Author Note: THIS IS A REPOST! I'd deleted this chapter after some less than favourable reviews pushed me to the brink of abandoning the fic entirely. Then I thought to hell with it. In the words of Ivan Drago 'This is for Me'. I started it as a writing exercise and I'll continue that way if I want to. If people like it great, if you dont, meh. I'm not wasting eleven thousand words and the time it took to write them, even if this chapter only does fill in gaps I should have addressed in earlier chapters. Chapter 11 is going ahead and will be further ahead in time so look out for that soon.

Three Months Earlier...

The Gryffindor Boys dorm was quiet. It was as if the castle had let out a long, baited breath to mark the defeat of Lord Voldemort twelve hours earlier. Only to find horror in the exhale. The air itself had no life, the atmosphere still and unmoving. The world had changed. It was in the fabric of every wave and particle. Though there was no charge to any of it. A void of new uncertainty had replaced the fear, confusion and wariness where there had once been a palpable density, easy to define.

Harry was drowning in it, swallowing and gagging against the dark depths of the new world. Of his new world. He sat hugging his hunched legs, looking out of the shattered tower, letting the swirl of an icy breeze encircle him. His cheeks were sodden with tears he had no idea how to stop. They'd been coming for hours now. He didn't know what to do. And he was utterly alone.

He knew he'd better get used to it.

He didn't know how to do that, either. So he simply sat, and wept, and watched the pale dawn light filter over the Scottish highlands framed against the cloudy sky in the distance. The magnitude of the view belittled him as the reality of his life crashed in around his mind. Visions of horror chased memories of suffering around his battered psyche. It was as if the death of Voldemort had burst a dam that Harry had been holding back for years.

And now he was powerless to stop the torrent.

It flew at him in angry waves, broke as tears from his swollen eyes and burned hot against his dirty skin. And not one of the other fuckers, who had been celebrating well into the night around Hogwarts, had the faintest clue what was going on. Harry resented almost all of them. It was lucky they had given him a wide berth. His shifting moods were making him volatile.

But he had never felt so alone.

He was angry also. It was an alien anger, a fluid sensation directed fully at Ginny Weasley. Once the source of so much hope and joy, he felt a hollow acidity at the very thought of her. She had tried to throw herself at him before they'd even stowed Voldemort's dead body away from the other corpses. She was mindless of his physical pain, of his exhaustion. Of anything he'd been through. She wanted only for herself and Harry saw a plainly different vision of her than he was used to. A veil had been lifted. She'd never understand him. There would be no getting back with her. Harry would sooner be alone.

And after what he'd seen with Ron and Hermione he knew he surely would be.

They'd kissed. Finally gotten together it would seem, after all the skirting around each other. Harry felt a gut-lurching emptiness at the thought. There would be no more of the so-called Golden Trio. Harry would not play third wheel to them. They would have happiness, but Harry knew innately that he wouldn't share it. Though he couldn't rightly articulate why. He felt an immense sense of loss, like losing a limb or a loved one. The image implanted on his retinas and he urged it away, but it gnawed at him.

Why? He always knew that it was likely to happen, but he now felt he'd filed it away with the Death of Voldemort in not knowing how he'd deal with it when it did. Both were concepts too incorporeal to truly imagine. Both would be foundation-smashing to the very core of his life. Voldemort - his nemesis, his enemy, but at the same time an ever-present, purpose defining force. Ron and Hermione - best friends, now broken away as something else. Breaking their connection, breaking him. Leaving him behind.

Both things had happened at the same time.

Harry wasn't sure he would be able to cope. He was slightly panicked at the idea of losing his mind. He quite literally had no-one now. His enemy was dead. His best friends would be closer to each other now than him. There was nobody else for Harry. The idea terrified him. He was so alone, so completely solitary. He had nowhere to turn.

And he needed someone now, more than he ever had.

But who would solicit the company of a murderer? For that's all Harry could see in himself now. No great hero, no vanquisher of an evil foe. A killer, pure and simple. And at the tender age of eighteen to boot. It would never go away. He would have to carry this with him for the rest of his life. This one, undeniable fact about him. Of all else that had gone on around him, all the speculation that accompanied the adulation, this was the only piece of trivia beyond contestation.

He was a murderer.

It wasn't supposed to feel like this. Harry had never once imagined that it would. He had to destroy Voldemort. It was fated. But when it actually happened, it wasn't Lord Voldemort he saw. The eyes that died belonged to Tom Riddle, a man in whom Harry saw a lot of himself. There were uncanny similarities. And that made him real, a monster of a man, but a man nonetheless. A man that Harry had just killed.

There was no getting around it. The truth stabbed Harry firmly in the chest, pressed on his sobbing lungs and swirled bleakly around his mind. He tried to absorb it, thinking it may be easier that way. If he was ever going to deal with the truth, he first had to accept it. But it was harder than he could ever have considered. He looked out again of the blasted open wall of the tower dorm. The battlements loomed down below, firm and unyielding. Harry stared at them a moment.

It would be so easy to jump.

Harry closed his eyes and considered the option. It would be simple, over in a moment. He wouldn't have to face himself again. Yes he would upset a few people, but they'd get over it. Maybe a few would even understand. They'd turn this day from a celebratory one into a memorial. It would be more fitting, marking the deaths of so many others along with Harry's own. And he'd never feel any of it.

He took a step forward.

The breeze was cool, welcoming almost. Maybe he'd become part of it once his broken body released his fractured soul. He could soar without a broom. That might be nice. He looked out across the rugged landscape again, his hands braced on the sides of the gap in the wall. Then he bowed his head, stepped back. He couldn't do this, something so selfish. Countless people had died to keep him alive. He'd be the worlds biggest cunt to just top himself. They deserved better, even if he wasn't worthy of giving it to them.

Harry slumped back onto his bed, pulling his covers tight around himself. His body was still wracked with tears. He wished they'd stop. He imagined all the moisture in him seeping out through his eyes. He felt part of his very spirit going with it. He pressed down deeper into his bed, hoping to find some sort of release there. Maybe he'd have a wank, try and feel something besides this smothering misery. But that was never going to happen. He only had dark demons for company, and they weren't likely to turn him on.

