Author's Note: I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone who helped blow this story up. Your continued support means more to me than you know. What started as a side project to get me out of a slump has turned into something that has turned into a heck of a wild ride!

A bit of forewarning: this story was written with the intent of staying in the bounds of J.K.-Written canon and will end on a bit of a note that some readers have described as sad—one going as far as to say the "worst ending." (Not going to lie—I laughed at that one)

There will be a happy ending later, as I am working on a series of novellas leading up to it. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! This was the first fanfic I've ever written!

I've also decided to take some advice and take a look at this story again with fresh eyes. When this was originally written, I set myself on a goal to write a chapter a day—which I did—and I will be the first to admit it was a bit rushed. I'll be taking some time to breathe some life into this story and I truly hope you guys will be happy with the results!
Happy Reading!


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Since the Second Wizarding War ended, the highlight of Hermione Granger's life was quite literally the day she opened her own bookshop on the corner of Diagon and Knockturn Alley. Though she personally thought that the Ministry of Magic was heavily misguided in thinking that any amount of galleons would make up for hers, Harry Potter's, and Ron Weasley's trauma, she took their "gratitude" with a whispered thanks.

The truth was that her parents were still somewhere in Australia. In her quest to restore their memories, she had already drained what was in her vault. Hermione sought out all the mind healers she could afford—and some who offered to work with her on a volunteer basis. She had already pulled her "celebrity card" to acquire portkeys to and from Australia. She tried every remedy recommended in all the books she could get her hands on and took every suggestion offered to her.

The countless nights she spent crying on the shoulders of both her best friend and her boyfriend were times that she never wanted to relive. Eventually, Hermione accepted that she should listen to Ron when he told her, "The cure just hasn't been invented yet." The tiniest of smiles tugged at the corner of her mouth when he went on to say, "Have you seen these healers lately, though? They're coming out with new stuff all the time. It won't be forever. You'll see!"

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Had it not been for what wound up being her start-up fund, Hermione would currently be scrambling to even get quills and parchment. Properly supporting herself without getting her N.E.W.T.s would be another matter entirely, because under no circumstances would she ever take Harry's money, no matter how many times he offered it. It didn't feel right.

Sure, Hermione could have opted to join the Auror program along with the boys. Law Enforcement was a respectable career that would allow her to make a real change while still looking out for the people she cared for most. But there was one not-so-tiny problem… her personal feelings about using her newfound fame to take shortcuts aside.

Hermione let out a sigh of both satisfaction and relief as she flipped the sign on the door to "Closed." As much as she loved her Book Nook, by the time it was nearing the end of the day, her nerves were beyond rattled. She needed to indulge in her evening fix. The shop would need another hand soon, if only to cover her while she went back to Hogwarts.

Steeling her nerves to appear normal, she fixed a gentle smile on her face and turned to her part-time employee. The only person (apart from the boys) who knew the true store owner's identity slumped against the counter and returned Hermione's tired grin. It had indeed been a long day for them both.

Hermione, however, needed to get her out of the store. Now. She sent up a desperate silent prayer to whatever deity would hear her and said, "Why don't you go ahead and go home, Amanda? It's been a long day. I'll count down the drawer tonight."

That drew the older woman up short. "Oh, no, dear! I couldn't..." Despite needing to get to her office, something akin to affection touched her heart. She placed a soft hand on the woman's shoulder and tried her best not to sound robotic. "Please. I insist. You should be with your family, especially since your son just came back to town."

Finally, Hermione got the acceptance she was looking for. Amanda relaxed. "Then in that case, I'll open tomorrow. Get some rest for me, alright?" Guilt knotted in Hermione's stomach. She was about to have to lie to another person she held dear. Her nod was a bit jerky as she mumbled, "I will. Thank you."

.

The moment Amanda was gone, Hermione frantically locked up and darted behind the counter. She hardly took a moment to pause as she uttered the incantation to reveal the hidden entryway to her office. She flung the door open with a fairly loud bang and raced to her desk.

