Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

A/N: Enjoy!

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Chapter 18: What Tangled Webs We Weave

Harry could do nothing but stare at the figure in the doorway. He was vaguely aware that the students were leaving the Hall, but that was only because one occasionally obstructed his view of Hermione. Her eyes were locked on his as well.

She started toward the front of the room, walking slowly up the center aisle of the Hall. Harry didn't know what to do, or how to feel. He did know that she was beautiful, though, and he couldn't remember ever thinking that about her before. Sure…there was the Yule Ball, but that had been a fourteen-year-old's thoughts of 'pretty'. Movement to the right drew his attention, and he saw that Helen hadn't left the Great Hall yet. She was standing off to the side, glaring at Hermione.

Hermione stopped before the Head Table, looking between each of its occupants. Most of the Professors were smiling at her; finally, her gaze came to rest on Harry, and inexplicably, an alien feeling welled up inside him. He had felt it before…at least he thought he had…but he couldn't place it. Overwhelmed, confused, and a little angry, he did the only thing that came to mind. Harry Disapparated from the Great Hall.

Confusion ensued for a moment after Harry's abrupt disappearance. Several Professors looked affronted, Helen looked smug, and Dumbledore looked apologetic. He let them titter amongst themselves for a moment.

"All right, that's enough… Hermione, welcome back—I'm glad you accepted the position. There really weren't many with your credentials."

She nodded, and a slightly confused and pleading look came into her eyes. Dumbledore shrugged lightly, and gave her a pointed look. Helen pushed herself from the wall and strode past Hermione down the center aisle. Just as she reached the door, a voice stopped her.

"Helen, wait." It was Hermione.

She did not turn; instead, she merely cocked her head to the side. "Yes?" Everyone present could hear the annoyance in her voice.

Hermione hesitated. She hadn't been expecting to hear the venom that was directed toward her. "Err…do you know where Harry went?"

Helen folded her arms across her chest, which, from the back, made her look taller and straighter. "Probably."

"Well…where then?" Hermione pressed.

Helen was a silent for a moment. "Why should I tell you?"

Hermione threw up her hands in frustration. She turned to look at the Professors, but noticed the only one left was Dumbledore. That was odd…where had the rest gone? Dumbledore's face remained impassive, however, with the exception of that pointed look. After another moment, he too Disapparated from the Hall. Hermione stared at the empty space for a moment, before she turned back around. Helen had not moved.

"Please…I need to talk to him…" Hermione implored.

Helen seemed to grow angry, because her back went rigid. "What makes you think he'd want to talk to you?" she almost growled.

Hermione didn't know what to say. The hostility confused her. "Look…could you just tell me where to find him?"

"No." Helen exited the Hall and disappeared around a corner.

Hermione stood in the empty Great Hall for a moment, trying to muddle through her addled brain. The silence in giant room was becoming oppressive, though, and she decided to go after Helen. She ran to the exit, looked around quickly, and saw Helen was going up the stairs. She rushed to catch up, and was a little out of breath by the time she did. With a sideways glance, she noticed Helen's face was set in a hard line.

"What's the problem, Helen?"

Helen made a noise of disgust, or disbelief, or maybe both, and whirled to face Hermione. Hermione's eyes widened at the unmasked hatred she saw in the younger woman's gaze.

"What's the problem? WHAT'S THE PROBLEM?" Helen's voice rose to monumental levels at the end, and Hermione recoiled a bit.

"I don't understand…" she squeaked.

"I thought you were supposed to be brilliant, or something?" Helen sneered at her.

Now Hermione's ire was rising a bit. "Now, wait a minute, don't you dare—"

Helen cut her off, though. "Save it, Hermione. I don't want to hear it. Do you…" she seemed to struggle to control herself, "do you have any—ANY—idea what you did to Harry?" Hermione shrugged helplessly. It wasn't often that she was at a total loss for words.

"You…you…" Helen started, but cut herself off, shaking her head. She couldn't seem to say what she wanted to, and her face was turning an alarming shade of scarlet. Finally, she took a deep breath, and it seemed to calm her.

"Just…stay away. That's all I can say. If Harry wants to see you, he will come to you." Helen turned and continued up the steps. Hermione watched her go for a few moments, and then slowly made her way up the stairs as well. She remembered where Harry had used to live…maybe he'd still be there.

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Helen was having an extremely difficult time controlling her temper. When she had first seen Hermione, she had almost hexed her on the spot. She barely remembered Hermione, but she did remember what she had done to Harry. Actually…time had served to make the memory worse than it really was, or at least that's the way she saw it.

Her musings had brought her to the Room of Requirement, and she paced in front of the door three times, thinking about a place where she could relax and sort through things. There was something that had been bothering her for all these years, and Hermione's return had brought it back to the front of her mind. When she opened the door to the Room, she saw a small, comfortable sitting area.

She settled into one of the plush armchairs and leaned back. There was something about that day so long ago that didn't sit right with her, and although she had done it many times before, she felt the need to go over what she remembered…

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Helen was restlessly walking the warm corridors of Hogwarts. It had been a tough six months for her, for her father, and for many other people, and she was feeling more and more saddened by what was going on around her. She went to the Headmaster more often than she did Harry now.

