A/N: First, as always, acknowledgements to my reviewers EmD23, HilaryWeasley, tvsucks, writemealetter, Marie, selene86, tabitoo, Michael Ho, MsEan, celticscorpion, heronlove, Sarden, Fred, mcdreamer, Leonardo00, stochmika, ObsessedRHShipper, DeLoreanDMC-12, Sandrinha, ShePotter, riverina, Stampede, Cupid's Heart of Gold, faultybooster, marais, Give me a break, Earn, Heart on the Sleeve, BarbaraBriana, hptk, HalfASlug, peacock33, HilaryWeasley, Severedwasp, MaybeOnce, Lulu, Qwerty, AddisonAddicted, Athenais777, Study Break, What, Note to Readers, RyanRow02, ahoy, Marie, Drobbles, jlemon64, smaloukis, newyearzgirl18, ozzel1, HeRon4eva, Save the last dance, anon, plz, Ouch, snowbear96, potterhp, emrupe4ever, placebo13, Iambic Pentameter, FortuneFaded2012, Pogo, milan4ever, oscarpaz00 and especially Your Tin Man who left (at least) 19 reviews since I posted chapter 27, doing more than his fair share to get this fic to reach the 600 review mark. This chapter is dedicated to him.

Well, here it is, our last flashback chapter and our final look at Australia.


Chapter 28: Tangled Up In Blue

22 July, 1998

Hermione groaned as sleep faded away and the pounding in her head returned. She'd just been having the most wonderful of dreams. Of course, Ron was there, in a place where nothing had ever, could ever, come between them, where he still looked at her like she could do no wrong, like she was still perfect, the way she knew he'd been thinking as he handed her that rose on the hillside. Now, she was lying on an entire field of roses, everything soft and sweet-smelling, and as Ron leaned toward her she pulled him down on top of her, reveling in the feel of his weight settling above her. He was so big, so heavy, but she never felt smothered or uncomfortable beneath him like this. In fact, she'd never felt safer, knowing Ron stood—or rather laid—between her and the rest of the world, covering her from anything that might seek to do her harm.

Her whole body tingled as his lips brushed hers, teasing a kiss from her lips. She wanted to stop feeling so cold inside and knew his heat was the only thing that could warm her. Her hands pulled his shirt from the waistband of his trousers, sliding inside up along his stomach and chest, making both of them gasp into each other's mouths. She wanted more though, and soon she was yanking it over his head, their lips fumbling at the lost contact and he used the opportunity to pull hers off as well, unwilling to have to stop again later to remove it.

And then their skin was rubbing deliciously against one another, her hand clutching his bum, pressing their hips together to facilitate the friction she'd so dearly missed since they'd parted. His hand was undoing her belt and she helped him before doing the same to his own and they both slid out of their clothes. She could feel his length, hot and hard, pressing into her through his shorts. She pulled them down; she wanted nothing between them, no clothes, no secrets, no misunderstandings. Just them.

She could feel his fingers on her hips, curling around the band of her knickers and felt herself nodding to his silent pleadings as she kissed him. And then his mouth left her as he sat up to slide them down her legs, his hands caressing her thighs as they went, marveling over every inch of her now exposed to him: him and no-one else.

She pulled him back down to her, feeling bashful letting him look at her lying there so exposed, and kissed him again, one hand twined into his red hair as the other reached down to fondle him, taking his length and pressing it to her heat, desperate and impatient for him to take her.

She remembered the pain of having him inside her, and the building pleasure that had slowly replaced it as she adjusted to him. It had been wonderful, better than she remembered, but at the same time it had felt…less.

Hermione twisted away from the edge of the small couch and burrowed into Ron's sleeping form, which felt colder than she remembered. "Morning," a very groggy voice said, so raspy it hardly sounded like Ron.

"Morning," she whispered back, smiling as she turned to look at his beautiful face. But what she found when she opened her eyes wasn't Ron's blue eyes looking back at her, nor his long nose, or bright red hair or hundreds of freckles. And as she stared into the face that should've been Ron's but wasn't, the events of the previous night came back to her, completely separate and distinct from the wonderful dream that had followed.

