I cried so long last night, too long, and even though that's supposed to make you feel better, it didn't.

I don't know where or when, but I remember reading something about how you cry when you have a complete breakdown in communication. When there are no words to describe how you're feeling and when you can't face another person or talk to them rationally, you cry. It's the only outlet you've got.

This morning, when I saw him outside my door, I felt like I was progressing through the five stages of grief, except that I'd passed right by denial and straight to anger and resentment.

"I love you," he stood there and said to me. It's a slap in the face. It's adding insult to injury.

I needed to get out of the house for a while, because he was everywhere I looked, even when he wasn't. And every corner, every landmark inside the rooms and the hallways, it held some significance, and it was so bright when I'd look at it. I couldn't stand to be reminded of how uncomfortable the stairs are when you're lying on them or how cold the kitchen tiles are when somebody lifts you up, and then your feet come back down, toes first.

As I was looking for my shoes, he lingered in the doorway behind me, looking almost pitiful enough to earn my sympathy, but not quite. Maybe not even close, I don't even know anymore.

"Hermione?"

I don't answer as I slip one foot into a running shoe and bend over to tie the laces.

"I'm 100% in the wrong here." He says.

"No shit."

"I can be angry at myself but I can't be angry at you and I can't blame you for any of it."

I roll my eyes at him.

"So, whatever happens here, you have to decide that. It's shitty for me to be putting you in this position, but I guess that's just another thing that's my fault."

"I don't feel sorry for you, Harry." It occurs to me that it's a cruel thing to say, but it's also truthful.

"I'm not asking you to. I'm just, I don't know, hoping that one mistake doesn't add up to all the good things."

"It doesn't," I say and he looks up. "But it stomps all over them. I can't stand here and look at you and imagine what it was like with her. I tortured myself with that all night and felt like throwing up. I'm going out."

I walk out the door before he's had a chance to regroup and come up with a plan B. I don't want any part of it.




The thing that really surprises me is that it's not him I'm so much angry with as it is myself.

I knew, I knew this would never work. Not only did I express that verbally, but in writing as well. There were at least a half a dozen good reasons for why we never should have been in this place to start with. I allowed him to trample all over that, I allowed him to convince me that falling in love with him negated all of that.

I told him that there is too much at stake here. He said that in relationships there are no guarantees. I just didn't take note of that, I guess.

And it hurts so much that he's gone. Of course he's still here, probably in the same spot I left him in, but that image I had of who he is and how he felt about me is gone, and that's all that matters now.

The risk to benefit ratio was too high and now I'm left with nothing.

And I'm angry that I knew all along this is what the end of the road would be like.

And I'm even angrier I was so head over heels in love with him.

And I'm most angry that I still feel that way, that I'm still in love with him as much as I hate him, but worse yet, maybe even more.

It's late evening when I stumble back into the house and he's up, waiting for me.

"Lavender called, she asked to tell you to come over to her place for New Year's.  She also still has Crookshanks and Bumpy."

Oh, that's tomorrow. I didn't even remember.

"Okay." It doesn't sound bad; I want to go. I need to be among other people.

"She also invited me." He says apologetically.

"So? Go if you want.  Will Ron be there?"

"Ron won't be coming back until after New Years.  But I didn't think--"

"Harry, I don't need this drama. If you want to go, go. I'm not stopping you."

"Hermione, do you want to stay here tomorrow?"

"What?"

"I thought, maybe we could talk or something. Or just be here. It's not how I imagined tomorrow."

"That makes two of us. I can't talk to you about this." I shake my head vehemently.

"Why not? Things will never change then."

"Oh, what? I'm supposed to sit here the day after you drop this bombshell on me and forgive you and then usher the new year in up there?" I motion toward our bedrooms.

"No. I mean, yes, I want you to forgive me, but I don't expect you'd do it so soon."

"The fact you expect it at all makes you a pretty big ass, Harry." I can throw punches with the best of them.

"I'm sorry. I love you and I'm sorry and I know you've told me to stop saying that, but it's the only thing I've got, so I have to hope that maybe you still feel the same way, even if you're angry now."

"That I love you?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Honestly, Harry, what difference would it make? I loved you while you were with her too and here we are. It counts for nothing."




*



"That's not true." I know that my actions probably make my denial null and void, but as much as she doesn't want to believe me, it's true. If she loves me, even now – especially now – maybe I can forgive myself. Maybe I can stop feeling dead inside.

"I won't go to Lavender's" I decide. "I want you to have a good time."

"Your being there won't stop me from having a good time," she shrugs. "I don't care what you do."

I think I'd feel better if she yelled at me or threw things or told me she hated me. Anything other than this cold indifference.

I nod, a lump forming in my throat. My eyes are burning again and I can't decide whether to walk away or to fall at her feet.

"Okay."

She nods and starts up the stairs.

"Hermione?"

"What?" she sighs.

"I'm sorry. I know it doesn't mean a lot; maybe it doesn't mean anything, but I am. I'm sorry that I didn't respect you… that I didn't respect us."

She stops halfway up the stairs and turns to me.

"Does it hurt, Harry?"

I nod, unable to speak.

"Good."


***





Truth be told, I'm really not in the mood for a party, but I know if I don't go, Lavender will be insulted and she'll question me until she digs up the dirt on what is going on between Hermione and I. I'd rather she didn't know the gory details.