She turned a corner and strolled down another hallway; the sun was coming through the high windows in colorful bands, making the hallway appear to be striped. She stopped for a moment in one of them, basking in the warmth, and turned her face to the window. She always loved the feel of the warm summer sun beating against the skin of her cheeks. In all her seven years—almost eight, now—it was one of her most favorite things to do.

Noise caught her attention, though, and the sun was soon forgotten. She looked down the hallway, and saw a familiar figure cross in front of her, walking down a perpendicular corridor. She furrowed her forehead in thought. Why would Hermione Granger be at Hogwarts now? She hadn't seen the girl in a very long time…her father's wedding was the last. And that was…almost a year before.

Curious, she decided to follow Hermione. Rounding the corner, she saw Hermione walking in the direction of her father's classroom, and Helen continued to trail her. It made no sense to the young girl to see Hermione at Hogwarts.

Hermione paused for a moment, and Helen disappeared behind a statue. Hermione glanced over her shoulder, where Helen had been, and shook her head. She set her shoulders and continued on. Helen waited a moment, and then stole out from her hiding place and continued, as well. She couldn't explain it, but something told her that Hermione shouldn't see her. She would try to remain out of sight.

They continued their cat and mouse game all the way to the open door of the classroom; Hermione would occasionally look back over her shoulder, as if sensing or checking for someone, and each time Helen would skitter under some form of cover. She was quick and graceful—the training had made her able to be silent.

Helen watched as Hermione stood in the doorway of the classroom for a few moments. She wasn't moving—it seemed liked Hermione was watching something. Helen assumed it was her father, and she didn't understand why Hermione was just standing there.

She then heard her father's voice, but it was too quiet to make out what he had said. Hermione checked over her shoulder again, and then walked into the classroom, shutting the door behind her. Helen crept up to the doorjamb and put her ear near the keyhole. She wanted to listen to what was going on.

"Yes?" It was her father's voice, and she could sense the impatience in it.

"Harry…" a feminine voice started. That was Hermione. There was a pause. "Look, if Ron knew I was here, he'd go absolutely spare."

"So then why did you decide to grace me with your presence then?" Helen could hear the sarcasm dripping in his voice.

"I guess…I guess in the end you start thinking about the beginning." Helen thought that was a weird thing to say. What could that mean? Hermione continued; her voice was much softer. "Do you remember what I was like when I met you and Ron?"

When her father spoke, it seemed like he was trying to imitate someone. "'We could have all been killed—or worse, expelled.'"

Hermione responded with what sounded like humor in her voice. "I will have you know that I was only twelve when I said that." Another silence followed.

"Why are you really here, Hermione?"

Helen heard a sniff…and then another. Hermione then spoke. "Ron didn't even want to tell you, Harry. He insisted that you wouldn't care, and that it was better if we didn't."

"Tell me what?" Her father sounded confused.

There was a rustling of what sounded like clothes, or maybe paper, and then Helen heard footsteps. She was about to retreat, but realized that they were moving away from the door. She wished she could see what was going on. Just then, though, she heard the footsteps again, and they seemed to be coming toward her. She turned to hide again, but her father's loud, demanding voice stopped her.

"What is this?" There was the sound of a chair scraping against stone. Her father's voice came again, softer. "What is this?"

Helen heard a sobbing noise, and then running footsteps, again away from the door. Someone was crying—it sounded feminine. "Harry…" Hermione was crying.

There was a long pause after that, and Helen was growing impatient. She really wanted to see what was going on. Just as she was about to crack the door to look in, Hermione's voice came again.

"I'm sorry…" Helen heard, but she also heard footsteps quickly approaching the door. She looked around wildly for a second, and saw a statue directly across from the classroom. She hid herself behind it just as the door opened, revealing Hermione and her tear-streaked face.

"Hermione?" came her father's voice from inside the classroom.

Hermione didn't respond immediately, and didn't turn back to the classroom. Her face contorted for a moment, as if something horribly painful was happening to her, but then it slowly cleared. She spoke to her father, even though she was facing her. "Goodbye, Harry."

Helen watched as Hermione strode purposefully from the still open door, at first…but as she got further and further down the hallway, her step faltered a few times. She even turned around once, looking like she was going to come sprinting back, but she didn't. Hermione soon disappeared down the stairs.

Helen was having a hard time understanding what had just happened, but she could tell that it was something monumental. There was an undercurrent to the conversation that she had just listened to that made it seem…no, feel…urgent. It was almost like something was waiting to happen. She stole quietly across the hallway to the door and peeked around the corner of the frame. She watched Harry slowly sit down, picking his wand off his desk as he did so.

He just sat there for a few moments, but then his eyes searched his desk for something. He reached for whatever it was—a white envelope, she saw—and pulled it back to him. He stared at the front of it for a few seconds, and then pulled out the few pages of parchment inside. He leaned back in his chair and started to read.

Helen watched his face as he read the letter, and she was struck at how many emotions she could see passing over it. Confusion…anger…humor…loss…and finally a bone-breaking sadness.

He looked up blankly after he'd reached the bottom of the second page, and stared at nothing for a few minutes. Helen had almost decided to go in, but he then set the letter down on his desk and leaned back once again, rolling his wand between his fingers. Harry seemed to snort…or something, and Helen watched as his eyes moved over his classroom.

