Author's Note: Yay! Another chapter! This chapter - I must say - is one of my favorites. I'm not entirely sure why, but I'm extremely proud of this chapter. Hopefully you all will love it to?

Chapter Nineteen:
"Redemption"

The next morning, Hermione was enjoying a day off. Today she had the luxury of sleeping later than she normally would and after the day she had yesterday, she really needed it. After seeing Chris, she had stressed herself out. It couldn't have been just because of my attraction to him, she reasoned, I've also been really stressed at work. She convinced herself that things would now return to normal and she wouldn't have to worry about Chris Halliwell ever again. And so she slept late, allowing herself to ignore her responsibilities, against her better judgment, in order to pacify her nerves.

She slept dreamlessly, enjoying a relief from her nightmarish dreams of Sirius. Not a sound penetrated the walls of her apartment. Shreds of light shown in through her bedroom curtains, but she refused to wake. She wanted to enjoy the serene tranquility of just laying in bed for hours. At that moment, she had no preconceptions of how she would spend the day, except for that the most of the day would be spent in bed. She thought she would read, or maybe she would go to Diagon Alley and browse through the windows and stores to see if she could find anything worth purchasing.

Knock, knock.

Hermione groaned; surely there couldn't be anyone at the door? It sounded again. Sighing in her frustration at a quiet morning ruined, she got out of bed and rushed to the door. Donning only a robe with a nightgown underneath, she opened the door and, at the sight of the person on the other side of the doorway, wondered if this day could get anymore ruined.

"Can we talk?"

Hermione exhaled to see Chris Halliwell standing in her doorway wanting to talk to her.

"I guess."

He slowly came into her living room and looked around, obviously judging the appearance of the place. Hermione fidgeted nervously and coughed just to break the silence. He reached into his pocket and, with a shaky hand, pulled out the bracelet that she'd lost in Venice; which she honestly hadn't noticed was missing until she saw it again, dangling carefully from his hand and shining in the light of the morning sun. She began to smile at the gesture, but quickly caught herself. She needn't, shouldn't succumb to warm feelings of Chris Halliwell…her captor. Feigning nonchalance, she grabbed her bracelet from his hand, careful not to let their hands touch, and shoved it into the pocket of her robe. As she grabbed it, she couldn't help but notice the warmth radiating from his skin, though she had not touched him, and how, even after pulling her hand away, the warmth still intruded through her skin like a form of unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome, parasitic air.

"Thank you," she quickly murmured, half afraid to breathe.

He sighed, his nervousness branching throughout the room and infecting her, "You're welcome," and then he sighed again, or rather breathed deeply, as if he were composing the best way to approach the desired subject.

Hermione stood silently, taking in awkward breaths, until finally he spoke again, "Did you get my letter?"

For a moment a smile tried to trickle to her lips, but it was quickly forced away, "Yes, I did."

Again, they both succumbed to the silence and Hermione wondered what was the purpose in showing up, unannounced, at her door, wanting to talk…if neither was talking.

"Do you forgive me?"

The question shocked her and she had to think carefully about it for a moment before she answered, "I don't know."

Hermione almost regretted responding with that particular answer, for he seemed a bit put down by her uncertainty, "Do you think that you could at least try?"

"No," Hermione answered bluntly.

He sighed, "Why not?"

Again, she had to think before she answered. For some reason, she couldn't quite come up with a reason as to why she could not forgive him. In her mind, she knew that there must be some logical reason that she could not trust him and should not forgive him, but could not find it in her heart to resist. Finally, she settled for a short and simple, yet partially true answer.

"My trust has to be earned."

This seemed to anger him a bit, "What about in Venice," he said, very clearly and slowly, as if he was trying fully understand what she had said and what he was saying, "when you were pouring your heart out to me? It sure as Hell seemed as if you trusted me then!"

She let out a very exasperated sigh, could he not understand her hesitation? Was he as inconsiderate as he was stupid?

"It doesn't matter anymore," she said, trying to remain calm, "You betrayed my trust when you kidnapped me and…and that's not something I can forgive easily."

Much to her amazement, the voice of his response was shaky, in a manner that almost led her to believe he was near tears, "Give me another chance, then, and I'll make it up to you."

"I don't think I can do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I just can't!"

"I'm begging you, Hermione."

"No."

"Please?"

"But-," she began to say, as her treacherous eyes wandered to his and she saw the pain and the hurt, the grief reflected there, and she momentarily forgot what she had been about to say and her purpose for saying it. In his eyes, she had seen her emotions, but now realized that there'd been another hidden deep inside those dark depths. There'd been guilt and just knowing that emotion existed in his heart almost gave her the courage to forgive him and succumb to his desires. Almost.

"But…," he commanded, interrupting her thoughts, "what?"

She took a deep breath and prepared herself for the pain she knew her words would cause her, "But…I've been hurt so many times in my life…and I don't want to get hurt again. I can't take that risk."

In her chest, her heart exploded in its anger at her, continuously calling her a coward and seeking vengeance for the pain she had caused it. It felt as if her heart was burning and crumbling, all at the same time. And she knew that there would be no one to help her, to pick up the pieces and the ashes and gently place them back together. And it pained her that she actually found relief from the sound of his voice when he spoke again.

"What if I promise not to hurt you?"

Despite that her heart was willing to succumb, she listened to her brain, the saviour of logic, and said, "How will I know you're telling the truth?"

"Because I think I love you."

This time, her heart exploded with joy and seemed to feel triumphant, but there was also fear and hurt. The last time she had loved someone and he loved her, it had scarred the both of them. She could not allow that to happen again; besides, it was illogical for him to love her…he barely even knew her.

"No, you don't," she said in a flat, dry voice.

He ventured, "Why not?"

"Because we've only been on one date," she erupted, as if it was the most logical explanation.

"Well, then let me fall in love with you, Hermione," he said, sweet and gentle, "Let me have one chance. Let me prove to you I'm worth the risk."

Hermione stood there, stunned, and, though she might have tried, she could not deny to herself the little drops of salt water trailing down her cheeks. This was not the way she'd intended her day to go.