I didn't. I hadn't. She wanted to convince herself that the truth was the nightmare and Ron was reality, but as Nathan gently pressed soft lips—too soft—to her forehead, a shudder ran through her body removing all potential for doubt.

She pushed herself away from him as inconspicuously as possible, desperately searching for something to cover herself with other than the blanket they shared. Seeing nothing within reach, she stood up, taking the blanket with her and scrambled to pick up her scattered clothing, careful to avert her eyes from where Nathan still lay on the couch. He mumbled few questions but Hermione ignored them, not trusting her voice at the moment and hurried to the loo before collapsing on the floor before vomiting into the toilet.

Her eyes stung with tears as images flashed before her eyes of what should have been an important moment in her life, something special, but was tainted and ruined by circumstance and her own foolishness.

"Hermione?" Nathan asked worriedly from the other side of the door. "Everything alright?"

"Fine," Hermione choked out. "I just…need a minute."

"I'll make us some breakfast, yeah?"

"Sure." As soon as she heard his footsteps move away from the door she stood, pulling on her knickers and jeans and wrapping her coat around her without bothering with her blouse. She grasped the door handle, swallowed the bile rising in her throat and stepped out, heading straight for the exit.

"I think I'll have to skip out on breakfast. I didn't tell my parents-I mean my aunt and uncle that I wouldn't be home last night and they're probably worried sick so I should get home," she said very quickly as walked toward the door.

"Well you can call them if—"

"No, really I think it's best I tell them in person," Hermione interrupted, trying to keep the panic in her voice down. "I-I'll just…I'll see…bye," she stuttered, before leaving without giving him the chance to respond.

Hermione could have caught a bus or train home, but walked instead, feeling as though the other passengers would take one look at her and know what she'd done, know what a-a slag she was. Of course, she couldn't escape her own judgment no matter how much her stomach ached or her legs burned as tears rolled down her cheeks. She only managed to make it inside before collapsing against the door of her parents' house as her body was wracked with another sickening wave of guilt and sadness. She let out a few choked sobs as she slid to the floor. Her legs burned from running…she didn't even know how far she'd run. Two miles? Three? It didn't matter. Lightheaded though she was from exhaustion and the lingering traces of alcohol in her system, she couldn't get the image of what she'd just been doing out of her thoughts, where her hands had been, where Nathan had…

'Hermione!"

She looked up, her heart sinking even further than before s her parents stood before her with gaping mouths.

"Hi," Hermione said brokenly.

"What happened?"

"Where have you been?"

"Are you alright?"

"Out all night? We've been worried sick—"

"The least you could've done is called and told us—"

"Is it that Nathan? I knew he was trouble—"

"Shush David, he's a good sort—"

"Not when he keeps my daughter out all night—"

"I'm sure she has a perfectly good explanation."

They both ceased arguing and looked at her expectantly.

"I-I…" And then, as if she'd been struck with inspiration and needed to run to the library to confirm her suspicion, she stood and fled. Only it wasn't the library she needed, and the feeling that had struck her was not inspiration but another wave of nausea. Covering her mouth, she staggered to the loo before vomiting in the sink. She stuck her head under the faucet, guzzling down the cool water, wishing it would rinse the taste of sick, of Nathan, of herself.

Hermione raised her head to look at the mirror. She looked horrid, barely recognizable with bloodshot eyes, her hair a sweaty, windswept mess, her light hints of makeup and lipstick smudged and smeared across her face. Or maybe this is the real me, she wondered as she swallowed the bile rising in her throat, her insides burning.

She heard footsteps, one of her parents coming to check on her, and quickly shut the door to the loo. A knock came a moment later.

"Hermione?" her father's voice came a moment later, sounding worried. "Is everything alright?"

"M'fine Daddy," Hermione called to him weakly, desperately wishing he'd leave her alone. She didn't want him to see her like this, as if he might see in her eyes the person she really was.

"Did you…did you have a good time?" he continued, sounding a bit panicked himself.

She tried to make her voice as even as possible, tried to mask the pain threatening to tear her apart. "Mhmm. Nath-we just…Dinner…I don't think it's sitting too well with me." The lies came so easily. Oh, if only she could believe them herself. If only the truth could be altered so easily.

"Can I help? Need me to get you anything? Your mother?"

