Chapter 51 Ready Or Not

Another three months later and the ice cold London air was like heaven to her. The wind whistled along the narrow City streets and she pulled her coat around her, burrowing into its soft warmth as she busied herself postponing the inevitable.

She always forgot how much this city meant to her until she was back. Busy streets and quiet corners, the old buildings, statuesque and proud juxtaposed with the glass and glamour of new London and she loved them both.

Of course, that didn't mean she was happy to be back.

R&R they had called it, a chance to kick back and relax. She scoffed at the thought, how the hell did Harry think she could relax here? Of course she didn't doubt he'd had ulterior motives when he'd ordered them all home. After all he'd been arguing with her for three months now. She'd seen the signs in him some time ago; he was beginning to doubt. She'd recognised the process because she was fairly sure she was going through the same thing.

What exactly was it she was doing again? Oh yes, making the world a safer place, killing parents and sons and daughters, decimating families and jailing kids only just out of their teens, or not in some cases. She was pacing the world with the rest of their increasingly silent group, the ones that were still alive anyway.

She'd seen it in Harry's eyes every time they'd had to arrange the return of a body, every time he'd issued new orders, every time he'd repeated the lame excuses he'd been given as to why they were being sent to the middle of nowhere to terrorise people who needed educating, not frightening.

He hadn't been with them all the time but she had filled him in over late night whisky. They had become almost as close as they had once been at school. Once again finding reason in each other, in a world which was starting to look slightly blurry at the edges. She explained how she had begun to realise that perhaps they weren't going quite the right way about things, couldn't there be another way? Could you put these people in the same group as Lucius? As Bella? Didn't there have to be a better way?

On that they had agreed, something was off, they were feeling increasingly like puppets following a path they hadn't chosen. Hermione had been granted the freedom to do exactly what she wanted, wipe them from the face of the Earth, so why was it she hadn't felt quite the same exhilaration recently? Why was it that she now packed out the prisons, not the graveyards? Why was it that she was starting to feel like there may be blood on her hands?

Why was it that every time she closed her eyes she saw the terrified look on the faces of children as they watched their parents herded away at the point of her wand? Wasn't she doing the right thing? Isn't this what she had wanted?

And Harry had seen her change and pretty soon he had begun the incessant drip, drip, drip torture which had brought her back here.

"Go home for a bit, you need a rest."



"I can rest anywhere, it doesn't have to be there."

"Go home Hermione, they miss you."

"I miss them."

"He misses you."

... silence, what could he expect her to say when she didn't know herself. If she went home before she was ready, before she'd removed this cancerous, angry lump of rage from herself, if she left again he would never forgive her. This time it was all or nothing, she didn't need him to tell her that.

"Hermione..."

"I'm not ready."

I'm not ready

I'm not ready

It had taken a Ministry order to get her to set a single foot back on home soil, although it's not as if she couldn't have ignored it if she wanted, after all she was beginning to know where the bodies were buried, she was hardly to be trifled with. But the heat of far away continents had begun to grate on her, the dust had taken up permanent residence in her eyes and throat and she missed her fireplace, her garden, her roof terrace. She missed St Pauls and the Natural History Museum and the way the Embankment lit up at night in colours which were more magical to her than anything else she had felt recently. She missed the leafy quiet of the Battersea Park pagoda and the painted houses along Chelsea streets. She missed her idealised, perfect London.

And she missed him.

And now here she was, and as a bus nearly ran her over for the third time and tourists got in the way of every step she basked in the noise and the pollution and wondered how not even the nightmares of this city could change how she felt to be home.

And it was a good thing she did love the city, she had, after all, walked almost every inch of it this afternoon. It had been three days since she'd touched down on a quiet back street behind her apartment and gratefully collapsed on her large, warm, luxurious bed. Three long days which she filled with hot baths and bacon sandwiches, with endless repeats of everything her TV had to offer and long solitary walks along the river.

She was running out of excuses and Harry's owl had left her in no doubt that her time was up;

Enough hiding Hermione, you're expected for dinner, I know you won't disappoint Teddy, he's missed you. H xx

Emotional blackmail, bastard.



So she had walked, she had taken buses, she had ridden the tube, she had taken every long way round she could think of and as she sun had begun to start its descent she had found herself on Primrose Hill, full of the heavy knowledge that there was no more procrastination. Damn, if she tried hard enough she could probably see the house, well... not see it, but see the neighbouring ones anyway.

She kicked the leaves and leant heavily against a reassuringly large Oak.

This is it, just do it, close your eyes and...

"Oh."

Never say that Hermione Granger wasn't eloquent when surprised.

"Hello."

I'm not ready, I'm not ready. Merlin, this was horrendous, she'd had no time, not plan of attack. One minute she was alone, the next he was there, in front of her, breathing her air, smirking in a way that was almost familiar, if it hadn't been for the worry which collected in the slightly more creased corners of his eyes or the almost invisible twitch in his jaw.

Once again he was right there, but miles away and she desperately tried to collect herself.

"What... how did you... here, now?" Oh yes, beautifully put.

He raised an eyebrow and she almost cried to see it, just the right shape, just the right thickness... on just the right man... still the right man, the only man. Of course she'd already known that. He had always been the right man, she just wasn't the right girl... or hadn't been... or wasn't still... she really couldn't tell.

He followed her lead and looked down at the ground, stubbing his toe in the ground and shrugging in a way which made him look exactly like the bashful schoolboy she had once known his Godson to be. Sometimes they were so similar she was surprised the same blood didn't actually flow scarlet red through their veins.

"Been feeling twitchy all day. Got so I couldn't stand the house, needed a walk. My feet brought me here." Finally their eyes met over the same unspoken words;

To me

To you

His words flowed back into her thoughts, had she been needing him? Well yes, for months, but not today, today he'd been the last person she'd wanted to see, but then again he'd been the only one she'd thought of.

"Maybe it wasn't you this time." Once again, he'd seen the truth of her thoughts, or maybe he could just read her face that easily.

"Maybe it was me."



"Maybe..." Hermione was conscious that her answer was woefully inadequate, but for now it would have to do. He was lucky he'd gotten any words out of her at all.

"Do you want to walk back with me? I promise not to tell the others you were hiding." His smile shone as it always had and without hesitation she smiled back, finally glad to be back in his world.

"I wasn't hiding."

He chuckled quietly as they turned to walk down the hill, London spread out in front of them;

"Face it Hermione, you're totally busted."

Maybe this was going to be OK.