It's been so long since I've been by myself
And I need this more than you will ever know
People like you and me never felt the breeze
People like you and me will never know the easy way

AUGUST 19TH, 1AM

After running out of the Burrow like a madwoman, I found a small and secluded forest nearby where I hid from the rest of the world for hours. When I finally came back the sun had already set and it was extremely late. The house was dark and since I didn't want to disturb anyone after my earlier display, I found a soft patch of grass and swiftly fell asleep.

A few hours after falling asleep I woke up to feel someone shifting my head around to push a pillow underneath me and a comfortable warmth surrounded me when a thick blanket followed moments later. Cracking one eye open slightly I could see Hermione sitting next to me, looking off into the night sky.

"Thanks," I mumbled. She looked down at me and seemed startled for a moment but soon she graced me with a warm smile.

"Sorry if I woke you," she said apologetically. I noticed she was still in her nightclothes so I slid over and lifted a corner of the blanket. She took the hint immediately and lay down next to me. We lay their staring up at the stars, both our heads resting on the same pillow.

"Will you tell me about him?" I asked softly. Her body tensed up for a moment and then she seemed to relax once more, "You don't have to talk about him if you don't want to, but I'd love to know more about my father."

"So you've finally accepted the fact that Harry was your father." It was more of a statement then a question but I answered anyway.

"I suppose I have."

"Draco mentioned you were having a problem accepting that Harry Potter and James Riddle were the same person," she stated.

"No," I said as I shook my head fiercely, "they definitely were not the same person."

"I suppose not," she responded. We lay there in silence for a few minutes more before I spoke again.

"I'm somewhat confused by my father's past," I said, "it seems like a lot of people knew him judging by the amount of books, but in the books I've read about him, it seems like each person knew a different boy named Harry Potter."

"I don't understand what you mean," Hermione said, confusion prevalent in her voice.

"Each book about Harry Potter describes his characteristics and personality," I explained, "but each book describes him differently. I can understand that he may have been perceived differently by different people, but the different perceptions from person to person on who exactly Harry Potter was are so far apart from each other that it seems like each person who knew him is describing a completely different boy named Harry Potter than the person before them. Does that make sense?" I asked, giving her a quizzical look. She seemed to think for a moment before answering.

"Yes, I see what you mean. Harry was perceived differently to different people, or should I say, he made sure he was perceived differently to different people."

"What do you mean?" I questioned.

"I like to think I knew the real Harry Potter," she began, "but I know that I never knew him, not really at least. But I can't feel angry or sad about it, because no one knew the real Harry Potter. He never wanted anyone to know the real him and in some ways he was never allowed to be the real him." She lazily drew lines from star to star with one finger and I couldn't help but be drawn to the hypnotic movement.

"He was born simply Harry Potter and I suppose in that first year of his life he was the closest to being the true Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter. After his parents died and he defeated Voldemort the first time he became The Boy Who Lived. He was sent to live with the Dursleys," she sneered the name much like Draco does; "there he became the abused and mistreated orphan Harry Potter. When he went to Hogwarts he returned to being The Boy Who Lived, but he also became the Gryffindor Golden Boy."

"Why Golden Boy?" I asked as I lifted up a finger to join her in making lines across the sky.

"Because he could do no wrong," she explained with a chuckle, "at least in Professor Dumbledore's eyes he could do no wrong. He constantly broke rules, sometimes dragging Ron and me along in the process, not that we didn't enjoy every moment of it. I often wonder how many adventures he got into when we weren't around." She sighed and paused for a moment before sinking into her memories.

"After fifth year he became a killer, not by choice mind you, but necessity. We weren't sure what became of him right away since we didn't see him again until we were in our seventh year," she let out a small sigh, "I remember in our sixth year it was so hard without him there. All the students at Hogwarts would make up their own stories of his heroism and bravery. We all imagined him out in the world, fighting evil and dispensing justice to wrong-doers like Superman." A laugh that turned into a sob escaped her and I reached over to give her hand a squeeze.

"Ron and I made an oath to continue with Dumbledore's Army which we renamed the Defense Association. A huge number of students joined and we worked really hard. Ron and I set our sights on becoming aurors so we could fight alongside Harry once we were done with school and it would be just like old times." She paused for a moment as if she were trying to compose herself.

"You don't have to continue if you don't want to," I whispered with concern. She wiped the tears from her eyes and flashed me a sad smile.

"No, I'd like to keep talking," she explained, "It feels good to talk about it with someone."

"Haven't you ever talked about this with anyone?" I asked in surprise.

"Only Ron and Ginny," she replied with a shrug, "and they were there so they know what happened already."

"Go ahead then," I stated firmly, "I'll be happy to listen."

"Thank you," she responded and gave me another sad smile before she continued. "I thought I was rather good at teaching defense. Ron tried to help but he wasn't a very good teacher. Harry was the best of course, but defense was a huge part of Harry's life so it was only a given that he would excel at it."

"Even though I wasn't the best teacher, by the end of sixth year I was confident that everyone in the DA could protect him or herself fairly well should the need arise," she said and then laughed softly to herself, "It was obvious that Ron and I had spent too much time with Harry."

"What do you mean?" I asked as I pushed myself up to rest on one elbow so I could look down at her.

"Ron and I were children, barely sixteen years old, yet somehow we got it into our heads that we were older than that. We were pompous that year, thinking that we knew so much more and had so much more experience then everyone else," she explained.

"So my father was pompous?" I questioned. She shook her head.

"No," she replied, "that's not what I mean. Harry never wanted fame, recognition or adventure; he just wanted to be normal. It was impossible for him to live as a normal child and when he got older it was impossible to live as a normal teenager. He had far more experience dealing with the world then a normal sixteen year-old teenager; he had to grow up before everyone else did."