"No!" Hermione said emphatically. "No, I just-I think I need to wait it out. I'll be fine in a bit."

After a moment she heard his footsteps moving away and Hermione started trying to wash away the traces of her sickness.

"Sweetheart? Can you let me in?"

Hermione froze. She hadn't even heard her mother replace her dad on the other side of the door. "No Mum. I told Daddy, I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine Hermione. Please, let me in."

She didn't want to, everything within Hermione protested, but there are times when a girl needs her mother. And this was one of them.

"It's open," Hermione choked as another round of tears burst forth in anticipation of what her mother would see, of what she would think of her little girl.

The door opened and Hermione turned to look at her mother with a look of defeat more absolute than any she'd worn since seeing Harry's lifeless body in Hagrid's arms. "Oh, my baby," Mrs. Granger said, moving forward to sweet her daughter into her arms, crushing Hermione to her breast. "It's alright. It'll be alright. I promise."

Hermione said nothing, letting go of all her grief, knowing morning wouldn't change a thing.

25 July, 1998

"Sweetheart? I've brought you some tea and toast."

Hermione's eyes opened before they shut again quickly as the light from the hallway behind her mother burned into her. After her mother had helped her to bed, she hadn't left her room once, while her Mum called in to Shangri La to cancel her shifts for the week, telling them Hermione was ill. She was already on such thin ice that Hermione expected to lose her job over it, but that was really the least of her worries at the moment.

"Hermione," her mum tried again, setting the tray of food on the bed and taking a seat herself. "You need to eat something or you won't get your strength back."

Hermione would've laughed if she thought it wouldn't make her sick again. Getting her strength back implied that she'd had any to begin with, which her mother would understand wasn't the case if she knew the full story. Hermione knew it was too much to hope for that her mother hadn't recognized the stench of alcohol on her breath the other morning, perhaps even the smell of sex that pervaded her own mind at all times, torturing her no matter how long she'd stood in the shower trying to scrub herself clean, but strangely her mum hadn't said anything, hadn't scolded her or asked for explanation. Hermione had thought having her mum respect her privacy would be at least one burden off her shoulders, but someone it only made her feel worse.

"Are you ever going to come out of this room?" her mum asked.

"No," Hermione snapped, childishly pulling the bed sheets over her head. The action spurred a fit of laughter out of her mother, and Hermione pulled the sheets back down to look at her. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just…you haven't done that in ten years." Her mum smiled. "It's sort of nice to see, makes me feel like you're not so grown up that you don't need me anymore."

Hermione wanted to tell her that she hadn't needed her since leaving for Hogwarts, that she had been forced to grow up all on her own, or at least without the help and guidance of her mother who could never understand the struggles and responsibilities she'd dealt with in the wizarding world. And yet…here she was, six o'clock in the evening, pouting and wallowing in self-pity because of the mistakes she'd made that had nothing to do with dark magic or evil wizards.

"I used to do this?"

"Oh all the time. I remember you'd try and hide whenever your father wanted to take you camping. Or when I told you it was time for a haircut."

"But…but I hate my hair."

Her mum smiled again. "Not always."

"Yes, always," Hermione insisted.

"No, you only started hating it after the kids at school started teasing you for it. Before that, you loved your hair as much as I did." Caroline Granger reached out and brushed a hand over the matted tangles and sighed. "So much like your father's."

"They used to put chewing gum in it," Hermione moaned, remembering. "And I wouldn't even notice until—"

"—until you came home and I found it and had to help you get it out. And then you'd beg me to let you stay home from school the next day—"

"—and you would always tell me I didn't have to go back," Hermione remembered fondly. "But then you'd ask me again in the morning—"

"—I'd ask if you were sure you wanted to stay home, and you'd put on this brave face, take a deep breath and tell me you were going—"

"—because I didn't want to fall behind in my studies," Hermione completed, the barest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

"And because you had that terrible crush on your teacher," her mum teased. "What was his name?"

"Mr. Farish," Hermione groaned, remembering. "And I did not have a crush on him."

"Of course you didn't sweetheart," sounding completely unconvinced.

Hermione fumed, not because of a crush she may or may not have had on her grammar teacher when she was seven, but because of the dark cloud pervading what should've been a fond moment between mother and daughter, a cloud she herself had cast over her life that was likely to never clear.

