12/24/03:  Happy Christmas Eve! (for those who observe it).  Here's my present to you - a quick update, but with a warning - I cheated!  I have this huge flashback near the end that I copied over from a challenge I wrote at Portkey.  Since I never posted it on my collection of one-shots, I added it here.  The flashback itself is as long as a normal chapter, so really it's two chapters for the price of one.  I apologize to anyone who has read the original version (like Facade1).

14. Back to the Beginning

The accident site was easy to identify from all the flashing lights of the Muggle police cars.  As Harry approached, he also saw that the Aurors were also in full force.  Harry approached the edge of the screening charm that would hide magical activity when a large wizard in Muggle clothing stopped him.

"Excuse me, sir.  Can I help you?" the large wizard asked politely but firmly, not really looking at Harry.  His purpose was to prevent any Muggles and curious magicals from accidentally stumbling upon the Aurors.  Harry pointed at the scar on his forehead, and the wizard's eyes widened with recognition.  "Er, sorry Detective, I didn't recognize you.  The others are by the car; you can't miss them."

"Thanks," Harry said and entered the accident scene.  The 'bouncer' was right – Harry immediately spotted Robert and the others huddled near the wreckage of a car.  Nick Clarke noticed him as he walked up.

"Hey Potter."

"Nick, Darren, Robert," Harry said, nodding at each of the detectives in turn.  "What'd I miss?"

Robert waved in the general direction of the crash.  "Looks like Tway got himself into a car accident.  Forensics is going over it now to see if there's anything more."

Harry nodded and turned his attention to the mangled remains of Tway's vehicle.  While magical cars were, despite appearances, much safer than their Muggle counterparts, accidents still happened, so it was possible that this wasn't part of some dastardly plot.  After about ten minutes of standing around with nothing to do, the forensics lead walked up to their huddle.

"Ah, David, good to see you again," Robert said amicably as he offered his hand.  David Harrington, the same forensics investigator from Magical Solutions, greeted the detectives.  "What news?"

"Fortunately this time I can give you more information then last time.  This was definitely not a simple car accident.  There's a faint, but unmistakable, apparition signature in the passenger seat, indicating Tway had a passenger.  A test of the metal shows it was deformed about an hour ago, and the apparition trace occurred right around that time as well.  Although it is possible that someone apparated into the passenger seat just after the accident, it would be a very uncomfortable place to be, and it begs the question of why that person didn't stick around.  It's more likely that someone apparated out of the car just prior to the collision."

"What about Tway?  Cause of death?"

Harrington shrugged.  "It was a very hard collision.  Tway's body suffered a high number and great variety of injuries from the crash; there's no way to tell if any of them are out of the ordinary."

"All right, thanks David."

"My pleasure detectives.  We'll be working on the crash for a bit longer; hopefully we can trace the apparition signature," Harrington said before returning to his team.  Harry looked to Robert for instructions.

"All right, let's see what we can find.  I know the Muggles have already questioned the eyewitnesses, but perhaps a little magical assistance will help jog a few memories.  Get to it."

Harry and the others fanned out, mingling with the Muggle police.  Working alongside the Muggle police at the same place was always a tricky affair, but the clean-up crew had already cast their masking and memory charms, so it was more the inconvenience of a crowded accident site then anything else.  Harry sidestepped a wizard who was cataloguing the scene for Imagery and approached a group of witnesses.  After listening to various people talk for fifteen minutes and asking a few questions of his own, Harry found nothing of value.  No one had seen anything out of the ordinary beyond a car speeding to its doom.  Harry also walked by the car itself and examined the remains of the vehicle.  Not finding anything there either, Harry returned to where the other detectives were standing.

"Anything?"  Negative replies answered Robert's questions.  "All right, Potter and I are going home then, call us if you find anything useful.  Clarke and Price, figure it out.  See if you can follow the apparition signature," Robert said in a stern voice before stalking off.  Bewildered both at the tone of his partner and the fact that neither Clarke nor Price protested, Harry followed to catch up with his partner.

"What was that all about?  And why aren't we helping in the investigation?"

Robert stopped and turned, irritation now visible on his face.  "Clarke and Price are going to spend the rest of their Friday night here because they were supposed to keep Tway safe," Robert said, then slapped a fist into his palm in anger.  "Damnit!  What were those two doing?  Sleeping on the job?"