Tossing her wand to the side, her fingers fumbled in the top drawer until she found what she was looking for. She popped the corn on the phial of Calming Draught and tipped it back without a moment's hesitation. Her shaking hand was the least of her concerns. Once the last drop landed on her tongue, she slammed the bottle down, her chest rising and falling dramatically with each heaving breath.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she licked her lips, blocking out all the thoughts in her head that screamed at her like they always did. She knew that it was sick to be this addicted. That it was wrong. Every ounce of logical sense dictated that she needed help.

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Even as her body trembled. Even as burning tears pricked at her eyes. Even as visions of battlefields that reeked of death flashed across her mind. She saw Ron's face, twisted in anger, when he came back from wherever-the-hell he disappeared to.

Bellatrix Lestrange still stood over her with maniacal glee as she carved that damning word into her arm. The agony of the Cruciatus curse still tore her mind, body, and spirit apart. The sting of the cursed blade continued to cut her up like a slice of meat as though it were only yesterday.

She could only watch as Malfoy loomed above her as she writhed on his family's drawing room floor in agony. For the briefest of moments, Hermione still swore that she saw a flicker of something there. She reviewed that night hundreds of times in the last two years. Now she couldn't be sure if she imagined it out of sheer desperation.

The faces of corpses strewn across the Hogwarts grounds and the Great Hall slammed their way to the front. An image of Harry, limp and seemingly lifeless in Hagrid's arms seared her soul. Voldemort's cruel laughter poisoned the air of that fateful May morning again.

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Hermione's hands flew to her ears as she doubled over. "STOP IT! STOP. IT!" The demand of herself angrily ripped through her throat. Her knees buckled.

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Freezing temperatures. Starvation.

Helplessness. Desperation. Blood.

So much blood…

The anger. The fear. The face of true evil rearing its head.

They were only children…

Why had it all fallen on them?

.

Agonized screams echoed in that empty bookshop for what felt like an eternity. "Why?" Hermione cried. She curled up on the carpet in a pathetic heap. Once more, she didn't care. "Why did it have to be us?" Trembling arms that couldn't hold a thing at the moment folded under her head. "What was it all for?"

She didn't dare close her eyes. Instead, she focused on the deep brown color beneath her. Eventually, her screams turned into tiny whimpers of Harry's name. Those quiet pleas were the only sound that could be heard until the potion finally worked through her veins.

"Gods," she croaked. When the darkness that haunted her finally faded, she heaved out a sigh. The trembling in her body ceased. Her lungs no longer felt as though they were on fire. The war was back where it belonged—shoved into a distant hole and locked up tight.

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The magical and chemical processes were doing their job. It was yet again another perfect batch.

Hermione finally found the strength to peel herself off the floor. Once she cleaned her face up, she swiftly nodded and tried to clear her throat. She winced. "Right. Time to get to work."

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Four hours later, the ledger was balanced, deposit made at Gringotts Bank, inventory updated, and she was heading back to her home at Grimmauld Place that she shared with the boys. After all, someone had to help Harry with dinner. The last time Ron tried, he nearly burned the house down.

When Hermione walked through the door of number twelve, she was greeted with the sight of a flour-covered Harry barreling into the room with anxious relief. His poor hair was messier than normal, and he was practically waving his arms like a chicken with a spatula in his hand. "Thank goodness, Hermione! I'm so glad you're here!"

His smile was infectious. She shook her head with an amused grin as she sat her purse on their couch and hung up her coat. "Calm down, Harry! I'm glad to see you too." It was then that Hermione realized Ron was not on the couch, nor was he at their designated Wizard's Chess table. Nor was he at the kitchen table.

Harry's shoulders dropped a fraction at the same time his smile did. "He's at the Burrow again?" Hermione asked. Harry's eyes told her all she needed to know.

Grief was everywhere.

However, that was not going to stop her from helping Harry in the kitchen. Ron would come back from his parent's house when he was ready. He simply needed time. They all did. So, she relaxed her shoulders and grinned. Life had to go on. "Alright, what are we cooking?"