I dress and head downstairs.  Hermione is coming out of her own room and she's wearing a sparkly black sweater and a long, shimmery skirt.

"You look beautiful," I tell her wistfully.

"Thank you," she says and brushes past me.

"Do you want to go with me?" I offer.

"No."

"It's going to look kind of ridiculous if we show up separately."

"I don't really care how it looks," she says quietly, pulling her coat on and buttoning it.

"Do you want to be interrogated by Lavender?"

"I have nothing to hide," she says pointedly.

I sigh.

"Suit yourself."

For a brief moment, I think I see her hesitate but then she sets her jaw determinedly and opens the door to leave.

"I'll see you later," I tell her and she slams the door behind her.

By the time I get to Lavender's, the party is in full swing and she greets from across the room and hollers at me to throw my jacket in her room.

I do so and wander back into the kitchen, trying to be inconspicuous as I search for Hermione in the crowd.

She's in the living room, talking to some guy I don't know and suddenly, a hot flash of jealousy courses through my body. I shake my head, knowing that I have no right to be jealous after what I've done.

I stand apart from everybody for a few minutes before Lavender breaks free of the crowd she was with and comes over to me.  I suddenly get cold feet and look around desperatel for a place to hide.  I know Lavender will squeeze it out of me, and it's only a matter of time until she tells Ron and he puts me in a coma.  Why did I come here again?

"Do you want a drink?" she offers.

"No, thanks."

"Are you being anti-social this evening?" she teases, taking note of my solitude.

I shrug in reply and she follows my gaze to Hermione.

"What's going on?" she asks and I shrug again.

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"I'm not lying."

"Harry, you are so full of shit. You two have been like glue since day one and now you're in one room and she's in the other?"

"We're branching out," I joke feebly.

"What, did you screw around on her?" she guesses jokingly.

When I don't say anything, her eyes widen in shock and she punches me. Not playfully in any sense of the word.  The girl is strong.

"You bastard!" she hisses.

I feel my face getting hot, full of shame.

"I'm not proud of myself, Lavender."

She grabs my arm painfully and forces me to follow her out of the room. She leads me into her bedroom and shuts the door behind us.

"I can't believe you, Harry!"

"Yeah, well, I can't believe me either."

"What is wrong with you?" She's glaring at me now and jabs her pointy finger into my chest several times.  This must be what its like to get shot.

"I know, Lavender. Look, I don't need this from you."

"You need it from somebody."

Jab.

"It's between Hermione and I."

"She's my friend."

Jab.

"She's mine too."

"Not anymore, I bet."

Jab, jab, jab.

"Damn it, Lavender!" I cry. "Will you stop?"

"Does it hurt, Harry?"

It's the second time I've been asked that question in the last twenty-four hours.

"Yes."

"A lot?"

I nod.

She stops stabbing me with her finger.

"Merlin, Harry. She told me you told her you love her."

"I do."

"You have a funny way of showing it."

"I didn't have sex with her."

Lavender stares at me.

"I thought you said you screwed around on her."

"I did."

"But…"

"I… I almost did. But then, I didn't."

"Why'd you stop?" she asks.

"Her mom came home," I admit sheepishly.

"So… had her mom not interrupted, you would've fucked her?"

"Lavender, you're so crass."

She rolls her eyes at me. "What, were you making looove to this hoochie?"

I glare at her. "No!"

"Then my choice of vocabulary wasn't wrong, was it?"

It's semantics and we both know it.

"Have you told Hermione that you didn't go all the way with… what's her name?"

"Stephanie."

"Did you tell Hermione?"

I shake my head. "She won't listen to a word I say."

Lavender sits on the edge of her bed.

"How'd she find out?" she wants to know.

"I told her."

She shakes her head.

"Wow."

"What?"

"You're dumb."

"What, am I supposed to lie to her forever? It was eating away at me, Lavender!"

"Oh, well… then by all means, make her feel as awful as you do. Caring is sharing," she rolls her eyes at me again.

"I don't want our relationship to be based on lies."

"Well, you accomplished that, now that you don't have a relationship to speak of."

"Okay, you know what, Lavender? I don't need this."

She grabs my arm, forcing me to stay put.

"So, what'd you do? Come home and announce it to her over dinner?"

I'm quiet again.

"Did you leave her a note?" she teases.


"I'd rather not discuss details with you" I say. "It's between me and her."

"Fine," she shrugs, "I'll just ask her."

She turns to do just that.

"I made love to her."

She's confused.

"I thought you just said…"

"Not her! Hermione!"

Follow the bouncing ball, Lavender.

"Recently?" her eyes are wide again.

"Before I told her," I nod glumly.

"And then you told her?!" she shrieks.  "You did it FIRST and you told her AFTER!?!?"

"Yeah," I whisper.

"Wow.  You huge bloody idiot.  Dumb bastard."

"Yeah."

"Hermione loves you," she says after a minute. "Even still, I'd bet."

I look up at her.

"You think?"

"Yeah," she nods. "So she wouldn't…no she's a good person…"

"What?"

"I don't." She shakes her head.  "And I'm not as good a person as she is…"

"You don't what?  What are you talking about?"

"I don't have that problem, Harry. I don't love you.  So I'm allowed to do this." 

I look at her confused.  Then she slaps me so hard across the face that I feel as if it were hit by a rogue bludger.  She throws my jacket at me.

"Go home. Let her start this year in peace."

She flounces out of her room without another look back.