Well, the story is finally back!

A few people left me PM's and I started questioning the entire direction of the story, originally titled Impossible and I decided to take a break from it.

This story is written in Hermione's POV. And this chapter goes from the Present to the Past and then finally back to the Present.

I can't promise that reviews will be frequent as I'm switching schools and unsure of the workload, but this time I swear it will be finished!

Happy Reading!

Somehow I knew between the time that Harry told me that he didn't wish to return to Hogwarts that things would never be the same. That the path that I had charted out for us was rapidly fading away.

I used to sit, absently staring into the dancing fire, in the Gryffindor common room and picture the three of us later in life. Harry was definitely in the Auror field, while Ron kept oscillating between that and a career in Quidditch.

I, on the other hand, despite what everyone thought of me had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. The only thing I knew was that I wanted to help someone. And whether that was in St. Mungo's or furthering the mission of S.P.E.W. I wasn't too sure.

Real life however, intervened and made the choice for me. Unfortunately it was neither of the two and rather, I ended up, in the last place that I anticipated. And perhaps the first place that my family history indicated.

Jail.

And how did, Hermione Jane Granger end up in jail? After all I was—and still am, one of the main faces identified in the Final Battles. Still so much history didn't save me from this.

Harry couldn't save me from this.

After all, he put me here.

**

I had been at the Burrow for two weeks, simply passing the time by reviewing all of the summer assignments. Occasionally, I would venture out of the room and was amused with a game of Exploding Snap or Chess with Ron. The interest didn't hold, because I never won at these games.

I believe it was rigged.

And though we were all on our toes, with every day more news about signs that the worst was near. More shops in Diagon Alley that were closed and the looming death toll as people gave up the search for their loved ones.

And amongst all of these thoughts, constantly swimming in our heads—I managed to smile when I heard his feet shuffle down the hallway and pause at my doorway.

"You told Ginny."

I was hurt that those were the first three words that he was offering me, after the long time that we spent apart. The letters that I sent him, he hadn't responded to. I wondered if he had even opened them.

"I told Ron that I wasn't planning on going," explained Hermione. "I forgot myself and I suppose that she overheard."

His feet shuffled, and as I scrutinized his appearance, I realized that hew as just as nervous about this entire situation as I was.

"I guess, that makes it, alright."

"No one's talking to me," explained Hermione. "Ron thinks that if I don't go, he'll end up staying here. Ginny wants me to tell her everything that I know. Mrs. Weasley believes that I'm the reason the two of you broke up, and Mr. Weasley doesn't want to get caught up in all of it."

"So why are you still here?"

"It would look bad if she kicked me out amidst all this," admitted Hermione. "Besides this is still your house. Unless of course you don't want me here, either."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione."

I stared down at my book, but the words flowed through one end and out the other, the words never sticking. He was here now, filling all of my senses and my brain wouldn't let me forget it.

"You've had a month to think about it, Harry. Is going out into the wilderness to fight the only solution you can think of. There isn't something more reasonable? Something that involves you continuing your education?"

"I knew you were going to do this."

"I'm worried about you."

And I was—honestly. If Harry didn't change his mind by summer's end, I would probably be packing up my things too and going in for the kill.

While I was wrapped up in my thoughts he stepped out of the doorway, and further into the room, coming to rest against what I called my dresser.

"I'm going mad standing here, right now, Hermione. And I'm sorry if it upsets you, but there isn't exactly a safe place that we can go right now. Even this is in danger."

His arms flung about the room, but I knew that he meant the entire house. I let him continue. Harry told me, rather passionately, about how he believed he needed to act while the Ministry did nothing. While the order did nothing.

And finally he hit the low blow.

"Dumbledore would've wanted us to do this."

In that moment I wanted to tell him how I thought that the man he admired, had lost it in his final days. That the man who he had come to trust the most had lost his cool tact that made him so.

Some part of me wanted to shut him out, like he had shut me out the majority of the summer. I wanted him to feel what I felt right now—the rage that was boiling underneat and the desperation. But more than that I wanted him to understand.

This room had become my own in the short time that I had been there. I got up from the bed, shaking out my stiff legs, before I reached the library. My eyes scanned the titles before I plucked the one that I had been looking for.

It was slightly worn, due to my constant reading, but it was what he needed now more than anything. He looked at me in confusion ready to protest against the weighty book.

My index finger came to rest in the middle of his lips. Harry eventually took the book from my hands and turned, probably headed towards his own room by now.

"And Harry," I added stopping him in his tracks. "There won't always be just Voldemort. Sometimes there are things going on that you don't even know about."

**

I was going crazy here, or something equal. I had previously believed that being in a cell was bad enough, but now I knew different. They had moved me to a conference room of sorts—nothing personal about it.

The walls were the purest white until they practically glowed. I sat in a cool metal chair and across from me there was another. And in between those two chairs was a rather blocky table—no foot space underneath.

My hands had long ago folded across my chest and underneath my arms. And they remained there while I remained chanting the words I had started almost a minute after I'd gotten here:

I want to talk to him. I want to see him. I need to see my husband.

The words passed my lips, tumbling out quite clear. And though it seemed crazy to be talking to the impossibly white walls I knew from intuition that they could hear me.

It was also possible that they could see me.