His face became more and more crestfallen, and suddenly he gripped his wand tightly. She watched as a single dropped from one of his eyes. He slowly brought his eyes down and stared at the tip of his wand. She saw…something…some kind of emotion…some sort of notion…that screamed at her that something wasn't right.

"Daddy?" she asked, bursting into the classroom. Her father looked up, startled, and then burst into tears, dropping his wand.

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Helen roused herself from her musings and walked over to the false window of the Room. It looked out on a quiet sunset over the sea. She had thought about that moment many times during the past ten years, but she'd never really confronted herself about what it could have meant. She thought he might have been…no, no she couldn't think like that. Harry would never do something like that. He had so much to live for.

That was part of the reason that she was so cross with Hermione, because in the back of her mind she'd always considered the possibility that he'd been about to do something rash. She associated it with Hermione's presence there that day, and had harbored resentment for the person she perceived as causing it. She rested her forehead against the glass as she thought about it once again.

Would he do something like that? From her perspective at that time, she had been able to sense something off, and she was only seven. Something in the way he had been holding his wand…or maybe it was the look in his eyes…made her interrupt it. Now, though, she could look back on it and honestly think that he had been planning on doing something. What that was, though…remained fairly ambiguous to her.

She decided that if she really wanted to know the truth of what he had been doing, she would have to confront him with her questions. Tonight, though, she wanted to enjoy whatever parties might have been planned. It was, after all, her last night as a student at Hogwarts. She would see him the next day, so she could ask him then. She left the Room of Requirement and turned in the direction of Ravenclaw common room.

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As Hermione came closer and closer to the Gryffindor portrait hole, she realized that she was faced with a dilemma. As she remembered it, the entrance to Harry's room was through the common room, but she did not want to have to go through what was surely a party. She didn't want to be questioned or gawked at; she just wanted to catch Harry and have a talk with him. She looked from side to side…and noticed something peculiar.

The entrance to his room had been a portrait of a man who had looked strangely like Dumbledore, and it appeared that that very same portrait was now in the corridor. It was about ten meters down from the Gryffindor portrait. The more Hermione thought about it, the more she thought it was probably his entrance. It would make sense the he'd had the connection moved, so he wouldn't have to go through the students' room. Although…if he was taking over for McGonagall as Deputy Headmaster, he would probably be the new Gryffindor Head of House as well—he might end up having it moved back.

She pursed her lips at her procrastinating and visibly squared her shoulders. She approached the portrait and raised her hand, ready to knock, but noticed that the portrait was slightly ajar. She narrowed her eyes. That didn't usually happen…

Cautiously, almost timidly, she pressed her palm against it. It swung inward, revealing to her the somewhat familiar suite. The living area was empty, she could see, and she stepped through the hole to look around. Helen's old room looked like it was empty, from what she could see through the open door, and there was no light coming from either the kitchen or the bathroom. That left his bedroom…and she looked over at the closed door. She saw light coming from under it, but as her eyes trailed up, she saw light coming from the side as well. That door was slightly ajar, too. The sun had just set, and it was rather gloomy and creepy in the half-dark living area, so she strode quickly over to his door.

She was just about to knock, but hesitated. What did she want to say to him? What was it that she so desperately wanted him to understand? If she didn't know…then how would she ever be able to tell him? Finally, after gathering up what little shreds of courage she had left, she knocked. The force of her knock opened the door part of the way, though, and her view into the room was of Harry staring intently back at her.

He was sitting on the opposite side of the bed, and he had craned his neck to see who was at the door. Hermione watched as his face clouded for a moment, and then he scowled at her. She winced inwardly—that made two Potters who seemed to hate her now. She slipped through the doorway and closed it behind her. She leaned back against the wood.

Harry continued to glare at her for a few more moments, before he seemed to deflate and he turn away. He rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. It made for a pretty melancholy picture, in Hermione's opinion.

"What do you want, Hermione?" he asked, in a very resigned voice.

Hermione stared at the back of his head for a little while, still trying to figure out what she wanted to say.

"Is there a reason why you are?" he asked, a little more irritably this time. "You don't start teaching until next year. You don't have to be here until the middle of August."

Hermione bit her lip. Harry clearly wanted her to leave…but…she wouldn't…not until she'd said her piece. This moment had been coming for far too long to screw up.

"I know that, Harry," was all she finally said, and she winced at her own tone. She hadn't planned on it sounding arrogant, but she knew it had.

"Wonderful," he said, sarcastically. He raised his head to stare at the wall in front of him. "Just wonderful."

"Harry—"

"Leave, Hermione," he suddenly cut her off. "Just leave."

Hermione was taken aback. That was not what she had been expecting. "What are you—"

"Look, whatever you have to say, I don't want to hear it, alright?" His voice was slowly getting louder and louder, but he still hadn't moved from the bed.

"No…Harry, listen to me—"

He stood and whirled to face her, and for a moment she felt déjà vu. She was strongly reminded of the look on his face after she had slapped him. She didn't know how she remembered the details of something that had happened so long before, but it was there and it was strong.