"But-"

"Listen Harry, there'll be plenty for us to do later; I doubt those two will be able to solve this in one weekend.  We've worked hard enough.  I'm going home to my wife and kids, get a good night's sleep, perhaps do some housework tomorrow, and take the kids to the park on Sunday."

"But-"

"Harry!  Stop trying to be super-detective!  Clarke and Price, despite my earlier outburst, are perfectly capable detectives.  They can handle this for now.  Go home.  What I said back at the office still stand: I'll see you Monday."  And with that, Robert turned and climbed into his car and zoomed off.  Harry looked around the accident scene for a moment, debating whether or not to stay and help.  But the idea of spending his Friday night here wasn't tempting at all (it would be two Friday nights in a row spent at a crime scene), so Harry apparated home.

*********************************

Saturday morning brought a lot of sun and only a few clouds, Harry was of two minds about his plans for the day.  On the one hand, he wasn't excited about the memorial; large crowds and painful memories were not his idea of a good time.  But on the other hand, it would be nice to see Hogwarts again, and it was likely Hermione would be there…

Harry showered and shaved, and dressed in his best robes.  He had already floo'ed Ron and told him that they would meet there - Harry wanted to go a bit early and wander the old castle, reminisce in private.  With a faint pop, Harry apparated into Hogsmeade near the train station.  It was morning, and there were no carriages waiting to take the guests up to the castle.  Harry slowly walked up the long path to the castle, thinking of nothing in particular and simple basking in the memories of taking this very path many times all those years ago.  As the castle proper came into view, Harry fondly remembered the first time he saw Hogwarts in its full glory, from the lake as a first year.  Harry smiled as he recalled a gangly red head with dirt on his nose and a certain bossy know-it-all.

Harry was puzzled to see a group of small children run out the castle doors and towards the lake.  Two older children, probably fifteen or sixteen, followed the younger ones as they skipped happily across the grounds.  Harry entered the castle through the now-open doors, and set foot into Hogwarts for the first time in years.  Harry decided that Hogwarts hadn't changed much, if at all, since the last time he stood in its halls.  Without any plan in mind, Harry simply wandered the halls, taking time to peek in the library and the Great Hall before walking slowly to Gryffindor tower.  To his surprise, the fat lady wasn't guarding the entrance to the common room; instead, a portrait of a large man with a boarhound stood in the way.  Harry watched the man play with his dog for a few seconds until he was noticed.

"May I help you," the portrait asked.  "A bit too old to be around here, aren't you?"

"Er, I'm just visiting.  Don't suppose you'd let me in?"

"Password?"  Harry shook his head and held his hands up helplessly.  "Sorry then, rules are rules."

"I understand," Harry said, disappointed.  He had hoped to sweet-talk his way past the fat lady and wasn't counting on a different portrait to guard Gryffindor tower.   Just as Harry was about to turn away, a young voice called out. 

"Can I help you?"

Harry turned and saw a young witch, about fifteen years old with dirty blonde hair, looking at him curiously.  Although Harry was a stranger, the witch wasn't apprehensive or fearful, believing that nothing threatening could simply stroll into Hogwarts (though, if pressed, Harry was sure he could name a few from personal experience).

"Er, I'm fine, thanks.  I'm here for the memorial this afternoon.  I was just taking a look around."

The young witch nodded her understanding as she approached, and then, predictably, her eyes were drawn to the scar on his forehead and her face registered her recognition.  "E-excuse me, but are you…"

Harry gave her a bright smile - he could handle his fame in small doses.  He offered his hand to the girl.  "I'm Harry Potter, nice to meet you."

The girl, obviously star-struck, weakly took his hand.  "I-I'm Cassandra…Cassie Wallace, one of the counselors."

"Counselors?"

Cassie nodded and then noticed his confusion.  "Yes, I help look after the kids during the summer," she said helpfully.

"Kids during the summer?" Harry repeated, aware of how foolish he sounded.

Cassie nodded again, but before she could further explain her name was called out.  Harry looked behind her and saw a familiar figure approaching them.

"Miss Wallace, I've been looking for you – oh!  Is that Harry Potter I see?"

Harry gave his old Head of House a genuine smile.  "Professor McGonagall!" he said happily.  Although never one to be called warm and fuzzy, Minerva McGonagall held a special place in Harry's heart.  While Molly Weasley, at least for a while, played the 'mother' role, Professor McGonagall had always played the strict grandmother.  With all the people who either loved him, coddled him, hated him, or wanted to kill him, Professor McGonagall was a constant in his life – strict, but fair, and always looking out for his best interests.