"Are you ready to tell me what the other night was about?" her mum asked as if sensing her thoughts.

"No. It's just…it was stupid."

"My Hermione is never stupid."

"How can you say that? I erased your memories to get rid of my problems, I stayed here with you and Daddy for the same reasons, and then the other night I…I did it again. I was stupid and got drunk and somehow found the only way to make a bigger mess of things than they already were."

"You're almost nineteen years old. It's not exactly a crime to let yourself relax for one night and let your hair down. I remember when I was your age—"

"You wouldn't-you wouldn't be acting like everything's okay if you knew the truth. You wouldn't be so…so understanding. You'd be disappointed in me. I know I am—"

"First, you have never disappointed me," her mother cut in, her face ablaze with the same determination her daughter had inherited from her. "You can't. I was disappointed in myself when I found out my own daughter didn't even trust me enough to share her problems with me and felt like she couldn't come to me for help. I didn't know what I'd done to make you think it was better to keep everything to yourself." Hermione's face fell. Like she needed another reason to feel guilty. "But that's the way you've always been. And even if I don't understand it, I know you were only trying to do what was best. I just wish you knew that being honest with us is the best way to make things easier for yourself. I know you've always felt like you needed to do everything on your own, but that's what your father and I are here for. To help you. And second, I may not be as brilliant as you or your father, but I'm not exactly stupid either. I'm here to listen, sweetheart. No judgment."

"I can't," Hermione said despairingly. She'd relived each torturous moment over and over again since waking up that morning. And even though she'd accepted that she'd always feel this way, that didn't mean she wanted to recite the entire ordeal for her mother.

"If you don't want to tell me what's really bothering you, I understand. But it might help if you talked to me about it. Or if that's too uncomfortable, then maybe someone else: your father, Nathan—"

"No," Hermione declared forcefully. "Not-not him."

"Is that the problem? Nathan?"

"Yes. No. I don't know," Hermione cried, reaching for the bed sheets once again before her mother stopped her.

"Maybe you could write to Harry…or Ron?"

The mention of his name did it, and when Hermione hid her face in her pillow, her mother didn't try to stop her this time.

"Why did you even push me to talk to him? Why did I ever listen?"

She felt her mother begin rubbing soothing patterns on her back. "If I thought it would help, I'd let you blame me for everything. But you should know that doesn't solve anything, nor will it make you feel any better.

Hermione looked up with red, puffy eyes. "Why though? Why was it so important to you that I liked Nathan? Why did you have to keep trying to push us together?" Hermione knew it was unfair, knew her mother hadn't made her befriend Nathan, but she'd been stewing in her own guilt for two days, and she needed a few moments where she could blame someone else, a few moments of relief she knew she didn't really deserve.

Surprisingly her mother actually did look guilty, which instead of providing relief made Hermione only feel worse about the entire situation. The only one to blame for what had happened between her and Nathan was herself.

"I thought if had a friend, someone nice and simple whom you could relate to, you'd be less tempted to go back to that world."

"You didn't used to care that I didn't have any friends," Hermione said spitefully.

Her mum laughed. "Of course I did. But when you were younger you didn't seem to need any, except for your father. I think we both know you just hadn't met the right kind of friends yet."

"And now that I have you wanted to keep me away from them?"

"No! All I wanted was for you to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted for you. And I know magic and your friends and that entire world were a big part of that change and I'll always be grateful for what they've given you but…oh sweetheart. You just seemed so miserable after you showed up. You're father was convinced it was just the result of everything you'd gone through with us, and the war…"

"But after hearing everything you said about what you went through last year, and even before that, I just didn't know if it was the best thing for you to jump right back into that world. Your father made me promise not to make any decisions for you, that it had to be your choice because it was your life. But you're still so young. I know you've been through a lot but that doesn't mean you're immune to making mistakes and I just didn't want to see you make another one, especially if you were going to be half a world away where I couldn't help you. At least here I could keep an eye on you, I could still hold you if you cried, check in on you every night to make sure you were safe. So I thought if maybe you had more of a reason to stay, if you didn't feel like you had to go back to that world that you could find a way to be happier here, away from all that misery I saw every time I looked at you."

