Disclaimer: Anything HP is not mine.
Changing Leaves (2?)
Hermione awoke to someone softly stroking her hair. Opening her eyes, she was greeted with the same eyes that had always brought comfort to her, and for a fleeting moment she believed that all that had transpired the previous evening had been nothing but a terrible dream. And as she became aware of her surroundings, her senses were bombarded with unfamiliarities; the bed was too hard, the sheets too coarse on her skin, the stale air nothing like the fresh air that usually greeted her in the mornings. And those eyes, those eyes were the same ones that she had been looking into for the better part of her life, and they had always provided comfort, security, ease, and reassurance. But not on this morning. On this morning, as Hermione searched those piercing green eyes, she saw sadness. Overwhelming misery.
"I've been so worried about you," he whispered as he continued to brush his fingers through her hair in what should have been a loving gesture.
Hermione rolled onto her other side as a lump formed in her throat. Her eyes burned with tears that she didn't want to shed. She wanted to say something; she wanted to say a million things, but her throat had closed up and she was soon crying for all the emotions she had tried to drown in alcohol.
"Hermione, love, say something. Anything." That voice; that voice sounded as torn up as she did and Hermione desperately wanted to believe that to be true. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But – but it's better this way," he choked out.
"Harry, how can this be better?" Hermione managed to force out. And with every word she spoke, it felt as if her soul was being torn away from her body. "I love you," she whispered pleadingly, as if those were the magic words that righted all wrong.
Harry cast his eyes onto the floor in shame. "I know, and I love you, too. But we're not in love with each other. We were just friends and we were young; we still are. We weren't mature enough to understand. We didn't get to live the same childhood as everyone else, we didn't get to experience adolescence, we were confused. We mistook our love for something more because it seemed logical. But I don't want it to be logical, and I know you don't either. Being in love should be reckless, wild, passionate, anything but logical. It's not fair to either of us."
Hermione's sobs pierced the following silence like a dagger through Harry's heart. Hurting Hermione was the last thing in the world that he wanted to do, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to live the rest of his life knowing that he was the reason that she never knew passionate love. When they had moved past friendship, nothing between them had changed and that never bothered him because she was the woman he loved. They became closer physically, of course, but he had never seen, in their burgeoning relationship, the passion that she had for other facets of her life. After two years, he thought it was the right thing to do by asking for her hand in marriage. There was no doubt that they could live together happily for the rest of their lives. But soon after the engagement, he had been reunited with Ginny after her three year absence while working with her brother, Charlie. Seeing her again had awoken a part of him that told him that he wasn't in love with Hermione, and he would never be able to spend the rest of his life as her husband knowing that.
Both he and Ginny were overcome with guilt, yet both couldn't bear to anticipate the repercussions of the fiery temper that would come from telling Hermione the truth. Harry had been on the brink of hyperventilating when Hermione came home from her job as a researcher for St. Mungos. One look at her vibrant face, and he almost backed out. Yet somehow, he managed to reveal the truth. And now, he couldn't remember a word he had said. All he recalled was the shocked and crestfallen look on Hermione's face, how she wordlessly took off her princess-cut diamond engagement ring, summoned every last belonging of hers into a travel bag, and walked out of the front door. The reaction he got was far worse than anything he had anticipated. He had never felt more remorse and had never felt so ashamed; he wished that she had been angry, had shouted, and had thrown picture frames against the wall.
Harry stood and took a deep breath to try to quell the guilt from keeping the truth from Hermione for such a long period of time. "I've already taken my things out of the house, so you can go back home now," he said in a quiet voice.
"I don't want it," Hermione responded with more resentment than she meant to.
Harry nodded even though he knew she couldn't see. "You deserve to be happy, truly happy," he said as he placed a hand on the doorknob.
"How did you find me here?"
Harry turned around to see Hermione sitting up, facing him. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her face was glistening with the tears that were caused by him. And the sight drove the dagger deeper into his heavy heart. "He was here last night, but I gave my word that I wouldn't say anything." And when Hermione didn't respond, he left with his heart feeling bruised but knowing that both he and Hermione would be able to fully pursue true happiness.
Hermione refused to go back to the house that was meant to hold her dreams and future, but this also meant that she didn't have anywhere else to go. Always having too much pride than was good for her, she refused to ask for help from family or friends.
"What do you mean 'It's taken care of'?" Hermione asked reproachfully.
"Exactly what it means, Miss Granger. It's all been taken care of already," Tom, the innkeeper, tried to explain as Hermione attempted to pay for her room.
"You don't understand. How can it be taken care of when I haven't taken care of it?"
"With all due respect, Miss Granger, perhaps you should consider the possibility that someone else has taken it upon themselves to see to your hospitality. However, if you still insist on paying, I have no objections to accepting it," Tom added slyly.
Hermione placed her hands on the counter and leaned forward threateningly. "And who was this 'someone else'?" she asked in a harsh whisper.
"He made it very clear that I was not to reveal that information, and he also made it very clear that he knew for certain that you'd ask."
