Between the Lines

Tinsadisaster

Summary: Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

Disclaimer: I am only borrowing the characters and some facts from the Deathly Hallows, which all belongs to J.K. Rowling. I also used lyrics from Dashboard Confessional, the band with the greatest songs with the greatest lyrics ever and the two best lines from the movie Click.

Author's Note: I'm sorry I took longer to post up this chapter. College has got the best of me now, seeing as I'm trying to find a way to pay for my first bills. Thanks to those who reviewed, added me to their favorites list, and who ever read my story. It means so much to me. ENJOY!

And the grave that you refuse to leave

the refuge that you built to flee

The places that you've come to fear the most

It's the place you've come to fear the most

Dashboard Confessional -- The Places You Have Come To Fear The Most

Will you still love me in the morning?

Forever and ever, babe

Click (2006)

Part IV

"Hermione, I want to go to Godric's Hallow."

Harry's voice was raspy, but Hermione could hear the desperation clearly.

Sighing, she agreed.

"Really?" Harry's eyes shone with excitement, shining a bright green. He looked as if he was eleven and just stepped onto the Hogwarts campus.

Hermione was surprised that he finally decided to talk to her so much earlier than she expected. Given his previous cases of silent treatments and distant glares directed towards her, she was relieved but still frightened. She really did not want to go to Godric's Hollow. Something in her blood warned her that it was a terrible idea, but she couldn't take it back.

She needed Harry to trust her again. After her little show, he distanced himself as much as he could, though they were still attached at the hip, given their status as roaming, clueless quest seekers. It was like the time she nagged at him about the Potion's book that got him into more trouble than he needed. She could stand being ignored by Ron; she had years of experience of that. But when Harry ignored her? She ceased to exist.

"So when can we go?"

Hermione ran a grimy hand through her hair and walked over to Harry, who had taken out pieces of parchment and a quill to start their planning. She could never get him to do that at Hogwarts, she thought. The idea of blank parchment and black ink was as terrifying to Harry as a magicked monster-size comb threatening to tame his unruly hair.

It was her turn to be terrified.

"I don't think this is a good idea..." whispered Hermione as she creeped slowly upon the road with Harry, hidden under the Cloak of Invisibility. Only half an hour ago, they had swallowed the Polyjuice Potion that she was able to stash away in her preparation at the Burrow.

"Oh, don't be silly. We don't look like ourselves. We're safe. I think we should take off the cloak. We're just a married Muggle couple, taking a walk in nature."

Before Hermione could reply, Harry grabbed the Cloak by a corner and pulled it off them. She gasped at the sudden cold, and pulled the flimsy shawl that she wore tighter around her.

"I know something of importance is lying around." Harry started walking away, in a daze because he couldn't believe he was here -- he was home.

They found a snow-covered statue that depicted a man and a woman holding a baby in her arms. His eyes locked onto the statue. The trees disappeared, the snow vanished, and so did Hermione. Somewhere in the distance, a violin started crying its lovely song. He saw his father's face, a face depicted as accurately as talent and time would allow. He saw his own reflection in this slab of stone. His eyes moved towards the woman, his mother. The stone did nothing to show her true beauty -- her once emerald green eyes. Those... he knew by memory. A flash of the woman in the Mirror of Erised sparked in his mind, and he felt warmth. And there, the little loaf-sized baby in her arms. It lacked one thing that had always marked him -- the scar.

It did not look like him at all. Was he ever that tiny, that unblemished?

He snapped back to reality and said he had enough of that. He led her towards the church, which he knew somehow would lead him to what he wanted to find -- the grave yard, the graves, and the tombstones.

"Are you sure you're ready, Harry?" Hermione asked him. She had observed him in his silent moment of contemplation. He wasn't there with her, not in that moment and time. He was somewhere she could not follow, and that scared her to death.

They passed the kissing gates and a silly thought ran through her mind. Why was it called a kissing gate? The little curiosity quickly faded away as they began to walk among the dead, the infinite dead.

She saw tombstones, lined till tomorrow. The graveyard was quiet, an eerie sort of quiet. Childhood stories of ghosts roaming restlessly came back to her and she had to force herself not to grab Harry. Seriously, she was a witch, wasn't she? She had seen ghosts; she had nothing to be afraid of.

Harry's eyes jumped from stone to stone, searching for the right ones. He saw Professor Dumbledore's sister and mother's tombstone -- Rita Skeeter wasn't lying about that part of her book, that was for sure. Familiar names popped into his vision and he couldn't hide his disturbing excitement. Hermione had to remind him to pipe down.

Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

Perhaps it was a Dumbledore manner to talk in riddles. When Albus was alive, everything that came out of his mouth was assuring yet questionable, an answer yet a inquiry. He talked in riddles to make things harder for students, Harry was sure of that.

Hermione, tired of waiting for Harry to snap out of his daydreams, started roaming on her own, reading the last names on the tombstones, and waiting for one that she knew had to be around here somewhere. In the distance, she spotted a moss covered tombstone and thought she could make out a "IGNOT." She called Harry over and he reluctantly went to where she was.

"Harry, I think I've found somthing..."

Harry was in a rather foul mood, but she couldn't blame him -- it wasn't her parents they were looking for.

"Look, the symbol! From my book! It's on this grave... but I can't make out the name so much... IGNOT... IGNOTUS."

"And?"

"Look, it might have some sort of connection. I mean, what are the chances that it's inked into the book Dumbledore gave me and this tombstone? It has to be important!"

Harry didn't know what she was going on about, but he wasn't interested. "I'm going to find my parents okay?" he huffed, almost adding "Don't bother me."

He pocketed his old, clammy hands (he was wearing the disguise of an old muggle man) and searched for the inevitable POTTER.

He thought he would never find it. The darkness came, as quickly as a thief in the night, and the silence became even more silent, if that was possible. There weren't even crickets here -- everything was truly just dead.

"Harry!" cried Hermione. He looked over his shoulder and saw her, a blurry figure amongst the snow. "I've found them. Right here. Here."

Harry knew what she meant -- his parents. He couldn't resist running towards her. They were just two rows behind the Dumbldores' graves. Trust fate to put what he wanted to see in the last place he'd bothered to search through.

Hermione, speechless, just stared at the letters engraved in stone. Harry read the words slowly, the names of his parents, the names of those who protected him, loved him, created him, and eventually left him behind.

JAMES POTTER LILY POTTER

BORN 27 MARCH 1960 BORN 30 JANUARY 1960

DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

A surge of small anger overpowered him, at that last sentence. He told Hermione that was the ideal the DeathEathers followed. How could his parents share the same ideals as those monsters, those bastards who wanted to make his life harder than it should be?

Hermione explained that there was more than one meaning, that Death itself would be the last enemy, that it was the idea of living beyond death.

His anger was snuffed out, like a candle in the wind. Something inside him broke out. It was the little boy who for years wanted to know why his parents had to die, the little boy who cursed his family for leaving him behind, the little boy who cried as he befriended spiders and lived a terrible childhood. He was eight again, and he was sitting on the swing in the abandoned park, wondering what death felt like, if it was more painful than life.

"Nothing will make them come back! So stop your crying, you look like a idiot!"

Uncle Vernon screamed at him, pulling him painfully by the arm, throwing him into the cupboard. He was slammed painfully against the makeshift bed, making spiders sway on their webs.

"They're gone, Harry. They're DEAD! They won't be showing up on the doorstep, coming to pick you up, though I wish they would. They're not living, they will not be living ever again."

"My parents are alive! You're a liar, a big fat liar!"

"Oh, you dare to call me fat? I clothe you, I feed you, I provide a roof over your head and you treat me this way! No dinner tonight and that's final!"

A broken, whimpering Harry gave up and cried into his dirty sheets. Vernon Dursley, fuming like a train, watched his nephew. He wanted to feel bad for the cruel way he had spoken, but what could be done now? The boy's parents were killed, in a way he never could understand. He had better chances in life if he grew up with tough skin. Besides, the boy wasn't his flesh and blood. He didn't ask to raise the child, and he wouldn't if it was the last thing he'd do.

With a somewhat guilty glance away, he spotted Dudley spying on the argument. After realizing he was no longer invisible, the boy sped up the stairs. With a slight curse, Vernon Dudley slammed the cupboard door shut, locking it with a key he put back into his pocket.

On the other side of the door, the little raven-haired, green-eyed boy slammed his body against the barrier. He screamed, "You're all liars! I have parents! They're alive! They're alive! They're... they're... alive!"

Dudley creeped down the stairs, listening to his cousin cry in despair. As quietly as a mouse, he sat down by the wall near the door. He wanted to say something, but he was at a loss for words. Gulping, he remained where he sat, listening and waiting for his cousin to get tired and give up.

It was something he did because he was curious. He wasn't particularly evil yet, he was just curious. He didn't relish in the fact that Harry was being punished. He just didn't like the way his father broke Harry's spirit. Was it absolutely necessary?

Harry watched the shadow from underneath the door shuffle out of view, the light from the hallway illuminating and replacing the space that used to sit there. He knew Dudley was there, but he couldn't explain why he was there. Harry realized, years later, it was the only thing he could do.

