Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, unless it's an original from one of my other stories, does not belong to me. The song used in this chapter is "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls.
A/N: Okay, so this is a satisfyingly long chapter, and I really enjoyed writing this one too! I know the bit with a certain Horcrux is too easy, but I didn't want adventure to be more central to the plot than the romance and emotion. Also, as you can see, I'm a sucker for songs in my stories! If that's a problem for anyone, I'm sorry! Enjoy!
Summary:"Hello, Hermione," he said from the shadows. He watched the colour drain from her face. "No…" she whispered. He was a living nightmare… And that broke his heart.
Kiss of the Traitor
Chapter Five: The Reunion
-FLASHBACK-
The wind was blowing hard outside Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Inside, it was warm and the fires were enchanted so that they provided extra warmth against the bitter English winter outside, but Hermione still shivered a little as she walked into the kitchen. The house had only been inhabited properly by Harry for a few weeks, so not much changing had been done to alter the gloomy and dismal atmosphere.
Perhaps that was why she felt a slight chill. Or maybe it was because she knew what they were about to do and what they were about to face. Swallowing slightly, she walked up to Harry and Ron, who were standing at the table with a pile of books between them. Ron looked nervous, while Harry was doing some last minute poring over the books to find anything that might help them. Hermione tried not to look at him too long. It gave her a shock every time she did, to realize how she felt about him anew, as well as a twinge of pain, because she knew he was madly in love with Ginny… even if he had broken up with her after Dumbledore's funeral.
"Here it is," she said, clearing her throat and holding up the golden Slytherin locket. "I got it out of the box I charmed and kept it in for safety." For a moment, over the thread of the locket, her eyes locked with Harry's green ones.
"Wonder if we'll ever find out how Sirius's brother wound up finding it," Ron said, eyeing the locket with distaste and apprehension, as if there was nothing worse in the world than spending an afternoon dwelling over a living portion of Lord Voldemort's soul. "Have to say, though, that after only three weeks on the job – finding the first Horcrux is unbelievable!"
Hermione smiled. "We have reason to be proud."
"Actually, you have reason to be proud," Harry said with a grin, "You found it, remember?"
"Only because I was trying to collect Kreacher's things to give back to him."
"Mmm-hmm," said Harry, smiling the smile that wrung her heart. She glanced away, and down at the locket instead. Their smiles all slowly faded as they realized the gravity of what they were about to do.
Hermione cleared her throat again. "All right, so we've worked out that the only reasonable way to open the locket so far seems to use 'Alohomora'. An idea so simple, Voldemort would never assume that anyone would think of it. So all one of us has to do is point our wands at the Horcrux and say the word… I assume the target of whatever comes out at us is likely to be the person who casts the spell to unleash it."
"Probably," the other two agreed.
"And once it – he – comes out – we have to improvise?" Ron asked, looking a little green.
Hermione forced a grin. "Yes."
"So who casts the spell?"
"I will, of course," said Harry at once, "You think I'm letting either of you –?"
"I think Hermione should do it," Ron said, and Hermione could have sworn there was a hint of unholy mischief lurking in his face. "After all, if worse comes to worse, Harry can always play the knight in shining armour and rescue her."
"I'm not letting her take that risk!" said Harry angrily. "I'll do it!"
"Certainly not," said Hermione matter-of-factly, examining the locket carefully, "You can't cast the spell, Harry. Because if Voldemort's one-seventh of a soul comes out and attacks the person the spells casts, you could die. And then the wizarding world will be through. Ron and I, on the other hand, are dispensable."
"Thanks," said Ron bitterly, but his eyes twinkled. Hermione shot him a quelling look. Harry looked furious.
"You're not dispensable to me!" he shouted.
Hermione shushed him with a wave of one hand. He looked like he was going to hex her before she did anything she would regret, but before he could even raise his wand, hers was up and she took a deep breath before pointing the wand at the Horcrux lying on the table, and said loudly and clearly: "Alohomora."
