XXV. Roses Beneath the Cypresses

Harry could see the cemetery from the ruins of the house, but for some inexplicable reason he couldn't bring himself to go into it. The closest he got was the kissing gate. His feet would carry him no further.

At current, he sat on a bit of foundation that was still intact, looking over to the fenced in graveyard, with its tall cypress trees and countless headstones. He knew that he should be in there, begging the spirit of his fallen brother for the forgiveness he could never give himself but for the life of him he could not do it. It wasn't that he didn't feel like he needed to be forgiven, because he did, it was more than he didn't feel that he deserved to be so near his brother's resting place.

He sighed and ran his flesh hand through his hair.

He had not heard so much as a whisper from the Order since several days prior when he had met Hermione and Charlie at the White Wyvern. He was restless, he need to do something. Sitting here feeling guilty was getting him nowhere. Perhaps he could pay a visit to Knockturn Alley. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. It would not do to run into more Death Eaters so soon. He had gotten lucky the last time. They had decided to confront him rather than run straight to Voldemort and tell him what they had seen. It had given him both the chance and the excuse to kill them. It was their own stupidity and arrogance that had sealed their fates. Had they been smart, they would have called for help, or gone and told the Dark Lord what they had seen and he could have put out more men to search for him. But they were not smart. Most in the ranks were not. He could count the number of truly intelligent Death Eaters on one hand. Barty, one; Severus, two; Lucius, three; Rabastan, four; Rodolphus, five. That was it. The rest were negligible at best. They occupied high stations – some of them – but whether or not they actually deserved those stations was another story altogether.

Killing those four had been necessary. He had done it because it had to be done. But more than that, he had actually enjoyed it. And he had weakened the Dark Lord's forces in doing so; not by much, but every little bit helped. If he killed more, slowly the word would spread and the fence sitters would be less keen to throw in their lot with Voldemort. He could use the very public deaths of the Death Eaters to dissuade new people from joining the Dark Lord's ranks.

What worried him was Hermione's reaction to him killing those men. She had seemed horrified, despite her seeming acceptance of his logic in killing them. Charlie had not seemed fazed in the least by the sight of him choking a man to death, but Hermione, she was evidently not accustomed to such things. He wondered if Charlie's nonchalant response was due to working with dragons or some other, darker reason; he was inclined to believe the former to be the case. Dragons were dangerous creatures and people surely died quite often in the Handler profession. It would make sense.

Harry didn't even consider holding back in killing. He had been doing it for most of his life and he saw no reason to stop now. He would not stop to make Hermione feel better about him or make her feel better about herself. That wasn't the kind of man he was. He was a killer and he always would be. Hermione was not a killer, but she had to learn that in war people died and they died because they were killed. If you didn't want the ones your cared about to be the ones who died, you had to kill those that sought to kill them before they had the chance to kill your loved ones. It was as simple as that. Kill or be killed. And Harry had no illusions, this was war.

He sighed and stood up from his seat. He rubbed his hand on his pants, finding it suddenly sweating. He would do it this time. He was sure of it. He couldn't keep putting it off like a coward, because despite what he seemed to think before, he was not a coward. Not like his father had been. He was not his father, he was Harry, and he would not let himself be a coward, not now or ever.

He walked out of the ruins, stepping beyond the wards and crossing the quaint muggle street to the fenced, gated cemetery. He could feel eyes on him and glanced down the way to see an old lady with a slightly hunched posture watching him from the sidewalk. He frowned. She wasn't looking away, like the muggles did when they realized that they had been seen and their gaze was being returned. He couldn't quite make out her features from this distance, despite his sharpened vision – all thanks to Remus' cursed claws. He paused in the middle of the street and held her gaze for a moment. He was glad that he had covered his metal arm and hand as that was sure to raise a few brows. Then again, given that muggles seemed to go out of their way to not see or acknowledge anything out of the ordinary he was sure they would have thought it was just some sleek new prosthetic or something like that.

Finally after a long moment the woman seemed to grow bored and turned away, tottering off down the lane.

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Ever since that fight in Knockturn Alley his senses had been on high alert outside of his wards. He expected attacks at every turn now. It wasn't so farfetched in his mind.

He walked to the rest of the way across the street and paused, as he always did, at the kissing gate. He placed his hand on the gate and sighed, steeling himself before going through. He walked slowly, his feet rustling softly against the grass. He passed grave after grave, his keen eyes darting about, reading the names of those near and those around.

He came up short as he noticed a familiar symbol on one of the stones. He walked over and brushed some fallen leaves and general growth off of the stone and frowned curiously. It was the sign of the Deathly Hallows, Grindelwald's symbol. He had seen it more than once in his youth due to Voldemort's obsession with the damned things. Then more in his studying of Grindelwald.