"Please Harry," she said with a smile, "after all these years, surely you can call me Minerva?"

Harry grinned.  "I'm sorry Professor McGonagall.  No matter what happens, you'll always be Professor McGonagall to me."  Noticing a flicker of disappointment cross over her face, Harry quickly added, "it's a good thing, really!  It's like saying…grandmother," Harry added softly.

For a brief moment, McGonagall's stern face softened, and her eyes moistened.  But then it was gone, as quickly as it came.  "It really is good to see you again Harry."

*********************************

Harry had a light lunch with McGonagall and Cassie Wallace in the Gryffindor common room.  He learned that only a few years ago, someone had the bright idea of creating a summer camp at Hogwarts for kids under eleven.  It was limited to children whose magical abilities were beyond doubt, for it would be cruel to invite a child to Hogwarts summer camp, but turn around and not accept them for regular schooling.  It was also hoped that summer camp would ease the differences between the houses, as many of the first years will have known each other through camp, and hopefully those friendships would remain despite house placements.  Lunch was enjoyable and relaxed, but soon enough McGonagall and Cassie had to return to their duties, especially given the memorial that afternoon.  Harry bid them farewell and resumed his stroll down memory lane.

After spending an hour indoors, Harry made his way outside and walked the familiar path towards the Forbidden Forest.  He spotted the Wall in the distance, and his feet carried him towards it.  As he neared the Wall, he saw that there were a good number of flowers arrayed before it.  An elderly couple stood before one section of the Wall, holding each other.  Not wishing to intrude, Harry stood at the far end, and he remembered.

FLASHBACK – SEVENTH YEAR

In the early morning, Harry Potter walked slowly across the school grounds towards the lake. It was a walk he had taken every morning for the past two months, regardless of the weather. Harry slowly approached the spot where the names were - the names of those lost.

It was only four months ago that Harry Potter finally put an end to the terror of Lord Voldemort. Following a complicated and intricate plan worthy only of Albus Dumbledore, the two were placed in a situation where they could face each other alone, as fated by destiny.  After a build-up of seven years, Harry finally put an end, a real end, to Voldemort's reign of terror.

The celebrations around the world were great and extravagant; the entire wizarding world celebrated a new era of peace, and Harry Potter found himself once again the savior of the wizarding world.  But all was not right in Harry's world, and he didn't feel like a hero. In fact, he felt quiet the opposite. If not for Harry, Voldemort would not have risen in the first place. If he hadn't let Wormtail go free...if he hadn't taken the Tri-wizard Cup or somehow prevented Voldemort from taking his blood…if he'd only trained harder, he could have ended it sooner. But he didn't, and every lost soul was, in the final tally, his fault.

It was on one of his private walks while recuperating from his injuries that he saw it. By the lake, in a spot Harry had never really paid attention to, lay a small silver cross and a plaque. 'For Cedric Diggory' the plaque read. For hours Harry sat by the tiny memorial. At first, he had been surprised that he never noticed it before, but after that, the guilt over Cedric's death and the fact that he never truly honored the Hufflepuff ate away at him. As the last rays of sunlight faded over the lake, Harry decided to truly remember Cedric and all those who gave their lives in the fight against Voldemort.

Harry had remembered something Hermione had mentioned from her Muggle Studies class. Somewhere in the United States lay a memorial, a simple wall with the names of those who fell in a war engraved on it. Or maybe it was more than one war, or maybe there was more than one wall - Harry didn't remember; he was honestly surprised he remembered any of it at all. So, upon his release from the hospital ward, Harry donated a portion of his family's fortune to the creation of the memorial that now stood before him. Upon hearing what he was planning, many wizards and witches offered to provide financial support, but Harry refused them all. He was afraid that they would try and make it into something that honored the donors, and not the dead, or to make it bigger than he wanted. This was a memorial to those who died during Voldemort's second reign, and with Harry's clout, he was able to do as he pleased.

As was his custom every morning, Harry traced his finger over the first name: Cedric Diggory, the first to fall to a reborn Voldemort. His eyes traveled along the wall, reading each and every name on it, regardless of whether or not he actually knew the witch or wizard named. As always, he stopped at the name Sirius Black. He did not linger though, for Sirius' death was two years in the past, and so many had died since. Other names caught his attention, names of fellow classmates lost to death eaters.

