AN: Just a quick little note to announce my shock and surprise at the momentum this story is gaining! Hundreds of new people have discovered this since I've started updating regularly again - much love to you new readers! My most popular story is still Faith (about 12,000 people have read it all the way through) but this one is catching up!

Chapter 25

Love Makes Us Blind

She was a machine.

There was absolutely nothing in the world that was a better distraction and mind-focuser for Hermione Granger than stress. Her third week of teaching she had laid her students with essay after essay, along with hours of dedicated theory practice in classes. She'd handed out more detentions than she could count because she was extremely on edge and thus had a very low tolerance for any sort of rule breaking. A reputation was quickly gaining momentum for her as the strictest teacher in the school, and who would've thought that from a temporary substitute?

Harry had told her once or twice this week to slow down and relax, but how could she? Her world had been devastated exactly one week ago.

Actually, no, she corrected herself. The devastation had started months ago. That awful December day when she'd watched Ron disappear to Germany before her very eyes in Simon's office. That's when it had all began.

Or had it started even sooner than that? Had it started the day he'd decided to leave during the horcrux hunt, the day when he'd given up on Harry, the day he'd given up on her…

No, she thought again, the day Ron had given up on her was the day Lavender had thrown herself into his arms, and he'd willingly kissed her back…

So, really, Ron had given up on her before they'd even gotten started, hadn't he?

She tried to tell herself that this was a very extreme way of looking at it and that it really wasn't that simple, but, in fact, it was that simple, after all. If she had been looking at the past five to six years or so with any kind of clarity, then she would have seen the warnings, seen the signs, that should have pointed her in the direction of knowing that Ron would, one day, leave her.

Wasn't he always the one to give up first? Always the one to back down, back out, back up? When studying got hard, he was always the first to take a break. When the time came to ask for dates for the Yule ball, Ron chickened out and Harry ended up getting dates for the both of them. When he made the Quidditch team (which he'd worked so hard to do), the morning of his first match he announced he wanted to quit simply because he was nervous. During the horcrux hunt, he had always been the one that was first to complain, and he had ended up leaving them alone because he was so fed up with the dead ends.

In December, he was tired of being cooped up in an office doing paperwork, so he eagerly left that behind for an exciting "real" mission to Germany… And his restlessness at being returned to the same desk job led to his eager acceptance of a new and interesting job in a far away place, without regard to anything else…

And so, why should she be at all surprised that when being in a committed relationship became too much of a strain, too much of an inconvenience… that he would leave that, too?

Suddenly, she looked down and realized she had been hovering over a sixth year's essay with her quill, and red ink blots were appearing on the paper from where the quill had been dripping. Cursing, she grabbed her wand and lightly tapped the red splotches, clearing them from the paper without removing the student's writing. She heaved a deep sigh and glanced at the clock on her desk. It was past ten in the evening. Clearly she'd had enough grading for the day. It was Saturday, so she'd been at it all day. She hadn't even been down to the Great Hall for meals; she'd called for Winky to bring her a little something every so often, but she'd had no substantial food.

Deciding that maybe a brisk walk might clear her head, she got up and headed in the general directions of the kitchens. Obviously she could have called for something, but she felt she needed the walk more than the food, anyway.

Round about the second floor, she turned a corner and nearly ran smack into Harry.

"Harry!" she said, clutching her chest and trying to catch her breath from her shock. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Each Head of House takes a weekend to walk the corridors after curfew to check for students out of bed," explained Harry. "This weekend, as it happens, is the turn for Head of Gryffindor House." He paused, then held up the parchment in his hand. "Of course, I have the Marauder's Map, so I can just glance at it and see if anyone's about. Since there isn't, I'm taking the opportunity to wander and get some exercise," he smiled. "As such, I saw you coming… what brings you out of your nest of essays?"

She knew he was kidding with her, but it did bring into uncomfortable light that she had basically ignored him – and everyone else – all week long.

"I was hungry and fancied a walk," she mumbled. "I was headed for the kitchens."

"Care for company?" he returned. "Like I said, no one's breaking the rules at the moment, so I've nothing keeping me from coming with you."

"Sure," she said, and they began the leisurely journey to the kitchens below the Great Hall.

"You know," began Harry, "sometimes I still can't get over that I'm back here in the castle after spending so long away from it. Especially since we never came back for seventh year, it just feels like I was so far removed from Hogwarts."

"Me too," she agreed.

"I mean, it's like my whole life here was just leading up to that last year of searching for horcruxes and then finally killing Voldemort," Harry went on. "Like there was just this feeling of finality once I realized at the end of sixth that I wouldn't be back. So now, being back here, walking these corridors, eating in the Great Hall, being in the classroom – albeit it's only one classroom, and I'm teaching rather than learning – it just, it gives a feeling of completeness. You know?"