Ignotus Peverell. He remembered James mentioning the name over the Yule holidays at Potter Manor. He had purportedly been the holder of one of the Hallows. Harry thought to the story and the way his father had spoken about him and determined that it must have been the Cloak of Invisibility; not that the story was true.

He shook his head and walked on from his ancestor. He figured that his father believing such nonsense would spur him to bury Jimmy nearby. And he was right. It didn't take him very long after that to find the gravestone and freshly disturbed earth. The grass had not had time to grow back over the grave yet, so Harry waved his hand over it, speeding the process along a bit.

He felt his ire rise though when he finally looked at the stone itself.

JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER II

Jimmy hated his full name, specifically his middle name and his first proper name. Harry, in a moment of pure rage, drew Dumbledore's wand and pointed it at the stone. The words carved there changed and Harry returned his wand to his holster, his anger ebbing away. He banished all of the flowers that had been left there too. They were fake. An insult. This action made him feel much, much better.

JIMMY F. POTTER was what it now read as. It was immeasurably better than what that bastard James had had put there. It was like the man hadn't even known his son at all; or he did and just didn't care that the boy would not have wanted it done that way. And Harry, the lost son, who had only known his brother for a short time, knew the boy infinitely more. He may not have seen much of the boy outside of classes but the time he had spent with him was invaluable and cherished.

He dropped to his knees in front of the stone, feeling the guilt and anguish wash over him in waves. He could feel his eyes start to sting as he gazed at the stone. He knew that there was no logic in weeping for the dead, they were in a far better place than the living, but that didn't stop him from missing the boy. His little brother. He had died far too early. So young and bright. Talented. It was a shame.

With trembling fingers he reached up and touched the name carved there, feeling each letter like a stab to the chest.

The first tear that fell burned him like no wound ever could. He reached up and touched the salty drop curiously. He drew back his hand to find the fingertips wet. This was new. He had never cried before; or at least not that he could remember. He probably had as a child, but he could not say for sure. If he had, he would never have admitted to it. Even when he had held Jimmy body in his arms and sobs wracked his form, there had been no tears...now...he wasn't weeping for Jimmy, not really...he was weeping for himself, because he had to go on living without him.

What had he become? To be so moved by the loss of someone he had not known existed a year ago. He sighed. Human. He had become human. Human...all too human. It was not something he had ever considered himself. He had long ago lost touch with humanity, both within and without; it would seem that he had gotten it back. He could accept that. It made him less like the monster he was seeking to destroy; that monster being Voldemort, whom he doubted even had an ounce of humanity left in him, despite still looking the part. It was a clever deception, pretending to be human.

He shook those thoughts away and conjured a wreath of white roses and placed them gently on top of the grave. The roses were real too. Enchanted to live forever, or as long as Harry himself lived...when he died, so would they.

He sat there on his knees reliving every moment he had ever shared with Jimmy and silently begging the boy forgive him for what he had done to cause his death and swearing that he would kill Voldemort so that his memory would be avenged.

So caught up in his thoughts was he that he did not hear the footsteps behind him until a voice broke the silence.

"'To be sure, I am a forest, and a night of dark trees; but he who is not afraid of my darkness shall find banks full of roses beneath my cypresses.'"

Harry did not rise, nor even look in her direction. "I never took you for the Nietzsche type, Hermione." He sniffled and reached up to wipe the remaining tears away.

He heard her shrug. "There's a lot of things people don't know about me. But should it really surprise you? I do read practically everything."

Harry smiled slightly. "Yes, that you do."

He felt her kneel down next to him and one of hands found it's way into his flesh one. "You miss him," she observed. "I do too. He was taken long before his time, but he wouldn't want you to feel guilty, Harry."

Harry shook his head. "I can't get that look he gave me out of my head. Just before he was killed. He looked so shocked, scared...disappointed." He squeezed Hermione's hand, grateful for the comfort her touch provided. "He had just seen me kill Albus...that was his last memory of me before he died."

Hermione gazed at him sadly. She had known that he was one to kill Dumbledore, but hearing him say it like that had made it all the more real. But he showed no remorse for that. He had already explained his reasons and Hermione had accepted them, even if she didn't quite see it the same way. He was ashamed, though up until now he had been too proud to admit it; even now he did say it in so many words but Hermione had become quite skilled at reading between the lines over the years.

He wasn't ashamed of killing the Headmaster, he was ashamed that someone he loved had seen him for the monster he was, and then was killed before that damaged could be repaired.

