A/N: GUYS, I'VE DONE IT AGAIN! I'VE GOTTEN ANOTHER INCREDIBLY LONG CHAPTER DONE! Again, I'm so sorry updates are taking longer, but with new activities and stuff going on with the factor that the chapters are now very long, updates will come farther apart and in "chunks", if you will. This chapter, I wanted Hermione and Harry to talk, but it was getting longer and longer and I'm camping for the next three days with no way to publish it if I got it done, so I wrapped it up sooner than expected. But, next chapter they will talk.

I ALSO HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT: I've joined the HMS-Harmony-Discord server! It's loads of fun, everyone is super nice and chill there and for anyone who wants to join, you'll see me floating around on there as well as a few other famous artists and writers in the H/Hr community. 10/10, would recommend :D I also have a very barren Tumblr account under the same username as this account, harmoniouseclipse, where I'll post some ugly sketches and art of mine and videos of my pets being pets. (wow look at me guys im becoming famous wow off to hollywood i go)

Same disclaimers as always: Harry Potter is not mine. And also, I have some pretty rough things in store for Ron, so when the time comes I'll give some new warnings.

But, I shall stop talking your ears off for all of you to enjoy!

Chapter 11: Know

I feel the warm sensation leave everywhere but my face when Harry pulls back and places his hands on my cheeks. His tender eyes search my swollen ones, then move on to dart around my face and body. They're a mix of horror, disbelief, worry so immense that I cannot think of a better synonym for it, and something else. There's a certain gleam in his eyes, one that only arose when I was around him. One that, to this very day, I still haven't figured out the meaning of. I am by no means a philosopher; I don't find meaning in every trivial matter or question why every object, person, or creature is the way that they are or whatever it may be. But there was always something about that tiny glint in his eyes and why it was there at certain moments. I've always known there to be some explanation for it, but through the course of nearly half my life, I have never once found an answer of any sort.

Finally, though, his green orbs latch back onto mine. Tears are still washing down his face, but I don't even feel mine anymore. I reach up and place my hands over his wrists. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. I can't help but chuckle a little in relief and joy and anything else.

After a minute or two of silence, Harry regains his voice and stares into my eyes with all the joy and hurt and shock of every individual in the world; I find my face growing hot under his gaze when I think about it.

"I-I've been looking for you for five years a-and you just… show up bruised and bloodied and hurt? What happened? Where were you? What—" He stops suddenly, and I see that his eyes have fallen upon my little Rose who's clenching my gown so tightly that I worry she'll tear it. His eyes soften and as he bends down he asks me, "Is… Is this your daughter?"

Emotion stifles his voice and a small, fragile smile makes its way across my face. Slowly, carefully, I bend down, too and Rose hugs my side so powerfully that it nearly cuts off my air supply. I place my hand on top of her head and stroke it gently, but this time she doesn't calm down.

I switch my gaze from her after a few more moments and look up at Harry with a firm nod. "She turned five in May,"

Harry smiles at me, then looks at Rose. She's peeking at him through the corner of her eye, wide and scared. "Hey, you're halfway there to being 10!" He says in a tone I'd never thought I'd hear from him. "I'm your mum's friend," he continues with a soothing grin on his face, "Harry. What's your name?" He extends his hand as I watch with anxiousness smashing every single part of me. It only takes his hand to move a single inch closer to her face and Rose suddenly lets out a cry of "No!" and promptly ducks behind me.

Harry flinches away in alarm and I quickly reach behind me to tug Rosie. I bring her to my front and she clings to me as if she'll die if she dares to let go. My tears, which had slowed a bit, return full force as I look up at Harry. I should've expected this, after all.

Oh, God.

I place a soft, lingering kiss on her hair and whisper, "He won't hurt you," but even then my voice hitches in the back of my throat, and the urge to bawl is becoming increasingly harder to control. I look back up at Harry, who has a fearful, shocked, but apologetic and sympathetic glint in his eyes.

We gaze at each other again, like there are words inside of our eyes that we read, and then we stand together. I can feel Rose shaking and hear little sobs coming from her; a wet spot on my shoulder forms, too.

An unexpected warmth envelopes my hand, however, and I look down to see that Harry has grabbed it. He's scanning the dried blood, added with chips of metal, his face displaying controlled shock and horror. Yet he simply holds it, not bothering to look it over anymore until we're finally, finally safe. I realize my cheeks are flushed again and I meet his gaze. He offers a smile, as tragic and pathetic as it may be, and begins to lead me to the door. I try my best to return his smile (though I know it's more like a grimace or something of the sort).