Hermione's forced anger was becoming more and more genuine as she listened to her mother explain herself. How dare she meddle like that?

"I'm sorry," her mother said, sounding like she truly meant every word. "I didn't mean to make things worse for you. I just…I didn't want you to live the same life I did."

"What-what does that mean?" Hermione demanded, so cross that she wasn't sure if she even cared what the answer was.

Here her mother looked hesitant to continue. "We—I—never told you, but your father and I-we were planning to separate."

Hermione felt a shock run through her, cold fear running through her bones at the realization that her Memory Charm had failed.

But then she actually went back over her mother's actual words. She said they never told me, she realized, restoring the briefest spark of hope and a new sense of panic in her words.

"When?" Hermione demanded. "When was this?"

"Just before you were born," Caroline Granger admitted, her own feelings of grief paling her complexion. "It wasn't working between us. We were too different, and too much alike at the same time, if that makes any sense. We didn't want the same things out of life. But more importantly, we just weren't making each other happy anymore."

"So what happened?" Hermione asked, losing herself in this story, the sympathy for her mum offering a brief reprieve from her own agony.

"You," her mum answered, her brown eyes shining with tears. "I found out I was pregnant and when I told your dad we decided we owed it to you to give us another chance."

It was almost too much to process. As Hermione tried to fit this new information into what she already understood—or thought she'd understood—of her parents' relationship, she couldn't get over the fact that her parents would have abandoned each other a long time ago had it not been for the unfortunate timing of her own conception. "What does any of this have to do with Nathan?" Hermione asked, too distraught to think about the irony that she'd saved her parents' marriage twice now.

"Not Nathan, sweetheart. Ron."

"What—"

"I loved your father, just like I knew you loved Ron, even when you were too busy assuring me that you couldn't stand him to think about why he drove you crazy. It didn't matter if you actually told me, or told him for that matter. I knew, and I think you knew too and I just didn't want you convincing yourself that you had to make it work."

"But why? If you knew how I felt—"

"People fall in love all the time sweetheart, and they're not always meant to stay that way forever."

"But you and Daddy have," Hermione said, feeling a rush of deceit, knowing it was only due to her own meddling that this was the case.

"And it hasn't exactly been easy. Look, I love your father with all my heart, but sometimes I wonder if things had gone differently, if you hadn't come along and we'd ended up with different people. Not that I'd give you up for anything," her mum added quickly, seeing Hermione's shocked expression. "You're the most wonderful thing I've ever done, and I would never regret having you in a million years, but without you, I know we wouldn't have had the strength to try. You and Ron…you don't have a child. All you have is love, which is wonderful. But sometimes love just isn't enough."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, to tell her mother that her feelings for Ron were more than enough, but no words came out. How could she deny her mother's words when the truth of them was staring her in the face from every corner of her room? She and Ron had finally taken that next step, finally admitted how important they were to each other and yet it hadn't been enough, had it? Otherwise, what was she doing in Australia without Ron by her side?

But you didn't admit it, did you? a nasty voice squirmed inside her head. Ron admitted it but you…you never did. You never told him anything.

I did, she argued with herself. He knew how much I wanted him to come, how much I needed him here with me. He was the one who—

And you thought you were the only one who needed him? That your need was greater than everyone else's? You assumed he would put aside his family for someone who couldn't even admit that she loved him?

Never! I told him I would stay until he was ready. I'd never make him choose—

But you assumed, the twisting, hissing voice continued with its bitter truths. You didn't even consider the possibility that he was trying to do what was best for everyone, you included.

"You see?" her mother's voice broke in, interrupting her thoughts. "I know how smart you are, I know you understand. You're headstrong and stubborn, always have been. No-one made any decisions for you, and even though I was the one who put Nathan in your path, you were the one to accept him. You didn't have to stay here; you could've gone back to your friends any time you wanted. You didn't have to try and move on from Ron. Doesn't the fact that you took up with someone else the first chance you got tell you anything?" Her mother's words echoed her own thoughts so perfectly that she couldn't find the will to argue against them as she broke down into a fresh round of tears. "Oh sweetheart, I'm not trying to make you feel worse. Sometimes things just happen. Sometimes-sometimes things don't work out the way we hoped."

