She hopelessly gazed at the home they'd purchased together two years prior. It was a rather luxurious apartment. Rent most likely cost her more money than he'd ever made in his life, from working himself, that is. Usually, his source of income was his mother's bank account and one knows, that would not last forever.

Leaving was no easy feat, especially since she'd grown quite attached to not only the apartment, but him, as well. He'd broken her, however, and she saw no other option. Staying in their home while he gathered his things and went off with another woman would have simply wrecked her further. Sitting on the couch that they'd so recklessly undressed one another on did not seem like a very bright idea.

There was only one other option. One she didn't want to resort to, but saw no choice. Harry.

Harry Potter is the Wizarding World's hero, and a damn good one at that. He is also Hermione's best friend. He has a heart of gold and is exceptionally kind — however, one could not deny that he holds strong opinions, especially of the people he's surrounded by. When push comes to shove, the raven haired boy can never be expected to hold his tongue, and she was absolutely sure this time would be no different.

Perhaps, Hermione should have listened. Perhaps, it would have been wise to admit that he'd been right all along. But, she couldn't. And she wouldn't. Her pride was far too strong and Harry freakin Potter was going to be the last thing to break her.

She still stood at the apparition point across from her former home. The handle of the bottomless suitcase was clenched tightly in her grasp and the tears dropped singly to the floor.

Popping in front of number twelve Grimmauld Place where Harry took up residence, the witch took a deep breath and held back any second thoughts that ran through her mind. What was she going to say? 'He finally left me, happy?' No. 'You were right.' No.'I'm going to die alone.' Absolutely not. Nothing felt right.

It was going to be a long night.

Harry Potter sat in the parlor room of the spacious household, a glass of firewhiskey in hand. He had been arguing with girlfriend, Ginny Weasley, twenty minutes prior to Hermione's arrival and hadn't expected to be interrupted by at least morning. So, allowing his anger to get the best of him, the man disregarded the fact that he had to make an early appearance down at the office and gave into the temptation for a nice, long drink.

He'd thought nothing of the action, hell, he'd welcomed the intoxicating demon like he would any old friend. Ginny and Harry hadn't been happy for a while. Her job as chaser for the Chudley Cannons was overwhelming for the couple, especially since Harry had felt as though he never saw her.

So, he drank. And he drank. And he drank; only ceasing at the ring of a doorbell.

Peeling himself from his seat, Harry rubbed his eyes from beneath his spectacles and sauntered over the door, happily. He hadn't been sure where the sudden burst of energy had come from, nor why he was so elated to answer the door when it was most likely Ron who's come to yell at him.

Cracking the door open, Harry peeked his head out slightly, as if to inspect any danger that may have lurked. But, once his eyes came in contact with Hermione's distraught frame, he sobered up. It seemed as though the sight of his best friend positively in shambles had been enough to keep him from swaying.

Ushering her inside his house, Harry found himself conflicted. How was he possibly supposed to comfort Hermione when he wasn't sure there was anything he'd wanted to do more than Avada Kedavra her ex lover to hell. Maybe he'd go to Azkaban, but it would have been worth it.

However, his thoughts which consisted of different ways to demolish her former boyfriend were all cut to a quick stop as Hermione launched herself at the raven haired boy. Harry was astonished. Sure, throughout the years Hermione had engulfed him in more hugs than he could count, but this one was different. This time she was the one who needed to be worried about.

"He's an idiot," Harry whispered in her ear as her arms circled around his waist and their feet inched closer and closer to the couch until they hit it; allowing Hermione to crawl slightly on top of him and to rest her head softly on his chest.

"Maybe he isn't, Harry. It was no secret that he could have done better than me. Perhaps... I was the idiot." She whispered, her voice weak from crying.

"Believe me, the one who lucked out was you. Whether he sees it or not, he'll never find someone stronger or just as caring and intelligent as you. Meanwhile, you will find someone who deserves every bit of your attention and most importantly, your tears. That guy is a bloody wanker." Harry said as he dragged his finger across her cheek, attempting to wash away any trace of weeping from her face.

But it was no use, the girl was a wreck and it seemed the only consistent aspect in her life at that moment was the continuous flow of tears that fell from her eyes.

"I don't know how to make you feel better," he whispered, his eyes a soft green that intoxicated her

She was not anymore aware than he was. Perhaps, she couldn't be helped. Perhaps, the brunette was simply not meant to be happy, no matter how heart-shattering that would truly be. "Tell me a story," she finally said, caving into the deafening silence that was bound to swallow them both whole if she kept shut for another second.

"The Dursley's gave me my first room when I was ten years old. It wasn't really prompted by them suddenly feeling the need to shower me with love, but because my Hogwarts letter was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs and they believed moving me to the upstairs bedroom would stop them from finding me." Harry breathed

He didn't know why he told that story. Never once had he ever felt the need to. But, with Hermione in ruins, perhaps he didn't want her to feel alone in her despair.

The brunette who held her head on his chest wistfully gazed at the twenty one year old man who seemed more broken than she could ever truly understand. And she hated to admit it, but no matter how much she wanted his story to make her feel better about her situation, it might have possibly wrecked her even further. All she'd ever known growing up was the feeling of being loved by the Grangers, who owned the only dentist office in the compact neighborhood she grew up in. They had constructed a reality for her that Harry could have only dreamed of, and that is what killed her most of all.

"Harry, that quite possibly made me feel ten times worse!" she confessed, "I mean how could they sleep at night? How could your mother's sister live with herself knowing she not only let a child who had no control over his life suffer in a place he was supposed to consider home but also treat the last thing she has of her sister like dirt under her shoe? That's truly sickening. Harry, why didn't you say anything?" Harry could hear the disgust drip from her tongue like venom and he smiled, appreciating the person he'd give his life for in a heartbeat.

"I didn't want to cause any trouble. Growing up I was taught to never ask questions. I didn't want to be a bother by asking for help. I mean if you really think about it, I probably had it better than half the kids in the continent who are suffering from similar issues." Hermione didn't think she'd ever heard anything so selfless yet devastating all at once.

She wanted to be absolutely amazed with Harry, but all she could be was sad as ideas and concepts she'd never even broached before seized control like a tornado. They were positively destroying every ounce of peace she'd been able to maintain.

"I'm proud of you," Hermione whispered, her hands gently stroking Harry's cheek as his eyes trailed over the countless amounts of paperwork on the counter he had to fill out and get to the office as soon as possible.

"Why?"

The brunette smiled through the pain she felt in her chest. "Harry, you carry an extraordinary amount of love in your heart and you happen to be one the most selfless and loyal individuals I have ever met. I'm proud of you because you have every right to be mad at the world, yet you've chosen an entirely different path than most would."

The raven haired man grinned widely as he changed their position to take a seat next to her, his eyes shining as he looked at her as if for the first time. Her petite frame. Her lack of makeup. Her small chest which rose and sunk with every breath she took. Her eyes a honey brown that stole your breath as they gazed through your soul. Her thick curls cascading down her back like a waterfall. Her hands were strong, yet at the same time gentle. And her mouth. Oh, how he wanted to kiss that mouth. And, so, he did.

It was wrong. Merlin, it was wrong.