He reaches over and draws open the door. He releases my hand and steps out of the way. I try smiling at him again in thanks and walk inside. As I do so, I sense Rose grip me tighter and her head lifts enough so she can look around.

"Mummy…" I hear her whimper. I stroke her hair and kiss her head in hopes to soothe her, if only for a short while. I turn my head back in front of me and stop suddenly. My eyes widen when I eventually get a look at the interior of the house.

There's a short hallway we're standing in with a closet to our right a foot or two away. The theme seems to be white walls with polished white birch planks for the floor. There are bamboo wood accents throughout the house, too. The hallway we're in leads to one of the biggest living areas I've seen. There's a large, white couch surrounding a television sitting on a stand that has a large shelf surrounding it. One side is filled with all sorts of movies, some of which I had never heard of. The other has a wide range of books, from fantasy novels to action-adventure stories to books about spells and potions. The kitchen is right beside it, the counters a gorgeous marble with the wood underneath the bamboo. There's a large island, big enough to seat five, but there's also a dining table near it that looks to seat seven.

I hear Harry walk up beside me and my eyes avert to him. He smiles at me; I grin back. I turn my head and look in front of me. The room is lit with natural light, and I see why. There's a deck right outside, and almost the entire wall is replaced with glass. I feel Rose lift her head from my shoulder and look out there, too.

"It's a bit more flashy than I wanted it," Harry says with a nervous chuckle.

"It's… Wow," I hear myself breathe. "I'm speechless,"

There's a bit of silence, but a new tension grows when I feel the atmosphere around Harry change. His smile fades to a frown.

"What happened to you?"

His sudden question makes my heart lurch painfully in my chest. I know what he means, asking about my physical state, but the unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach never goes away, because I ask myself the same question every day. What happened to me? I know I'm not the same person I was seven years ago. I know what happened to me. I know what's wrong with me but at the same time I don't. Or, maybe I do and I don't know how to fix myself. I gave up trying to find the answer to that question. After all, I have a daughter to take care of; I don't have time to focus on myself. I don't want to focus on myself.

There are more important things.

I realize I've been staring at the floor for a while now when my conscious mind finally takes over again. Rose is clutching me tightly, the photo and Cupcake smashed between us. I took her hair down at some point, too, but I can't bring myself to stop playing with it anxiously. I open my mouth to say something but he beats me to it. "No, you don't want to talk about it. I-I'm sorry—"

"Oh, no!" I say quickly. "No, it's fine. Really! It's— Can we talk about it later? We just need an hour or two. Maybe over dinner we can talk?"

"Oh, er— Yeah, yeah, of course," He stammers. "Here, I have a guest room upstairs,"

"Thanks," I say with a small grin. He smirks in response before gesturing towards the stairs with his head. I follow him as he crosses the house and he begins to climb the stairs. I go to put my foot up on the first step when Rose puts her face next to mine and hugs me tightly.

"Don't go," She whimpers so softly that, even with her face so close to my ear, I nearly miss it. "Please, Mummy…"

I manage to pull in a shaky breath. I hold her tight against me, but my body feels like melted, mushy snow and my stomach is dropping into an endless pit. I look at Harry; he's staring back worriedly. My throat is dry and I can hear the unspoken words coming from my daughter: Don't follow him. Don't let him hurt me. Don't do this to me again.

I feel my eyes ache with the need to cry, but I simply can't anymore. All I do is bring my little Rose as close as I can to me and hug her with the strength I have left in my body. My eyes switch upwards and lock onto Harry's, but what surprises me is that his mouth has changed into an understanding smile, as sad as it is.

"Go ahead," he says quietly, "you can sit on a couch down there. Teddy and James are over at a friend's house, so they won't be back for another few hours to bother you,"

I can only offer a nod in thanks. He returns it and turns to walk up the remaining steps while I go back around to the living area. I start to hear sniffling as I sit down on the soft cushions and a large puddle forms on my shirt. Once I'm seated comfortably I pull Rosie back a bit and sit her cross-legged on my lap. Little tears roll down her cheeks as she sniffs and breathes quickly, her hands constantly dabbing at her eyes and face.

"Hey," I coo gently, moving her hand from her right eye and replacing it with mine, "what's wrong?"