Amazingly, it worked. There was a hissing noise, like steam escaping a kettle, and the Horcrux burst open in a glow of green flames. Out of the flames, to their horror, emerged a life-size form of the Dark Lord himself. He was translucent, rather like a ghost only a little denser, but he looked real and terrifying enough. Hermione staggered back, her wand trembling, as the malevolent eyes fixed upon her. She had never come face to face with any form of Voldemort before. She had never even seen what Tom Riddle had looked like. This was worse than a nightmare.
It looked like this might have been about the third Horcrux Voldemort must have made, because the image captured was an imprint of himself in his early twenties, his face only slightly distorted and melted, but the eyes glowing red enough to send a chill right into her very soul. She wanted to scream, but she knew that for Harry, she had to fight this pseudo, wandless Voldemort before he killed her.
Ron was shouting something. Harry was trying to reach her, but something had happened and it was like she and soul-Voldemort were trapped inside a large bubble from which neither could escape and no one could enter. Hermione was trembling and drenched in sweat, but she raised her wand and screamed "INCENDIO!"
There was a shrill, unearthly scream. Soul-Voldemort was on fire, his translucent robes and body set ablaze by the potent blue flames conjured by Hermione. She stood still, frozen with the horror of it, trying to find a way to end it for good… for the spell would not last long, and a wizard of Voldemort's power, even a partial bit of his soul, would find a way to put her at a disadvantage if she hesitated or waited too long. But she didn't have it in her… she couldn't… say Avada Kedavra
She suddenly realized her strength was being sapped. She felt like the magic and life was being physically drained from her, that Voldemort was using her life force to sustain that of his soul. Like with Ginny. She fell to her knees and tried to struggle up, desperate to end this somehow, but she couldn't… she was dying, surely, all the life was being sucked out of her by this monstrous evil… Hermione screamed from the pain and the exhaustion, screamed because she couldn't bear the idea of failing and of abandoning Harry and Ron like this, because she couldn't bear the idea of leaving Harry… she realized she was sobbing, and that every second lost was a second in which she grew limper and more tired. This was not death. This was something far worse, the depletion of her very humanity. She couldn't bear it.
"HERMIONE!" Through a haze, she heard Harry's voice screaming desperately to her. "Hermione! You need to destroy the Horcrux, not him! That's what I did with the diary! You need to destroy the locket!"
It penetrated her consciousness.
With an almighty effort, Hermione wrenched herself to her feet, pointed her wand past the soul-Voldemort, whose cries had ceased because the fire was fading, and using everything she had, she shrieked as loudly and as powerfully as she could. "OBLIVIATE!"
A jet of golden light shot from the end of her wand and struck the golden locket square in the centre. She didn't know whether or not it worked, she didn't know if there was a chance that she might live after all… all she knew was that she had used the last of her strength, and if this didn't work, then nothing would and she might have just unleashed a second Voldemort on the world.
The idea was terrifying.
But Hermione felt for one thrilling instant that she could sense a bit of life flooding back into her.
The bubble vanished, and the next thing she knew, she was collapsed on the ground, drenched in a cold sweat and breathing shallow because she was so drained and exhausted. Life was returning, but it was coming back slowly, and she was so tired… but Harry was there. He and Ron were kneeling beside her, and as she looked up at Harry, she saw his expression for the first time, and saw what she hadn't been able to see that night at the Department of Mysteries.
She saw the horrible fear. Fear for her. That he would lose her.
"Harry," she whispered, and then croaked: "I need… water. Please."
Ron was grinning broadly, looking from Harry to Hermione. "I'll get it!" he said, sounding hideously cheerful, in Hermione's opinion. He ran right out of the room to fetch it, in spite of the fact that they were in the kitchen.
"Are you all right?" Harry asked anxiously. "How do you feel?"
Hermione smiled. "Peachy."
He grinned, but it faded. "Never do that again," he said, anger throbbing his voice, "I won't – I will NOT – risk your life like that again. I'm not about to lose someone else I love on a fool's errand, when I could have done it on my own."
"I'm glad I spared you that," she told him distastefully, shuddering weakly. "It was awful. But it's over. Three down, three to go – and then there's just the Dark Lord himself."
"Look, let me get you something – "
Hermione pushed herself up slightly and reached for his sleeve. "Harry," she said in exasperation, "If you must play the hero, at least do it the right way this time!"
He frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"Kiss me."
He did.
-END FLASHBACK-
…
Tears were slipping freely down Hermione's face. She was sitting in the tapestry room of Harry's house with a thick and very old book in front of her. It was from the Grimmauld Place library, and it seemed promising, with a title "Unusual and Deadly Spells of the North". After breaking the news to Ron, she had slipped away to do what she did best: read books. But her mind was anywhere but on the printed words before her.
She bit her lips, trying to stop crying. She loved him so much. Every memory was so clearly written in her mind, like fire in stone. She remembered that look of fear on his face when he had thought she was going to die. Now she really was dying, and she thought she had seen a ghost of that fear lurking in his green eyes. She loved him so much. It was unbearable, being so close to him, and knowing she could never be with him… because if she ever let the shell crack and allowed herself to trust him again, the pain would be far, far worse if he ever shattered her again. She knew she shared part, if not most, of the blame. But she just couldn't risk it again.
It was unbearable. It was worse than facing any Horcrux. She touched her lips, remembering the long-lost memory of his kissing her.
"Hermione?"
She looked up in surprise at the questioning, gentle voice. Seeing only an empty canvas on the wall when she had entered earlier, she had almost forgotten about Sirius's painting. But there he was now, peering concernedly at her from the portrait on the wall not far from her. Standing up, she went towards it, smiling weakly.
"Hello, Sirius," she said, sniffling a little, "I'm sorry you had to see that. How've you been? It's been a long time."
He gave her a fierce look. "You've been gone a long time."
She nodded, sniffling. "Too long."
"Hermione," his face and voice softened, "What's the matter? I don't remember ever seeing you really cry in all the time I knew you. I thought you would have been happy being back with Ron and Harry. Harry, especially." The beard-roughened jaw lifted as he smiled. Then he sobered. "I heard Harry talking to Ron about the spell Dolohov cast. Is that it?"
"Not really," she said tearfully, "It – it's Harry."
"Problematic, isn't he?" remarked Sirius wryly, grinning. "Believe me, I know. Looks a damned sight too much like his father for my sanity."
She smiled through her tears.
"Look, Hermione, you know I can't give you much," he went on, his eyes full of concern, "But I can tell you Harry's been horribly hurt. I believe he still loves you, possibly more than he ever did, but only you can really find that out. But my advice is to concentrate on finding a cure to that bloody spell first. You're no use to anyone dead."
Laughing slightly, Hermione wiped away her tears and smiled gratefully at the familiar face and body leaning against the painting frame and watching her. "Thanks, Sirius."
He winked. "My pleasure."
There was a sound at the door, and both of them looked back. Harry was a bit startled to enter the tapestry room and find both Sirius and Hermione staring at him. Hermione looked a bit better since getting a good night's sleep and eating something, but Harry couldn't help counting down the minutes in his head. It felt like a leaden ache growing heavier each moment.
He forced a mild smile, however, and merely said: "I'm glad you two have finally caught up."
Sirius was looking between them with an expression oddly reminiscent of Ron's sometimes as he said: "Oh… I'll just – er – be right back, all right, Harry?"
And he vanished from his portrait before they could say anything.
As Hermione walked slowly back towards the desk closer to him, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her hooded jacket to keep them warm, Harry thought he saw the trace of a tear staining her cheek. Had she been crying?
"How are you feeling?" he asked, and then cringed. It didn't help that he made her feel like an invalid.
She smiled slightly at him, apparently not minding his concern. "All right. I haven't gotten much done, though, which is a pity, because I thought I'd be able to do more this past hour and a half. I'm afraid my research skills must have rusted over the years I've been away from it."
"Don't worry about it," Harry said bracingly, "You'll soon have loads of people desperate to help, so an unproductive hour and half doesn't matter."
She shrugged a little. "My mind kept wandering… to other things."
He sat down on the desk and looked at her, standing only a foot or two from him and staring at him with an oddly sad look in his eyes. A look that made him want to take something and smash it against a wall. He risked more intimate conversation, in the hope that she might, somehow, find it in her heart to let him in again. "To what other things?"