Then the door opened.

Harry didn't want company. Despite his melancholia over the last few hours, the prospect promised with the opening door was abhorrent to him. Whoever was there could just fuck right off and leave him be. He scrunched his eyes and hitched his breathing. If he could do a convincing version of sleep maybe the interlopers would just go away. He began to breath rhythmically in and out, holding himself as still as possible. He couldn't let himself move, to give the game away.

Then something tickled his cheek.

It was all he could to not open his eyes. First a stray hair, then a whole load fell against his skin. He heard light breath before he felt it, hot against his ear. His whole body tingled like it'd been electrified. Maybe he could get that hard-on after all. The breath was so close-by, whoever it was must be examining him intimately. Harry held himself stiller yet. This was like a game. It felt almost illicit. But he found himself practically enjoying it. And that heavy breathing was sensually distracting.

He was sorry when it went. But it didn't go far. It lingered near his forehead for a few moments before moving in close again. Harry had to fight a gasp as soft lips suddenly kissed his scar. There was something definitively shy in the kiss, but for some reason Harry felt like it was the most insanely sweet thing ever. It made him feel alive again. This was some serious magic at work.

Harry couldn't dwell on it for long. The lips left his forehead and he felt the covers to his bed being tucked in tight around him. One last smooth of his haunched shoulders and whoever it was moved away. The door creaked again.

"He's sleeping, so keep your voices down."

Hermione. Speaking to an audience. Fiercely protective as always. But if she'd been the one in the room, why had Harry responded to her like that. It wasn't proper. This was Hermione after all.

"Can't we just go in and see him? We'll be quiet."

"No you cannot, Ginny," said Hermione firmly. "He needs to rest. Come on, back downstairs all of you. One more peep and I'll take my wand to the lot of you."

Harry stifled a laugh. He was eminently grateful to Hermione, dutifully taking care of him. He would miss that dearly about her. It made him sore to even think about it. So he tried not to. But his mind drifted absently to the kiss again. He didn't want to think about that, either. It caused his stomach to stir and set his heart to motion. He wasn't in the right state for either thing. He just wanted to be numb.

He thought he could manage that.

Two days passed without Harry really seeing anybody. He was becoming very good at avoiding people. Knowing the secret passages of the castle became one of Harry's most treasured skills. He could have just gone around in his Invisibility Cloak but it wasn't the most comfortable way to move. So he simply developed a habit of slipping into shadows, hiding in empty rooms and diving behind statues whenever anyone passed too close by.

Not that there were many people left at Hogwarts now. The school year had been terminated, the students sent home. Those who remained had their own reasons for doing so. Harry's was that he simply had nowhere to go. The Weasleys had gone, but Ron and Ginny were daily visitors. The others were busy planning Fred's funeral. Harry didn't want to intrude on that, so had turned down offers of joining them at the Burrow.

Hermione was still around somewhere, though Harry had been particularly keen to avoid her. He knew she was planning to head to Australia to find her parents and was ironing out the finer details with a medi-witch from St Mungo's, who was advising her on the potential problems with reversing her parent's wiped memories. Hermione was deeply concerned and Harry wanted to reassure her, positive as he was that she'd find them and put everything right.

But he found himself oddly tongue-tied around her.

He'd seen Hermione a few times over the past two days but he'd lost the ability to speak in her presence. It was lucky he had the excuse of being a morose and moody twat since Voldemort died. It provided a plausible excuse, when Harry had none better to offer instead. She tried to coax him to talk, but he was unable to form more than a few words. He just sat there in silence and listened instead. She didn't press him too hard, mindful of his state, preferring instead to look at him in a pained manner and hope he would choose to open up himself.

Which he totally wouldn't. The confusion was perhaps the most unsettling thing. He knew it was still Hermione, no different than before, but her act of looking after him when he was vulnerable had changed his view of her somehow. He couldn't have described how, it just had. He had a desire to be around her more, as she made him feel safe, but at the same time there was something that made his mood turn south when he thought about her. He couldn't explain it.

And it seemed to peak whenever Ron was with them, and being intimate with Hermione. Harry found it hard to watch. He assumed this was just because of the weirdness. The three of them had been the best of friends for years, so to see the two of them holding hands, hugging, kissing, that sort of thing, was bound to be a little odd at first. Surely, Harry thought, he would get used to it over time. But for the time being it made him feel more depressed and cross with each act of fawning he was forced to witness.

And more desperately alone with each one.

Which was why he'd turned away from the Great Hall on his way to scavenge some breakfast. He'd spotted Ron and Hermione sat close together in the sparse hall, Hermione absently playing with Ron's hair. The sight made Harry's stomach roil and he didn't feel like food any more. He span on his heel and exited the castle completely. He wandered for a while before eventually ending up at the long stairway down to the boathouse. It should be relatively safe down at the boathouse. Harry could wallow there for a while.

But when he reached the bottom of the steps he found someone else was already there. Company hadn't been on his agenda for the day, but his footsteps had sounded on the plank decking. He couldn't simply run away. The blonde head of Luna Lovegood turned at the sound. She smiled at him.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hi, Luna," said Harry. He walked up to her. She was sat on the end of the jetty, with her legs dangling over the edge and her robes pulled up around her knees. Her white socks were bunched up inside her little shoes next to her. She looked up sweetly.

"You can join me, if you like," she said. "It's nice and peaceful down here."

Harry decided he did like, so he sat down crossed-legged and looked out over the water of the lake, flat and still, except for the ripples where Luna's toes bothered the surface below them. Neither spoke. Both content, it would seem, to simply immerse themselves in the silence. It was quite nice, sat there like that. Harry could waste away the day, not thinking, with just Luna for company. And if they didn't speak that was perfectly alright. With Luna it might be a normal thing. If Harry closed his eyes, none of it had happened. There was nothing to suggest anything was wrong.

But it was. The whole damned world was wrong. For now though, that belonged somewhere else. Harry opened his eyes again.

"Do you often come down here?" he asked.

"Yes, quite often," said Luna, turning her wide, globular eyes on him. "Not many people come here, so I can be by myself. And there's no-one to make nasty comments about me. Its nice to not hear them all the time."