And that was what Harry thought he was, Hermione realized. A monster. He believed and embraced it. Lived it. And she had to admit that in some respects it was true. He could kill and maim without hesitation, he could deceive and lie; but she also knew he could be kind and sweet and gentle and loving. Memories of that night they had spent together came back to her and she felt her cheeks grow warm.

She had spent the days after that night thinking about what she would say when she saw him again. Her first response had been hurt and anger, the former of which was greater, and she had expressed these quite well at the meeting; not with her preplanned words, but that couldn't be helped. And following that day, she had spent her days alternating between arguing with Sirius, James, Lily and the others whether they should trust him and trying to figure out if she did trust him. She wanted to trust him. Her feelings for him had not changed, despite the horror and hurt she had felt. When it came down to it, she was surprised to find that it really didn't bother her all that much that he was a killer; it was more of a programed reaction installed by what society thought than anything else.

What had bothered her the most was that he had kept it all hidden from her, and she had not seen it. Luna had seen it. Of that she was certain. Replaying all of the interactions between the three of them had cemented that knowledge in her head. Luna had seen all of it and accepted him as a friend. Trusted him.

Could she do the same? That was the question she had sought to answer.

She was afraid to admit it, but she was secretly thrilled at the thought of being so close to someone so dangerous. Sure, she was no stranger to the realm of dating. She'd had a few small relationships during her time at Hogwarts. It was nothing to write home about but they had happened. Nothing serious, really, just a couple of her fellow Ravenclaws, and each had ended in much the same way. They wanted something from her that she was not ready to give; something she had given to Harry that night, and she did not regret it; not for a second. Even with all that she had learned of him since then, she had felt something that night, something real.

She, who had never before known anyone like him, could feel the pull between them like a physical force. She, so long in the light, was drawn to his darkness. Her quote a moment ago rang in her mind and she had never found anything to be more true than that in those moments.

Harry was a dark forest, this much she knew. The darkness was a part of him, entwined in his very being; in his soul. And she had dared to brave that darkness and had found something truly beautiful within. A fallen soul, seeking to be accepted. He was at home in the darkness, but lonely. So lonely. She doubted even he knew this, and if he did, he would not admit it, even to himself.

It was in this that she had discovered that her attraction was not just physical. It was mental. He had a great mind; keen and focused. It was spiritual. He was a broken man, who had pieced himself back together through trial and turmoil. His many scars were a testament to this. She looked at his metal arm, her gift to him, and realized that this was still true. She also realized something else; it was a bit of a paradox, but it seemed that being broken was what made Harry whole. And she would be the twine that held it all together at the seams.

Harry tilted his head in her direction. She was looking at him, her expression shifting ever so slightly as she thought. He could practically see the cogs turning in perfect sync and rhythm. Then she blushed and he grew curious as to what she was thinking. Then her expression grew thoughtful again, then sad, then sympathetic, then accepting.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

Hermione smiled up at him. "That I think I'm finally beginning to see you. I mean, truly see you."

Harry frowned and looked down. "You mean the monster."

Hermione shook her head and squeezed his hand again. "No. I mean, yes, I see the monster. But there is so much more than that, Harry. You aren't a monster. The monster is a part of you. And I can accept that." His head snapped in her direction. This was not something he had ever expected to hear from her. "I wasn't lying when I said that I had fallen in love with you, Harry. And I still do, despite what some others may think. And loving you means that I have to at least accept all of you. I may not like some of it, or agree with some of it, but I accept it, because I love you."

Harry took a deep breath, his mind reeling and his heart pounding. "Thank you. And I just want you to know that I-"

He was cut off by Hermione kissing him softly. "I know," she whispered, her lips still touching his.

He sighed and rested his forehead against hers. "I can't change, Hermione. I'm in too deep for that."

"I know," she repeated. "It doesn't matter."

"It does," Harry protested. "I don't want to drag you down with me."

"You won't. You walk your path, Harry, and I'll be right here beside you." She smiled. "You won't be dragging me anywhere. I'll go willingly."

Harry closed his eyes. She didn't know what she was agreeing to, but he was far too grateful and, oddly enough, happy to contradict her.

They stood and Harry laid a hand on the gravestone. "Sorry, brother. I..." he trailed off, not sure what to say anymore. Finally he just nodded to himself, gave the stone a soft pat and turned away.

Hermione pulled him away and they walked hand-in-hand back to the kissing gate. Harry bent down at pecked Hermione softly on the lips. "Harry, that's not why its called a kissing gate, you know."

Harry shrugged. "I know." His tone said that he didn't care.