"I was thinking about that day we got rid of the Slytherin locket Horcrux," she said quietly, looking at him steadily but with a hint of pain in her brown eyes. "It was… an interesting day."
He would never forget a detail of it.
"It was one of the worst, and one of the best, days of my life," he said softly.
"It was one of the best of mine," she replied, just as softly.
He dropped his legs to the floor. "Hermione," he swallowed, "Can't we –?"
"Harry, please don't do this," she said, sounding hoarse and hurt, "I can't, you know I can't. Neither I nor you will ever forget that night, and I can't live with that hanging over my head, knowing what happened. Things have happened, Harry. We can't pretend none of it ever happened. I – I can never really trust you again, Harry."
"Could you ever love me again?" he asked, not sure how he dared.
She swallowed visibly. "Probably not," she said, and her mouth trembled, as if they were the hardest words she had ever had to say. Almost, anyway.
He felt like she had just killed him. The irony of it was that he deserved it. He straightened, keeping what he felt carefully hidden. He didn't want to add the burden that she had hurt him to the weight that already weighed on her shoulders. Anything was better than not having Hermione around at all. He would make sure she was all right again, and perhaps one day, they could be friends once more.
Maybe.
"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I just want to you I understand why you did what you did. I understand that it was vital that I hated you in those few crucial moments, because we would have lost if I hadn't. And I just want you to know that no sacrifice will ever equal that, what you risked and gave up that night to save my life."
"It's over now," she said, and she stepped closer to him, and she touched his cheek. Her voice was dignified but slightly shaky as she said: "I don't want you to ever feel that you owe me your life, Harry. I won't have that debt weighing over your head in everything you do for me. I don't want that to be the reason you're trying to help me find a cure to this illness. I want you to do it because you genuinely don't want me dead. Because you remember who I once was, who we once were."
"I'm doing it because I care."
"I suppose," she said softly, "That's good enough for me."
He wished he could tell her. He wished he could risk his heart again and just tell her, willing to take the crushing pain of rejection again. But he didn't want to make things more difficult for her. That, and he, Harry Potter, was a coward.
So he merely smiled, squeezed her arm in an old friendly gesture, and said with a twinkling grin that wasn't as hard to pull off as he thought it would be: "I thought I'd warn you before you get crushed by a thousand arms, Hermione, but the Weasleys and a few other… er… guests are here, with food, and are rather keen on seeing you. I kept them at bay in the kitchen by saying I'd come and get you, but somehow I doubt they'll wait very long – "
He trailed off with a resigned gesture as something reminiscent of a cannon came thundering past him, shoving him aside.
"HERMIONE!"
There was a flash of red, and Ginny had thrown her arms around Hermione, who nearly fell over and looked like she was choking as the redhead ruthlessly hugged her. There were tears in Hermione's eyes, but she also looked very faint.
Harry leapt forward and pulled Ginny off Hermione with a strength that seemed to surprise Ginny, who gave him an arch look as if to demand to know what he thought he was doing, and did he really think he could keep Hermione to himself? Harry pushed her gently away from Hermione, whom he then steadied with a supporting arm under her elbow, and he said fiercely: "Ginny, she's in no condition to be choked to death, believe me. We'd all like to keep her around a little longer, if that's all right with you."
"Yes, yes, Harry," said Ginny, rolling her eyes and looking at Hermione. Then, to everyone's utter astonishment (for more people had come into the room), she burst into tears. "I'm so sorry, Hermione!" she sobbed, burying her head in Hermione's shoulder.
Hermione patted her on the back gently. "Oh dear," she said in a wry voice, "Am I going to have to go through this with everyone who's here?"
That broke the tension. Everyone in the room laughed, and the Weasleys poured onto Hermione (using caution when hugging her because Harry and Ron were standing like watchful sentinels) in a wave of red. Harry knew that they all took her words as a sign that she forgave them, and even if it couldn't erase their guilt completely, it at least assured them that she was as happy to see them as they were to see her.