"No, Hermione," he ground out, "you listen to me." He was slowly advancing upon her. "I don't care about what you have to say. Ok? How does that make you feel? I don't care." Harry was now very close to her. For a moment, the muscles in his forearms distracted her, but she mentally slapped herself. That was not what she was supposed to be thinking about at the moment.

Hermione gave a helpless shrug, almost more to herself than to Harry. "I…Harry…what do you want me to say?"

"I WANT YOU TO LEAVE!" he bellowed, red in the face. His green eyes flashed for a moment, and then he whirled again and walked away from her. As he passed, he grabbed a book off the bed and hurled it against the wall. He came to rest near his bookshelf, and stood there, panting. A thick silence descended on the room.

Hermione was almost afraid to speak, but she hadn't been placed in Gryffindor for nothing. "I'm sorry…"

"YOU'RE SORRY?" he yelled. His eyes were boring into hers, and for a moment she felt insecure, and almost checked her Occlumency shields. She stopped, though. Harry wouldn't do that to her…would he? "YOU'RE SORRY?" he yelled again. "Well, that's just bloody fucking brilliant! Hermione Jane Granger is sorry!" He yelled the last part in mirthless humor, throwing up his hands.

It was an unconscious decision, but Hermione decided to fight fire with fire. "Now, wait just a goddamn minute, Harry Potter! Who are you to explode on me?"

Harry gave her an incredulous look. His eyes actually went wide in surprise. He then quickly strode back over to her, getting right in her face. He poked her breastbone as he spoke, accentuating his words.

"Who am I? You want to know who I am?" She had never seen so intense a look in his eyes before. There was anger…but there was something else, too. "I'm Harry James Potter, savior to the modern Wizarding World, father to the smartest witch in over a thousand years, Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the most powerful wizard in the world." His lip curled in a sneer. "Who am I, you ask? I told who I am, but now I will tell you what I'm not.

"I'm not someone who wants or needs pity. I'm not someone who dwells on the past anymore." He paused. His eyes seemed to move over her entire body for a moment, which Hermione thought was odd for the impassioned speech he was giving. "And I'm not your friend any longer, Hermione."

She recoiled as if struck, and she seriously contemplated slapping him across the face. She didn't, though, because she remembered what had happened the last time she did that.

"So don't…don't come in here with your apologies and your sorries…they just aren't going to cut it." He backed away a step, retreating from her personal space, but he was still staring at her.

"It's very ironic, Harry, that you don't dwell on the past anymore. Seems to me," she said, her eyes flashing back in retaliation, "that that is exactly what you are doing." She noticed with some satisfaction that the angry light in his eyes faltered for a moment.

"You left, Hermione, ten years ago. TEN YEARS AGO! What do you expect me to do? To say? Wrap you in a huge hug and tearfully say how wonderful it is to have you back?" It was rhetorical question, but Hermione almost opened her mouth and said yes. Partly because she wanted to spite him, but partly because that would have been nice…

"I can't do that. I won't." He sighed, and stared at the ceiling for a moment before returning his eyes to hers. "Do you realize that it's been a decade since we last talked? That's a long time, any way you look at it. There have been stretches of six months or more where I haven't thought of you, or Ron." Hermione winced when he mentioned Ron, but Harry didn't seem to notice. That was not a discussion she was looking forward to having with him.

"It is a long time, Harry. I'm here now, though."

He lifted his hand as if to ask And your point is? "So?" he asked.

"So…that's it. I'm here now. That's what it means."

He gave a frustrated growl. "Wonderful," he said again, and she was reminded of how their conversation had started. "But not for long. I want you to leave, or I'm going to throw you out."

Hermione couldn't help it. She laughed. She laughed hard. She couldn't get the image of Harry Potter picking her up and chucking her into the hallway out of her head. It was just too funny to not laugh at. How could she take that seriously?

He raised an eyebrow at her laughing, but there was no amusement on his face. Her merriment slowly subsided.

"Something funny?" His voice was flat. She pursed her lips, worrying a little. Could he actually do something like that? She realized that she didn't know this Harry Potter. That image she had been laughing at was of Harry at seventeen, not this striking 28-year-old. She didn't know how much his personality or his temperament had changed in the past ten years. Maybe he would actually throw her out.

"Err…" was all she managed to say.

"That's what I thought," he said. He took a single step forward, and was once again in her space. She was just waiting for him to reach out and pick her up.

"Didn't I tell you something?" he asked.

She looked into his eyes, and she only saw sincerity there. He wasn't joking. He really did want her to leave.

"Harry…" she sighed. "Fine," she said. She turned and grasped the handle of the door. She could feel Harry's close presence behind her, and she sensed his eyes on her back. She fought the urge to turn around and see where he was looking.

"But," she said as she turned the knob, "remember this: I really am sorry." Hermione opened the door and left. She didn't know what to do, or what to say. Harry seemed like a completely different person. He really had moved on.

Harry, meanwhile, stood staring at the paneling on his door. He was thinking about what had just transpired. He didn't want to see or talk to Hermione, but he couldn't help but feel like he'd made an ass of himself. He older now…more mature, or so he liked to think, but it seemed to him that history was just repeating itself. He was letting Hermione just walk out of his door again.