Harry felt a searing slice of sympathy cross his heart. Poor Luna. She had such a hard time. He wanted to put his arm around her, tell her that it was other people who had the problem. But that wasn't his way. And Luna might get the wrong idea with physical contact. He was enjoying just being sat there with her, he didn't want to make it weird.

"It's probably perfect for you," Luna went on. "I know I'd want some peace and quiet if it were me. Not having to talk about it all the time."

"Yeah, I'd like that," Harry sighed. "Not much chance of it though. Everyone wants to corner me all the time."

"That cant be nice," said Luna. "If you want to get out of sight for a bit we can always take a boat out onto the lake. Its even quieter out there."

"Okay, yeah, lets do that," said Harry. The idea was appealing.

Luna jumped up and pulled her socks and shoes back on. She went into the boathouse proper and a few minutes later emerged on the water inside a little canoe. Harry climbed in and sat opposite her, then Luna tapped the hull of the boat with her wand and they began to move off gently. Harry looked up the castle as the boat moved further and further away from shore.

From here the full extent of the damage could be truly appreciated. And as Harry looked at the devastation, he felt the extent of his own internal damage bubble up to the surface. He fought back more tears. He wouldn't let that happen in public. Not with Luna, who never cried despite the bullying and tormenting she had endured for years. Harry simply closed his eyes and bowed his head forward.

The boat slowed to a stop and bobbed gently on the tide. Harry shuddered as he battled the horrors dancing around his mind. He couldn't move. They were crippling him. He wrung his hands together brutally, as though trying to squash away the pain coursing through him. Suddenly, and quite surprisingly, he felt Luna take his hands in her own and hold them quite still. She had leaned in too and placed her head on his dipped shoulder. She had turned her head away from him. If he cried now, she wouldn't see. But Harry wouldn't give in. He simply pressed his forehead into her collarbone and sighed deeply at the contact. It wouldn't make it better, but it might help for a while.

Time passed slowly on the lake. The silence, the unmoving water, nothing to mark the passage of the minutes, the hours. For it was hours by the time they decided to return to shore. Harry felt a little better, calmer. It had been therapeutic and he was thankful to Luna for letting him share her day. He put a friendly arm around her shoulders as they walked back up to the school. Part of him wished he could help her too, but he knew the cruelty of others was not so easily undone.

"Thanks for today, Luna," said Harry as they made to part at the Entrance Hall. "I needed that."

Luna looked at him. She smiled sadly. "It'll get easier, Harry. You just need time. You need to adjust. It wont always be this bad. Take care."

And with that she walked away. Harry watched her go, wondering if he'd ever see her again. He turned away and walked up the broken remains of the main staircase. He felt the shadows begin to press on him again, with each piece of wreckage he came across. How much of this was unnecessary? How much could be blame on himself? All of it, probably. He sighed wearily. He was so tired. Tired through his bones and sinew to his very soul. Something had broken in him and he had no idea if it could ever be fixed.

He walked on for ages, down corridors, through rooms, up one staircase and down another. He had no mind for his direction. He turned a corner and found himself facing the Observation Deck of the Astronomy Tower. It was largely intact. And it was empty. It would do as a place to sit.

Harry made his way up to the parapet. It was dark now. The stars were popping into view in a cloudless sky. The moon was full risen to the West. Harry felt a knot of nausea strike him. Lupin. He wouldn't have to worry about transforming tonight. Or any night. Or his son, left alone in a callous world. Harry's Godson. What would he be like? Would he truly understand, as Lupin had said? Or would he hate Harry, resent him for his absent parents? That was more likely. Harry knew what it felt like to be full of hate for the murderer of parents. He could understand. And if Teddy came looking for revenge, or an absolution, Harry wouldn't stop him.

It was a dark future.

"Harry? There you are! We've been looking all over."

Hermione's voice jerked Harry back to his mind. He didn't like her use of we. It suggested company and Harry rather felt like being on his own. He looked past Hermione but she didn't seem to have anyone with her. That changed things, weirdly enough. She could stay if she wanted, as long as it was just her.

"Where have you been?" Hermione asked, joining him on the stone bench.

"Out," Harry replied.

"Just out?" Hermione echoed.

"Yes," Harry nodded.

"All day?"

Harry simply looked at her, trying to convey the pointlessness of her questions.

"I'm worried about you, Harry," said Hermione gently. She took his hand in both of hers. "You haven't been right since...well...you know what. We can talk about it, if you want to."

"I don't," said Harry. He looked away from her. "I don't want to talk at all."

"It doesn't do well to bottle things up," Hermione implored.

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" Harry snapped. He felt immediately ashamed at Hermione's hurt look. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to..."

He couldn't finish the sentence. He was hit by another of those dark surges. It came from nowhere and washed over him, enveloping his mind. He was going to go mad. He knew it. He couldn't cope with all this.

"It's alright," Hermione said gently. "I'm here for you."

"But that's wrong, too," said Harry, somewhat desperately. "You have your own hurting to do. Your own wrongs to right with your parents. And there's this thing with you and Ron, obviously."

"This thing?" Hermione's tone was questioning and mildly amused. "You mean my being his girlfriend?"

"Yeah, er, that."

"What about it?"

"Nothing, so don't look at me like that," said Harry, who wasn't sure how Hermione was looking at him, if he was honest. But it was a strange look.

"Do you have a problem with it?"

"Seeing his tongue down your throat isn't the most pleasant sight, I must admit," said Harry, smirking slightly.

Hermione laughed. "You're so crude, Harry. But seriously, this isn't a problem for you, is it? It wont change anything between us, you know. You're still my best friend."

Harry looked at her and shook his head. "Are you mental? It changes everything between us. Between all three of us. But that doesn't matter right now. None of it does."

"Of course it does!" said Hermione hotly. "I don't want you to think it'll put distance between us, because it wont. I wont let it."

"You're wrong...it will ," said Harry. He stood up and moved away from her. "This thing with you and Ron...it excludes me in more ways than you know. I cant be around you both right now. Maybe ever. Trust me, it will be easier that way."

"Easier? What are you talking about?"