In instances like this, I always ask her what's wrong. It's never when she sobs uncontrollably or breaks down into nothing but a pile of tears; only when she cries and sniffs like this. 90 percent of the time, I already know what's wrong, but the mistake I made for not confessing my feelings or emotions to anyone, not even my parents, is what pushed me to start asking her this so maybe she could slowly grow more comfortable with telling someone whatever she's going through, even if I am the only person she confides in.

I calmly wipe the tears off her cheeks whenever they come into contact with my thumb and she opens her eyes to look at me. They're shiny and wide, her soul glowing behind them, pulsing with word after word, reason after reason, the answers to why she's crying inside of it even though I already know, and yet she doesn't speak. All she does is give another loud sniffle and bury her face back into where my neck and shoulder meet. Her little body shakes slightly with her now flooding tears, her hands gripping my back — which is slightly off the couch — and it sends jolts of pain through my body. I don't want her to let go, though. I don't pry her away. I let her hold me as tight as she needs while I place my head next to hers, my hand running through her auburn curls. "It's okay," I whisper, "it's okay, it's okay…"

I rock her gently in smooth motions — back, forth, back, forth — repeating the same words over and over, kissing her head in-between pauses. I feel my tears slowly leak from my eyes, trailing down my cheeks while the wet spot on my gown grows. There's a new soreness in my body now, but it's not from any scars or injuries I have. My blood-soaked hand tangles in her curls, guiding her head from my shoulder and tucking her under my chin.

We stay like that for a while. Time slips from my mind after a few minutes. How long it's been now, I don't know, but her crying has slowed and her breathing has evened out. I give her some more time before I guide her back from me and coax her to open her eyes.

"Are you ready to talk now?" I whisper, offering a smile. She makes a little sniffle and nods, her hand dabbing at her eyes one more time for good measure.

"I… I-I don't want him to hurt us again, o-or keep us locked inside, o-or let him take you away like… like he almost did…" Her voice had cracked into squeaks multiple times while she spoke and a few more tears force their way through my swollen eyes. My breathing becomes shaky and unsteady at her words, my heart beginning to pound with anxious pain as I lurch forwards again and tuck her into me, tears spilling over my eyes as I bury my face in her hair.

"Oh, Rosie, baby, he won't," I say, my voice high with emotion and my throat painfully clenched. "We're safe now and you are never — never — going to go through that again. I love you so, so much, baby, and I'll always be here for you, okay?"

She doesn't say anything back for a while, but instead stares at me with wide, tearful eyes. I stare back. Have I somehow said something wrong? Does she know that I won't always be here for her? Is she still just terrified and panicking about her surroundings? Why is she staring at me? Why are her tears building up?

"R-Ro— Oh!"

Her arms suddenly snap around my neck as quick as lightning, her little body pressed against mine as she places her head in the crook of my neck, her eyes squeezed shut. It takes a few moments for the slight shock of her sudden actions to wear off before I wrap my arms around her, too.

"Stay with me…" She whispers brokenly. My heart skips a beat at the aching, pained tone in her voice and I manage to barely choke down a sob.

"Always." I say shakily. And as we sit in the comforting silence, I truly do mean it.

I find Harry standing in the hallway when Rose finally calms down. Her little body shakes against mine and she refuses to open her eyes. My hand runs through her hair and rubs circles on the back of her head gently, but the sensation of pride I feel for her finally allowing me to carry her upstairs keeps a very, very small smile on my lips.

Harry's staring at some photos hung out on the wall; I look at them, too. Most of them have him and Teddy and James in them. Teddy's hair color varies throughout the pictures, but the dominant color there is a teal blue, and memories flood back into my mind when he was around Rosie's age, his hair always blue, except for when Harry or I would be around him and he'd change his hair to black or brunette, respectively, of course.

My chest lurches in shock when I also compare his toddler self I remember to this now 11-year-old boy I see. Some things have never changed, namely his brown eyes that he loved to keep when he was young, but everything else is different. In a good way, yes, but it's still strange to me.

James stands beside him in the picture. The last time I had seen him was when he was almost four years old, and suddenly I realize how much can change in a five year time span. His hair is still black and messy, but it's longer, and he has a nearly identical version of Harry's glasses that makes his impossibly blue eyes seem larger and livelier. The blue sweatshirt he's wearing matches Teddy's, and the two of them are standing side by side, large smiles on both of their faces.

My eyes flick around the rest of the pictures, a grin beginning to form on my lips. Some are photos of a newborn James, and some are of a toddler Teddy. Sometimes it has both of them in it. But there's one that catches my eye and makes my smile fade.