"Mmhmm."

"Are you okay, Hermione?" he asked her. "You're normally far more conversational."

She considered giving the passive "Yes, I'm fine" answer that she'd been giving all week, because she just didn't have the energy to go into all the reasons that she was anything but fine. It only took a moment of considering it to know it was stupid to even hope that Harry would believe her or accept that answer. They were alone. She wasn't trying to get back to grading papers, he wasn't on his way to teach, there was no reason for her to avoid talking now.

"No, I'm really not," she admitted finally. "I've been so stressed with grading papers that I haven't had the chance to really think about what happened last Saturday until about a half hour ago."

She looked over at Harry and saw he was regarding her with concern.

"Hermione, I told you last weekend: whenever you're ready to talk, I'm here."

"I know."

They walked in silence for a few moments while she considered what she wanted to say.

"I just really had the opportunity to dissect what happened, and to understand why he did what he did," she started, and then she launched into all the revelations she'd come up with in her room. How Ron had always had a dissatisfied attitude, how he'd always backed out of things, how he was so non-committal, and how all of that made it exceedingly obvious that this was going to happen.

"I think what I'm upset about most, now," she continued, "is that I was too blind to see this coming at all."

"Love makes us blind to a lot of things," Harry whispered.

The tightness in her throat had crept up on her without her noticing and she tried to swallow down a sob and failed. One tear, then two, spilled down her cheeks, and as she stopped walking to wipe them away, Harry stopped too and put his arms around her in a hug.

"It's okay, Hermione," he said. "It'll be okay." He pulled her to the side of the corridor and leaned against the wall, letting her rest her head on his chest. She brought her hands up and laid them on his chest, too, trying to remember to breathe deeply and calm the tears.

"I'm sorry," she managed to say. "I hate crying."

"I don't like seeing you cry," he admitted, "but you need it. It's okay to let it out."

She sniffled a few more times before pushing herself back onto her own weight and staring up at Harry.

"Thank you," she said, wiping at her eyes.

"Don't worry, Hermione," he said, and gently pushed her hand downward, replacing it with his own as he wiped at her tears. "I know it's hard. Believe me, I know. But it will get better."

"I know, I know…" she said. She was still looking up at him. He looked back, and as he cupped her face in his hand, he felt that same pull, that same electricity in his stomach. It was almost tangible, as if he could reach into the air and grab hold of it. Several years previously his eyes had been opened to how beautiful Hermione really was, the night of their stolen kiss in the Astronomy tower… that had been affirmed that night in the tent when they'd first made love… and then he'd done his best to forget about it. A few months ago, it had hit him all over again, and try as he might, he hadn't been able to forget this time. And right then, staring into those deep brown eyes, seeing her parted lips, her shallow breaths…the desire to lean down and kiss her was almost impossible to resist.

She's single now, cooed a voice in his head. And so are you. What's the harm? Just do it!

Just because she's single doesn't mean her heart is available, came a softer voice from the back of his brain. You respect her, don't you?

It was this last sentiment that held his resolve. He couldn't bring himself to disrespect her that way. It had been he who had initiated all of their stolen, illegal touches while Ron was in Germany over Christmas. He wasn't going to let that happen again.

"Let's get you some food, okay?" he said, and he ran his hand from her cheek through her hair and then dropped it to his side.

Sunday morning came and Hermione rolled over, trying to hide herself from the blinding light streaming in through the windows. She had slept horribly – even worse than the shoddy sleep she'd been getting the rest of the week – and she wasn't sure whether to blame it on eating just before going to bed, the increased stress from breaking down in tears, or the massive amount of tension between her and Harry when he'd wiped at her cheeks the night before.

It wasn't a bad tension, exactly… but it was definitely there. Full, pronounced, and heady. It was the first time she'd acknowledged it since the talk they'd had so long ago in the office when they'd agreed to stop whatever it was they had been doing. Her mind's eye had flashed back to that moment after Christmas shopping back in December, when she'd been so flustered and nervous and then, just like that, he'd kissed her, and she'd kissed him back. It was like it was the same moment all over again the previous night on the way to the kitchens – except this time, he hadn't leaned down and met her lips.

What she was really having trouble wrapping her mind around was how disappointed she'd felt when he'd merely stroked her hair and then continued their walk to the kitchen. Clearly she was in a serious state of sexual need, if she was having crazy desires for Harry's kisses while she was still heartbroken over Ron. That was about the only halfway decent explanation she could come up with that made any sort of sense.

Obviously, there was no way she could act on that. It wasn't fair to her and it wasn't fair to Harry. She loved him dearly, and she knew he loved her, but it had always been a very close, strictly platonic love.

Well, not strictly platonic, she reminded herself, but only a few slips in ten years might as well be entirely platonic.