"But you and Daddy are fine now," Hermione bemoaned, too distraught to remember that their blissful happiness was only the illusion of the Memory Charm.

"Yes, well," her mum said, blushing slightly. "We were lucky. We had you and we still loved each other and—"

"But I do! I do love him, more than anything!" Hermione insisted, tasting the seeming hypocrisy in her words as she admitted it for the first time—and to her mum of all people.

"Which is why it seems like the end of the world right now. But you'll find someone else, Ron will find someone else."

"But I don't want to find someone else. And I certainly don't want him to find someone else either."

Her mother was taken aback by such adamant behavior, and looked at her daughter, a broken, sopping mess with puffy eyes and swollen cheeks and the determination of a warrior going into battle, and sighed. "Are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure Ron is the one who makes you happy.

"More than anyone." Hermione didn't even need to think about it, though it made her wonder how she could've convinced herself otherwise for so long.

"Then you can fix this."

"How?"

Her mother looked at her sadly and reached out to smooth back her hair. "I don't know, sweetheart. I just don't know."

1 August, 1998

Hermione would've liked nothing more than to put all her mistakes behind her. She didn't want to dwell on the past but move forward, but there was one thing she had to do first.

"Hermione?"

She looked up from the stoop she'd been sitting on to see Nathan, looking surprised to see her waiting for him outside his apartment. She'd been waiting for ages in the dark for him to get home, not having anticipated that he might be out. She knew he'd called her house looking for her several times in the past week, but Hermione hadn't talked to him once and knew he had to be confused. Her mother had made excuses for her when he called, but she didn't know what she'd actually told him. She just hadn't been prepared to deal with reliving that night nor ready to tell him what was needed. But as much as she wanted to put the confrontation off forever, she knew she couldn't, not if she was to have the strength to confront Ron as well.

"Hello. I was hoping we could talk."

"Of course. Wanna go inside?" he asked, taking out his keys. "I could fix us some—"

"No. No that's-out here is fine," Hermione said, keen on avoiding the scene of the crime.

"Sure." Nathan took a seat next to her and Hermione suppressed a shudder as his arm brushed hers. "So what's up? I haven't heard from you in a while. I was starting to worry that you'd-that I'd…done something."

Hermione wanted to tell him that his suspicions were right, but she wasn't angry with him, not really. How could she, when she'd been the one leading him on? He hadn't forced himself on her, and was no more at-fault for what had happened than her mum was. He hadn't known because she hadn't told him the truth, and now, like so many other people, he was going to suffer for her misguided actions.

"You didn't," she told him softly. "The other night, I just—"

"I never should've let you drink that much. I should've cut you off. I knew it was your first time…"

Hermione cringed at those words as Nathan continued speaking, thinking about the other first time she'd shared with him, how it never should've happened, how it was supposed to have been Ron.

"It's alright," she said, interrupting him. "I don't blame you. It was my choice."

"When I didn't hear from you last week, I thought you didn't want to see me anymore."

His words hung in the air, and Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and averted her eyes, preparing herself. Ending things with Viktor had been so much easier. She got the impression that he'd been preparing himself for a while, knew things between them would never progress to where he wanted. And she'd appreciated Viktor and everything he'd done for her, everything he'd given her in spite of the problems their relationship had caused between her and Ron.

But this wasn't about her, or Viktor. "I'm going back-to England I mean. I won't be starting at UWA next term." She peeked over at Nathan to gauge his reaction. He had a strangled look of confusion about him like this had come completely out of the blue, totally unexpected despite the fact that he had to know she'd been dodging his calls on purpose.

"I see," he said, his usual smile replaced with a pair of thin lips, tightly pressed and crinkled.

"Things here…they just aren't working out like I'd hoped."

"Things like me." It wasn't a question.

"No, I just-I thought this was where I was supposed to be. I thought there were things I needed to do."

"And now?" Nathan asked, his voice on the verge of cracking.

"I-I don't know," Hermione admitted honestly. "But I know I can't figure it out here. I came here for one reason and stayed for another. I did what I was supposed to do. Everything-everything else was a mistake."

