So, we're winding down to the conclusion. I'm really proud of myself for sticking to this story for so long. I've become rather attached to it, actually. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and kept my self-esteem high. Thanks to Jezebel Malice for whining at me to write on a regular basis, and inspiring me. Thanks to the Killers for not suing me yet. Thanks to J.K. Rowling & co., too, for the same thing. Oh, and making such sexiful female characters to turn into lesbians (because we all know that lesbians are wonderful).

Unexpected
Chapter Twelve: Leaving

And she's calling a cab…

Hermione folded up another sweater and set it neatly inside her trunk, then sat back on her legs and stared at the contents for a while. Here was her travel-sized life, held in this oversized trunk, faded and cracking. Winter clothing and books to chase the cold away, but not the loneliness. She hadn't quite realized what she had been hiding from until it came staring her in the face.

This is a good thing, she tried to convince herself again, before shutting the trunk and flipping the latch close. This is what I have to do.

She had come crawling in from the cold and snow after dinner to an infinite pair of curious eyes and question words, but she had ignored them all to ascend to the attic and fall into Ginny's bed, as agonizing as it was to be wrapped up in her scent. No one had come to see if she was okay. She was sure that Ginny and Fred, or maybe Harry, had been kind enough to cover up for her; Ginny and Fred to avoid more minds thinking about the situation, and Harry simply because he was a good friend like that.

That had been two nights ago. The day hours had been spent holed up in Ginny's room, devouring books she had read before without tasting the words. Latin words swam in her brain without any meaning, without the wand movements or the drive. It was all to keep her eyes from wandering to the door, or to the window, where Ginny would be sitting, staring out at the yard, not speaking. The night hours were spent with Hermione lying in Ginny's bed while Ginny sat out on the roof, crawling in through the window when she thought that Hermione was asleep. But Hermione was never asleep. It was simply easier to close her eyes and pretend that none of this was happening. It was the only time that she could.

The tension, the feeling of air caught in her throat and stilling her tongue, it was suffocating her. Hermione had never felt unwelcome in the Weasley's home until now; it was breaking her apart. She couldn't deal with the two pairs of eyes in varying shades of blue, one set hard and cold, the other accusing and aloof. They bore into her whenever they caught sight of her. They found her through walls, through conversations, through inner monologues of her fighting back and forth with herself. She was tired feeling like this house was a battlefield of emotions, and despite everything else inside her screaming that she had to stick it out, the end ruling was escapism.

"So, the rumors are true, then."

Hermione turned sharply towards the doorway to see a disheveled Harry, snow clinging to the strands of his black hair. He looked like a dark, foreboding angel. She was sure that whatever he was going to say to her, she wasn't going to like it.

"What rumors?" she asked flatly, standing. She rested her palms on her hips, trying to look set in her decision.

He gestured towards her trunk, and half-grinned ruefully. "You're running away," he stated simply, "because you can't deal with the situation."

"You don't know anything about it, Harry," she found herself saying haughtily, "so don't pretend that you do. And I'm not running away - I'm leaving."

Harry didn't seem to mind her outburst, and that only made her feel more like a child and less like the rational teenager that she was. But he didn't push her, he didn't try to make her stay with a slew of reasons she could have come up with her own, and already had. He only gave her a calculating look, head tilted to the side. "I don't see the difference," he told her matter-of-factly, "and I don't think Ginny will, either."

He didn't say anything for a few minutes, his face looking torn between telling her something or leaving it be. Hermione waited patiently, not trusting herself to speak. There were too many emotions roaming through her, wild horses trampling across her heart. It was taking a lot just to decide to go; she wondered how much more she would have to push herself to actually leave, though she believed it to be the best option.

"If you want to talk to her," he said finally, startling her a little with the abruptness of his speech, "she's sitting out on the back porch steps. You should at least say goodbye to her." He gave her one last judging, pitying look before turning along the doorframe and walking away.

…

It was late, almost eleven. Hermione charmed her trunk so it would follow her outside, wrapping her dark blue winter coat tighter around her body. It was a cold night, and she could feel it deep in her soul. It was flowing through her veins and making her feel empty. But she had to look past it. She had to do this. She had to.

She saw Ginny sitting on the porch steps, exactly where Harry had said she would be. She was half-bathed in shadow, with only her hand and the glowing cherry of a cigarette visible. She had thought she had been approaching quietly, but the redheaded girl turned her eyes on her and exhaled, burgundy smoke rising from between her lips.

"Looks like you're running away," Ginny stated, before taking another drag from her cigarette.

