Chapter 4: Memories

A/N: Guys, I'm so sorry I couldn't update this sooner! I got back from my trip only to suddenly go on another one, this time to my aunt's wedding. On top of that, I'm going to camp on Sunday, arriving back on Friday, only to start school four days after that. So I'm very sorry if my schedule I proposed earlier goes out of whack, I'm just very busy.

I want to give thanks to Nala Moon, who reminded me that since Hermione was trampled by a bunch of crazed kiddies out to kill the Dark Lord, our favorite bushy haired teen would look like a mess. So I added a little bit in those regards.

Also, memories will be in the italicized sections.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter books or the story, J.K. Rowling does.

I had slept very well that day, probably the nicest since Dumbledore's death. No nightmares came to mind, but the peaceful dreams that I often had before the world had become a threat flowed back to me. It was almost evening, however, when voices floated to my head.

"Hiya, Harry—oh, sorry!"

"It's not what it looks like, Neville!"

Neville's laugh travelled to my ears.

"If you say so."

I groaned, frustrated by my abrupt awakening. But why were Harry and Neville here? It didn't matter to me. I was too tired to dwell on them. I snuggled my head into my pillow, felling the heartbeat in my ear. Suddenly, I tensed. A heartbeat? Thoughts of that wretched locket flew to my head. The Horcrux had often driven me insane with the heartbeat it would sometimes emit. But then recent events caught up to me, and I relaxed. I was safely in Harry's arms, the Dark Lord was dead, and the Horcrux was gone.

"Do you actual—"

"Harry, calm down. I'm only joking!" Neville's voice sounded happy, while Harry's had a hint of frustration in it. Groggily, I opened my eyes. It was bright out, the sunlight bathing the dormitory in white. I turned my head slowly to look at Neville. He stood there with a wide smile on his face, his eyes alight with mischief, something I've never seen in Neville before. "Hey, Hermione."

I smiled lightly. "Hi."

Harry grunted with impatience. I turned back to look at him. He looked like he hadn't slept, which to me was strange because he could hardly talk without yawning the night before. I gave him a worried look, and he looked back at me with intensity. We stared at each other for about a minute, just staring, his arms around my torso while the sheets were tangled around our legs. It was then that I had started feeling feelings that I have not felt before. Our bodies were pressed together, and even though it wasn't hot in the dormitory, I was sweating profusely. Our legs were mixed together, my right leg under his left but over his right, and my left leg was under his right. My heart thumped fast, like really fast. I couldn't identify the feeling, however I could deduct that it was due to hormones acting up. Harry made no indication that he noticed it, however, and still held me under his intensive gaze.

"A-hem" Neville coughed behind me. Harry broke the look by looking up at Neville while I looked down at the sheets, my face burning with slight embarrassment. "My gran wants to talk to you, Harry," Neville said. "I reckon she wants to thank you. Also, it's nearing dinner, and George was wondering where you too were. He reckoned you guys might be snogging."

My face burned more with increasing embarrassment, and I still refused to lift my head from Harry's chest. Harry showed his first sign of weakness and squirmed a bit. "No! I-we aren't-" he stammered, and I smiled softly. I knew Harry would have trouble every time someone would bring up a girl, but for the thought of him being with me, it just made my heart soar.

Neville laughed again. "I know, I didn't expect you two to be snogging, but wait 'till I tell him that you two were sleeping together!" He drew out the last two words, as if to make a threat. I shut my eyes as my cheeks turned a Weasley shade of red. Harry, however pushed me off of him and sat up.

"Why don't you go mind your own damn business!" he yelled. His voice was on the verge of tearing, and I knew he wasn't in any mood for jokes. I looked at him and sighed. He was breathing hard, and his hand was on the bedside table, resting on his wand in a threatening manner. Neville had shrunk back, his old, cowardly self making itself known once again.

"Harry," I whispered softly, reaching out and touching his hand. "Neville is only joking. Calm down a bit, please."

Harry's breathing slowed down and became lighter, and his hand slowly left the table. I crawled up to him and hugged him, resting my head on his shoulder.

"I'll go, then," Neville said, the unease still in his eyes.

"We'll catch up to you, later, Neville," I said, my voice muffled. I heard his footsteps walk away and I heard the door close. "C'mon, Harry," I whispered soothingly, rubbing my hand on his back again. "What's gotten into you?"

The answer I got was a deep breath, and it tickled my neck. "I don't know, Hermione. It's like even though I defeated the worlds biggest enemy, I'm still afraid. And it just frustrates me for some reason. I don't know why, but it does." I brought my head deeper in the crook of his neck with my eyes shut. I racked my brains for a response to give, only to find out that I could not respond at all. So I pulled back and held Harry's shoulders.