His returning smile was everything.


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A snitch chased a beat up quaffle on the ceiling to the rhythm of a ticking grandfather clock. Hermione had read the same passage from A Game of Thrones fifteen times in the last thirty minutes and didn't care. Her eyes throbbed from an irritating pressure, and they begged her not to read the same two paragraphs again. Nonetheless, she refused to close them or turn away.

Saturdays and Sundays were her set days for reading fiction novels, and that stupid clock in the corner wasn't going to take that away from her. Besides, Tyrion said something that spoke to her soul.

"Your brother Jon asked it of me. And I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples and bastards and broken things." Tyrion Lannister placed a hand over his heart and grinned.

Sarcasm aside, something inside her splintered a little bit more every time she read that line.

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Her foot bobbed a bit on Harry's leg as he absentmindedly toyed with his wand. His unseeing gaze was drawn to the scene above them, as it tended to be every evening when they settled on the sofa. Harry's hand was practically a furnace on Hermione's foot as his thumb lightly brushed over her ankle.

The ticks got heavier. Midnight was approaching. Even as the muscles in Harry's leg tensed, the easy lines he traced didn't skip a beat. She couldn't always tell if the action was for her benefit or his. However, it was all that kept the sinking feeling in her stomach at bay when she said, "Ginny will be back soon. It's going to be alright."

"And when it isn't?"

Her heart shattered at the audible crack in his unspoken, whispered plea.

"You have me. I'll be right across the hall."

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The only answer she got was a brief squeeze.

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Hermione continued pretending to read. Harry kept up the pretense of levitating balls from his last quidditch game out of boredom. Silence loomed, pregnant and heavy until the clock struck twelve. The pair froze when the dark chiming began to echo off their empty white walls. The objects of her best friend's focus sped out of the room and up the stairs on cue. It was another five minutes before either of them dared to move.

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A small tremor in Hermione's fingers eventually forced her to close the book. Their gazes locked hesitantly. Just beneath the surface of Harry's emerald irises, ghosts swirled. He cut off her view of them by roughly dragging the same hand that had been gentle with her across his stubbled jaw. A half-hearted smile as he patted her foot hinted at a long night ahead. Nonetheless, she shifted her feet off his legs so he could stand. With a muffled sigh, his shoulders sagged.

.

"Harry?"

"Yeah, Hermione?"

.

She rose to her feet and moved to stand in front of him. Her arms wrapped around his waist and her head nestled under his chin with ease. Harry immediately returned her embrace. His cheek rested on top of her head as they took a deep breath together. "I mean it. Everything will be alright. It might not be tonight, or tomorrow, or even the next day, but it will be. One way or another."

When Harry tightened his hold on her, Hermione tightened hers in turn. For a moment, it truly felt as if they were trying to squeeze each other's broken pieces back together. She screwed her eyes shut, trying not to think about the long night ahead, or worse—the days ahead when Harry wouldn't be here.

"Are you sure about not coming to the Academy? I really don't know what I'll do without you."

Hermione chose her words carefully. If he even got a hint that she was as terrified as he was, she had no doubts that he would find a way to persuade her not to return to school.

"You know that this is something I have to do. Besides, you're going to be great. You always are."

"Not nearly as great as you. I still stand by that."

"Then I suppose we'll just have to agree to disagree. You don't need me to chase your dreams. You're brilliant all on your own." Hermione took a few moments to gather herself before saying what they both desperately needed to hear. "It's time to go live now."

Neither of them said a word for an immeasurable moment. She simply breathed, taking in Harry's familiar warmth and the strong, steady beat of his heart. She was nearly lulled to sleep when he murmured, "It won't be the same without you there with me."

"Don't let Ron hear you say that."

She could hear a lighter note in his voice when he said, "Goodnight, Hermione."

When he let her go and stepped back, she folded her arms across her stomach and fixed a smile on her face. "Goodnight, Harry."

When the last stair at the top creaked and she heard his bedroom door close, Hermione dashed across the living room and snatched her coat off the rack. She had no idea how, but the house had suddenly become several degrees colder.