But something was different this morning, something that had never happened before. A swishing sound captured his attention - the sound of a cloak or a robe, accompanied by the soft sounds of footsteps on grass. Harry found himself irritated that someone would interrupt his private grief, until, without having to look, he knew who it must be. "Hullo Hermione," he said.

"Harry," she said quietly. Harry turned around and saw, as expected, Hermione Granger standing just a few feet away, clutching her robes tightly around here. "Why?" she asked simply.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Why what?"

"Why do you do this, Harry? Every morning I watch you walk out here, every morning you stand before the Wall. Why do you do it?"

Harry turned back towards the wall, away from Hermione, and shrugged. "To remember."

Harry felt her move closer until she was standing right beside him. "Why?" she said again.

Harry felt himself growing impatient. "I told you why."

"No, you didn't. Everyone remembers, Harry. The mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters and sons and daughters of the people who died remember what was lost. But they don't come here, every morning. Only you do. So, why Harry? Why?"

Harry stood silently for a minute. Had it been any other person who asked him that question, Harry would have snapped at them in anger. This was his personal pain, not to be shared. But he learned last year that there could be nothing to be gained at yelling at Hermione. Unlike most people, Hermione would never back down before his wrath, not when she believed in what she was doing. So instead of yelling in anger, Harry considered her words. "I…I don't know," he finally said. "I don't know why I come here, only that I must."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione turn and look at him. Harry tried to avoid her eyes, but he felt an undeniable force compel him to face her. "It isn't always about you, Harry," she said, meeting his eyes. (A/N: the sentence said by Hermione is a tribute to one of my favorite stories, Epiphanies by romulus lupin over on Portkey.  He also writes a mighty fine essay on H/Hr.)

Harry only looked at her in confusion. "What?"

Hermione took a step closer, and Harry resisted the impulse to back away. "It isn't always about you Harry. These deaths, all these people…it wasn't about you, about the Boy-Who-Lived. Voldemort didn't kill all these people because of you."

Harry found he couldn't break away from her eyes. "But the prophecy, it is my fau-"

"No it isn't!" she said, almost angrily. "It's not your fault that Voldemort was a crazy, deranged psychopathic killer. It's not your fault Trelawny made some stupid prophecy about you. It's not your fault that your parents or Sirius died. Do you hear me Harry? These things happened to you; you didn't cause them to be."

Harry felt a tear sting the corner of his eye, and he finally looked away. "It's just so…hard, Hermione. I can't help feeling that if only-"

Harry felt Hermione move closer, put her arms around his waist and rest her head against his chest. "I hate that word. If.  We can spend all day playing 'what if?' but the fact remains is that Voldemort is dead. It's time to move on with our lives."

Harry put his arms around his best friend. "If only it were that easy to move on."

PRESENT DAY

Those words seemed to reverberate in his mind.  If only it were that easy to move on.  Harry turned away from the Wall and found himself walking towards the Quidditch stadium.  He hadn't thought about Quidditch in a long time, not after what had happened.  On one of Harry's first cases, while tracking down the few remaining Death Eaters, Harry had been struck in the leg by a powerful curse.  After months of rehabilitation and extensive spell-work, Harry could walk normally, but his healed leg wouldn't hold up to the stresses and pressure of flying a racing broom.  Quidditch was out of the question.  Harry could ride a gently, normal broom, but doing so was a mockery of his previous abilities.  One of his few joys – being able to soar through the air without care – had been taken from him.  But Quidditch hadn't always brought forth painful memories of what was lost.  In fact, it was Quidditch finally helped bring Harry closure.

FLASHBACK – SEVENTH YEAR

Today's Quidditch match, Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw, was the last of the season, Harry's last match at Hogwarts.  Both teams were undefeated heading into the final match, and the winner would earn the Quidditch Cup.  As Harry dressed in robes of scarlet and met the rest of the team in the locker rooms, he tried to put the feelings of guilt from his mind and concentrate on the match at hand.

Despite his expectations, Harry's defeat of Voldemort didn't free his mind from troubles; in fact, it had the opposite effect. Before, Harry was able to put aside the feelings of guilt by focusing on his mission of defeating Voldemort. But now that Voldemort was gone, Harry had nothing to stop the guilt from overwhelming him, invading his thoughts even while in the sanctuary of Quidditch. In Gryffindor's previous game, Harry had failed to catch the Snitch; he simply wasn't able to concentrate on the match. Fortunately, the Gryffindor chasers were up to the challenge and easily outscored the Hufflepuff chasers, making the 150 points of the Snitch irrelevant. But today's match against Ravenclaw would be different. Whoever caught the Snitch would likely determine the winner of the Quidditch Cup. Harry knew he had to focus, but at the same time, he knew he could not.