As Harry reread the words as if he wanted to memorize the moment, he thought of his parents, his rotting, molding corpses of parents lying sixth feet under. They were something sacrificed so that he could exist, weren't they? A sacrifice for a sacrifice.

Harry refused to break down. He wouldn't, and Hermione taking his hand cautiously only helped him in his wavering strength. He squeezed her hand tightly, wanting her (and himself) to know that he wasn't alone in this. He had someone by his side, and he'd never be alone again. Hermione conjured up a wreath and Harry kneeled to put it on the stone.

He'd never forget this sight -- a splash of red roses on the cold, unforgiving symbol of everything he had never had but wanted with all his being.

He stood up, not wanting to stand another moment of this. Unconsciously, he put his arms around Hermione and felt hers wrap around his waist. He led them away, step by step, far away from the place he feared the most.

"Harry..." started Hermione, looking up at her best friend. Harry looked down at her, his face as solid as stone, but his eyes deceiving him the most.

"You told me that you'd never let me disappear."

He nodded, wondering what she was getting at. He wanted to cover as much distance as possible. If he didn't, he'd be tempted to stay forever, to become as dead and cold as the baby boy in the statue.

"I just wanted to say... I'll never let you disappear, either. I'm glad I was here for you, that it was me who held your hand."

"Okay."

"I just wanted to remind you that I will always be here, right by your side, no matter what, whether you like it or not."

"I know, Hermione. I know."

She nodded and broke their connection. Outsiders would have seen an elderly couple roaming around the graveyard, honoring a fallen loved one, and walking home. When Harry looked at Hermione, he did not see the old Muggle woman that she was disguised as. He saw the curious little girl who burst into his compartment, inquiring about a toad, who took a seat without asking, who forced herself into his world and never thought to leave. He saw forever, trust, love, and everything he knew he did not deserve.

Here, in her arms, was the second most scariest place he'd ever been. What would it feel like, if he'd never be here, ever again? Harry closed his eyes, blocked out the thoughts, and suppressed the feelings rising from within him.

Hermione noticed his hand squeeze her a little firmer than before, and she smiled. At least she knew he needed her as much as she needed him. Ginny be damned, this was one thing she'd never tell her red-headed friend.

Then the woman appeared.

"Harry, I don't like this at all. I just have a feeling."

"But she's the one who has all our answers -- Bathilda Bagshot!"

"Why isn't she talking? It seems a bit weird."

"She's old, Hermione."

"My grandfather's old too, but that doesn't mean he doesn't talk."

"Drop it, okay? We're following her."

"But I'm telling you... I have a bad feeling about this."

"You're just hungry, that's all. Now let's go, she's almost out of our line of vision."

Hermione looked over shoulder at the dark mass that once was his family's home, at the encouraging messages scrawled, and then back at the witch that was leading them to her home.

She remained silent, observing as her senses ran high. Turning into a cat that one Polyjuice incident made her trust her instinct and senses and right now, she saw a red warning sign flashing before her eyes.

She watched Harry disappear up the stairs, following the old kook. She was alone now, and waited. She looked through the kitchen for any food, but found stale, molding bread and rotting meat. Didn't the woman eat?

She was looking over at the remaining pictures in their frames, noting one of a blonde haired boy into her memory. She was about to drop it into her purse when she heard the screaming and crashing overhead. She ran up the stairs, burst into the room, and saw the snake.

"Harry!"

"Hermione, come here!"

She avoided the writhing snake and jumped towards Harry, who caught her. They jumped from surface to surface as he yelled out curses. The snake knocked the wand out of Harry's hand and Hermione quickly picked it up and let out a spell to distract the snake while they escaped out the window.

Harry screamed as he pulled them both through the air, but Hermione heard the crunching and cracking, a tell-tale sound that bode nothing well.

I broke his wand! I broke his wand! Oh dear God, I broke his wand!

They apparated, Harry collapsed, and Hermione rushed to take care of him. As she watched him writhe in his sleep, she was filled with terror of her own as she was forced to come up with an apology for snapping his wand in half.

She was dreading the moment he'd fall out of his frightful dreams and join the conscious world again. As Harry settled down, her terror grew. The moment those green eyes opened, she wanted to run, far away and never look back.

"Where's my wand?" Harry mumbled, looking for his glasses. He found them and repeated his question.

"It was an honest mistake, Harry, I promise."

"Where's my wand?" His tone was darker, deeper.

"Please don't be angry at me!"

"Where's my wand?"