He snarled at his stupidity, and crashed his fist through the door. There was a resounding splintering noise, and when he pulled his bloodied knuckles back, he was looking through a small hole into the living area. He waved his hand over the cuts, healing them, and shook his head. He wrenched open the door and ran from his suite, sliding to a stop in the middle of the hall, trying to determine where Hermione had gone.

When he didn't see her, he closed his eyes and reached out with his magic. He searched around, trying to find her…there…there she was. He knew that magical signature anywhere. It had to be Hermione. She was exiting the castle. With a deep breath, and a resolve not to be so stupid this time around, he Disapparated from the hallway.

He reappeared just in front of Hermione, and she screeched and jumped into the air. When she had settled her breathing, she glared at him, partially astounded that he was there. He could understand that, as he had just unequivocally told her to leave.

Hermione was bewildered. She had not been expecting Harry to come after her. The old Harry…the stubborn one…would have just let her leave. Maybe all the changes weren't that bad…

"Can I help you?" she asked. She didn't know what to say.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Alright, I think you and I both have had enough of the bullshit." He seemed to consider his words. "Why did you come back, Hermione?"

Well, he certainly started off with the tough questions. "I don't know if I can answer that yet, Harry."

He glared at her for a moment. "'Ron and I aren't expecting to return to England…I wish you the best of luck in all things…'" he quoted.

She looked at him with a question in her eyes. "What…?"

"The letter, Hermione. Your letter."

Hermione's eyes widened. She couldn't help it. How did Harry remember exactly what she had written after so many years? "But…that was ten years ago, Harry. How can you quote it?"

A slight tinge came to Harry's cheeks, and he looked sheepish for a moment. Hermione thought it was a very endearing look on him, and that it contrasted nicely with his stubble.

"Err…well…" he trailed off.

She put her hands on her hips. "How many times did you read the letter, Harry?" Then, though, she thought of a better question. "When was the last time you read it?" she asked softly.

Harry deflated and walked around her, sitting on the bottom step of the entrance to the castle. He leaned back and placed his elbows on a higher step, staring up at the night sky. Hermione watched him for a moment, wondering where that engaging look that had just been on his face had gone, and moved to sit next to him. She leaned back as well, and the two of them just sat there for a few moments.

"Harry?" she finally asked. She looked over at him, and saw that he had closed his eyes.

"I don't know…a lot. Not that long ago, either." Hermione wanted to pull him into her arms; she wanted to embrace like she had so many times in her youth, but somehow it didn't feel appropriate anymore. They weren't the same people they used to be. They hadn't been the last time they'd seen each other. So, she resorted to resting a hand on his knee. He didn't move and didn't open his eyes.

"Why?" She needed to know the answer to that question.

"Like I said…I don't know. It's just…I did, ok?" His jaw clenched. "You, you and Ron, you two were the only people that really knew me for who I was, before the end of the war."

"Harry, you know that's not true. What about Albus?"

Harry shook his head and finally opened his eyes. He stared into hers. "Albus, Hermione? No…not before the end of war. I think we both misunderstood each other. It wasn't until after…well, after everything went to hell that we really started to know who the other was."

Hermione suddenly felt guilty. "You know…I know this a bit late, and probably won't mean anything to you, but I really am sorry for what happened to Ginny. We never got a chance to talk at the funeral…" She faded away when she saw the look on Harry's face change to one of bitterness. He looked away from her.

"I can't believe how you and Ron acted."

Hermione had a sour taste in her mouth. The conversation was quickly heading in a direction she didn't want it to go.

"I mean," Harry continued, "she was his sister. You'd think he would have been there for her a little more. And," he cut off as his fist clenched. "And you. You were supposedly her best friend."

"YOU DON'T THINK I REGRET THAT EVERY DAY THAT GOES BY?" Hermione yelled. She was furious…not with Harry, not completely. She was furious with herself, with the way things had turned out, and with the way they had all let things go so long. Harry seemed to be unperturbed by her outburst, and just calmly turned his head to look at her. She felt self-conscious under his gaze for some reason; it was almost as if he was scrutinizing her for something that she couldn't give.

"You know what they say about regret, don't you, Hermione?" His voice was calm, cool, and collected.

Hermione shrugged helplessly. She had no idea what he was talking about.

"Regret is the mind's attempt to justify actions that are unjustifiable."

She took a minute to absorb his words. "So, what are you implying, Harry? I'm never to be forgiven, never to be excused?"

Harry shrugged, and turned to gaze out at the dark grounds. "That's not for me to decide, Hermione. Ultimately…that's between you and Ginny."

Harry suddenly turned back to her. "Speaking of the Weasley's, where is Ron?"

Hermione's heart thumped loudly in her chest a few times. He had finally asked the question she had been avoiding from the start, and she knew there was probably no way around it. She didn't want to tell him, though, because he would undoubtedly blame himself…

"Hermione?" Harry queried. When she looked at him, a tiny smile cracked his lips. "Thought I lost you there for a moment." His look suddenly sobered, and he gave her that same penetrating gaze that had made her feel so inadequate. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing, Harry…"

"Then where is Ron?" he asked again.

Hermione was fighting with herself. She knew that she would probably make things worse if she didn't tell him, but she didn't want to. She knew how much it would hurt both of them.

Suddenly, Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "Hermione…Granger. Granger?" He raised an eyebrow. "Not Weasley?"