"Ron and I had tried to be there for him the best that we could but we were still only children," she explained, "and the rift between us grew even wider after we saw him again in our seventh year."

"What happened that year?" I asked, "It's not mentioned in any of the books."

"Of course it's not," she replied softly, "there's hardly any mention of Harry's life between his sixteenth birthday and the day he defeated Voldemort. It's not something anyone really wanted to remember."

"But I'm getting off topic here," she said and then paused as if she were trying to remember something. I lay back down next to her on the grass and waited for her to continue.

"It was the third weekend of our seventh year and it was a Hogsmeade weekend so everyone, third year and above, would be visiting the village. Everyone in the DA decided to go also in order to provide protection for the younger years in case there was a Death Eater attack. Around noon the attack came and the DA leapt into action, valiantly trying to protect the other children as well as defend themselves."

"Wow, that was pretty brave of you," was my only reply. A grimace formed on her lips as if she were recalling something truly distasteful.

"It was pretty idiotic of us," she said dryly, "We were only a bunch of stupid teenagers who had taught each other defensive spells for a couple years or so, we were no match for the Death Eaters."

"I don't understand," I interrupted, "In your fifth year you went up against members of Voldemort's inner circle and came out alive."

"Yes, we were very lucky at the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort assumed we wouldn't put up much of a fight," said Hermione, "but in Hogsmeade he didn't send his inner circle, he sent the rank and file Death Eaters and they were seasoned veterans who could fight faster and harder then most aurors." I gave her a confused look as I tried to process this new information.

"Are you telling me that Voldemort's lower Death Eaters fought better then his inner circle?"

"Of course," she replied, "the inner circle consisted of the most powerful and most intelligent Death Eaters. They were Voldemort's strategists and advisors."

"I still don't understand," I stated.

"Think of it this way," she explained, "If Voldemort was America's president, then the inner circle would be like his cabinet or the congress. They help make the decisions. But if there's a conflict, who does the fighting?" I thought about the question for a moment before realization dawned on me.

"The soldiers," I whispered.

"Exactly," she said smartly, "The Death Eaters that attacked Hogsmeade were like marines. They were specially trained to do one job and one job only."

"Fight?" I asked.

"No," she replied, "kill. They killed anyone and anything in their way. We were no match with our stunning spells and counter-curses. After all," she added quietly, "there's no counter for the killing curse."

"How did you survive then?" I asked in wonderment.

"How does one combat a force that has been trained to kill with no hesitation?" she questioned. I thought for a moment before answering.

"With a force trained to do the same thing?" I replied hesitantly. She nodded and then pushed herself up to sit cross legged on the grass next to me.

"That force was Harry," she said as she rested her elbows on her knees with her chin resting on her knuckles, "He fought like a madman, throwing out the killing curse with no trouble at all. I couldn't believe that he was the same boy who once stuck his wand up a mountain troll's nose in an attempt to save me," she chuckled lightly and wiped more tears from her eyes. In the moonlight I could see that her eyes had become red and puffy.

"After the battle was over I remember that he stared at Ron and me and for a moment he looked as if he was going to walk over and speak to us," she continued, "I wanted to run to him and throw my arms around him but I didn't know if I should. I didn't know the new Harry Potter and so we ended up just staring at each other uncomfortably for a moment. Then Ron put an arm around my shoulder and began to lead me back to the castle."

"I glanced back and Harry seemed sad as we walked away from him but that moment passed and his eyes became hollow and lifeless again. I felt so completely horrible later that night and I wished more than anything to go back there and wrap my arms around him and tell him everything would be okay," she began to sob quietly and I pushed myself up off the ground to sit next to her. I gently draped one arm over her shoulder and pulled her close. She leaned into the contact and pushed her face into my shoulder and I could feel cool tears soaking through my shirt.

Hermione and I sat like that for at least another hour or so before she pushed herself away and wiped her eyes for the hundredth time that night. The wind picked up around us and we sat for a moment in silence, listening to nothing more than the rustling of leaves and the stirring of the grass.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said regretfully, "I didn't mean to fall apart there."

"Stop it right now," I said sternly as I shook a finger at her, "there's nothing to apologize for. I'm just glad that you feel you can talk to me." She gave me a wide smile and cleared her throat.

"Let me finish this and then we can get some sleep," she said and I nodded my head in agreement.

"Ron and I disbanded the DA after the attack. Our hearts weren't in it anymore and we felt pretty stupid about the whole thing. We also gave up on the idea of being aurors," she paused for a moment and I gave her a questioning look. She seemed to understand my silent question.

"The only reason we wanted to be aurors was to help Harry. After I saw him fight I knew that we would never be able to fight at Harry's side. I knew for a fact that I wouldn't be able to kill someone, and Ron agreed with me, so we decided to forget about the war outside of Hogwarts that year and just enjoy being the teenagers that we were. I still feel guilty for that."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because," she replied, "Harry was off fighting for us and there we were, safe at Hogwarts, worrying about dumb things like dating, Quidditch and grades."

"Don't feel bad," I said as I rubbed her back softly, "It's what he would've wanted."

"What do you mean?" she questioned. I just smiled at her for a moment before I lay back into the grass and rested my head on the pillow. My eyes closed and I could feel myself slowly slipping further into unconsciousness.

"He fought for you," I mumbled before I fell asleep completely, "he fought so that you could worry about the dumb teenage things that he never would be able to worry about." I could feel her slip under the blanket a few minutes later and the sound of her nearly silent crying lulled me into the nighttime world of nothingness.