He couldn't help feeling that Hermione had forgiven them for what they had all done too easily. He didn't honestly think he, or they, deserved her forgiveness after the cruel way they had doubted her and then refused to listen to her explanation. But he understood why she did it. He understood, though it hurt, that he was the one who had hurt her the most, not them. Vengeful when hurt she might be, but she was not essentially vindictive and could not hold a deep grudge. And he understood that she knew she was dying and that, if she never found a cure, that she didn't want to spend what could be her last days in the world estranged from those she cared most about.
The thought made him ache.
But he kept his mind rational enough to make a mental note to call her parents and try to arrange a Portkey to bring them back from America (where they had gone after she had disappeared) so they could see her again.
His mind was pulled away from these thoughts by the sight of Fred and George approaching Hermione with identical grins on their faces, last of the Weasley clan to reach her. With the exception of Percy, who had, of course, been killed during the war, they were all there. The twins proceeded to present Hermione with a bag of Dungbombs and a personalized Patented Daydream Charm, and then they each pumped her hand vigorously – a little too vigorously for Harry's liking.
"Absolutely spiffing to see you, Hermione," George said enthusiastically, ignoring his mother, who was already fussing over her.
"Thanks, F – sorry, I mean, George," she said, a smile cracking the drawn look on her face.
As they flooded out of the now overcrowded tapestry room and back into the much larger and airier kitchen, Harry realized everything was as shocked as he had been to see what condition Hermione was in after the past few years. But he was grateful to them for not mentioning it. He really didn't want Hermione to have to explain what had happened to her right now, or to feel self-conscious about it. She looked much better after a bath and in fresh clothes, with her hair washed and brushed, but the hollowness of her cheekbones and her lost weight were blatantly obvious. Harry wanted nothing more than to just take care of her.
There were several more people waiting in the kitchen with their Butterbeers and Firewhiskeys all ready. Ron grabbed a Firewhiskey, ignoring Hermione's disapproving look, a circumstance that caused much sniggering and grinning all around. Harry felt like it was almost his birthday party all over again, with one crucial addition and a significant number missing. Fortunately, Mrs. Weasley had kept the news to only 'intimate' friends of Hermione, Ron and Harry's.
Hermione was hugging Remus Lupin with almost radiant joy on her face. Harry remembered the two of them had shared a special bond because of Hermione protecting his secret all their third year, and her sympathy with his condition. Lupin, too, had always admired Hermione's loyalty, compassion and intelligence.
"I'm so happy to see you, Hermione," Lupin was saying happily, patting her on the back, and making way for Professor McGonagall to wring Hermione's hand with warmth, before shrugging and hugging her.
"I think," said Ron in a loud voice, cutting short a loud wailing from Hagrid, who barely fit in the kitchen as he picked Hermione right off her feet and wrapped one arm around her like he would a baby or a delicate flower he was afraid of crushing. "That it's time for a good party. Fred, George, do you think you could do the honours and conjure up a smashing cake? Or maybe you, Fleur, Hermione always liked French stuff – "
Harry rolled his eyes. He was surprised to find that he was almost enjoying himself. An hour later, he acknowledged wearily that news of Hermione's illness had gotten around. Far from putting a damper on her mood, she merely continued to drink one Butterbeer after another (to keep herself warm, Harry realized) and accepted offers and promises from people like Lupin, Tonks, Ginny and Professor McGonagall that they would search as many books as they could for anything on a sickness spell. Harry himself had a number of plans as to finding a cure. His first step, tomorrow morning, would be to pay a visit to Hogwarts and have a conversation with the portrait of Albus Dumbledore…
"I'd forgotten how loud parties are," Hermione's voice suddenly said beside him at some point. Harry turned and looked down at her. He was happy to see that although tired-looking, she seemed to be in far better spirits that one might have pessimistically expected.
Harry smiled. "You'd just forgotten how loud Fred and George are," he corrected, grinning.
"Thank you… for all this, I mean, Harry."
"I didn't do anything."
"Yes, you did," she said quietly. "You came after me, and pulled me out of my cold bed in the moor. Had anyone else come to find me, they wouldn't have been able to bring me back here. You were the only one who had the power to convince me."
Harry felt an absurd urge to cry, and he blinked sharply. He looked down at her, and touched her cheek gently. He almost said it, but he checked himself in time. "I'm glad I found you."