"Did you get any sleep at all?"

Harry slumped and shook his head. "I got about thirty minutes," he said. "I woke up and I couldn't go back to sleep."

"When was the last time you had a full nights sleep?" I asked, only now wondering why Harry would always volunteer take the night watches in the tent. He shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal.

"I'm not sure. Maybe the night before Dumbledore died."

My eyes narrowed, and I felt hurt and betrayed at the admission. "So you mean every time I asked you how you were and you said 'fine' or 'I'm okay', does that mean you were not fine and not okay? What other secrets have you kept from me?"

Harry flinched, obviously realizing that he let the wrong thing slip. "What was I supposed to tell you, Hermione?" he shot back. "That every single fucking thing in the world is against me at one point or another, or that my life is totally different than yours, or that when I say 'I'm fine', it means that I don't see danger in the moment?"

It felt as if the world crumbled beneath me. "Harry—" I started.

"Shut up, Hermione, and listen!" he snapped at me. I shut my mouth shut, surprised at the sudden outburst. Harry lightly took my arms off of him and he stood up with a look of great pain gracing his face. "I don't know what you've been told about my childhood," he began, starting to pace slowly while his hands shoved themselves into his pockets. "But whatever it was, it wasn't how it was told. Now, tell me, Hermione. What about my childhood did you hear about?" he questioning, his eyes blazing.

I stared questionably at him. It was no secret that Harry didn't like to talk about his home life before Hogwarts. Even so, I thought about his question. Memories flooded back to me, memories of the month I first bought and read Hogwarts: A History.

The book lay open in my arms, and I was currently reading it (for the second time) so I could get an idea of what to expect from my magical life. I flipped through the pages of the giant textbook, gazing fondly at the pictures of the beautiful castle that would once be my home. My mother sat next me, her arm around my shoulders. Originally, she was slightly against me leaving home and my current education, but I, with the help of my father, rebelled against her, convincing her that there would be "other magic people" at the school and I wouldn't be alone. I smiled to myself. Gone would be the days were I would be bullied for trying to be smart, and gone would be the days where people won't hit me because I had "scary powers". I was so deep in thought that I didn't notice my mother prodding my side.

"Sorry," I yelped, looking at her.

"So," she said, giving me a grin, "what juicy stuff did you find in that book the second time around?" She jabbed her finger at the book in my hands.

"Well, there was this one part about a boy. His name is Harry Potter and he's my age. When he was only one a very bad wizard went into his home and killed his family with the 'Killing Curse'," I said, putting quotations around the phrase. I was about to start up again, I saw my mother clench her jaw, something she does when she gets upset or angry.

"Why would anyone think it's alright to go and murder a family?" she exclaimed. "Did they give a reason why he did it?" I looked at the book and shook my head. "It's one thing, a very bad thing, mind you, to go and murder a happy family, but to do it without reason is much worse. Did—" Suddenly she stopped talking, a look of fear gracing her face. "Did that man attack the child, too?"

Glumly, I nodded. "It does mention that there are rumors that Harry, the child, was the intended target and that his parents were just killed because they were defending him, and—" I almost shrieked in surprise when my mother jumped up, her face twisting with fury as she snatched the giant textbook out of my hands. She nearly shoved it in her face as she furiously read the page, her eyes narrowed the further she read. When she was done, she looked up from the book, her hands shaking violently.

It was the first time I've seen my mother like this, and it scared me to death.

"You mean to tell me?" she almost shouted, "that this evil bitch went to a nice family's house just to kill a one year old?" I nodded rapidly, almost tearing up at my mother's use of swearing. One rule stood by her, and it was to never swear at anyone, ever. And she broke that rule. That's how mad she was.

She must have seen my face, because she sighed. "I'm sorry, sweetie. It's just that I'm very mad at this whole thing." She set the book down steadily. "So does it say what happened to Harry after he survived?"

"Yes," I said, grabbing the book. "And it's not very good," I warned while flipping to the next page. My mother stiffened next to me again, and I could tell she was trying to force down another outburst. I pointed at the line and read, "'After the defeat of the Dark Lord, Harry Potter was sent to live with his mother's sister and uncle. Rumor has it that the two aren't fond of Harry and keep him in a cupboard under their stairs—"

"WHAT?!" The book dropped from my hands as the exclamation was made. My mother screamed this time, and she grabbed me tightly by the shoulders, her grip like a vice. "He's going to be in your year, right?" she questioned with irritation. I gulped and nodded. "Hermione Jean Granger, I don't care what you do at that school, but let's get this one thing straight. You go up to the boy, and you befriend him, you understand? You help him with whatever he needs. If he was abused by his relatives, then please be a nice person to him," she said firmly. I nodded again, still not daring to speak.