The idea of that frustrated me to no end, but I wouldn't let that take me down with it. Right now I was supposed to kick and scream and show them the rage that they wanted.

An example for the jury if they decided they were going to take it to trial.

The door clicked and my eyes flew towards it. And another minute later it flung open. I had expected one person, but instead there were three that entered.

The first two were rather big men, no one that I recognized. And in their arms they carried boxes. And then the first left the room, through the same door, while the other went to put down his boxes.

I waited for him to leave, but rather than do so, he retreated to a corner. The third person that had stood at the edge of the wall watching all of this transpire finally walked forward. He definitely wasn't as big as the other two, in fact more sized towards the average body.

Finally he heaved himself off the wall and stalked towards me. He stopped a step or two short of the chair and watched me, but I didn't move my eyes to meet his.

And suddenly after enough time had passed he slid into the seat in front of me.

"We're going to rush through the process," he told me. He paused to clear his throat and lick his lips, but left no time for me in which I felt comfortable to speak. "And when the time comes, you're going to address the Wizengamot and tell them that you're not mentally sound. That Dolohov, fried the reasoning part of your brain, or some shit like that."

"I can't do that."

"You're really good at lying," he stressed. "The worst that can happen then is that your wand is snapped. In that event you can just go and travel the world as a muggle."

"I'm not going to do it. I won't do it. I refuse."

My jaws tightened in slight anger. I knew exactly who it was that sat before me now, but he was only a shadow of who I thought he was. Here was telling me what I was going to do and treating me like a child.

"It's always about what you want Hermione," he breathed. And he was sure doing a lot of it, probably reigning in his temper so he didn't bridge the space that was between us and do something that he'd probably regret. Something that would make the guard move towards the corner and probably pull him away from me.

"I'm not here in the way that you're probably hoping right now," he further explained. He leaned in closer to me until I could smell the scent of fresh cut wood. The smell of him riding his broom through the skies.

"There isn't a single person I can think of that isn't pissed with you right now. You're not in Azkaban because we're not too sure if you'd come back alive—not because of your personal preferences. The Minister has made it his sole objective to make sure that nothing of this sort occurs again—and I've informed him that I'm fixing my mistakes."

His words sent a chill through me. And all I could was stop and reflect upon them, turning them over and over inside my head trying to figure out if he really meant to say something else.

But I couldn't find it.

I blinked, eventually realizing that he was still talking to me. My eyes drifted towards his lips as they moved rapidly opening and closing, and occasionally pursing in frustration at his thoughts.

"How have you been?"

The words flooded from my mouth before I could stop them. And they paused and pressed together once more. I think he's been spending too much time around Professor McGonagall.

I watched as his fists clenched.

"Steven, your dismissed."

The man in the corner shifted, and I assumed that this was to who he was speaking. But even at Harry's command, he didn't budge.

"Auror Potter, that would be against protocol. With someone of such a high security risk we can't afford to…"

"I outrank you," snapped Harry. His hand waved about sounding childish and extremely annoyed that he didn't listen.

"You're not Head Auror. I'm not losing my job over this one."

Harry huffed in further frustration before signaling for him to turn around. I watched as his hand went to his waist, readying his wand, but he finally decided against it.

"Don't ask what you don't want the answer to."

And that was directed towards me.

"I need it," I countered.

He reached up and pulled at the ends of hair at my response. Harry Potter knew me—and he knew that I was persistent. We could sit here all day and I would keep asking until I got my answer.

And finally when the red was creeping up his neck, he flushing in anger he spoke to me. He looked directly at me, slightly intimidating me with the furious green of his eyes.

"I know what you did. Luna got drunk at the Weasley's Christmas dinner and she started spouting things. It was a bit incoherent, but I got the message."

"I don't believe you," I told him. "Since when does Luna drink?"

"You don't know us anymore, Hermione. Time didn't stop when you decided to run away. And for some of us things changed a lot between that time."

"But why would she –"

"I'm fine," he interrupted. He looked around and we both knew that Steven in the corner was listening to our conversation. Harry scooted closer to the table, lowering his voice. "More than anything I'm angry with you. And every second right now it's a battle to just—be in the same room with you."

"You don't have to be," I stated calmly. "I wanted to make sure that you never had to see me again. You brought this back up Harry—you brought me here."

"It's my job."

"This isn't about your damn job, Harry!"

He flinched for the first time and my throat hurt. My voice reverberated off the walls as I shouted at him disturbing the civility of our conversation.

"I'm not here trying to deny it," explained Hermione. "And I am definitely not going to try to explain it to you at all. But here you are using your position of power over me. And it's petty."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't have that right any longer in my opinion. If he wanted to play dirty, then I would too.

I turned around towards the guard.

"I want to go back to my cell."

"Yes, do take her back."

My head whipped around as Steven nervously fiddled with the keys trying to find the appropriate ones, and get out of this air thick with animosity.

"You're an ass, Harry. I hope that you know that."

And that was the second time that I had seen him in about three years. For so many reasons our reunion was full of frowning and sneers. And I'm positive that beyond all of that tears were present also. I will admit that I've cried about it before.

Because we weren't always at each others throats, trying to hurt each other in every way that we possibly could. Once upon a time we were friends.

And I sincerely believe that it went wrong when we became so much more.

Please review and tell me what you think about the new version. There will be slight and possibly major differences, but the same themes.