Madam Hooch released first the Bludgers and then the Snitch, and with a blow of her whistle, the Quaffle was put into play. Harry flew high above the stadium in a standard Seeker pattern, following his rival. He grimaced slightly; normally it was he who was shadowed, but today, with his concentration elsewhere, Harry knew it would be unlikely that he would spot the Snitch first. Instead, he was counting on the Ravenclaw to see the little golden ball for him, and then rely on his superior broom and flying skills to catch it first.

Without really thinking, Harry followed the Ravenclaw Seeker around the stadium, near the student bleachers. He vaguely heard cheers and encouragements reaching out towards him, as well as a few boos from the Slytherins. All of a sudden, a sound penetrated his morbid thoughts. Somehow, through the deafening roar of the crowd, Harry thought he heard Hermione's voice calling out to him. He was sure he was imagining it, since it would be near impossible to pick out one voice among the hundreds. Harry looked up towards the stands and was amazed that he instantly picked out Hermione in the bleachers, standing in front of Lavender and Pavarti; perhaps it was the constant flashes from Colin's camera that caught his attention. Harry didn't directly approach her, but fortunately the Ravenclaw's route passed by the Gryffindor seats. Hermione wasn't cheering - she was trying to say something to him. But though Harry couldn't make out the words, he could understand what she was saying as clearly as if only the two of them were there.

"It isn't always about you, Harry," she mouthed.

Harry stopped in mid-air as her words seemed to sweep over him. She had said that same thing earlier today. Was she right? Although Harry knew intellectually that she was, his heart still couldn't accept it. But somehow, when she said it-

Whack!

Harry instinctively ducked at the sound as he saw a Bludger went flying away from him. He looked around in surprise.

"Watch it there Harry! Keep your head in the game or a Bludger might knock it off," Jack Sloper teased before flying away. But Jack's eyes belied his light tone. He was worried. They were all worried about Harry Potter.  Harry saw that the Ravenclaw Seeker had pulled away, and he quickly caught up with him before settling into a figure-8 pattern. The adrenaline caused by the near miss fading away, Harry was left alone again with his thoughts.

It was strange that the entire school (except for some Slytherins) would cheer for Harry now. He remembered, only five years ago when the entire school thought he was the Heir of Slytherin. He had been absolutely miserable; even Hufflepuffs were afraid of him. How quickly people turned on him. But then he remembered Hermione and Ron standing by him, and it made him smile a little.

But the smile disappeared as he remembered that they weren't always by him. Ron had so quickly and easily dismissed him during fourth year. Harry remembered the feeling of being shunned again. He remembered the anger and frustration he felt as he stormed out of the common room – only to run into Hermione, holding a stack of toast in a napkin with an offer to walk around the lake. She somehow knew exactly what he needed right then.

But fourth year had its other horrors. Cedric's cold, lifeless eyes staring up at him, without even time to cry out in surprise before he was struck down. But then, Cedric's pale face disappeared, and Hermione's warm one filled his mind's eye as she kissed him for the first time on the platform. Harry mentally shook his head and tried to focus on his flying.

But the horrid, toad-like face of Delores Umbridge next invaded his head, and Harry unconsciously looked at his hand where the words "I will not tell lies" had been cut over and over again.  Just like before, the entire school had thought he was nutters, and Umbridge made his life miserable. It was only Hermione's idea of the DA club and the Quibbler article that kept him going that year.

Harry remembered the last moments of Sirius, his godfather. He had a happy, almost triumphant look on his face as he taunted Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry imagined that's how he looked in happier days, before Azkaban. But then, a spell from Lestrange struck him in the chest, and he went flying towards the veil, Harry helpless to stop it. It was possibly the worst period of his life, and Harry did not want to imagine what he might have done that summer if not for Hermione's letters.

Harry wavered slightly as he flew.  It was Hermione's letters that sustained him through that horrible summer.  She didn't press him for details, didn't badger him to talk about his feelings.  Her letters contained the perfect mix of sympathy, concern, the mundane, and news from the Order.  It was always that way, wasn't it? Whenever something bad happened to Harry, Hermione always knew the perfect way to cheer him up, or at least to keep him from brooding too much. Perhaps that's why, after thinking he had been possessed by Voldemort to attack Mr. Weasley, Harry came out of Buckbeak's room so easily at Hermione's request when he so actively avoided everyone else. He trusted her and somehow knew she would make things better.