Finally, she let go of me and took a deep, shaky, breath. She then grabbed the book again and went towards my parents room with it, supposedly to tell my father. I vowed myself to meet Harry on the train to Hogwarts.

I turned back to Harry, slowly pulling myself out of Memory Lane. He had stopped pacing, but he still stared at me with slight accusation. A sigh escaped my lips.

"When I read Hogwarts: A History for the first—hey, wait a minute!" I exclaimed as Harry threw up his arms at the mention of the book and started to pace again. "Let me finish! Anyway, I was reading it at home before our first year, so I could get ahead with knowing about the castle, you know..." I trailed off when Harry turned towards me again, this time with an impatient glare. "Sorry," I mumbled. It seemed that there was no way around it, so I cut right to the chase. "In Hogwarts: A History it says that after you survived Voldemort the first time that you got sent to your Aunt and Uncles, and there have been rumors that they did horrible things to you, like k-keeping you l-locked up in a c-cupboard under the d-damn stairs!" I wailed; suddenly a horrible thought had occurred to me, could it be actually true? The whole time I've kept the thought out of my head as just a rumor, but seeing the look on his face as I said it renewed my fears.

Slowly, he nodded, to my horror. "It's true," he whispered, his face softening into a look of slight pain. "They kept me in a cupboard under the stairs until I got my Hogwarts letter. Uncle Vernon gave me Dudley's second bedroom in hopes I would forget about Hogwarts—"

"You mean to tell me that while you had a small space under the dusty stairs, your cousin had two bedrooms?" I interrupted. Harry stopped and nodded, a short jerk of his head.

"Well, anyway, after I finished first year at Hogwarts, Dobby the House-Elf popped in my bedroom one day," again, sadness crept on Harry's face as he mentioned the now deceased House-Elf. "That was the day the Dursleys were having dinner with this couple, the Masons, who were trying to make a deal with the company Uncle Vernon works at. And of course my motto when people came over was 'Go to my room and pretend I don't exist'—"

I interrupted again, struggling to figure out why he would put himself down like that. "Why would you make that saying for yourself?"

Harry sighed, a frown crossing his face. "I didn't, actually. Dudley and Uncle Vernon both came up with that one," he said. I felt heat rising to my face as anger bubbled up inside me. "Can I please finish, Hermione?" I nodded.

"So these people were having dinner over when Dobby showed up. He told me that 'terrible things' were going to happen at Hogwarts and told me to not go back. After I refused, he ran downstairs, picked up the cake sitting on the counter with his magic, then disposed of it on the floor. And then this owl flies to give me a warning not to do magic and it flies really close to Mrs. Mason. Luck would have it that Mrs. Mason is deathly afraid of birds, and the couple left quickly, telling my uncle that they cancelled the deal. Of course, Uncle Vernon wasn't happy about this, so he locked me in my room, leaving a little hole in the door to give me food. Later, he put bars on my windows."

I knew this bit, of course. Ron had told me a while back and I slapped him, thinking that he was pulling some kind of joke. I needed to apologize. Not just to Ron, but to Harry as well.

"Then right before third year—you know this one—my Aunt Marge came over and I blew her up like a balloon," Harry continued. I closed my eyes, feeling pained. Back then I thought that he did that to his Aunt Marge for some bit of accidental magic after she yelled at him, although after what Harry said now, I couldn't help but wonder what she did to deserve it. "She came over and it was somewhat fine for the first six days. And then, on the last day, she got extremely drunk. She insult—" Harry took a deep breath, the pain on his face becoming too great. "She insulted my parents. She said, and I quote, 'Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia, but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us.'"

Silence then took over. Harry had finished talking, his eyes and mouth clamped shut, breathing hard. I felt pissed, though. Pissed that someone would dare insult or hurt Harry Potter. My Harry Potter. I quickly untangled myself from the sheets and threw myself at him, tears sparkling my eyes and I held on to him for dear life. We stood this way for a couple moments, with his head resting on top of mine while I wept my eyes out. "I'm so, so sorry," I gasped between sobs while I held him so tight he had to start gasping for air a bit.

"Hermione, it's fine. Please let go, you're killing me," Harry joked. I bit back a reply while I let go. I stared up at him as he brushed his thumb under my eye, wiping away a tear. His thumb his a bruise, and I visibly winced. "What happened to you?"

I glared at him. "What about you?" I shot back. "You just killed the Darkest Wizard of all time, and you ask me how I am?"

Harry chuckled, although the mirth never made it to his unwavering gaze, concern filling his eyes. "I didn't ask you how you were, I asked you what happened to you. We all know what happened to me. I'm serious, Hermione. You look like you've been beat by a hammer, twice."

