FALLING SLOWLY VIII: More Than Words

Dear James,

I don't know what to say, other than to thank you. From the bottom of my heart, James, thank you for your letter. It was far more than I expected, or deserved, after leaving without a word yesterday morning. Also, I appreciate your forbearance in relying on letters to communicate, rather than frightening me out of my wits by dismantling my wards. Because if Harry has told you anything, my wards are formidable, indeed. I would be concerned that you could work past what Death Eaters could not, if I didn't have my suspicions of your occupation.

The other night, I attempted to thank you for everything you, Remus, and Sirius did in the Second War. What I didn't tell you, is that was part of the reason I convinced myself to accept your offer of flying lessons. Before our first meeting, I had a very lovely speech outlined and prepared in my head. But words seem safer here, don't they? And so I will share what I haven't the courage to do until now.

I've never told Harry how angry I've been with Dumbledore for the way he led us about as children, chasing after dark artifacts we had no business chasing. But I shudder to imagine a world without you and Sirius and Remus, a world where Harry was led like a lamb to slaughter by the Wizard he respected most. You prevented that, James. Because of you three, I knew we had a chance. I knew we would be safe.

I always knew each of you checked in frequently with us when you thought we weren't aware. My wards are legendary, remember? Since you shared that you were there, the night Ron died, I can't help but wonder how often it was you, James? When we set out to hunt down the remaining pieces of Tom's soul, it seemed logical for our groups to separate. But there were so many nights I wished one of you would appear beyond the hand mirror. No matter how much it might have frightened us, I wish you had dismantled those wards and kept us company. I can't help but wish I had known you better sooner so that you might have known me at my best.

I'm not the Witch I once was. I haven't been in years, and I think everyone besides you refuses to see it. Harry has had Luna and you three, and he's just so damned happy. How could I let him worry? How could I add to the burden we already share? But I feel like I can tell you.

I hope you will forgive my selfishness, James. But I don't have anyone else I feel would understand.

You probably know I erased myself from my parents' memories, but I never told anyone how much I hate myself for the fact I don't feel guilty for taking away their choice. They're alive, and I should be grateful. Instead, I feel empty. I'm an orphan by my own actions.

Gods, I sound so bloody ungrateful. I simply mean that I wish it had all gone differently.

I wish that Harry had grown up with his mum.

I wish I hadn't stolen my parents' memories.

I wish Ron wasn't dead because I crashed our broom.

Did you know, I haven't heard from the Weasleys since Ron's funeral? Whenever I encounter our former classmates, I see the strain behind their smiles, even if no one has directly blamed me for what happened during the War. Sometimes I wish they would. Sometimes I wish Harry wasn't so kind and patient. Of everyone in my life, Harry has been my single greatest constant. I sacrificed so much for him, but what else could I do? Protecting Harry is something else we both have in common, isn't it?

James, you mean the world to Harry, and also to me. With you, I haven't felt like I need to be Hermione Granger. With you, I felt more like the person I wish I could be. No matter what comes, I want you to know that, and in time, I hope you can forgive me. I could never want you completely out of my life, but I'm so tired of being selfish.

I will cherish the memory of our lessons, but I see now that I've been fooling myself. I've known for some time now that I no longer fit in with the Wizarding World. I'm not sure what I'll do next, attend Muggle University, perhaps?

I promise my door will always remain open for Harry. I won't completely disappear from your lives, but I don't know if I can stand living like this anymore.

Please forgive me,

Hermione

She thought this single letter would suffice.

In her mind, Hermione convinced herself that baring her soul with him in this way would be enough. It was the least she could do after all he had said and written to her, knowing what she couldn't give in return.

Now that James knew the truth about her, he would surely understand. He would let her go. Eventually, he could find a better Witch, someone who could liven his life and make him laugh, the way Tonks had for Remus. One day, James Potter would fall in love again, and Hermione would do her best to forget how perfect he was. She sincerely doubted she'd meet anyone else like him. She had been half in love with the Wizard before she'd met him, of course. How could she not have been, between Harry's and the Marauder's stories, and every scrap of news she could glean about him?