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Of course, it didn't take her long to light the fireplace, but as the night progressed, she couldn't help but think about his words. As she sat on the kitchen counter next to the pot, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee washed over her. She crossed her legs and swayed her feet as a cocktail of caffeine, vanilla, cinnamon, and Calming Draught passed through her veins. Hermione's mind was working overtime to find an answer to a single question. What was Harry trying to tell her?

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The mug in her hands dropped to the floor when she heard a gut-wrenching scream.

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Hermione did not hesitate. She jumped off the counter and flew out of the kitchen. She dashed across the living room and up the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her, not stopping until Harry's bedroom door swung open with a bang.

Strangled cries bathed in an orange glow assaulted her. In the center of the mostly empty room was a small bed on which Harry fought with his own blankets. His face was twisted with pain. His hair was stuck to his forehead and his body was drenched in sweat as he writhed.

"NO! TAKE ME! TAKE ME!"

"Crap."

Only when Hermione took the first cautious step into the room did a sharp sensation shoot up her leg. She winced but took another. Then another, not daring to make a sound until she reached his side.

His wordless screams never got any easier to bear. It took a full twenty seconds before Hermione was sure her voice would stay level. "Harry." The crease between his brows didn't smooth, but it did ease a bit. "Harry."

His screams quieted, though his torment was still plain. Harry's head still jerked from side to side, as if he were searching for something. Hermione sighed. Her fingers ghosted over his brow, brushing his limp hair out of the way.

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He swung.

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Hermione swerved to avoid the incoming blow, wincing as his fist collided with his nightstand. Bone cracked, and the scream that followed sent Harry bolting upright. He cradled the offending hand with wild eyes. His chest rose and fell with exaggerated heaves. He blinked, blind until his gaze finally settled on her.

Shock and fear quickly gave way to remorse. "No. Please tell me I didn't… Did I?"

Hermione fished her wand from her coat pocket. "Not a single scratch. On me anyway. But you should probably explain what your nightstand did to offend you."

Bolts of sharp pain shot through her feet, and that was what did it. The room spun as Harry's bed suddenly flew up toward her face. "Hermione!"

She was quickly wrapped in a frantic yet careful grip. Her head sagged to one side, protected by the crook of Harry's arm. A burst of heat seeped into her skin, though something in the back of her mind noted the softness of the blanket beneath her.

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"Bloody hell—"

Why did he sound so far away? Was he going somewhere? It really wasn't smart, given the state of his broken hand. She hadn't even cast a bone-mending charm on it yet.

"You have to stay awake. Do you hear me?"

"Mmhmm."

"Stay with me, Hermione. I need you to tell me what spells to use to get the glass out of your feet."

There was glass in her feet? When did that—

Oh. It must have happened when she was coming upstairs.

"Your…"

"Damn it, don't worry about me! Just tell me how to heal you!"

Black spots appeared in front of her eyes like little fireflies. "Adimo," Hermione murmured, "Sana." The last thing she felt was fire shooting through her feet and up her legs before everything went dark.


.

When she came to, the first thing she noticed was that she was incredibly warm. Her eyes slowly opened, and she squinted against the dull orange glow that proved she was still in Harry's bed. She was cocooned in a heavy weight that felt a lot like a thick comforter. Before she could process anything further, the events prior came rushing back to her like a freight train.

Harry's hand was likely still broken.

Hermione yanked the blanket off her and quickly sat up. Where was he?

She scanned the room in one smooth movement. For that matter, where was her wand?

The bed was empty, apart from her. The old rocking chair in the corner was also empty.

Her gaze settled on the nightstand. Her wand and a piece of parchment with something written on it were both next to them. Hermione scooted to the edge of the bed and tentatively reached over. She didn't want to pry into his personal belongings, but she needed to get her wand—and find him. She tried to keep her gaze off the note until she saw two words that twisted her stomach into knots.

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Forgive me.

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The witch snatched up her wand and barreled out the door. "HARRY!"