It's me.

A two-year-old Teddy is sitting in my arms, his attention on some large building blocks with one in each of his hands. His hair color matches mine and he has this childlike determination on his face. My attention is on the camera, though, a bright smile on my face. A sharp sting goes through my chest as I study myself.

I assume I'm between 20 and 21 in the photo. My skin is that familiar, healthy tan, my eyes wide and filled with love and happiness and life, only with the smallest visibility of trauma; that is, if one looked hard enough. I've always been a little more on the petite side of things, but my weight is still normal and average. My hair is long, yes, but trimmed nicely with a lively bush and a bright glow to it that I haven't seen in ages and my bangs curve down on my forehead. It's almost surreal to me. To think that only some three or four years ago I looked like this…

I hear Harry's footsteps draw louder but my eyes remain firmly on the picture. Rose is staring at it, too, but she never says anything. At least, she won't right now. Still, even as Harry stops right beside me, I don't look away. To me, the woman in the picture is unrecognizable. Everything is something I'm not anymore. Everything is different now.

I'm different now.

"How did you know?" I ask. Harry doesn't respond. I feel tears brim in my eyes as I turn around to face him, and I see that his eyes have widened slightly in shock.

"How did you know it was me?"

"I—" He stops, his eyes searching mine. He lowers his gaze slowly, his face void of any emotion but this one small thing. It's almost like… like guilt. Like my guilt.

"I don't know."

I scoff. "I show up at your doorstep looking nothing like I did five years ago and you don't even need to say anything to know it's me. You can't just know who I am!"

"Then I don't have a reason." He says firmly. "I— I just knew, okay?" A sigh escapes his lips and he looks at me with regretful eyes; I feel my cheeks burn under his stare.

"Okay." I whisper.

He offers me the smallest smile I've seen before walking off through the hallway. I follow behind him, my little Rose clutching me tightly with the photo of us in her grasp and Cupcake smashed between us. Even through the strength in her grip, her eyes are having trouble staying open and there are bags under her eyes. I hug her close to me and plant a little kiss on her head just as Harry leads us into a guest room.

It's decently sized, the room painted with white and blues. There's a queen size bed in the center against a wall with a watercolor painted picture of the ocean above it. It looks so familiar…

I brush the thought from my head for now. The floors are made of polished wood planks that reflect the sun coming from the window. My eyes widen in wonder. There's a window across the room. It is large, but not to the point where it is the wall. The windowsill has been made into a sort of additional bed, complete with a cozy-looking blanket and cushions. There are a few sliding cabinets underneath for storage as well. Outside is what catches my attention, though. I walk closer to it and simply stare.

The view of the ocean is stunning. The red sun reflects off the waves and nearly blinds me. Little umbrellas dot the beach and are accompanied by people, some beginning to pack up, some playing in the sand, and others still swimming in the sea. The setting sun still delivers an undying warmth that rushes through every one of my veins.

I look down at Rose and see that her eyes are trained on the ocean as well. A small smile graces my lips and I place a chaste kiss on her head.

"Go ahead," I whisper, gesturing my head to the little windowsill bed. "Get settled in, love."

She looks at the blankets and cushions with uncertainty. Her arms tighten around me and she turns her head to mine, her little eyes wide and nervous. A quiet grunt comes from her throat and she presses herself up against me.

My heart feels like it's bleeding and tears brim in the corners of my eyes. "It's okay," I hear myself mutter. "I'm with you, Rosie,"

She says nothing, but the little glint in her eyes tells me everything, and I can't help but give her another kiss.

"Come on, I'll lay on the bed with you," I say, and I make my way over to the main bed in the room. The sheets are a simple white and the pillowcases are blue; it matches the extra bed on the windowsill, now that I think about it. I'm almost afraid to sit on it because I know the covers will get stained.

Still, I can't hide the sheer relief I feel when I finally, finally get to rest on something I haven't felt in a while; soft, warm blankets and a firm but supportive mattress. It is absolutely wonderful.

"Oh, God, I needed this..." I say out loud to the room, my head tilted up and my eyes closed. "After hours of walking through the woods…"

My eyes snap open when I realize what I had said, and I look to see Harry with an expression of confusion and shock. "You walked here? Through the woods?" He sputters.