Hermione closed her eyes, sighed, and showed Harry the broken thing in her hand.

"Fix it."

"Harry, I don't think --"

"Mend it, Hermione!"

"I can't. It's like what happened to Ron, he--"

"Give me your wand." His eyes were a dark green, a lightning storm raging within them.

"Harry, you've got to see. Ron broke his and he could never repair it. He had to order a new one!"

Harry fumed like a bull that had seen the largest piece of red material in his life. He wanted to choke Hermione, almost, for breaking his wand. He kept his hands at his side, to make sure he wouldn't.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know the spell would backfire like that. I honestly am sorry."

"It was an accident. We'll fix it somehow." The words came out his mouth without him thinking about it. Right now, he felt like a robot; no emotion, no control, no feeling.

"But I really don't think it's possible. And you know --"

"Give me your wand. I'll use it for now on, too."

Hermione cringed, pulling hers out and handing it over to Harry. He looked at the stick in his hand, felt its lightness, and wanted to scream out of frustration, anger, and every bloody feeling in the world other than happiness and joy.

I don't want to talk to you. Don't look at me. Disappear, now. Disappear before I murder you, Hermione.

She didn't need to hear the words. Hermione proceeded to do so, hiding somewhere in the tent where she would not see Harry so he could not see her. His back was turned so she could escape quietly.

She snuck underneath her bed, something she used to do when she was young. When she did that, she felt invisible. When her parents (oh, what could they be doing now) disappointed her, she disappeared under her bed, waiting for them to find that she was not there, to make them worry, to scare them, to teach them that they shouldn't take her for granted.

There wouldn't be any voices of concern here, of her parents' or Harry's for that matter. She knew she did something terribly ghastly and thought she could never apologize. Harry was absolutely frightening, the way he looked at her with disgrace and ... hatred.

She choked on her tears, smothering her mouth with her fist. She did not want to be heard, because she would not receive consolation now. Harry hated her, she knew it, and he would never accept her apology. She had done the worst thing possible, second to betraying him to Lord Voldemort. She had taken away his wizardhood, his wand, the symbol of his power and strength.

She bit down on her hand to make sure she would not make a sound; she was truly gone from his sight. She remained under that bed the entire night. She fell asleep, exhausted from the traumatic events. She did as Harry asked her to, in a silent request, and she would not let herself appear again.

Harry didn't know when he stopped huffing, walking in place, punching at invisible enemies, and staring at the broken pieces of wand in his pocket. Who was he now, lacking a wand? He tried Reparo a thousand times, but the magic refused to work.

When magic ends, desperation begins.

In his anger, he forgot that Hermione was still around. Where was she?

A voice in his head told him he didn't care. He didn't care that she disappeared. He didn't care that she was gone. And for a night, he believed it.

He cursed until he fell asleep. In his dreams, he saw himself with Hermione in the ocean. The waters were troubled, the sky was angry, and for some reason, they were being saved. However, their savior was telling them he had only one spot in his little boat. He could only save one person. Shocked, he saw his dream self grab the man's hand instantly. He was hoisted onto the boat, and he looked down at Hermione, flailing in the water. She was crying out to him, asking for his hand, and he did nothing. The boat was pulling away, and he saw the fin of a shark surround Hermione. He did nothing. He saw the shark jump from the water and take her down, bushy hair and orange life jacket and all. He did nothing still.

"Aren't you going to save her?" said his savior, who was manning the steering wheel. Dream Harry said no, staring at the spot where Hermione used to be. He turned to look at his savior and saw the man transform into a monster.

"Yes, Harry. Don't save her. Kill her." Voldemort was cackling in delight. The black robed monster flew towards him, his slimy hands stretched outwards, reaching to smother him, to destroy him for his selfishness.

His eyes shot open at this, and he called out for Hermione. He saw that her bed was still made, that she never slept in it. Terrified, he jumped out of his bed, grabbed her wand, and ran outside.

"Hermione! Hermione! Where are you?" he screamed at top of his voice. He didn't know which way to run. He screamed, standing still, and feeling a dread eat at his spirit.

Where is she? Why isn't she answering?

"Hermione!" His voice echoed back, mocking him.

"I told you I'd never leave your side, whether you like it or not," said a tiny voice behind him.

He turned around, teary-eyed, and looked at the disheveled, slightly dirty girl who stared at him with the most sorrowful brown eyes he had ever seen.

She nodded, blinked away some tears, and looked at the sun rising in the distance. She bit on her lip to make her stop feeling so melodramatic.

"But you let me disappear, Harry. You promised me you'd never let me do that," she said finally, letting the tears fall freely.