Hermione darted down the hallway and took the stairs back down two at a time. Her heart thundered in her chest when she reached the bottom step. What was that impulsive man doing this time? "HAR—"

A figure in the corner of their living room made her skid to a halt.

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Chaotic hair…check.

Rumpled tee-shirt… check.

Pyjama pants… check.

Round glasses… check.

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"What on earth are you doing?"

A single muffled sniffle tugged her forward like a summoning charm.

"Stay there, Hermione."

The words struck her like lightning. "Wha… what?"

"You're the smartest person I know. I bet you know better than anyone how to define insanity."

Hermione blinked. "Of course. While it is a mental illness and used in the context of extreme foolishness, it is also defined as repeating the same course of action multiple times while expecting it to produce a different result. But what does that have to do with anything?"

When Harry looked up from the floor, he wore the weariness of a wizard six times his age. "Tell me. What would you call continuing to be anywhere near me, even though it hasn't done anything but get you hurt? Or put your life at risk?"

.

Of course that's what this was about.

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Hermione stomped across the space until she was directly in front of him. "I would call it taking a calculated chance in the interest of doing the right thing by my best friend. Who, by the way, has also saved my life on countless occasions. Now hold out your hand."

A pair of emerald green eyes narrowed at her. "Your life wouldn't have needed saving if it weren't for me."

"Oh, really? Because I seem to recall it being Professor Quirrel who let the troll in the school during first year."

Harry's nostrils flared, but Hermione wasn't done. She folded her arms over her chest and said, "I also seem to recall it being Lucius Malfoy who slipped that horcrux into Ginny's cauldron, and that being how the Chamber of Secrets got opened."

Harry didn't get a chance to argue.

"Furthermore, you didn't put your name in the Goblet of Fire. You were a victim in that graveyard. If you recall, we all tried to warn the world of Voldemort's return. It wasn't anyone's fault that nobody but Dumbledore wanted to listen to three children. And if you really want to get technical—"

"Hermione—"

"Harry James Potter, you need to listen!"

The wizard in front of her stilled, eyeing her warily as she turned her wand toward his arm. "If you want to get technical, the fault lies with the adults who failed us. We simply worked with the cards we were dealt, even if we did meddle a little more than we should have. Far too much was dumped on us with far too little information. You have got to stop berating yourself for being alive. None of it was your fault, and I will continue to hammer that fact into your thick skull until you get it."

Harry wore a look of humored exasperation as his arm lifted of its own accord. "Really?"

"Yes," she sniffed. With her wand pointed at his hand, she said, "Episkey."

"Ow!"

Hermione tucked her wand into her shirt sleeve, feeling a little smug as she took her spot on the right side of the couch. "Better?"

Harry flexed his hand, shaking his head with a hint of a smile of his own. "Much. You could have left it broken, though. It's not like I didn't deserve it."

"You were having a nightmare. That hardly warrants weeks of pain." She patted the cushion next to her. "Come here."

The questioning look on his face when he took the spot beside her was priceless. "Oh, calm down. You act like I'm going to hex you."

Harry grinned. "Well, there was that one time—"

"Only to save your life," Hermione huffed.

Any weight her tone would have had vanished when he was suddenly being pulled down.

"What are you—?"

His words vanished when his head landed on her lap.

"Get some rest, Harry," she said quietly. Hermione started running her fingers through his hair, watching as his surprise and confusion melted away. "I'll wake you up if anything important happens."

Harry's eyelids started to droop as he stared up at her. "What about you?"

"I already had a bit of a nap, if you recall."

One eye popped back open. "That wasn't a nap. That was passing out."

"Stop your fussing," Hermione chuckled. "If it makes you feel better, I'll probably end up dozing off too. Your hair is surprisingly soft. The fact that Gin hasn't bragged about it yet is surprising."

Harry silently nodded and let his eyes close.

When the first sounds of snoring reached her ears, Hermione whispered, "I don't know what I'll do without you either, Harry. All I know is that everything is changing, and truth be told, I'm not ready."