I swallow dryly and give a meek nod. Merlin, I'm stupid… "I'll tell you everything later—"

"But you just said you walked here from Merlin knows where! Your hand is covered in blood! Your back is cut open and I saw glass in it! What happened?" Harry shouts. Rose whimpers and buries her head into me.

I look down at her and hold her close to me, shushing her gently and running my hand down her head over and over again. When I glance at Harry, his eyes are wide and regret is shown plainly on his face.

"I— I'm so sorry I yelled…" He whispers after a few tense minutes. "Er— I-I don't believe I've gotten her name yet…"

I can't tell if he said that to change the subject or if he wanted to apologize to her, too. Maybe both. I take an unsteady breath. "R-Rosaline — I-I mean Rose— Erm— Th-that's what I call her, anyways…"

Harry says nothing; he only stares at her for a good moment. His eyes are full of… pain. But it's a strange kind of pain. There's understanding in it. A bad sort of understanding, but still. How can he possibly understand? How can he even know? How did he know? Why does he know? Why does he understand Why…?

Because he's been through it before.

My swollen eyes widen and I whip my head up so fast that I nearly whimper in pain. The barriers break again and tears begin to pour down my face. He knows about the pain we have. He's been through enough, hasn't he? Now I finally understand why he never talked about the Dursleys. And he… he never told me?

"Hermione?"

The sound of his voice — laced with fear and crippling regret — brings me back to earth and I realize that my little Rose has been crying, too. I look back at my friend, his green eyes shining brilliantly with tears, and I can't seem to find my voice for a while.

"Wh—" I try to say but Harry raises a hand.

"Dinner. Right now, I need to heal your cuts."

The tone he uses is light but gives no exceptions for negotiation, so I simply nod. Annoyed as I am, who am I to argue? The aches in every single one of my bones certainly agrees with the healing part. I turn around and adjust myself so I'm sitting cross-legged. Rose still keeps a tight grip on Cupcake and the photo of us as I do so.

I feel a small gush of air brush a few strands of my hair aside at the same time I feel Harry grab my hand and hold his wand up against it. A fond smile creeps onto my lips; nearly 15 years ago, he wouldn't have even been able to cast the Accio charm without his wand.

"So," Harry says, startling me slightly, "Rosaline, you said her name was?"

"Yes," I answer. "She's — er — very quiet and shy, though,"

There's a small pause for silence before Harry speaks again. "She looks a lot like you, you know," His voice is oddly soft but not to the point of a whisper. I smile. "She even has a stuffed otter, I see,"

"It was mine when I was her age," I reply with a quiet laugh. There's a small pinching sensation on my hand and arm as I feel him extract the broken pieces of the butcher's knife and close the many, many cuts with magic.

"Thank you for doing this," I whisper.

"I could go on about how you don't need to thank me and all that, but it'd be easier if I just accepted it, huh?"

I laugh. "Is that even a question you need to ask?"

He chuckles, too, and we eventually fall into a comfortable silence. By now, Rose has calmed down enough to the point that she's beginning to fade into sleep. I don't know how much time passes. I just let Harry clean my blood and cuts. Sometimes I hiss a little when he pulls a particularly jagged shard of glass from my back, but he numbs it and heals the wound quickly while rubbing his thumb on it. He's calm and gentle the entire time; maybe because he knows. Maybe because he understands. Maybe because he realized that I know, too. How he's not boiling with rage is a mystery to me. Hell, why I'm not boiling with rage is beyond my own understanding. But I'm not. He's not.

We know, yes, but it's still too soon to talk. For me, at least. And most likely for him. But we understand. We know what's happened, and for me, simply being back with my best friend in a warm, loving house with my child safe in my arms and my bruised feet finally resting, us knowing is enough.

A/N: Well, there it is. Best friends still being best friends after five years of separation. Huge thanks to MilkTwist for proofreading this chapter and having her sit and wait for me to get it done :'D

Also, since literally everyone who's read this has been so freaking insightful, I put in a little... Easter Egg(?) and not only do I want you to find it, but see if you can decode the meaning of it. Anyone who gets it right will be given a shout-out and the honor of being a broksie / homie (whichever those people want to be). I'm such a cool author on here *does totally majestic hair flip in magically enhanced wind*

Anyways, I'm very sorry if you all were wanting some answers. I promise it's coming next chapter; scheduling and writers block was super hard on me for this one but next one is where the important conversations come in.

Thank you so much for sticking by while I try and get chapters done as fast as possible; it means a lot! Have a great week wherever you are and I bid you all adieu!

~ Eclipse