Feeling very annoyed, Hermione left the Leaky Cauldron in a huff and headed for Diagon Alley. After a hangover potion and a day of intense sulking, soul-searching, and introspection, she had reluctantly decided that Harry was, in fact, right about their relationship. She thought she was in love, but what did that mean exactly? She had nothing to compare it to. Who was to say that they were in love, or that they weren't in love? But she did know that with Harry, she had never felt the same excitement she experienced when finding a new book to be cherished, and love with the man she was meant to be with was supposed to be more exhilarating, stimulating, and electrifying than receiving a new book. That much she knew.
But this new realization in no way excused Harry for what he did. As much as she wanted to forgive and forget, for the sake of friendship, deep down she knew that that was not a likely possibility. He had taken her trust, her self-worth, and her pride. What if no other man would ever want her? What was she supposed to do now? Hermione had never even dipped her feet into the dating pool, and now she was almost twenty-two with no idea how to even start dating. In fact, she didn't even know if she wanted to. As far as she was concerned, this was something she never wanted to experience again. She would rather go back to the days of Voldemort than suffer heartbreak again.
Now without a room at the Leaky Cauldron and a house she refused to live in, Hermione decided it was time to search for a new place to piece her life back together. So, as a woman on a mission, she set off for Flourish and Blotts with purposeful strides and her chin held up high. She was still young; there was no reason to be worrying about the state of her love life (if she ever decided to have one again). Now was the perfect time to concentrate on career and define herself as Hermione Granger; Hermione Granger without Harry Potter.
At the fairly empty bookshop (as it wasn't overcrowded with school-bound Hogwarts students), she bought a copy of the Daily Prophet and settled herself at one of the empty tables on the upper level. Again, as a woman on a mission, she flipped directly to the realty section. At first, she was drawn to the four-bedroom houses that boasted spacious kitchens and living areas that were perfectly suited for… families. No, what she needed was a flat, something that wasn't appropriate for a family, something perfect for single life.
Hermione had three prospective flats circled, although none of them particularly piqued her interest, when a shadow was cast over her paper.
"Excuse me, but do you mind –" she started until she looked up to see who was impeding the start of her new life. "Oh. Bloody. Hell. Is it not enough that you torment me at work, now you have to pester me here, too?" she asked with less fervor than she usually reserved for Draco Malfoy.
"Well, well, well, Granger," Draco drawled as he invited himself to the seat across from Hermione. "Do my eyes deceive me? Do I sense trouble in paradise?"
Hermione scoffed, hoping it sounded believable. The last thing she needed was for Draco to affirm that she wasn't good enough as a woman. "I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy."
Draco smirked and leaned forward as if he were about to share something in confidence. "Where's your rock?"
Hermione hastily stretched the sleeve of her jumper down past her fingertips. "It's, er, it's getting cleaned."
Leaning back casually, Draco raised an eyebrow at her answer. "Then, pray tell, why are you browsing through the flats? Surely a one-bedroom flat is not what a young couple would look for to start their new family in. Are the two love birds suffering a lovers' quarrel?"
Hermione quickly folded up her Daily Prophet, fully intent on leaving the bookshop without uttering another word to the arrogant blond. She clutched the paper to her chest and turned away to leave.
With his features pulled into a scowl, Draco couldn't help but feel unsettled. With her head hung low, the haphazardly folded paper tucked under her chin, Hermione looked like a shy and reclusive girl who was afraid of being noticed. And that wasn't Hermione. No, that wasn't Hermione at all. In fact, Draco was even disconcerted by how much Hermione didn't look or act like Hermione. There was no spark in her eyes, no bounce to her bushy curls, no confidence in her steps, and no vigor in her voice. Hell, she didn't even tell him to go fuck himself, which Draco had come to see as something special as he was the only person she ever swore at. 'Damn, what the fuck did Potter do?' he thought to himself angrily. When he saw her passing for dead at the bar of the Leaky Cauldron the previous night, he knew something was wrong. After deciding to do the right thing (for once) and getting Hermione settled in a bed, Draco had gone on a search for Harry to give him a piece of his mind about not even caring that his fiancée was off getting piss drunk in some dingy bar. Before leaving a silent Harry however, he had had enough sense to forbid that anyone, much less Hermione, know that he had been the one seeing to her well-being. After all, he still had his reputation to keep.
Deciding to give it one more try, Draco left to catch up with Hermione to see if he could rouse any fire from her. He didn't say a word as he followed her out of the bookshop; he only followed close enough to step on the heel of her shoe in a very childish manner.
Hermione had walked five feet from the door of Flourish and Blotts when she had had enough. "Malfoy, what do you want?" she asked exasperatedly. "What are you doing here anyways?"
Draco shrugged. "I had a small piece of business to take care of over at the Leaky Cauldron."
"Business? We're researchers for St. Mungos, what kind of business would you have at the Leaky Cauldron? Wait, nevermind. I don't really want to know." And she continued back towards the Leaky Cauldron.
Another half-hearted reply. And now she was walking off again. Draco was beginning to feel desperate to have her do something, anything, even hex him. So as a last resort, he did the only thing he was sure would get an angry reaction from Hermione.
"It's better this way, Granger. After all, we wouldn't want Mudbloods reproducing!" he shouted at her retreating form.
Hermione's shoulders stiffened and her legs stopped. But only for a moment. Without even as much as a backwards glare, she continued on her journey for the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron.
With his jaw hanging open in a very un-Malfoy-esque stance, Draco decided it was time to pay Harry a visit and find out just what the hell he did to Hermione.