Hermione shook her head in an affectionate manner and smiled. Harry led her toward the ruins, which could not be seen from outside the wards. It was just an empty lot. Hermione frowned as they drew closer until she felt them pass through the wards. She gasped when she saw the ruins of the house. "Is this...?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Where it all began. This was the house I was born in. The house I was stolen from. Where I was abandoned. This house is the beginning of my story. My dark beginning."

Hermione looked around at the burned and charred rubble. "I've never been here. I always wondered and had asked your mum about it, but James never allowed us to come here. Even when we laid Jimmy to rest he wouldn't even look in this direction."

"He's a coward," Harry said. "He can't face his own mistakes and likes to pretend that they never happened. I guess it helps him sleep at night."

Hermione nodded. She had long ago stopped trying to refute this. She had seen it herself over the holidays at Harry's family's house. "What are we doing here?" she asked.

Harry knelt down and lifted the trap door open. "I live here," he answer, motioning her to climb down inside.

She did as she was bid and climbed down the ladder. Harry followed her down into the darkness, closing the trapdoor behind him, plunging them into absolute darkness. Harry could just see Hermione in the dark, but it appeared that she was completely blind down here. Another perk of his cursed werewolf scars.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice containing a hint of fear in it. "Where are you?"

Harry stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, but not quite touching her yet, leaning in so his mouth was by her ear. "Right here," he whispered.

She jumped with a start and Harry closed his arms around her with a grin. Hermione slapped him on what she thought was his arm, but ended up hitting his chest instead. "That was not funny!" she pouted as Harry chuckled.

"It was, actually," Harry retorted, still laughing lightly.

"Prat," she huffed. "Are there no lights down here?"

Harry let her go and walked around her into the room, waving a hand, lighting the lamps he had set up around the space.

Hermione blinked in the sudden light and looked around, taking in the very spartan setting in which she found herself. She took in the stack of crates, the desk, the twin bookshelves, which stood bare, save for a lamp on each one, the thin bed of blankets on the floor in the corner.

"This is where you live now?" she asked. Even though Harry had already said as much, she wanted confirmation.

Harry was at the desk, closing a book and stacking sheets of parchment. "Yes. I came here immediately after fleeing Hogwarts. All that you see in here is what remains of my personal belongings. I was able to salvage it from Malfoy Manor. Everything else was at Hogwarts. It's surely locked away by the Aurors by now. Or destroyed." He sighed. All of that collected knowledge and wisdom lost. He had built that collection over several long years and it would take him just as long to restore it. Some tomes could not be replaced at all.

Hermione looked suddenly nervous. "Actually, it isn't."

Harry turned to her and arched a brow, "What do you mean? Surely they searched my quarters after they discovered what I had done."

Hermione nodded. "They did. But your stuff wasn't there for them to take."

Harry frowned. "What happened to it?"

Hermione grew red in the cheeks. "Itookallofitandhidit!" she said, all of her words coming out in one big rush, lumping together into one long unintelligible mess.

Harry cocked his head. "Pardon? I didn't catch any of that." He laughed lightly as he spoke.

Hermione blushed even brighter and took a deep breath to steady herself. "I sort of took it all," she said. "After reading your letter I knew they would come to your room eventually. I knew how rare a lot of that stuff was and I didn't want them to take it. So I took it and hid it."

Harry's face was neutral as he approached her. "You took all of my stuff?" he asked.

Hermione nodded, her eyes growing wide as he approached. "Yes."

"And you hid it?"

"Yes."

He was only a step or two away from her now. "Where is it?"

Hermione took a step back but he caught her by the arms and pulled her against him. Hermione met his eyes. "Locked in your trunk, which is hidden in my room at Grimmauld Place."

Harry's eyes looked into hers, unblinking. "So let me get this straight, you stole all of my items while I was gone and secreted them away from a bunch of Aurors and then stashed them in your room at the home of one of my enemies?" Hermione nodded. Harry blinked. "I could kiss you right now."

Hermione blinked too, then released a relieved breath. "What? You aren't mad?"

Harry smiled. "You tell me that you saved all of my personal belongings from Aurors and you expect me to be mad?" He laughed. "It's like you don't know me at all."

Hermione blushed. "Sorry." She didn't tell him that she had read his journal. Better to let him tell her things in his own time. She wanted to hear it all from his own lips anyway. That, and she was still wrapping her head around the kill-list she had found, of which her own name was on. Undoubtedly it had been written before they had met but it had still sent a chill down her spine to think that she had had Voldemort's most deadly assassin's eyes on her and hadn't even known she was a target.

Harry shook his head. "Don't be sorry, Hermione. You've done me a great service. And as far as getting to know me, the real me, we have time for that. We'll have more once I kill Voldemort."