Harry was broken out of his thoughts when he noticed that the Ravenclaw seeker had again pulled away. Harry lowered the nose of his broom and swiftly caught up. Harry thought back to sixth year, when he finally told his two best friends about the prophecy. Harry had always known he was a marked man, but the knowledge of prophecy was a heavy burden, one that threatened to crush him. Ron reacted as Harry had expected – initially shocked, then supportive, even trying to make a few jokes along the way. But Hermione…Hermione's reaction surprised him. He expected her to be angry with him, for either keeping the secret so long or for believing in foolish prophecies, or perhaps she would rush off to the library to look for something to help. But she did none of those things. Instead, she simply walked right up to him and hugged him, tears silently falling from her eyes. Once again, she somehow knew exactly what he needed. Not a lecture, not a plan of action; just a simple hug to know that he was still loved and accepted.

Harry fast-forwarded to the end of the year, when Stephen Cornfoot, a Ravenclaw in his year, had died in the temple. Stephen had stayed behind so that the others could flee the crumbling building, and his crushed body was found days later. Feeling the weight of his friend's death, Harry had fled to most private place he knew of – the chamber that once held the Philosopher's Stone. He should have known better, for only an hour later Hermione appeared. They looked at each other for a moment before Hermione moved forward and sat beside him, cradling his head on her lap. He didn't know how long they sat there together, and they didn't speak a word, but somehow he felt better upon leaving the place. Harry realized that Hermione had always been there for him after each horrible event in his life to pull him back from the brink of despair. Harry mused that perhaps that was why he hasn't emerged from his current depression; he hadn't gone to Hermione since the memorial was built. Harry knew at that moment that, though the demons may never leave him, he could face them as long as Hermione was there.

Then, as if fate were simply waiting for him to come to that conclusion, Harry noticed a flash of gold below him. The Snitch! Harry flicked his eyes towards the scoreboard. Gryffindor was losing by 80 points, so he was free to go after the Snitch. Harry instantly went into a dive, quickly gaining on the little ball. The Ravenclaw seeker had excellent reactions and immediately followed, but Harry's superior broom and flying skills only increased his lead. Harry was moments away from ending the game when the Snitch suddenly switch directions and flew up towards the sky. Harry changed directions and followed, but flying up was measurably slower than flying down, as he was fighting both gravity and his own weight. But Harry was determined, and he slowly closed the gap. Then the Snitch made its mistake: it veered off to the side. Harry adjusted his angle of attack and intercepted the little ball, grasping it in his hand. He had caught the Snitch! Harry heard a thunderous roar from the crowd, and he looked down, surprised to see how far above the stadium he was. Harry grinned happily, looking in delight at the golden ball that still struggled in his fist. Harry flew a slow spiral back down towards the stadium, wishing to enjoy his moment of privacy up high in the sky. The good feelings were back: the exhilaration, the freedom, and the pure joy. Harry knew the guilt was still there, but it no longer dominated his thoughts.

As Harry circled downwards, he looked over the stands at the cheering crowd. He saw many shouting up at him, but he couldn't make out anything specific. As his eyes wandered the stadium, he somehow picked her out from the crowd. Hermione. He would know her form, that hair, anywhere. Harry felt his heart swell, and not only from catching the Snitch. Harry felt an overpowering need to see Hermione, to share his happiness with her. He pointed his broom in her direction and flew to her. He saw her happy face as she waved and cheered. When she realized he was flying at her, she leaned as far over the edge of the bleacher as safety would allow.

"Hermione!" he yelled as loudly as he could when he was close to the stands. Hermione smiled but shook her head, indicating that she couldn't hear him. "Hermione!" he yelled again, but she still couldn't hear him. She was saying something to him now, and Harry couldn't make out her words. She shrugged then just smiled at him, and he saw her mouth the word, "Later."