Resigning herself to beginning the day despite her lack of sleep, she slid out of bed and disappeared into her bathroom to try and get herself looking more awake before she headed down for breakfast in the Great Hall.

Harry had paused on his way to the Head Table in the Great Hall when Daniel, the ever-questioning Ravenclaw, had stopped him to ask about the grade Harry had given him on his Patronus essay. Harry had been a little surprised at this, as he'd given him an E on the essay – his theory content had been spectacular, but he had wanted a little more exposition from him on why he couldn't manage a full-bodied Patronus – but apparently Daniel felt that this grade was unfair.

"I just don't know why I couldn't achieve a full Patronus!" Daniel was saying. "I can't figure it out, I don't know what else I could have written," he insisted. He wasn't angry, exactly, Harry realized. He just clearly wasn't used to receiving anything besides O's on his assignments. A lot like someone else Harry knew…

"Have you considered altering the memory you chose?" Harry asked. "When I was first learning the Patronus charm, I wasn't really old enough to have a lot of really powerful happy memories yet, so at first I struggled with coming up with one that was good enough."

"How old were you?" asked Daniel. Of course.

"Thirteen," Harry answered, waving off the question as unimportant as Daniel's eyes widened. "If you'd like, you can see me in my office sometime to work on the charm independently, if it's important to you to perfect it…" he trailed off as he saw Hermione enter the Great Hall.

Speaking of people who demanded O's on every assignment…

"If you'll excuse me, Daniel, I've got someone I need to see," said Harry, and patted him on the shoulder before meeting Hermione as she walked to the Head Table.

"I see you've decided to actually grace the Great Hall with your presence today?" said Harry, smirking at her. She laughed, even though he could tell she'd been trying not to.

"After an awful night's sleep, I've decided that skipping meals and subsisting on biscuits and tea is probably not the healthiest way to go about a day's sustenance."

"I'm inclined to agree," said Harry, as they sat down next to each other at the Head Table. "You'll be pleased to know I've got a student who is just as eager for perfection as you were in school."

"I've a feeling I know who you mean," said Hermione. "There's a Ravenclaw boy in all my classes who is always the last to leave because he's determined to get every charm right."

"Daniel Goldstein?" asked Harry.

"That's the one," she answered. "Honestly, I think he's worse than I ever was, I was never that obsessed with getting things right…" she trailed off as she noticed Harry raising his eyebrows at her.

"Really, Hermione? You really think so?" he prodded, but he smiled at her.

"Okay, well, just because I liked to make sure I was doing things correctly doesn't…"

"Sorry, Hermione, but he really is just like you," teased Harry. "I'd say he's proof that you should have ended up in Ravenclaw, but you developed a taste for breaking the rules that, in my opinion, confirmed your placement in Gryffindor."

"I blame that taste for rule breaking entirely on you, Harry Potter," she returned. "It's all your fault."

He just smiled back at her as he reached for a muffin. She was talking, she was laughing, she was joking. That was progress if he'd ever seen it. Perhaps yesterday was the last day she would be shut up in her room and avoiding all unnecessary human contact. Even if she went back up there today and didn't come out again until tomorrow morning, she had at least come down for breakfast today. That was a start.

It was amazing really, how definitively they had always been there to care for each other. No matter what happened, it seemed she had always been right there for him, and he for her. When he'd been scared out of his mind before facing the dragons in the Triwizard Tournament, she'd come and found him just to assure him he'd be fine. When Ron had gone for Lavender, he'd been the one to find Hermione and comfort her. (In more ways than he'd expected to…) At every frustrating turn of the horcrux hunt, Hermione was there, brainstorming, coming up with solutions, finding their way to the next location. Even putting flowers on his parents' grave when he'd found it. When they were alone and desperate, after Ron left them during the hunt, they had turned to each other for comfort…

When she was upset and lonely when Ron was in Germany, he had done everything he could to keep her happy and cheer her up (once again, in more ways than he'd expected to). When he was withdrawing from everyone around him while considering everything Ginny had told him, it had been Hermione who had come to find him, talk to him, reason with him – and it had been Hermione who had come to spend time with him on Valentine's Day, when she assumed he'd be depressed and lonely. And now, it was Harry who was watching her carefully, taking care of her, and wiping away her tears after Ron had broken her heart.

But, after all, that's what best friends were for, wasn't it? He asked himself. He could almost accept this, if it weren't for the nagging voice in the back of his head reminding him that for ten years, Ron had also been considered a best friend to both he and to Hermione… yet Ron was hardly ever the one to check in, to offer help, to comfort – either he or Hermione.