"You should know, you're the smartest witch of our age," said Harry. "But if you don't, I'm not going to spell it out for you. Ron knows, but I doubt he'll tell you either."

"Harry...you aren't making any sense," said Hermione.

Harry turned to her, a sad smile crept onto his face. "Wow. I've finally found a subject to stump Hermione Granger! If you want extra homework - which we both know you do - you can try and work it out. When you do, you'll understand why I have to deal with this on my own."

"You aren't on your own!" Hermione protested. "Harry, you're scaring me. I don't know where you are going with this. And I really don't like it."

Harry sighed and leaned back on the barrier of the parapet.

"I killed Tom Riddle," said Harry quietly. "I did. Nobody else. I have to deal with that. And in my own way. It's going to be hard, a long and dark process, but I don't think anybody can help. Not really. And you've just started a relationship with Ron. He needs you to be with him now, he'll expect you to be. He'll resent me if you don't. You should go to him."

"But if you need me -"

"Hermione - I'm not your boyfriend!" said Harry, cutting her off quickly. "If you prioritise me over Ron now, you'll regret it later. Trust me, I'm right about this."

"Ron will understand," Hermione reasoned.

"You do know Ron, yes?" asked Harry sarcastically. "He's insecure enough as it is. Now he's finally gotten you, he'll not be best pleased to still have to share you with me. Especially at the beginning of your relationship. Its...its why ours wont be...why it cant be...the same anymore."

"Harry stop saying things like that," said Hermione. She got up and moved to him. "You're sounding like we'll have to stop seeing each other. That isn't going to happen. We're still going to be in each other's lives. I need you in mine. Who else am I going to vent to when Ron gets on my nerves!"

Harry allowed himself a small chuckle. "It'll be better if I'm not in anyone's life for a while. Not till I've come to terms with everything. I need to be on my own. It's for the best."

"Well I'm not leaving you until I know you're okay," said Hermione. "Last time I did that you decided to commit suicide by going to Voldemort."

"I had to," said Harry, surprised at Hermione's change of direction. "It was Dumbledore's plan, the only way."

"Nonsense," Hermione said angrily. "It was foolish and downright reckless. We would have found another way, one not quite so moronically dangerous."

"And what would that have been?"

"Oh, I don't know, Harry!" said Hermione, impassioned. "We would have thought of something. But that's an argument for another day. Right now all I care about is you being well."

"I'm fine."

"You're a bad liar, Harry. Look, I'm leaving for Australia in a few days. I don't want to go off and leave Ron to look after you if you're really in a bad way. That's not exactly in his skill set."

"I told you. I'm okay," said Harry. "I just need rest and a bit of time. Ron and I can always speak Parseltongue if I get really down."

Hermione turned bodily to fully look at Harry. Her eyes were suspicious and questioning. "Now what is that tone supposed to mean? What Ron managed to do was quite brilliant."

"Yeah, I remember you saying," said Harry bitterly. "I didn't know the Dark Arts were such a turn on for you."

Hermione looked genuinely upset by the comment. Harry bowed his head again. "Sorry. I didn't mean that."

"What has gotten into you? I'm really worried, Harry. You aren't yourself."

"I know, I know," said Harry quietly.

He could feel his mood take a nosedive. There was a flash of green in his mind, an anguished cry. Harry's neck was cold but a sweat was forming there. Anger and hatred and despair were swimming through him. It wasn't right that anyone should be a potential target, especially Hermione, who alone had tried to help him.

"That's why I need to be on my own. I need to process all of this, and everyone is better off staying out of the way while I do...so...I'd like you to go now. Please?"

Hermione looked like she was about to cry at the sudden dismissal. "If...if that's what you want."

Harry nodded. "It is."

It wasn't. In fact, he wanted Hermione to stay and find a way to make it all better. If anyone could it would be her. But he had to send her away. He couldn't keep her with him, it was far too selfish of him, despite his need for her. But sending her away cut him to ribbons as he did it. Something had changed regarding her. Harry knew it, in a distant sort of way. But the morbid thoughts dominating his mind obscured it. He couldn't think on that right now. He just had to protect her for her own good.

"Please, Hermione. Please go."

Harry couldn't even look at her. A wave of self-loathing wouldn't permit it. He felt her move away from him rather than saw her go. She lingered for a moment, then turned slowly and left him alone. He missed her as soon as she was out of sight.

Sirius was sat on Harry's four-poster. That was odd enough. The fact he was wearing a sparkly party hat was even stranger. He and Harry were talking about the afterlife, comparing experiences of it. It was pretty close to the day when Sirius had fallen through the veil at the Department of Mysteries. Harry had no idea what the actual date was, so it was good enough for a Deathday party of sorts.

Super Ted was there as well, sat on Neville Longbottom's old bed, pulling up the zipper to his outfit over and over again and not really saying much. There was a house-elf sat close by, too. It may have been Dobby, but he had a jackal-head and Harry was a little unnerved by it. He kept making chirruping noises. It was hypnotic but very peculiar. It made Harry sleepy. He really needed sleep.

For it had been at least three days since he last remembered sleeping.

There was a knock at the door. It opened and Ron came in.

"Ah Ron, there you are," said Harry brightly. "We were wondering when you would turn up. Speaking of which, did you bring the turnip? We haven't much food here."

Ron looked warily at him. He was hanging back in the doorway. He didn't want to come in.

"What's the matter, mate?" said Harry. "There's plenty of room to sit down. Oi, budge up Quaffle-Man. We have guests."

Harry looked crossly at the Quaffle opposite him, who had a paper boy body. He was very rude to take up so much space.

"I...I'm not going to stay, Harry," said Ron, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Everyone's gone home now. You're pretty much the only one left in the castle, besides Hagrid and McGonagall."

"Oh, are they coming up?" asked Harry. "I'd better conjure some more plates. Do you know the spell for it?"

Ron didn't know the spell. And Harry didn't seem to know that he couldn't cast spells with his toothbrush, or that his actual wand had been locked away for safe keeping.

"No...no they're not coming, Harry," said Ron. He didn't look normal at all.

"You alright, buddy?" asked Harry lightly. "You look all messed up. Fidgety and stuff. Maybe Hermione can kiss it better."