Hermione closed her eyes and forced herself not to respond.

"Hello, Hermione?"

"Look, Harry—"

"No…what's the big deal? Where is he?"

She started to get up, but Harry laid a hand on her arm. "Where is he?"

"RON'S DEAD, HARRY!" There, she had said it. She sunk back down onto the steps as she felt Harry's hand slip off her arm. She suddenly felt very tired—very drained. She just wanted to go to bed. It was hard revisiting the past. She glanced over at Harry and noticed that he was staring vacantly ahead.

"I didn't want to tell you—not like this, at least," she told him.

His eyes clear a little. "What? But…but how?" he asked. His voice, strangely, had very little emotion in it.

And there was the crux of it. If Hermione told Harry that answer, she was sure she'd watch as he dove into another endless pit of self-loathing. Harry had a tendency to do that; to blame himself for everyone else's problems, and it was detrimental. It wasn't good for him or the people around who cared for him.

Shrugging off that last sentiment, she decided it would be best to tackle this head-on. "Well…you remember what was wrong with Ginny? Her heart?"

"Of course I remember…Merlin, what the hell kind of question is that?" he snapped at her.

Hermione grunted in frustration. "Don't take my head off…I was just wondering if you remembered what that Healer had said? You know, how the condition was hereditary?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah…so what?"

"And do you remember what he said about it?"

"Err…only females could suffer from it. Males could carry it, though."

Hermione almost congratulated him for his good memory. "Yes, indeed, and as the Healer pointed out then, the male Weasleys most likely did."

He looked at her. "Where are you going with all of this Hermione? I fail to see how this is relevant…if Ron was a carrier…that wouldn't have—no, couldn't have—killed him." The last two words came out slightly higher than the rest, and Hermione was really hoping that he didn't break down. She couldn't deal with that at the moment.

"Well, not exactly," she said.

"Oh?" he questioned.

"Carriers of hereditary afflictions, even though it is very rare, do sometimes suffer from them."

"How, though? That doesn't make any sense."

"It requires some extreme stimulus to begin with…such as a death…stress…things like that."

Harry's face clouded, and Hermione could already see the all-too-familiar wheels of guilt beginning to turn. She clenched her jaw and resolved to nip it in the bud. She moved from her position and knelt in front of Harry. She placed her hands on his knees, and he seemed somewhat startled by the gesture.

"Harry, listen to me." She lifted her hands and took his face in them. She forced him to look her in the eye. Staring into the emerald depths, she could see something that confused her. There was some emotion that she couldn't place, some tender feeling that was completely out of place, but it was gone as fast as it had been there.

"Ron's death…it wasn't your fault. It was no one's really—no one's but his own." Harry started to pull back from her hands, but she held his head firm. Annoyance flared up in his eyes momentarily.

"No…listen to me, damn it! Listen to what I'm saying. No one is to blame except perhaps Ron himself. Not you, and not me. Ron…well let's just say that Ron became pretty self-destructive."

"What do you mean?" he asked. He had stopped resisting her soft but firm grip on his face.

"He couldn't get past the guilt of abandoning Ginny. I hate to say it like that, but that's essentially what he and I did. We abandoned her, and we abandoned you."

"You seem pretty calm about all of this, you know. How long ago did this happen?" he asked her. Slowly, very slowly, his head seemed to be sinking into her grip.

"Six years, Harry. He died on April 4th, 2003."

"How…how could I not have known about this? I've talked to…well, all of the Weasley's since then. I saw Bill and Charlie a few years ago, when they both visited to see Albus about something, and I saw Fred and George a few weeks ago." His face became pained, and it sunk a little deeper. "Why wouldn't they tell me that?"

Hermione sighed. "They probably didn't know, Harry."

"What? Why not?"

"They didn't really want anything to do with him after the funeral. All four of them basically said that he was no longer a part of their family because of what he had done to Ginny."

Harry brought his arms up between Hermione's and knocked her hands away from his face. Hermione didn't move from her kneeling position, though.

"I never knew that. I'm actually rather surprised they would do something like that. They had just lost Ginny…"

"And they saw what his misplaced hostility toward you did to their family, and they didn't like it," she answered.

"Misplaced? Misplaced, Hermione?" He gave her an unbelieving look. "I seem to remember you doing and saying nothing in my defense the night of my wedding. Why wasn't it misplaced then?"

Hermione's head was starting to pound. "It's complicated, Harry."

Harry snorted at her. "You have to be kidding me. 'It's complicated'," he mimicked her voice. "Do you regret that too, Hermione? Do you regret that complication?"

She was about to say yes, but then his words about regret from before came back to her. Some chord deep in her struck a low, painful note as she caught his meaning.

"What are you saying, Harry? You'll never forgive me? You'll never get past it?" She hated the slight tremor she could hear in her voice. It made her feel weak, but for some reason she felt she had to measure up to Harry. He always had made her feel like that.

He eyed her for a moment, and then stood up. She stood as well. "Like you said, Hermione, it's complicated."

Their eyes locked for a second, and Hermione saw that thing, that same feeling that she had seen before, that she couldn't distinguish. He looked away.

"I'll be seeing you," he said, and promptly Disapparated.