Hermione winced slightly, hating the term, but half-knowing it was true. She was running away. But what would any of them have her do? She forced herself to take a deep breath, tasting the sweetness of cinnamon on her tongue. "When did you pick that up?" she asked instead, gesturing towards the cigarette dangling between her fingers.

Ginny simply shrugged and blew out more smoke, flicked off a few ashes into the snow. They glowed on their descent to the icy ground, and then burned out completely. "Charlie, I suppose," she replied. "He picked up smoking from the other men he works with in Romania. He buys them for me." She glanced at Hermione again, snorted a little. "I'm not going to bite, you know. You can come closer."

Hermione blushed slightly and subtracted the space between them by a few feet. She could have reached out and touched Ginny with her fingers. "I - I didn't know if you wanted to see me," she said, looking away in shame.

Ginny smiled slightly, and she looked Hermione in the eyes for the first time in forever. Hermione felt her heart stop beating. "Just because this is going on doesn't mean I don't love you," she told the girl. "Though I still don't understand what you were trying to pull in my room, with Fred."

"It's not what you think it was." Hermione hated her voice for sounding so small and tiny; she hated feeling so vulnerable, so out of control. "I…" She forced herself to regain control; she forced the sick feeling in her stomach to dissipate. "I walked into the room after him and he just - he grabbed me. He wouldn't let me go… I couldn't scream, I didn't know what to do." She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. "I think.. I think if you hadn't shown up, I think he might have tried to rape me."

Ginny stared at her, and she knew that Ginny was only half-believing the story. "I can't believe he would do that," Ginny said, shaking her head slightly, confirming Hermione's thoughts. "But I suppose…" She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I can understand. He didn't want to let you go. He's still in love with you… I guess that should be pretty obvious."

"I wish he wasn't," Hermione replied, almost bitterly. "I almost wish that he hated me." Her eyes were stinging now, with unshed tears and cigarette smoke, and months of the pain she had caused all of them flooded into her instantaneously. "I can't help but think that it would easier for you if you hated me, too."

"Hermione." The brunette was startled from her thoughts; she gasped lightly when she realized that Ginny was now standing, cigarette abandoned and flickering on the snow, and only a few inches away. Her voice sounded like broken glass slicing across an already battered heart, making her whole body ache with pain, the pain she had caused the both of them. "I still want to be with you. You still make me happy. I don't know how I would survive without you." Ginny held Hermione's eyes again, but only for those few brief moments, and Hermione was filled with the infinity that was held within the blue-grey, blurred with tears. "I just… It'll be a while before I can look you in the eye again."

Hermione noticed belatedly she was holding her breath and let it escape, the exhale weighed down with a martyr-like burden. She was being emotionally killed for a cause - to save the one person that she loved. To return everything the way it was supposed to be. "I understand," she said, keeping her own eyes fixed on Ginny's hands. "Ginny… I really don't know what else to say but that I'm sorry. This isn't… this isn't how this was supposed to happen." She inhaled again, sharp and slow.

Ginny nodded at her, slowly. "I know," she said softly.

Silence hung between them for a few minutes. Hermione glanced down at her watch; two minutes until the Knight Bus would arrive and take her away. Her heart wrenched painfully. Could she really do this?

"I love you, Ginny," she whispered, suddenly feeling so fragile and cheated. "Please don't forget that."

Ginny gave her the ghost of a smile. "I love you, too, Hermione. And… I'll try not to."

A crack electrified the air next to them, and the infamous Knight Bus was waiting only a yard or two away, its acne-ridden conductor hanging off the railing and looking at the two girls with a curious expression on his face.

"Your bus is here," Ginny said, stating the obvious, filling the silence.

Hermione took a shuddering breath and nodded, flicked her wand without looking towards her trunk to make it levitate for her. "I guess I'll see you at school, then."

Their eyes met and lingered on each other. Ginny reached out and took Hermione's hand gingerly in her own, the softness of the touch breaking Hermione in half. How was she doing this? She didn't understand what was happening anymore.

But there she was, moving away from the girl that she loved, their fingers slipping from each other. She was approaching the bus, not trusting herself to look back. The gangly boy took her trunk and nearly buckled under its weight, but didn't complain. She told him her destination in a hollow voice and sat on a bed in the middle, next to a wizard who was snoring softly between the sheets.

In the few seconds between the lack of movement and the sudden flash of speed, Hermione saw Ginny light another cigarette.

While he's having a smoke and she's taking a drag.