Now, suddenly, he could see what Neville had meant when he'd observed that Harry and Hermione were always "closer" – the level of loyalty they held to each other was unlike anything Harry had ever experienced, and he'd bet Hermione could say the same. He'd like to think that's the kind of loyalty his parents had had – to each other, to him as a baby…

"Are you okay, Harry?" asked Hermione, buttering a piece of toast. "You got quiet all of a sudden."

"What? Oh, no, I'm fine. Just glad to have you out of your room for a change," he assured her.

"It feels good," she admitted. "I don't know what I was thinking, trying to close myself off from everything and push my emotions away."

"You were retreating back to the fanciful place where you know everything and have all the answers," suggested Harry. "If you ask me, you're probably happier to be back at Hogwarts than I am – a place where there's a definitive answer to everything, and you know them all." He smiled.

She poked him in the shoulder. "Hey, I'm not that bad…"

"What were we just talking about?" interrupted Harry. "Oh, right, how very much like Daniel Goldstein you are…"

"Shut up," she said, but she was barely concealing a smile.

Was it odd, he wondered, that it gave him a ridiculous sense of accomplishment and happiness to know he could make her smile?

"Harry," came a voice behind him, and he was surprised to turn and see McGonagall standing by him. It was still weird for him to hear her call him "Harry" after so many years of her using his surname when he was a student. When he met her eyes, she continued talking without even waiting for him to answer.

"My office. We need to talk. Now."

He blinked a few times before saying, "Of course," and standing. He gave Hermione a worried glance before following McGonagall out of the Great Hall and to her office.

"Am I in trouble?" he couldn't help but to ask. Despite her stern expression, McGonagall turned to him and cracked a half smile.

"No," she assured him. "Though your days here as a student were peppered with gregarious amounts of rule-breaking, you have performed admirably as a teacher."

He beamed with pride – he couldn't help it – as they ascended the stairs to her office.

"Well, if I'm not in trouble," he said once they were inside, "then what's this about?"

She sighed deeply. Once they had entered her office she'd stepped behind her desk and was now leaning on it, her hands pressing into the wood surface and her vision cast downward. Finally, she looked up.

"I have just received a message from St. Mungo's," she started slowly. Harry interrupted without thinking.

"Have they found a cure? Is Maelyss coming back?" He could think of no other reason she would have needed to speak to him alone after hearing from St. Mungo's.

Another deep sigh, and then she sat down, shaking her head.

"As of this morning," she went on, still in that slow, heavy tone, "the Healers of St. Mungo's have informed me that Hadrian Maelyss has succumbed to the virus."

When Harry said nothing, she continued.

"Early this morning, Professor Maelyss passed away at St. Mungo's."

Harry couldn't help it, he gasped in surprise. He had never imagined anyone actually would have died from the bug.

"Professor," (he couldn't help calling her that, he just couldn't) "I… that's just… that's horrible," he stuttered out. To his surprise, she sniffled a little, and conjured a handkerchief. Of course, he reminded himself, Maelyss had been here for almost four years, ever since the war had finished. The teachers all developed a sense of camaraderie, he'd been able to discern that in only the few weeks he'd been here as a professor. Naturally the death of a fellow member of staff would upset any teacher, headmistress or not.

"It is quite devastating," she agreed, dabbing at her eyes, and then composed herself again. "However, that is why I've called you in to talk," she said. "From what I hear, you have gained quite a wonderful reputation among the students. You appear to be teaching them extraordinarily well, and clearly have a knack for teaching – something I saw in you while you were still here as a student, and I must confess I was a little disappointed when you told me at our conference for your future career choice that you planned to be an Auror."

Harry swallowed. "Well," he said nervously, "being an Auror turned out to be not as exciting as I'd thought, compared to defeating Voldemort himself." This wasn't entirely a lie, as for the most part his stints in the Auror office had involved a lot of paperwork and research and really nothing that compared to his experience growing up trying to defeat the darkest wizard of all time.

She gave him a half smile. "That being said, with Maelyss… being gone," she hesitated, "I would like to formally offer you the permanent position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher, and Head of Gryffindor House."

Harry's eyes widened and he found it difficult to form any sort of response for a moment.

Permanent?

Permanent teacher?

Permanent Head of House?

Permanent resident of Hogwarts castle, the place he'd always called home?

"Of course I will understand if you feel this is too much for you," McGonagall began, but Harry interrupted.

"I would love nothing more than to accept," he started, "but I need some time to think on it, to make sure it's really the best idea. At the very least, I'd like to talk it over with Hermione, she's always been able to help me see things more clearly."

"Naturally," she replied. "Take as long as you need, as long as you give me enough time to start searching for a replacement, should you decline."

"Of course," he assured her. "Thank you, truly, it's an honor that you would ask."

She gave a full smile at that. "You may go, if you wish."

He nodded at her, thanked her again, and then disappeared down the stairs. He absolutely had to find Hermione, as quickly as possible.