"Including me." Hermione tensed as Nathan spoke, not attempting to deny it this time.

"Look, Nathan. I-I'm really sorry, but—"

Nathan cut her off with a noise somewhere between a snort and strangled cry. "But; Seems to be the word of choice in situations like this, don't it?"

"Please don't be mad," Hermione said pleadingly.

"Who's mad?" Nathan asked, slowly losing his cool.

"I didn't set out to do this."

"Then what were you trying to do?" he snapped. "I like you Hermione. I. Like. You. And I thought-I thought—"

"And I like you too," Hermione said honestly, "just…not enough. It-we were never supposed to happen. I-I'm sorry."

"And there's the apology. Tell me, did you read how to break up with someone in one of your little books, where it says everything will be okay as long as you apologize?" he asked a bit nastily. "Did you forget to read the part about what happens after you leave and go back to your life? Oh wait, I forgot. Books never tell that part of the story. History's always written by the winners.

"No," Hermione told him, trying not to sound defensive, trying not to break down again. "It's just…I've never done this before."

"What? Completely disregard someone else's feelings?" Hermione flinched. "No wonder you didn't tell your friend you were leaving. You're god awful at talking to people, you know that?"

"I—"

"You've been here two-and-a-half months and I don't know anything important about you. And I bet you can't remember anything important about me either.

He was right. She'd had to hold back from the moment she met Nathan, knowing she couldn't share anything about the last seven years of her life. She may've tried to leave that part of her life back in England, but it was a part of her. And on some level, it had stopped her from getting to know him as well, almost as if she thought it unfair to know his desires, his deepest secrets without the ability to reciprocate. "Then why do you care so much?" Hermione said bravely.

This set him back. And after a moment's floundering, he seemed to calm down, his anger abating, replaced with disappointment. "Has anyone ever told you you're too clever for your own good?"

There was the slightest hint of that gleaming smile on his face, and Hermione knew the worst was over. "Yes," she admitted, thinking of Ron and Harry. "Quite often actually." He laughed, though it quickly turned into a cough. She laid a hand on his arm, pushing away memories of the last time she'd willingly touched him. "I didn't set out for this to happen. I never meant to hurt you."

"No-one ever does," Nathan said. "But it happens anyway, doesn't it?"

Far too often, she agreed silently.

...

Hermione stayed for quite a while, talking to Nathan. She'd listened to him explain his side of things, to get out the words and feelings he felt he needed to, but in the end it had been a clean break. There'd been no promises to stay in touch, no empty commitment to try and be friends.

Though it was quite late, she decided to walk home, turning over recent events in her mind. She should've known Nathan would be upset; just because she had never been fully-committed to the idea of them being a couple didn't mean he'd felt the same. But the pain she'd heard in his voice…she was surprised someone could feel so strongly after only a few months. And if that was how Nathan had reacted to her abandonment, how would Ron—and Harry—react when she tried to explain herself.

Since the talk with her mum, she'd set in-motion plans to return. As expected she'd lost her job at the café, but she'd at least she had some seed money to live on when she went back. She knew her parents were staying here; they were happy here, happier than they'd been in ages, even if they didn't quite know why. When she'd told them she wanted to go back to England, finish her schooling at Hogwarts, her father had supported her as always. After all, he'd been the first to point out that something had been missing from her life here. And her mum…at least she understood that it wasn't a reflection on her, on them. Surprisingly, Hermione found it harder to tell her mum about the decision than her dad. She'd never felt so close, so connected to her mother until their talk, and now she was planning on leaving her again. But though they'd always be a part of her, she knew this just wasn't her life anymore…if it ever was to begin with.

Still, she hadn't talked to Gibbons or anyone at the Australian Ministry about setting up a return Portkey yet. Once she'd committed to leaving, she'd felt like racing home, not wanting to waste any time. But she was also hesitant; her leaving in the first place, and everything leading up to it, had all happened so quickly that she didn't want to rush into any more mistakes. And more importantly, she was absolutely dreading what would happen when she saw her friends face to face.

Harry, she hoped, would forgive her. Or at the very least he would accept her misguided choices and put her mistakes behind them just as she'd always done for him, knowing his intentions were good at heart. Still, she hated the thought that he might look at her actions as those of just one more person in his life abandoning him. He'd lost so much already, and she wanted to be someone he knew he could always count on, always look to for support and friendship, Riddle or no Riddle.