"So am I," she admitted, a tiny smile playing along her mouth.
Harry suddenly wanted to kiss her, and was appalled by himself. No, no, no… surely his desire for her, in a not-so-sweet-and-cuddly sense, wasn't returning now? Surely he wasn't going to start thinking about those nights and afternoons they had spent, about the laughter and the kissing, the tender touching and the passionate, raw moments…
Apparently, he was thinking about it.
Harry found a chair, groaning inwardly, and sat down.
"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione said, looking down at him.
He risked a glance up. Even when sick, even so thin, even with her bushy-ish hair and a pallor staining her cheeks, she was beautiful. Harry Potter, it's inhuman to think of making love to a woman when she's so ill!
He sighed. "It's just really hot in here."
…
…
…
It must have been about three o' clock in the afternoon, and the party had turned sleepier and more low-key, in a good way. Mrs. Weasley had dimmed the curtains so that the light was subtle and… more romantic. Music was playing on Harry's modern stereo (the twins couldn't get over such a device) – Muggle music, of course, as wizarding music didn't come on CDs. Several people were slowly dancing on the cleared carpeted floor of the TV room. Harry stood against the wall with an empty bottle of Butterbeer, watching Hermione and Ron dance not far away. Luna was watching, too, a benign, dreamy smile on her face. At one point, Ron grinned over at Luna, an intimate sort of gesture for Ron, and Harry felt a twinge of envy.
And I'd give up forever to touch you,
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow…
He straightened from the wall, and slowly walked towards Hermione and Ron. Tapping Ron on the shoulder, he winked and said: "May I cut in, Mr. Weasley?"
"Eh? I'm Ron, Harry, not my dad!"
Hermione giggled, but bit it back. Harry rolled his eyes and pushed Ron away. "Oh, go away, Ron, and dance with Luna. She looks a bit lonely." As Ron grinned and strolled off, glancing back at them with a pleased and mischievous look on his face, Harry turned to Hermione and raised his eyebrows. "So – erm – may I have this dance, then?"
"With pleasure," said Hermione with a faint smile, curtsying. She put her hands on his shoulders, and he laid his hands lightly on her waist. He still had no idea how to dance, but it seemed instinct to move with Hermione.
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be,
And I don't want to go home right now.
Harry noticed a lot of people surreptitiously watching them. Professor McGonagall and Hagrid, cutting a slow but wide path through the couples, were the only ones who seemed to feel it was wholly improper not to enjoy such a glorious moment and to stare at Harry and Hermione as if they were animals in a zoo. Harry knew that most of the people here, if not all, wanted nothing more than to see Harry and Hermione together again. He saw Ginny, with Terry, and didn't even feel a twinge of regret that he wasn't with her. He would always be fond of Ginny, because they were friends and she was Ron's sister, but he had never loved her. He saw Ron and Luna and wondered if Hermione felt any regret, whether she had loved Ron romantically. But at that moment, he actually couldn't bring himself to care. For the first time since he had lost her that night, he felt like there was a glimmer of light in his world once again.
So he did what he otherwise wouldn't and couldn't have done; he pulled Hermione tighter into his arms and held her close to him as they moved on the spot. Her hair brushed against his mouth, her head rested against his chest and neck, and he raised a hand and stroked her hair for a brief moment. Then he just held her.
And all I can taste is this dream,
And all I can breathe is your light,
But sooner or later, it's over –
I just don't want to miss you tonight.
Hermione lifted her head and looked up at him, as if she could feel the words, the meaning in them, as deeply as he could. They were the only two of their immediate circle who truly appreciated the life of Muggles, and the very first night they had spent together, this song, "Iris", had been playing on the Muggle radio. Harry had nicknamed her Iris playfully that night. It had been their song ever since.
It seemed surreal that they were now dancing to it. But it also seemed right.
And I don't want the world to see me,
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand;
When everything's made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.
He wanted nothing more than to be alone with her, to try once again to make her understand, to make her love him again. He could do it now, let the words pour out of him, but he didn't want everyone here to see his heart laid open, to see it break. It was only with Hermione that he had ever trusted opening his heart.