He stepped away from her and Hermione felt mildly disappointed at him not following up on his kiss comment. "That's actually the reason I'm here."

"Oh?" Harry asked, sitting down in the chair by the desk, conjuring a new one for her to sit in. She took the seat and crossed her legs at the knee.

"Yes," she nodded. "The Order has agreed to parley with you again. As a group. They want you to come to Grimmauld and sit in on one of their meetings. Discuss things with you."

"That's good to hear," Harry said. "The sooner we take the fight to Voldemort the better."

Hermione silently agreed. "You should know that James and Sirius were quite vocal about your offer to turn yourself over to the Aurors if they helped you take him down. I'm sure that they'll try to make it a binding condition for their agreement."

Harry nodded. "I do not doubt it. And I would not have made the offer if I was not willing to do it."

Hermione frowned. "I don't want you to do it," she said. "They'll see you to Azkaban for sure. Or worse, have you kissed by a Dementor."

Harry smirked. "I am not afraid to die, Hermione."

"Harry, the Dementor's Kiss doesn't kill you. It eats your soul," she told him, as if he didn't already know this.

Harry still smirked. "I know. But the joke is on them. The fools at the Ministry think that this is a fate worse than death. They are wrong. You've been through my books, I'm sure you've read The Doors of Oblivion. Actually, I know you have. You left it open that night you fell asleep in my room. Now, as you know that book is banned and the knowledge there lost to the masses. In it, it tells of Dementors and how they are creatures of the spirit world. Their kiss doesn't eat your soul in the general sense, it pulls it through a portal into the next life. It's like dying but the shell is still functioning. It is the opposite of what the Hangman and I did to the Longbottoms. They were trapped inside their own bodies. I set them free by killing them. They are in a better place now."

Hermione shook her head. "Harry, that's just a theory."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. But It's one I choose to believe."

"For your sake, I hope you're right," Hermione said quietly.

"Me too," he agreed. "Let's not think of such morbid things. Tell me, beyond James and Sirius, what seems to be the general mood concerning our alliance? I want to know what I'm walking into."

Hermione shrugged. "There's a lot of mistrust. Most of them want to see you punished for what you did to the Order." At Harry's raised eyebrow she smirked slightly. "You did kill quite a few of our members."

"Oh yeah," Harry said, having momentarily forgotten that. Not. "And I don't regret a single one of them. I had a reason for each one."

"Well, don't go telling them that, okay?" Hermione told him. "They won't believe you anyway."

Harry conceded that she was right.

"Charlie seems at least willing to look past all of that if it will end this war. Bill too. Charlie may have something to do with that, though. He told the Order about you cutting off your arm to removed the Mark. I told him about that. Like I said, Bill and Charlie seem to at least be willing to work with you. Fleur and Tonks too; Fleur only because of Bill."

"What about Luna?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Luna isn't part of the Order."

Harry nodded. "We'll have to change that. Not have her join the Order, but bring her in as an ally. We've both seen how useful she can be."

Hermione nodded her head. "I'll send her a letter, ask her to meet us."

Harry nodded. "I'd like to meet with her and her father before I meet with the Order. It will be good to have some allies who have no loyalty to the Order."

"All right," Hermione agreed. She looked at her watch. "I should probably get back. They'll be wondering what's keeping me. I was supposed to just tell you the time and place of the meeting then come straight back. They probably think you've kidnapped me and are holding me hostage or something."

Harry frowned. "I think I have some rope around here somewhere." He glanced around.

Hermione's eyes went wide. "You're joking, right?"

Harry shrugged. "Haven't decided yet." He looked at her seriously and then burst into laughter as her eyes grew so large that they began to resemble Luna's. "Don't worry, Hermione. I won't be tying you up." He paused. "Unless you're into that sort of thing?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her, making her blush crimson.

He laughed again and she couldn't help but giggle too. "Stop it."

Harry sighed and stood up, reaching down to take her hands. He pulled her up to him and pressed his lips to hers in a searing kiss. "I will see you soon," he said when they parted.

Hermione nodded. "Two weeks from now, Grimmauld. I'll send a letter to let you know when we'll be meeting Luna and her father."

When she disappeared, courtesy of Dobby, Harry felt a part of him go with her. He looked around the basement. It suddenly felt very empty without her there, and he had never felt so lonely.

XXXX

A/N: Well, then. I hope this chapter was pleasing. I was really worried about it, but I don't just write this story for you all – despite that I love hearing that you all enjoy it – and you are all the second half of my reason, but I also write for myself. I have a story in my head that needs to be told and that's what this is.

I had meant to have this ready hours ago but I've been having migraines and it was slow going at the end. Sorry.

Let me know what you all think.