder down, he loudly declared his destination. Turning back to McGonagall, Hermione crossed her arms over her ribs. Biting her lip nervously, she took a seat when she was motioned to.
"Now, Miss Granger, I regret to inform you that your... attackers have not been found." Pausing, Minerva let the news sink in before continuing. "However, many of the Order members are after them. They are very fond of you." Smiling, she reached across the desk, patting Hermione's hand.
"That they are. I'm grieviously sorry for what happend, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said from his painting. Hermione had to fight the twinge that she felt in her chest at the kindly twinkling blue eyes. Even in his portrait, he knew everything.
"Me too," she whispered hoarsely, tears welling behind her eyes. It had been a month, and she still wasn't ready to face what had happend.
"I do believe that you ought to tell Harry, even if you keep it from Ronald." Hermione glanced up sharply, frowning at Dumbledore's painting. "Harry has always been the more mature. He understands you better than Ron does, doesn't he?" It was a rhetorical question, and Hermione swallowed against a lump in her throat.
"I can't, Dumbledore," Hermione rasped, twin tears falling from her eyes. "He's so tortured as it is. I can't add to his burdens. He's finally happy, with Ginny. Even if he still has things to deal with, he's finally happy." Shaking, she wipped the tears off her cheeks. "I can't add to his pain." It was the final word on the subject, her pained voice so heartbreaking that neither adult could muster the strength to prod her further.
Standing, Hermione wipped her face, grabbed a handful of floo powder, and stepped into the fire. "I'm sorry," she said, seeing the respectful yet disappointed look on McGonagall's face. "The Burrow!"
Harry's face spun into view as the fireplace spit her out in the living room of the Weasley home. His brow was crinkled in worry, a frown marring his handsome face. He jumped forward, grabbing Hermione's shoulders as he saw her red, puffy eyes. "What happened?" he demanded, peering deep into her eyes. He'd joked once that her eyes were the portals to her soul, she was that simple to read. Shaking her head, she pushed him away.
"Nothing. I... I just need time," she whispered, sending him a glance as she wrapped her arms around herself, heading for the door. She passed Ron, who backed up and frowned, seeing the look on her face.
"What's up with her?" Ron asked Harry as he joined his mate in the living room.
Harry sighed, dragging a hand through his hair again. "I don't know, mate. But I intend on finding out." He frowned, glancing Molly's guilty face peeking out of the kitchen. "Mrs. Weasley!"
The woman cringed, pulling herself back into the kitchen, pretending oblivious to Harry who followed her, a strictly determined look on his face.
"Yes, Harry dear?" she queried, waving her wand to start the dishes washing themselves.
Crossing his arms, Harry Potter, the famous Boy Who Lived, stared down the woman he'd come to think of as his mother. "Whats wrong with Hermione?"
Molly swallowed. "You see, Harry," she started, pausing and glancing out the window to see Hermione, standing with her back to the house, staring out at the sky. "I can't tell you, as much as I'd like to. Hermione needs to. It's her secret. She needs to be the one to reveal it." Biting her lip, the ever-fretful mother hen, leaned close to Harry. "When she does tell you, you need to be understanding and not be violent. It wasn't her fault." With that, Molly decisively left the kitchen, going in search of Arthur.
Harry frowned, watching as George walked to Hermione's side, opening his arms and letting her cling to him. He growled, something within him surging to life, wanting to tear the Weasley apart.
"Harry? You reckon we oughta go see if there's anything we can do to help?" Ron asked, swallowing past the lump of regret for his actions. He'd picked a fight with her, knowing that Krum was an old friend, and he knew that she'd been under stress lately. She'd bounced back quicker, but there was still something hiding in the depths of her beautiful brown eyes that even Ron had noticed. He'd only been trying to help. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Ron had the decency to look ashamed, ready to spring to the side of one of his best mates.
"I reckon so. She looks... horrible," Harry confessed with a frown, wondering why it bothered him so much more than Ginny sad did. It was because she was his amazing best mate. She was even closer to him than Ron. She'd been loyal, completely. When Ron been jealous, when Ron had doubted him, Hermione never had. She'd been with him through the Triwizard Tournament, had dropped her class studying to help him. And he was thankful for it.
Leading Ron outside, they trudged up the incline toward George and Hermione. George pulled away from her as he saw the two approaching, whispering something to Hermione that made her nod with a slight smile and wipe her face off. As George walked past them, Harry's hand caught his arm on reflex.
"How bad?" he asked softy, his emerald eyes catching George's hazel ones. George swallowed, fighting the urge to glance back at Hermione.
"Bad." Retrieving his arm, he continued down the hill to the burrow, leaving Harry and Ron to perhaps finally get the truth from Hermione.
Swallowing, Harry glanced at Ron, who had paused to wait for him. Fear was mirrored in both their eyes, as well as concern for their best mate. Neither dared to hope. She was so much more than a mate, to both of them. She was a sister, a mother, a guide, a tutor, the light to their dark thoughts, the one that kept them on track when they might have gone mad. Or maybe that was what Harry tried to convince himself.