He laughed at his own joke, laughed maniacally as though it were the funniest gag ever written. Ron looked more perturbed than ever.

"Hermione's gone to Australia," said Ron. "You remember, right."

"Australia? Why's she in Australia?"

"She went to get her parents back."

"Were they on holiday there? I heard its nice."

"No, she..."

Ron tailed off. Either he'd forgotten himself or he knew it would be pointless to explain.

"I tell you who else is in Australia, Ron," said Harry, whispering excitedly. "Sydney!...ha ha...Get it, Sydney's in Australia...ha ha!"

Ron smiled weakly, desperately searching for anything left of the Harry he knew.

"Why didn't you laugh?" asked Harry, seriously. "We used to laugh all the time. It was funny. Super Ted laughed. I don't think we should be friends if we can't laugh."

"We'll laugh when you're better," said Ron. "I was hoping you'd be okay to come with us to the Burrow, but I think you'd better stay here. The Hospital Wing might be a better place for you."

"But I'm not in the Hospital Wing, you silly ginger mushroom," Harry said with a laugh. He turned to share the joke with Sirius, but he was gone. They were all gone. Except for Ron, who was still there, still looking pale and concerned. And it turned out he was right. Harry was in the Hospital Wing. How did he end up here? Must have been those angry cuts he had on his arms. How did that happen? He couldn't remember.

Then he screamed.

It was loud, angered. He roared and struggled against the binds holding him fast to the bed. Then Madam Pomfrey was there, trying to force potion into his mouth. He couldn't move his arms to fight her off. He swallowed reluctantly. The potion tasted of chocolate and honey. It wasn't bad. It calmed him. He stopped struggling and lay back.

"Will he be alright?" Ron was asking.

"It's impossible to say," Pomfrey replied. "The damage to his mind is difficult to assess. All we can do is make him comfortable until he can heal himself enough. But don't worry, he will be quite safe here."

Then Harry remembered. He knew why he was here, and he felt ashamed.

"Ron," he croaked.

"Yes mate, I'm here."

"I wont make it to the funeral, I'm sorry," said Harry.

"Don't worry about that," said Ron. "Just focus on getting better."

"You sound like Hermione," said Harry, smiling at the thought of her. He wished she was here with him, but he daren't tell Ron that, tell him how much he was missing her. At least, when he was cogent enough to. "Ron - do me a favour? Don't tell her about this. She'll only worry."

"I wont say a word," Ron reassured him. "I...I have to go. As soon as you're well enough, you can come to ours. Mum can look after you."

Harry doubted that greatly. He smiled meekly, but the room was swimming again. It fell out of focus. He took one last look at Ron. There was an odd glint in his eyes, something like triumph flashed across them. Harry couldn't explain that. Then the rest of the potion took him, and he fell out of consciousness.

The memories flooded Harry's mind as he raced up the final piece of slope and entered the Great Hall. That gleam he'd seen in Ron's eye that night. He'd almost forgotten it. It was sort of victorious. Why would he have thought that, with Harry in such a broken state? What sort of friend would think something in such a moment?

Harry knew exactly why.

Ron thought he'd won, emerged victorious in his long, unspoken duel with Harry. Voldemort had done the bulk of the damage, physical and mental, and Ron had topped it off by taking Hermione. He'd always been suspicious of how close Harry and Hermione were. They'd fallen out over it several times. And after what Ginny had said...it all made sense now. Ron had always known. Even if Harry didn't. He could see the one thing that Harry was too blind to recognise.

So he took Hermione from Harry. Scored the ultimate victory. Then revelled in the destruction he had caused.

Maybe Ron had thought that Harry wouldn't recover. He'd never bothered to check on him. That night was the last time Harry had seen him. Perhaps Ron was banking on a long stay in St Mungo's for Harry, mindless and lost and no longer a threat. He probably wouldn't have even told Hermione where he was. In case she dared to care for him. Ron didn't like to share his toys. And Hermione would have been his greatest one.

Even fucking Voldemort knew that. Harry remembered the night of that revelation vividly. The images of himself and Hermione emerging from the locket, dark and ethereal, but hopelessly entwined. And that kiss, so primal, so passionate. No wonder Ron was so jealous of them, if that was burning inside them. But it was that moment where their friendship broke forever. Harry knew Ron's heart, as Lord Voldemort had. Saw at once his greatest desire and greatest fear in visceral relief.

And he and Ron could never be the same again.

Ron would never get over that, never let it go. As long as Harry was part of his life he'd never totally dismiss that paranoia. He'd always wonder what if? And if Harry ever worked it out, discovered the real reason he and Hermione were so close, he'd become a very real threat. Sure, Hermione had displayed her affection for Ron, but could he be certain that'd be enough if Harry suddenly threw his hat into the ring?

Harry rather thought that he and Hermione already shared a connection that went beyond mere friendship, it always had. He would bet it was stronger than her connection to Ron even when they were together. Merlin, she'd offered to run away with him the night he left, hadn't she? What did that say about it? He dearly wished he had taken her along now. Stuck two fingers up at the world and told them all to go fuck themselves.

And if anything had happened between them it would have been natural and just. It would be the proper order of things, as Harry now saw that he was meant to be with her. It was just how nature had intended it. They'd both come alone from the Muggle world, discovered magic and found each other. It gave their connection a profound depth. Harry felt he'd endured all these things, all his life, to recognise true love and deep, lifelong companionship when it finally presented itself.

The fact that his destined partner was with someone else at the time was just window dressing. He would have to go.

And if Ron tried to debate Harry's logic now they would have to fight for it. Or let Hermione choose once and for all. Harry fancied his chances in that.

Then he skidded into the Great Hall. It was half-full. It would be a little exposed for a showdown, but Harry wasn't bothered. He had no mind for them. He spotted Ron, his fucking ginger cunt head obvious across the room. He was facing Hermione, who was stood up opposite him, facing away from Harry. Luna Lovegood was sat down on a bench nearby. She was an odd observer to the party.

Then Ron looked up.

He looked over Hermione's shoulder and his eyes locked with Harry's. Daggers of deep loathing shot between them. Harry didn't know this man. His best friend wasn't in that body. He was as dead to him as Voldemort. But in his eyes, there was that gleam of victory again. It threw Harry off, curtailed his confrontational mood.