She stared at the empty space for a moment, before slowly turning and walking away from the castle, toward her rented apartment in Hogsmeade.

----------

Graduation went without any problems the following day. Harry was trying to comprehend all that Hermione had told him the night before, but most of his attention was on the smiling face of Helen as she crossed the stage in Hogwarts' spectacular commencement robes. It filled him with a sense of love and fulfillment that he hadn't felt before, and he was proud to say that he had had some part in raising her.

Harry retired to his quarters after the ceremony. He didn't really want to participate in the final party. He picked up another one of his many textbooks, and started to peruse it. After a few minutes, though, there came a knock at the portrait, and he set the book down. He waved his hand, and the portrait swung aside.

"Come in," he called, trying to see who it was. The hallway was dark, and he couldn't see.

"Are you sure you're not busy?" came the familiar voice of Helen.

"Yes, Helen, of course. You don't have to knock on my portrait; you know the password."

"I know…but I wasn't sure if something was wrong. You left the ceremony pretty quickly," she said as she stepped through the hole. She was dressed in jeans and a dark blouse.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," Harry said. He moved over, giving her space to sit. "I'm just not really in the festive mood tonight, honey."

As she sat down, he got his first close look at her since she'd come in. Her face was beautiful, as always, but there seemed to be something wrong with her. She was almost grimacing.

"What about you? Why aren't you out partying with your classmates?"

"I dunno…I guess I'm not really in the festive mood, either."

Harry put his arm around her shoulder. She curled her legs up onto the couch and leaned into him. This was what he missed the most…the closeness they shared with each other. They took comfort in each other's presence, and they hadn't done that kind of thing nearly enough lately.

Harry felt Helen take a deep breath and settle deeper into his side. "What's up, Helen? What's the matter?" Call it father's intuition; regardless, he knew something big was bothering her.

"I don't know, Dad…I just…how do you feel about your friend being back?"

"Hermione?"

She shifted against him. "Who else?"

"Eh…I'm not sure yet. I have a lot to think about. This is all rather sudden, you know?" Harry rested his cheek against the top of her head; her hair felt like silk against his skin.

"I have to ask you something," Helen suddenly blurted out. She slipped an arm around Harry's waist, curling it tightly, almost possessively.

"Ok…" Harry said. Her tone sounded odd.

"That day—ten years ago—what happened?"

"What do you mean, Helen?" Harry asked. He wasn't really sure what she was getting at.

"When Hermione came here…you and her talked, and then something happened. I don't know…I think I know…but I want you to tell me what happened."

For some reason, Harry's heartbeat had skyrocketed. He kept getting flashes of that day, brief snippets that tore at his heart. It had been a horrible day, and he remembered thinking that—

----------

It was just as Hermione had said: in the end you started thinking about the beginning. Things had seemed so simple. Their friendship had been built on the foundation of trust, support, and love. Ginny had come into the picture much later, but she still had been very important to the three of them, each in their own way. She had been the first to go, too, but not from any fault of her own. Harry knew it was his fault that she had died, because he'd chosen to wait so long and that he'd avoided the topic. He knew he could have saved her.

And now…what? Ron and Hermione, the only two true friends he'd ever had, were gone. They were gone, with barely a word from Hermione and none from Ron. The three people that had gotten him this far in life, the three people he owed his very existence to—Ron, Hermione, and Ginny—were gone.

He stopped twirling his wand, gripping it tightly. A solitary tear dropped from his eyes, but he was too drained of everything to really cry. He looked down, staring straight at the tip of his wand. He felt so…empty. Empty and alone.

It would be so easy. All that he had to do was say the words. Two words…six syllables…and it would all be over. All the pain, all the loss, all the guilt—it would all be washed away in a quick flash of green light. He knew that it was easy, and he knew that he could do it. What did he have to live for anymore? There was nothing left. Ginny; dead. Ron, Hermione; gone.

He had done his duty to the Wizarding world, and now they didn't need him anymore. He had fulfilled the cursed prophecy, and had saved everyone, so no one would miss him. He gripped the wand tighter, watching as his knuckles went white. All that he had to do was say the two words, and it would all be over. He would be on his next great adventure.

He took a breath, and the air that would be used to utter the words was in his lungs, and he was going to do it. All that he had to do was say it…

"Daddy?" Helen yelled as she ran into the classroom. Harry looked up, startled, and then lost control. Tears started pouring from his eyes, and he dropped his wand to the floor. He couldn't believe how close he had come to doing it, and how he had forgotten about the one person that hadn't forgotten about him.

Helen came sprinting up the middle row, and Harry came around his desk. He met her in front of it, and kneeled down as she crashed into him. She held onto him like a lifeline, and he reciprocated the action. He laid his cheek on the top of her head and let the tears come. They dropped onto her smooth brown hair, glistening in the light coming through the high windows.

Harry held onto her tightly; she was the only thing he had left. He had almost forgotten that, too. No…he had forgotten that. He had just been about to do the unthinkable. Where would Helen have been then? He hated himself for almost doing that to her.

"I'm sorry…" he sobbed into her hair. "I'm so sorry…" He felt her arms tighten around him and the tears came faster. She had so much love in her, and he had almost thrown that away. He had been so wrapped up, thinking that he had nothing left to live for, that he had forgotten about what he did have.