But later wasn't soon enough for Harry. He was caught up in the moment, happy and buoyant. Harry inched his broom closer, and Hermione leaned down, a curious smile on her face. They were only a foot away from each other when Harry suddenly found he didn't know what to say. What could he say that would express how grateful he was for her, to show her how important she was to him and how much he needed her? Harry looked into her eyes and reacted without thinking. He moved his broom even closer and leaned up. Just as he had caught the snitch in his hand, Harry captured Hermione lips with his own. He felt her surprise, a surprise that matched his own. But it felt so right to Harry, as if he was meant to do this. For a moment, Harry was suddenly filled with fear, a fear worse then when he faced off against Voldemort. What if she was disgusted by the kiss? What if she rejected him and left him? How would he go on without her? But all the fears evaporated when he felt her mouth respond. Harry spent a few blissful moments kissing her before they broke apart. They rested their foreheads against each other, their noses touching.

"I think I love you," Harry said, looking into her eyes.

He saw tears slowly forming. "I think I love you too," she replied.

PRESENT DAY

As Harry stood in the center of the pitch, he unconsciously touched his lips as he remembered that day, many years ago.  Harry had turned a corner, emotionally, that day.  Although some of the guilt would always be with him, it would no longer overwhelm him, not since that kiss.  Harry looked towards the entrance to the stadium, and in his mind's eye he could picture Hermione happily running towards him right after the match.  Then, just like a Muggle movie, the real Hermione replaced the image of a seventeen year-old Hermione.  Harry shook his head slightly and rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't imagining things.  "What are you doing here?" he asked with a smile as she approached him.

Hermione grinned.  "I had an appointment with Minerva about the curriculum for the summer camp.  When she said you were here too, I figured you'd be out here."

Harry raised an eyebrow.  "Really?"

Hermione shrugged.  "Well, either here or at the Wall."

Harry said nothing, but looked at her with a goofy smile.  Hermione waited for him to say anything, and couldn't help but smile herself at the look on Harry's face.  "What?  What is it?  Do I have something on my face?" she asked.

Harry shook his head in wonder.  "I was just at the Wall.  It's amazing how, after all these years, you still know me so well."

Hermione walked up to Harry.  "I guess some things never change."

"I guess not."

They stood there a few feet apart, not saying anything, but simply looking at each other.  Harry would have expected there to be an awkwardness between them, after being on bad terms for so long.  But for some reason, perhaps it was being back at Hogwarts, it was a comfortable silence.  Finally, Hermione cleared her throat.  "We should get going.  The service will start soon."

Harry nodded, and then gave in to an impulse - he offered her his arm.  "Shall we?"

Hermione laughed lightly then took his arm, and the two walked back towards the castle.

A/N: Happy Holidays!  Since I'm not going to be working much until the new year, there probably won't be any updates, so be safe everyone!  As I said before, the flashback was in response to a challenge over at Portkey by Muddgutts.  He drew a wonderful picture that portrays that kiss, and challenged people to write a story that explains it.  Since I hadn't added it to my collection of one-shots, I decided to add it here in response to Calen's comment about not being able to see them together.

Alex20 and Calen: Actually, when I first wrote the scene outside the restaurant, Harry says sorry, Hermione says sorry, and everyone's happy.  But I rewrote it because, if you think about it, Hermione didn't do anything wrong.  I rewrote chapter 5 to show that Harry really broke them up with his obsession with his job.  I mean, people get divorced in real life when the husband (or wife) spends all their time at work.  Harry's the same way, except he's really obsessed with it, feeling like it's his purpose, not just a job.  So, Hermione decides to break up with him, perhaps hoping he'll realize somethings, but the whole Percy thing messed up any chance for reconciliation, and Hermione probably underestimated Harry's ability to angst.  But even if they broke up, they could still be friends, but Harry pushed her away and rejected every attempt to be friendly.  So that's why Harry's apologizing.

Kraeg001: no problem, I'm just happy we cleared everything up :)

Facade1: Hope you didn't mind re-reading Quidditch scenes.   Anyways, BUU better be H/Hr or else…or else…well, let's just say you don't want to know ;)

Ides of March: Thanks for the compliments!  And I love Subservience!

sethro72: Yeah, you're right – neither one of them will just come out and say how they feel.  It's still too awkward after all the years of separation.  But I won't be making Harry a teacher just in case I want to make a sequel, sorta like the continuing adventures of Detective Potter.  Of course, I still have to write the sequel to Decisions next.

Rocky235 and Akuma-sama: laughs  well, I don't want to offend any female readers with an overt jello/mud wrestling scene…maybe I'll work something in somewhere though ;)

Risty: I think poor Cho gets the short end of the stick in fanfic.  I mean, she's nice enough and doesn't do anything malicious.  I figure after 10 years she's had time to recover and be herself.