"'Mione?" Harry asked softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder softly. His heart wretched as she turned, her wide, tear filled brown eyes meeting his.
"Harry," she sobbed, then threw herself at him, her face burried in his neck as she cried. Her body trembled against his, her arms wrapped so tightly around him he was almost afraid that his ribs would crack.
"Sh... Shh... We're here," Harry said soothingly, glancing at Ron as he came up, rubbing a calming hand over Hermione's upper back, between her shoulder blades.
"Yeah. Both of us. We're your best mates, 'Mione. You gotta tell us whats wrong." It was a pitiful attempt to help, but it seemed to work, for Hermione slowly stopped crying. Lifting her head from Harry's sturdy, comforting shoulder, she ignore the thoughts in the back of her mind about how well they had fit together, how good it had felt to have him hold her. She could have none of her fantasies, and she had just better give them up now.
"I... I suppose I've just been..." Dragging in a deep breath, she ran a hand through her hair, staring at the ground. She couldn't tell them. She'd told George that she wouldn't, and he'd agreed that it might very well be for the best. "It was horrible, seeing the two of you fighting. Seeing the two of you in danger." Turning bright eyes on Harry, she choked on a sob. "We thought you were dead, Harry. And Ron? I couldn't find you." Tears rolled down her cheeks again, making the boys guiltilly step forward, both eager to comfort her anyway possible. They hated to see her cry. Even if they'd only seen her cry a handful of times, if they never saw her crying again it would only be too soon.
"Hermione, we're sorry. We didn't mean to make you worry." Ron shot Harry a panicked look, not entirely sure what to do. Hermione had cried on Harry, but never on Ron. Ron had been there a time or two, but he'd never had to hold her while she was crying.
"I-I know..." Slipping her arms around their necks, she hugged the both of them close, unwilling to let them go. The two had to bend slightly to accomidate her shorter height, but hugged her back, glad that she had calmed down.
"You ready to go back to the Burrow?" Harry asked a few minutes later, his hand moving up and down her spine as she leaned exauhstedly against him. Ron was standing back, frowning as he considered her.
Hermione sniffled, lifting her head groggilly and nodding. Slipping her arm through Ron's, she leaned into him, letting him make up for the arguement over Krum by escorting her back to the house. Harry came up, taking her other arm on the opposite side. Together, the three made their way back down, the quiet not entirely peaceful, but not strained, either.
Detatching from the boys, Hermione smiled in appology, claiming exauhstion and retiring to the room she shared with Ginny. Though it was technically Ginny's room, Ginny had all but abandoned it for the time being to stay with Harry, be it in Ron's room or in the living room. George, missing the companionship of Fred, had come back to the Burrow for a while, staying close to Hermione. Sometimes they slept in the same bed, clinging to the other, but were always careful to be back in their own rooms by the time Molly or Arthur woke.
Closing the door softly behind her, Hermione winced when she saw Ginny, sitting primly on her bed. The red head glanced up, her gaze chilling significantly upon seeing the intruder. "Sorry for interrupting. I'll go see if George wants company," Hermione murmered, backtracking.
"No, its alright," Ginny rushed, making Hermione pause with her hand on the doorhandle. "Um... I suppose we should talk..." Hermione stiffened, glancing back at Ginny.
"Gin? Is it alright if we talk some other time? I have the worst headache, and I'm dead tired." Biting her lip, she waited for her best mates girlfriend to answer.
"Alright. I'll see you later then. I'll go get some Quiddich practice in." Ginny stood, tossing the magazine she'd been flipping through to the bed and grabbing her broom. Offering Hermione a tiny smile, Ginny slid out of the room.
When she was alone, Hermione sighed in relief. It was just what she needed right now. She couldn't think right. Harry's scent still hung in her nose, intoxicating her. Dropping to her cot, Hermione turned, facing the wall. Why was it so hard? Maybe she just needed some time, away from everyone, completely to herself.
No, if she did that, she'd go insane. Left to her own thoughts with her memories? It would destroy her.
Sighing, drawing the blanket higher over her cold form, Hermione curled down and closed her eyes. She kept seeing his eyes, flashing above her in cold amusement. A last act of malice against a mudblood, a last outlast of hate while their Lord fell. Turning on her opposite side, she reached for her wand, accioing her bottle of dreamless sleep draught to her. Uncorking the bottle, she took the right dose, then replaced it in her things and lay back down.
Eventually she would have to face what had happened. She had a sinking feeling that it would be soon, that it was going to be unfixable. The damage would be permanent. Slipping her hand down, she rested it on her flat stomach, feeling it churn in revulsion. She didn't think she'd ever been so afraid. Would she loose her best mates if they found out? It was bound to happen, and she couldn't stand it.
Closing her eyes, Hermione slowly drifted into a dreamless, troubled sleep.