A Note From the Author:

Hello all, I'm reposting the chapters of this story before continuing on with the story. I wanted to correct a few mistakes and also change up the plot a bit. I was unhappy with the directions the story had taken and I plan to revise to correct them back to their intended path. I apologize for the delay. I lost my muse for a while.

As always, please review and let me have your feedback.

-Rei

Ch. 1 – Breathe.

"2 AM and she calls me 'cause I'm still awake: "Can you help me unravel my latest mistake? I don't love him..." - Anna Nalick

His fireplace flashed green and he wondered how anyone could have possibly known that he was still awake, then snapped to attention from his musings by the alarming realization that anyone calling at 2 in the morning probably had a serious matter to discuss. Harry Potter pointed his wand at the fireplace and quickly accepted the call. He was surprised to see the bushy mane of his twenty-five year-old best friend, distinctive bags under her tear-track framed eyes despite the slight distortion from the flames.

The young Auror Potter immediately jumped to his feet from his spot on by the window, hastening over to the hearth.

"Hermione! What's wrong?" he exclaimed, then thought better about it due to his sleeping pregnant wife upstairs. "Come through, 'Mione," and at his insistence, she stepped through the hearth. Steadying her with one hand, he used the other to gently push her hair away from her eyes.

"What's wrong?" He said quietly. Something clenched in his gut, perhaps his Auror's intuition, but he tried to push back the thought as he examined the only woman he claimed as his true sister. "Did something happen?" He paused, but seeing no response, he pushed further. "Is it Ron again?"

Harry's worst fears were confirmed when he took in her sallow features; her shaking hands and slouched posture, a once flawless face now stained by trails of drying tears. He knew at that moment that the thing he feared most for his best friend of so many years had came to pass at last: Her marriage had finally collapsed.

"Harry, I can't stay too long. You have to help me. Please!" Her sharp cry pierced the silence, the sacred silence of the hours that no child should cry and no adult should speak: the time where lovers should be sharing a moment of bliss and the drunkards should be passed out on their doorsteps of their home; the latter of which, indeed, had jarred Hermione Granger-Weasley from her research that very hour, not moments before her arrival.

She collapsed into sobs at the same moment that she fell forward into her companion's outstretched arms. Harry ensconced her within a tight embrace, holding her whilst attempting to deny the tears that threatened his own person, for he somehow felt responsible about the actions of his once-cherished brother-in-law.

"Shh... 'Mione, calm down. I'm here, you're safe, love. It will be okay. I'll do whatever it takes to make it okay, but it's gunna be alright, 'Mione, but you need to breathe. Just breathe," he calmly whispered in to her hair, praying he would be able to make good on his promises. "What happened?" he questioned, despite inferring the most likely answer. He hated when his gut was right.

"It's Ronald, again. It's the fourth time this week and I don't know what to do, anymore, Harry. I don't know where I went wrong! What did I do to deserve this?" she cried, broken in his arms. Ignoring his attempts to hush her, she continued in her devastated ramblings until Harry took pity on her by dragging her limp, robe-clad form over to his sofa and settling her head in his lap.

"Want to talk about it?" Harry asked, despite knowing that his question was rather pointless: If she didn't want to talk about it, why on earth would she be here at 2 A. M.? At her nod, he prompted her to start her story, despite not wanting to relieve the tale time and time again.

"Ronald was out late again with Seamus and Dean after work. He came home smelling like stale firewhiskey and bathroom polo, Harry. His shirt was covered in stains, and I couldn't do anything to get them out. Neville showed up with Ron about fifteen minutes before I called you. He was piss-drunk, and no sooner than they had arrived, Ronald promptly emptied his whiskey onto the azaleas and passed out on the steps.

"I ennerverated him, and he threw himself at me, then got mad because I pushed him away. He said I don't love him anymore, and it hurt."

"'Mione..." Harry was speechless – he knew Ron had picked up a bit of a bad drinking habit, but he hadn't realized it was quite this bad. Hermione wasn't finished with her monologue yet, so she swallowed her sob and picked up where she left off.

"You know why it hurt, Harry?" At his grimace, she continued, "It hurt because I think it's true. I can't do this anymore. I can't take finding anymore 'memos' from Lavender in the wash. I can't deal with him coming home at whichever hour strikes his fancy – or when he's so drunk that he can't drink anymore. I can't stand up to him, not Ron. You have to help me, Harry, please!" she all but begged him, her voice laced with guilt and tears streaming down her cheeks.

Harry wrapped her up in his embrace a bit tighter, stroking her hair as she cried onto his shoulder.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry," he whispered into her hair, "what can I do?" She buried her head farther into his shoulder, her body still convulsing with sobs.

"Find a way to get me out of this marriage," she stated, her voice surprisingly firm with this statement. Harry nodded as her amber eyes pierced his soul with her heartbroken gaze.

"I'll see what I can do," he promised, then glanced at the clock. Hermione followed his line of sight then jumped up and hurried over to the fireplace, Harry following closely in her wake.

"Harry, I have to go, he might wake up and notice I've left. Thank you so much. I'm sorry I bothered you this late," she said, throwing the putrid green powder into the flames. He shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant but his tired eyes betrayed him. He would share his burden with her another time, maybe surprise her to lift her spirits or at least wait until she was focused enough to appreciate that she was going to be an aunt in seven and a half months.

"'Mione, you know I'm always here. Be careful, alright?" He hugged her one more time, then watched her step into the flame. The "I love you and I need you to be alright, okay, Sis?" seemed to spin away with her nod as she vanished in the hearth.