Then Ron took Hermione's head his his hands and kissed her tenderly. He looked up mid-kiss, pinioned Harry with his gaze again. He had won, and they both knew it. Harry was wrong.

And the world fell from beneath his feet.

Hermione pushed angrily into Ron's chest, throwing him away from her. Acidic rage bubbled beneath her skin. She spat the remnants of the kiss at Ron's feet and turned aggressively towards him. He was nearly a foot-and-a-half taller than her, but she rose up like a lioness in the face of him.

"How dare you!" she cried angrily. "What the hell do you think you are doing?!"

"You're my girlfriend," said Ron. "I'm kissing you. That's what we are supposed to do."

"Girlfriend! Ha!" Hermione spiked. "There're lots of things we are supposed to do. Like being faithful. I've been back at Hogwarts barely a week and you run off with some other slag!"

"Oh, that," said Ron, bashfully. "That's not what it looked like."

"Ahem," Luna coughed lightly from down below. Ron and Hermione ignored her.

"Oh really?" Hermione snapped acridly. "And what about all the others? Just paper talk, is it? I knew you were enjoying all this attention, I just never guessed quite how much."

"It isn't like that, Herms, you have to believe me."

"Ahem," Luna tried again. A little more forcefully.

"Do you mind staying out of this, Luna?" said Ron coolly. "It isn't any of your business."

"Don't you talk to her like that," said Hermione forcefully, rounding on Ron. "She's done nothing wrong here. That's all you."

"Herms, please -"

"Stop calling me that! I hate it when you call me that!"

"AHEM!" said Luna, standing up fully now. "I'm not talking to you, Ronald. I don't think you're very nice. But Hermione, I think you should know - Harry was just here. He saw you kissing."

Hermione's jaw hit the floor. She span around. Harry was nowhere to be seen.

"Where was he? Are you sure it was him?"

Luna smiled sadly. "I think everyone would recognise Harry Potter. He was in the doorway but he went away when he saw you kiss. He looked very upset."

Hermione panicked and tried to race after Harry but Ron tugged on her robes and yanked her back.

"If you run to that prick now, we're done. It's over."

Hermione glared hard at him. "Do you think this hasn't been over for a while? Fuck me, Ron, I wish it had never started! Now let me go."

He did so and Hermione took up the chase. Her heart was thumping beneath her rib cage. She had to catch Harry, to tell him, to make him see...

She couldn't let him escape again, not when they were so close now. It was going to happen, this beautiful dream she'd dared to let herself believe was going to come true. Harry was going to tell her he loved her and they were going to be together. And it would be perfect. If only she could get to him.

But she was too late.

She spotted him outside the school gates. Cameras were flashing from the assembled reporters. They lit up his eyes as Hermione came close enough to see. He was heartbroken, total and complete devastation flicked across every line of his expression. She knew instantly she was right about everything she'd only ever cautiously hoped for. She could see his love for her etched into every line of the pain striking him, as he considered what she humbly realised was his greatest ever loss. Despite all the horrors he had been through, losing her was more devastating than anything he'd ever experienced.

And she couldn't tell him how totally wrong he was. Tell him how she was so utterly his, if he'd just wait a moment and take her to him.

But then he was gone.

He hadn't even seen her. He just vanished in a swirl of light and colour. Hermione felt the breath be knocked out of her lungs. She fell to her knees, clutched at her chest and panted hard. She couldn't breath, or think, or move. Harry was gone, and the last thought was of her ultimate betrayal of him. He wouldn't come back now. What was there for him to return to, in his poor, broken mind? Hermione wailed at the agony, a whir of uncontrolled panic smashing about her brain. Her heart had been torn asunder and was being cast down on jagged rocks.

She'd lost him. Just when she was on the cusp of taking that terrifying leap to confess all to him. Now he was gone. Gone forever. She was mindless, she couldn't think straight for the reality. It cut at her mind. She wasn't sure where she was. Wild, random thoughts punched at her, she couldn't control them. Her mind, so well ordered and sure, was in turmoil. And she couldn't stem the tide of chaos.

"Hermione!"

Ron's voice cut into the void Hermione was in danger of falling into. It brought her back to the moment. And it brought to her a whole new definition of anger. She leapt up, she felt a little crazed. Ron was the cause of all this. He was the reason Harry had never shown an interest in her. It was because of him that she and Harry had never considered getting together. He was in the way. Harry was too noble to risk upsetting his best friend and his happiness. Even at the cost of his own. He'd resign himself to a slut like Ginny instead.

One Big Happy Fucking Weasley Family.

The concept made Hermione physically sick, and angry beyond description. She and Harry, sacrificing a beautiful life together to pacify that pack of pricks. They'd be poor, they'd have everything second-hand, they'd make their own clothes. They'd have to, just to fit in. Or else accept Ron and Ginny stepping up from their station in life, upgrading to people like Harry and Hermione. They'd have to provide for them.

Freeloading fucktards.

Hermione's ire was free-flowing now. She wouldn't stand for it. She'd find Harry, somehow. She would make him understand, make it up to him. For not being there for him as she should have been. She'd make him forgive her. But first she had to deal with Ron, and they were beyond words now. He had driven Harry away, and Hermione was fairly certain he'd done it on purpose. He must have seen Harry, as Luna had. Then he'd kissed her, to mark his territory.

Who the fuck did he think he was? Hermione reached for her wand...

But then she was thrown backwards and slammed hard into the floor. The back of her head collided with something mis-shapen and solid, and ridged. Her eyes streamed, she was losing her senses. There were angry cries from somewhere. Hermione looked up with unfocused eyes. Someone was advancing on her, wand raised. Hermione groped helplessly for her own, but it was kicked away from her searching fingers. Long red hair, the mane of her attacker, loomed large over her, as she finally succumbed to the encroaching darkness...

Two months earlier...

Ginny Weasley.

Of all the things that had angered her about the night, Ginny was near the top of the list. It had been a night of moronic comments, Hermione could still hear her parents arguing about the worst of them down the hall. She was glad her bedroom wall was muffling the details, she felt it was all a little too raw to face up to right now. But of all the things to give Hermione cause for serious thought, Ginny's comments were right up there.