Helen leaned back and looked up at his shiny face. He watched her eyes follow a tear down his cheek, and then look to the floor where it dropped. She looked back up and brought her hands to his face, brushing away the wetness. The gesture was so tender…so gentle…so loving…that he couldn't help himself. He pulled her back into a tight embrace and left a few light kisses in her hair.

"I love you so much, Helen…" he whispered, voice shaking slightly from the crying.

"I know," she whispered back. "I love you, too, Daddy." She leaned into him some more and rested her head against his chest. Harry slowly stood up, tucking her into his arms. She reached up and brushed the new wetness from his face.

Harry smiled and laughed at the endearing motion, and kissed her on the forehead. When he leaned back, he saw something in her eyes that took his breath away: unconditional love and support. Harry really did have a family.

----------

"Dad?" someone was calling him. "Dad!" someone called more forcefully. Harry snapped back from his reverie, and realized that he was still sitting on the couch with Helen. She was looking intently at him.

"Where'd you go?" she asked. There was concern in her eyes.

"Huh? Oh…sorry…just thinking about the past." He hesitated. "I was remembering that day."

"So…what really happened?" she asked.

He couldn't avoid it anymore. She had most likely figured it out, anyways. "Well…she came and said her and Ron were leaving. They weren't going to be coming back. And when she left…I don't know…I guess everything just crashed down on me. I was so caught up in the guilt and the pain that I forgot about everything that I did have."

Harry looked Helen directly in the eyes. "Like you. Like you and your love." She smiled at him. "And, well, I think I was going to do it—you know, end it. I think I was right on the edge of it when you came flying through my door."

Surprisingly, Helen didn't seem to be too shocked over the revelation. "I thought so," was all she said, and she settled back into the comfortable nook next to Harry.

She spoke again after a minute. "So if I hadn't come in that at the moment, would you have?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know if I can answer that. Looking back, my memories and my opinions are skewed by all that's happened since." He paused, and rested his chin on the top of her head. "I'd like to be able to say no I wouldn't have, but I don't think I can. I just don't know."

"Do you have any regrets, Dad?" Helen asked.

Harry was struck by the odd parallel in this conversation with the one that he had had with Hermione. That same quote came to his mind again: regret is the mind's attempt to justify actions that are unjustifiable.

Was that what he felt sometimes? Was he trying to justify things that had happened or that he had done that were inexcusable? Was what had happened the result of actions that were unjustifiable? Knowing what he knew now, especially with the news about Ron's fate, he thought that might be it. He did have regrets, because he knew, deep down, that everything could have been prevented. He then realized that having regrets was a vicious cycle, because they did nothing to improve the situation.

"Yes. I hate it, though."

"What do you hate, Dad?" Helen's voice sounded sleepy.

"Having regrets. I hate having them." He paused for a moment, listening to the slowing rhythm of her breathing. "Honey, are you sure you want to fall asleep?" he whispered. "You'll miss your party."

"Mm? Oh…that's alright…" she breathed, and snuggled closer to Harry. The only sound for the next few minutes was Helen's slow, measured breathing.

Harry felt peaceful—as peaceful as he'd felt in a long time. Sure, Hermione had come back and dropped a few bombs on him, but that didn't seem to matter at the moment with his daughter curled up next to him. He wandlessly levitated her, careful not to disturb her position, and moved her to her long-vacant bedroom. Just as he set her on the bed, another odd parallel came to him. It was amazing how things could be so circular…

----------

Harry was getting ready to turn in when a loud, urgent knocking came at his portrait. It was unusual that someone would be there—Helen had just moved out of the suite earlier in the day. He had just finished watching her get sorted and eat her first real Hogwarts feast as a student.

He walked over to the portrait and waved it aside, and was momentarily stunned to see a tearful Helen waiting there. She basically jumped into his arms and sobbed into his shoulder. Harry was very alarmed. Had something happened to her? Had someone done something to her?

"What's the matter, babe? What's wrong?" he asked as he carried her over to the couch. Slowly, she calmed down, and she looked up into Harry's eyes. The lustrous brown pools were shining with unshed tears. She sniffled once and gave him a teary smile.

"I'm sorry…I can't sleep, Daddy."

Harry let out a silent sigh of relief. If that was all that was wrong with her, then he could deal with it calmly.

"Why not?"

"I just…I just can't." Ironically, though, her words were punctuated by a yawn, and Harry could clearly see her eyelids drooping.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah…I think, I think I want to sleep in here tonight. I don't think I like the Ravenclaw dorms too much."

Harry smiled at her she leaned against him, slowly succumbing to the tiredness.

"Alright, Helen, but just for tonight. You'll have to get used to them sometime." He received no response, though, as she had fallen asleep, and he gently lifted her in his arms. He carried her to her newly empty bedroom—except for the furniture, of course—and laid her down. He leaned down and placed a feathery-light kiss on her forehead.

----------

"Goodnight, Helen," he whispered to his sleeping daughter. She made a soft noise in her sleep and rolled away from him a bit. He smiled and exited her room, closing the door behind him. Her first night as a student at Hogwarts had played out similarly to her last.

Harry looked around for a moment, and then entered his own room. It had been a long two days, and he was looking forward to getting some well-deserved sleep.