So he couldn't speak now. Maybe it was just the power of the song.
Harry knew he had made an unforgivable mistake, and done the unthinkable to her. As she had done to him. They had bared their hearts and their souls to each other, every dark and bleak corner of them. But when the moment of truth had arrived, they had made the mistake of doubting each other. He wondered if they could ever go back, whether they would each always be lost in the dark mists of their own demons. He, with the ghosts of his parents, the memory of fighting their Inferi corpses, with the ghost of his guilt and his feelings for her. And she with the phantom of her past and everything she had done and lost, and the slow, gnawing knowledge that if the right answer didn't come along, she would be dead in a few months…
Strange, how each other's demons was their own. How their own demons were only half as horrible as living those of the one you loved. Maybe, just maybe, they weren't so far away from each other in the darkness after all.
And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
Or the moment of truth in your eyes…
But sooner or later, it's over…
The song ended, the party ended, and quiet descended over the house once more. With promises that they would see them tomorrow and that Hermione should get some rest, everyone disappeared with the exception of Ginny, who forced Harry's permission to spend the night. Kissing Terry goodbye just for the night, she launched herself into mischief-business-like mode and told Harry to take Hermione upstairs so that she could get some sleep, while she, Ron and Luna cleaned up the last of the mess downstairs.
Never mind the fact that there was barely any mess, as Mrs. Weasley's wand had taken care of everything before she had left, leaving a hot (permanently) apple pie behind for them to enjoy when the mood took them.
Harry almost carried Hermione up the stairs, she was so exhausted. They entered her room, and he shut the door behind them, hoping to be able to say something that might make a difference before he left. But as Hermione took off her jacket and pulled back the covers of her bed, she spoke quickly before he could get a word in first:
"This can't go on, Harry."
He looked at her. "What can't go on?"
"You… and me… in the same house, haunted by our pasts."
"We don't have a choice."
"I could return to the moor, maybe go back to my old house in London, anything."
"You should stay here," he said as calmly as he could, fighting the panic at the thought of losing her again, even if it was just to a different house. "There's no way you're going back to the moor. Maybe your old house in London could be warm and habitable, and I know Mrs. Weasley would love to have you at the Burrow, but you're safer here."
"From what?"
"Dolohov," said Harry flatly.
Hermione stared at him incredulously. "He's not going to come back!"
"You don't think so? Now that you're weak, you don't think he might come back to finish you off, knowing your reflexes and magic won't be as powerful if you try to fight him off? You don't think he may do worse if he finds you unprotected?"
"Harry, don't – "
"I would die before I let anything ever happen to you again," he said fiercely. "I don't care how you feel about me, but I won't lose you to him or to his spell. I'll keep you safe if I have to chain you up myself."
"But – "
"There's no room for argument here, Hermione."
She looked at him for a long moment, and then she finally said a little wearily: "I see the sense in what you're saying. Besides… I've missed being with you and Ron. I think I would probably be happier here, even if it's so much harder… Look, Harry, we can't go back. Please. You have to understand that. It would be inviting nothing but more pain, for you as well as for me. Please don't push me."
"You're tired," he said gently, ignoring the hurt inside, "You need some sleep. And I would never push you. I suppose I have no right to ask you for anything anyway. But I just need you to know that if I could go back, I would."
"Buy a Time-Turner then," she said, cracking a smile.
He smiled back. "I'm not that sneaky. Sleep well, Hermione. I'll wake you for dinner."
"Good ni… evening, Harry."
He kissed her on the forehead and walked out of the room. As he closed the door behind him, he caught a glimpse of her crawling into bed and burying her face in the pillow. He had a strong feeling that she had started crying, and although he wanted nothing more than to go back and hold her, he knew that it would make things more difficult for her, and that it would hurt her to know that he was seeing her in her pain, knowing how it hurt him.
I just don't want to miss you tonight…
"I just want you to know who I am," he whispered softly. He knew she couldn't hear him.
But he hadn't. He had forgotten who she was that night. She'd forgotten him. And now, three and a half years later, they were just two lost souls looking to find themselves once more, and in doing so… maybe find each other.
…
TBC.