And they were both irksome and concerning in equal measure.

It was all about Harry, who Hermione realised she'd been consciously blocking from her mind for a good couple of weeks. She had never actively avoided thinking about him before, but now she was steering clear of anything to do with him. She could have obliviated herself and the effect might not have been quite so reaching. For Harry had now become a potently dangerous topic in her mind and she feared delving too deeply into it.

It had started that night he sent her away. She could tell he didn't really want to. It was just noble Harry being himself. She thought she ought to give him a little space if that's what he really needed. But then she started analysing some of the things he'd said, about why it was better for him not to be around her and Ron. And ultimately it had led to her staying away from him, as she felt too unnerved to go and see him. What had he meant by it all?

There were two obvious possibilities. The most sensible one was that he was cognizant of Ron's jealousy. They had had a spat or two about her in the past. Hermione knew there was nothing deeper to it, but Harry was just that considerate a person. He knew of Ron's irrationality and didn't want to stoke it by being in the way. Even if he needed help himself.

Which Hermione knew he did, more deeply than he was ever likely to let on. But, again, as was Harry's way, he prioritised others before himself. He might have needed comfort, companionship, but Hermione knew she was the only one likely to be able to provide for him. Her and Ron's new situation made that awkward. Harry recognised that more readily than she did. So he sent her away, probably thinking it was for her own good.

But he'd sent her away with plenty to think on. Even if Ron's jealousy was the main factor, there was that other, niggling sense that Harry had given her. That there was more to it than just simple jealousy, and that Harry was somehow involved. That Ron's jealousy was specific to him. Hermione couldn't rightly imagine that. What did it mean?

Again, the obvious answer was that it was an extension of Ron's overriding jealousy of Harry. There was no secret to that. Harry didn't mean to be, but he just happened to be better than Ron at most of the things Ron valued. His KPI stats were simply higher. That wasn't Harry fault, but it added to the self-doubt and sense of being undervalued that Ron had always carried with him. Harry was the hero, Ron was the sidekick. What that made Hermione was something she had never truly examined.

Now that she did, it opened up the other potential reason behind Harry's cryptic words. Ron knew something, something that would mean Harry had to leave them alone. It pointed to a specific kind of jealousy, one that was distinctly Harry Potter-shaped. And not just in a general way, but in a romantic kind of way. As though Ron considered Harry as a genuine, romantic rival for Hermione's affections. She shut down that train of thought as soon as she had it. It was beyond absurd, and though she'd considered it at times in the past, Harry had made it clear he wasn't interested. That was where she had curtailed her own interest.

But what if she'd been wrong? It was the most unlikely thing in the world. Neville playing Quidditch for England whilst riding a dragon was more plausible. But Harry had said Ron knew something, and Harry wasn't going to tell her what it was. Could Harry have been harbouring secret feelings for her? Did Ron know, and did that mean Ron wouldn't want him around? Did that make his jealousy not only no longer irrational, but actually justifiable? Did they both know, and Harry had agreed to stay away? It would be the kind of thing he did.

If any of this wasn't so utterly laughable.

Hermione would have more readily believed Harry had feelings for Ron than for her. It was the lesser of two fallacies. In any case, if Harry did have feelings for her what did that matter? It wouldn't change anything. Hermione was in a relationship with Ron now. She'd chased him for at least a couple of years. She'd known he'd fancied her for ages. It wouldn't make even the slightest difference to Hermione if she knew that Harry fancied her, too.

Or would it?

At the first hint of Hermione thinking that, actually, maybe it would, she stopped thinking at all about it on the spot. It was wrong to allow it. What would Ron say? That was when the roadblocks flew up. She became proficient at them. She had to because, it seemed, Harry Potter had permeated her life so deeply that she found him everywhere she turned. He was in the moving pictures on her nightstand, his years of letters were still bundled together in her underwear drawer. She didn't know why they were there, of all places, but that's where she found them.

He was in her textbooks, too. Apart from the chapters and pieces on him - which were all highlighted or turned down at the page corners - she found a scrap of parchment in New Theory of Numerology, on which she had compared the numerical properties of their names and found some interesting connections. She also saw, in earlier books, where she had written their initials together and encircled them in little hearts. She blushed crimson as she saw them; she'd forgotten she used to do that. She closed them books and threw them into a cupboard to gather dust.

She'd managed to avoid any thoughts of Harry till she found her parents in New South Wales. The arid heat didn't sit well with Hermione, but she was more unsettled by her parents' reaction to news she had a boyfriend now. And even more startled that this new boyfriend wasn't Harry. They'd seemed so sure of it.

At first she thought she'd done the memory reversal spell wrong. It was quite complicated, after all. Maybe she'd addled their brains. But everything else seemed accurate. She'd conducted extensive tests, as the medi-witch from St Mungo's had suggested, and they both passed perfectly. They remembered everything. But they also remembered this, and Hermione was at a loss to work out where they'd gotten that idea from.

When she'd pressed her mother about it, she'd been reluctant to say too much. Perhaps she thought she would be doing Hermione's actual boyfriend a disservice, to be pointing out all the reasons for believing Hermione would have ended up with her other best friend. But the surprise was not lost on Hermione, who had tentatively searched her mind for the core of that idea. She must have put it there, as she was the only source of information. But she was sure it wasn't intentional.

But did that make it worse? Did it make it more truthful?

She had often been tempted to exaggerate her relationship with Harry, back when she was in serious danger of developing a huge crush on him. She'd fought it fiercely. It was humiliating. It was easier in school time, where people knew who they were and she only had to look at Harry's reactions to her, and other girls, to shoot down any fleeting hopes she might have felt.

He was so easy to fancy, that was the problem. Everything from his cute shyness and insecurity, to his dashing heroism and kindness to others. He was all sorts of right, but a little dark and intense to go with it. He was fascinating, and this made him alluring. He only improved as he got older, and the fact he didn't get rid of Hermione as a friend - which she half-expected him to - only allowed her to get closer to him. And then they shared some seriously intimate and personal moments. Sometimes with others, but sometimes just the two of them. And Hermione had to really learn to fight hard before she fell too deeply.