Hermione thought that if she explained the situation with her parents he might even understand, maybe better than anyone; he knew what it was to want happiness for one's parents, to desire a loving family. But she also knew she couldn't tell him, not because he would judge her or turn her in, but because he wouldn't. She knew Harry would support her decision to keep her parents' memories altered out of his sense of loyalty, and that was a burden he didn't deserve to carry. It was her choice, her decision, her guilt to live with.

No, she was confident that things between her and Harry would be fine, sooner or later. That was just how their relationship worked. Ron on the other hand…

As she walked, she remembered their past fights: their argument over Scabbers, their row after the Yule Ball, Lavender, the locket and a hundred smaller moments in between. Every time it had felt like the end of their friendship, or at least the end of the world. But somehow, they'd always found their way back to each other, coming out the other side stronger and closer than before.

But she couldn't shake her fear that this time things were different. In the past, she'd always felt they'd shared the blame for hurting one-another, for questioning their friendship, for being too stubborn to admit their part in it. But this time there was no question of who was at-fault. A part of her was still hurt that Ron had sent her away so easily, seemingly without a second thought, but she'd come to realize she hadn't given much consideration for his side of things. In Ron's eyes, he'd only done what was best, for both them and their respective families. But try as she might, there was no angle she could take to make her own actions any better. Because she knew he would've understood her decision to stay in Australia if only she'd told him, if only she'd explained herself first. He wouldn't have liked it, might've yelled at her and chewed her out and called her stupid or self-sacrificing or misguided, but in the end he would've let her go until she was ready to return.

Or, she thought amusedly, he would've come after me and dragged me back to England kicking and screaming. Which, she realized, is exactly what she'd condemned him for not doing in the first place, ironically enough.

And now she was faced with having to explain everything, including Nathan. What she feared most was that he wouldn't even give her the chance. So, she'd come up with a plan. There was a month left before term started. It would take a few days to arrange a Portkey and few more to pack everything she'd need. Hermione wished she could just show up at the Burrow unannounced asking if she could co-opt half of Ginny's room once more, but that was unrealistic. So she'd find somewhere else to stay—the Leaky Cauldron perhaps—and write Harry, or maybe Ginny, telling them she was back and wanted to see them. That would give her a few weeks to set things right with Harry, or at least make a good start. And Ron…Ron would be more difficult. She knew she couldn't rush in and tell him everything. He'd hate her for it, for all of it. She knew that was a possibility no matter what, but she at least wanted to give herself the time to explain things, to show him how much she cared, to convince him that she loved him as much as he loved her, before telling him the truth. She just couldn't stomach the possibility of ruining their chances before it even started. It was the same reason she had never planned to tell him that she had kissed Viktor back in fourth year. She just hoped that she'd learned enough from that mistake; she knew he deserved the truth…just, not until he was prepared for it, until she knew where they stood, until she knew he hadn't already changed his mind about her.

When she reached her parents' house, she was surprised to see that the lights were still on inside, wondering what her parents could still be doing up so late. An eerie sense of foreboding crept across her skin and she reached for her wand before remembering she'd put it away. She opened the door and walked down the hall toward the sound of chattering voices. She walked into the room, her gaze sweeping over her parents' visitors unbelievingly.

"Hermione, sweetheart, your friends have come to see you," her mum said, and Hermione could hear the strained cheer in her voice as she opened her mouth to mechanically greet Ginny and Harry before forcing her eyes to meet his.

"Ron," Hermione gasped softly, feeling her legs wobble beneath her as she looked at him for the first time in months outside her dreams, as all the time she'd planned to take things slow, to do things right, evaporated in an instant.

"Hey."


A/N: This chapter's title comes from the song "Tangled Up in Blue" by Bob Dylan off his album Blood on the Tracks.

Had to squeeze one last angsty chapter in before the two-part finale. As you can see, we're back to where we ended chapter 1. Hopefully this chapter makes some sense of the things Hermione told Ron back in Chapter 19. And even if you half hate Hermione by this point, I hope you can find some pity for the poor girl after reading about what she went through.