I reached up and touched my face. It felt lumpy and swollen, and suddenly pain seared through my stomach. I started to stumble, but Harry caught me. "Woah! Come on, Hermione," he grunted as he lifted me up. He walked a couple, staggering steps and gently put me on the bed, staring at me with worry strewn all across his features. I couldn't help but notice how his eyebrows go together when he gets worried, or how he would run his hand through his already messy hair, or how—

"Hermione?"

It was Harry, calling out to me. I looked at him, breaking out of my reverie. He stared me down with a demanding expression, and finally, I sighed.

"I got stepped on."

I was waiting one, two, three seconds for a laugh at my petty declaration. Five, six, seven. Yet still no laugh.

"By who?"

"I don't know!"

It was pathetic. Some of our arguments never seemed to reach five words a sentence, and it bothered me.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Harry said loudly, stepping forward.

"It was a whole lot of people!" I whined as he grabbed my hand, trying to force the truth out of me. In all honesty I didn't want to be known as the 'girl-who-got-her-scars-and-bruises-because-kids-stepped-on-her. It sounded silly, but Harry never laughed or grinned, so I caved in. "After Voldemort declared you, uh, dead," Harry hung his head, the guilt obviously still in his mind, "everyone rushed into the Great Hall to fight. I was stampeded by a whole bunch of teenagers."

And so I stood there, waiting for the laughter, refusing to look up and meet Harry's gaze. What I wasn't expecting was the grip tightening around my body. I could tell he was getting upset again, something I've grown to hate in the past months. When he would get mad, he would shout and protest, but if he got pissed, then the would resort to Ron-like insults, except ten times worse. He would rage and blow random objects up with uncontrollable magic. I'm guessing that's what happened to Aunt Marge, but I was on that side of the spectrum. Once, and only once.

It was three days since Ron left, and Harry and I were skirmishing the outskirts of an abandoned barn. Harry walked ahead of me, keeping his eyes dead ahead and his body straightened in a way I haven't seen before. At the time, I wasn't sure if he was mad or just very focused. I got my answer in the next couple minutes.

"We should talk," I broke the long, deadly silence. Harry kicked the ground, setting loose pebble jumping across the ground, but other than that, he didn't give any sign that he heard me. Silence set again, save for the sounds of my breathing and Harry's loud stomping.

"Harry?" I asked after a couple minutes, growing worried by the second. When he didn't respond for a second time, I reached out. "Harry!" I said again with slight impatience as I grasped his hand. In a blink of an eye, he spun around to face me and pulled me close to him with so much force I nearly fell. He glared at me from two inches away.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT?!" he shouted with such fierceness I almost cried. "ABOUT HIM?" I knew he was talking about Ron, and it was true. I nodded. "WHAT ABOUT HIM? DO YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT HOW HE FUCKING LEFT US? ABOUT HOW HE WENT OFF ON OUR FAMILIES BECAUSE HE'S A SELFISH BASTARD WITH NO RESPECT FOR ANYONE BUT HIMSELF?"

He shook me violently, and that's when I started to cry, little tears at first. Suddenly, a hay stack to my left exploded into a million little straws. I've never seen any ferocity at this level escape from Harry before, and I knew that Ron had crossed a line. Harry let me go by pushing me lightly. I stumbled and I fell on my sorry arse. I knew he didn't mean to hurt me, but suddenly I was scared.

BAM!

I looked up just in time to see the barn cave in on itself while Harry slumped. Realizing that he used an exponential amount of magic that both drained his energy and, if stayed for much longer, will attract potential Death Eaters to our location. So I jumped forward and grabbed him, twisting as I did so.

We landed in a middle of a forest. I didn't know which one, as many were dashing through my head at the time I disaperated, but I didn't care. We were safely away from the barn and from Harry's outburst. Said person shifted in my arms, and I looked down. His face was red, and tears were streaming down from his face.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione!" he wailed. I bent down as close to his face and my confidence would let me.

"Shhh, it's okay Harry," I whispered. "Wait here!" I stood up and started pacing in a big, wide, circle and started setting up to protective spells while Harry was curled up in the center, sobbing his brains out.

Harry and I never talked about that night ever again. Not with each other, and especially not with Ron.

"Harry," I warned. "Please don't get mad. It wasn't their fault," I said, coming back to the present.

Harry sighed, visibly relaxing. "I know, Hermione. I'm just worried about you."

"Now you know how I feel," I joked, poking him in the ribs. Harry laughed back.

"It's an honor to be in the same shoes as the graceful Hermione Granger!"

I tried to hide my blush as me left the Dormitories, making our way to the Great Hall.

A/N: A strange ending point, yes, but now I'm going to get quicker with the story. Until next time, enjoy!