Then she would be at home, and if she thought about him when he wasn't around to correct her she could imagine all kinds of things. Had she let this slip to her parents? Had they caught her off-guard, daydreaming about Harry and she gave away too much? Maybe she had. Though it can't have been a bad thing. They'd seemed genuinely excited to meet him. She must have painted a pretty picture.

How different must that have been to the actual reality of Ron and the Weasleys they'd met that evening?

Which brought her back around to Ginny. Her comments about wanting to get back with Harry had sparked something in Hermione. It was something covetous, oddly enough. She wanted to steer Ginny away from Harry, on purpose. Why would she want to do that? Poor Harry, he was so alone. He might need Ginny. Hermione couldn't imagine why the fuck he would, but stranger things had happened. Maybe. But that's what she had done, and it only occurred to her now what a callous thing that was to do.

Was she condemning Harry to be alone, or was it something else? Some deep-seated reason that didn't want Harry to be in a relationship with anybody. She tried to console herself that maybe she didn't think Ginny was good enough for Harry, that she was doing a good deed and looking out for him. But there was a selfish element she couldn't overlook, or look at now it had happened.

For it was jealousy, plain and simple. Hermione had always felt a little jealous of Ginny, for her confidence and ease with boys. She'd felt a tonne of jealousy seeing her with Harry, but she'd always assumed she was pining over Ron and that was the cause of it. It made her feel lonely. But now she wasn't so sure. Could she have been actually jealous of not being with Harry herself, some secret desire she'd walled away now peeking over the ramparts of her heart-fort?

She deeply hoped not.

It would be so problematic if that turned out to be true. She was dating his best friend. It was what she'd wanted. But then that niggling question about Harry...what if? It would change everything, she knew that as surely as the swish and flick of wingardium leviosa. She didn't really want to deconstruct it. She thought she might rather be single than be with Ron knowing Harry liked her. For the landmines between them getting together were gargantuan. If there was anything to this whimsical imagining.

She wondered if Harry was still awake, wherever he was. He had better still be at Hogwarts, where he would at least be safe.. Hermione startled herself by how fiercely she felt she'd react if she found he wasn't there, if the Weasleys failure to look after him had been so profound. She might not forgive them for it. She might not forgive them anyway. Their display that night had been bad enough.

Her parents were still arguing down the hall. Hermione wouldn't be able to sleep. She was too mortified by all that had gone on. Her parents were furious. They had every right to be. She just hoped they would calm down by the morning, that they wouldn't react knee-jerk like. But Hermione wouldn't sleep. She might just get up...wait for her parents to chide her, get it over with. She got out of bed and pulled her nightgown on...

Hermione pulled her nightie off. It was practically drenched in sweat. Her knickers came next, soaked for a very different reason. Hermione was still shaking from the dream as she put on clean clothes and stowed her soiled garments in her linen basket. She would have to clean them herself later. It would save any awkward confrontations with her mother.

Perhaps less easy to avoid was the confrontation with herself. She could barely stand, such was the weakness in her knees, and the aroma of her arousal was heady in her own nostrils. Her heart rate was just about slowing to normal, but her mind was more than making up for it running, it seemed, at a hundred miles an hour.

For she'd just had a vivid, sexual dream...about Harry.

It had come out of nowhere, no pun intended. She'd been having a nice, usual dream. Reading a book in the Gryffindor Common Room, quite alone. Then, unexpectedly, Harry had walked in. He looked like he'd come from the Quidditch pitch. He was a little sweaty, eyes bright from the exercise. It stirred something in Hermione's loins. He'd sat down next to her, a little too close. It made Hermione's pulse jump up a notch. Harry had asked where Ron was. It seemed important for him to know. He was staring at her legs, which were inexplicably bare. Hermione felt exposed, but excitedly so. She used her book for cover. Harry noticed. He licked his lips, took a swift look around, then swatted the book away and pounced on her. She offered not a second of resistance and let him take her passionately, before pushing him to the floor and returning the favour. She woke up just as Harry had bent her over the back of the battered couch, his rigidness rubbing her from front to back. She thrilled to know where he would go...

Then she choked as she woke up, battling her sparse breathing as if fighting to stay alive. She almost fell out of bed in her shock. For it was extreme, and for many reasons. She'd never had that sort of dream before. The closest she'd come was a bit of light petting. This was far from that. She was rattled to her very core by it. She'd explored the most intimate parts of her body before, of course she had. But to wake up to her fingers doing it of their own accord was something new entirely.

And for a dream about Harry to be the cause of it...well, she couldn't begin to describe what she thought about that.

She'd like to believe that the thought had come from nowhere, but that wasn't entirely the case. She'd thought a lot about Harry in the last few days, ever since he'd left her on the Astronomy Tower. He'd kissed her, and told her she looked beautiful. She'd melted at both, and the combined effect had destroyed all the blocks she'd put in her mind about him.

And, it would seem, opened up a whole new valve too.

Hermione felt a swell a guilt, through her waves of stimulation. What about Ron? What would he make of all this? She decided it best not to tell him. He was having too much of a good time taking the attention in Harry's absence. He seemed to be enjoying it. To think Harry was still very much around, albeit in the lusty part of Hermione's mind, would certainly sour him. And Hermione didn't want that.

She was finding it hard enough to be around him as it was. These night time thoughts were creeping into her daytime, too. It made her awkwardly uncomfortable around Ron. The unease she'd begun at the celebration at Hogwarts had only gotten worse. She feared to think how bad things could get. Especially if her acute missing of Harry was manifesting like this.

She dearly wanted to stop thinking about him. It was affecting her sanity. But she had an even stronger wish to know how he was, where he was, how he was getting on. He'd seemed so hurt, so broken. It couldn't be good for him to be on his own. And she felt a piercing guilt that he should have done more. If it wasn't for Ron, being in the way, she surely would have. It might have saved her from these dreams. She felt guilty about that too, but not nearly as much as she should have. The images of her and Harry were still floating pleasantly around her mind.

Maybe she'd try and give sleep another go. Just in case Harry hadn't finished with her...