Surely all she had done and written would be enough to turn him away. She'd managed to finish the final, albeit messy third draft and send it with Bilbo before she could stop herself. It wasn't the farewell she wanted, but she had done the right thing. It would be better this way, in the long run, if she didn't leave him with hope for a future she didn't know how to give.

Hermione believed this until his reply arrived the following morning.

Dear Hermione,

You didn't say no.

I won't bother writing the embarrassing details of all I felt or thought upon first reading your letter. I spent most of the night flying. Flying and thinking. Finally, I reread your letter. I may have accidentally memorized it. Because I realized in the hour just before dawn, how damned bloody brave it was for you to share what you shared with me. You talk of how you aren't the Witch people believe you to be. I disagree.

You are so much braver than you know, Hermione.

Now, before you lecture me on the dangers of night flying, as I can sense you want to do this very moment...I implore you, my lovely one, to listen to my next confession. Maybe if you know the way I have always seen you, maybe if you finally know the truth, you won't be so quick to blame yourself.

I first heard the stories through Harry in his letters. I often traveled, while you lot were at Hogwarts, so the owls had a buggar of a time finding me. But I never forgot the way he described you, this wild Muggle-born Witch who was smarter than everyone else in the school. He was annoyed by you at first, naturally. For the first few years, Sirius and I were convinced you might be the Witch for our Harry. After Remus took the DADA position in your Third Year, we learned otherwise.

You discovered Moony's secret, even though Harry knew already and had been sworn to secrecy. Best of all, you discovered it before everyone else and did your best to befriend our favorite Professor. When we interrogated Harry about the whole affair later, he simply said, "Well, of course she did! She's my sister and a Marauder."

Over the years, one thing or another prevented our meeting in person. So often, I considered writing to you directly, to thank you for befriending my son. Ron Weasley might have been a part of your "Golden Trio" as they say, but you were the friend that stood by Harry more than anyone else. It's for this reason that I decided to interfere in Dumbledore's plans.

Would you be surprised to learn old Dumbles was my godfather? Common knowledge of this died with my parents' untimely deaths, I believe. So much of the older generation was lost during the First War, and after what happened with Lily, I decided not to tell Harry. You may guess why I chose to withhold this information. And you can bet I blackmailed the old goat as much as I was able to, for what he was content to allow happen for the Greater Good.

So when the time came for us to run, we decided to do what Marauders do best, we broke the rules.

I stole the prophecy about Harry before Tommy Boy could snatch it, then used it to force Albus to tell us everything he knew. Did you know he had planned to give the three of you clues like a bloody bedtime story, instead of actual written instructions? Before I wreck my kitchen again, let's press on a bit further in our story.

Because this is our story, love.

The first time I saw you that wasn't in passing, or through Harry's photographs, was at the Weasley wedding. We arrived, ready for the worst, ready for the next phase in "the plan," and the last thing I expected was you. You were bloody gorgeous, love. You were entirely too young, yet old enough I forgot who and where I was for a moment. I'm not sure if we even spoke. I remember you danced with Sirius and I was so damned furious with the idea of you in his arms.

"She's Harry's best mate!" I told him after, right before everything went to hell.

I can honestly say now that I wasn't so much angry on behalf of your honor. At the time, I convinced myself I was looking after you the way Remus cared for you, as a friend. Let's not even go into the fact my son sees you as a sister and how twisty that makes this whole affair. After the wedding went to shit and we were forced to split up, I was half mad with a need to go after you myself. I needed to be certain you three were safe.

You said you felt that we watched over you more than we admitted. What Harry doesn't know, is that I often chose to check in on you three instead of sleeping. It was worth it. Because I saw you during those weeks, Hermione, and you were beautiful. You believe you somehow have become less than you were before the war. Since you are convinced you are a bloody mess, well, then you won't mind when I tell you I like messy and complicated, and broken things. Maybe because I've embodied all three of these traits and have learned to appreciate the beauty hidden in imperfection?

You speak of regret, my oldest friend. How often have I wished to turn back time? To correct even a single mistake.

But every mistake I've made, every horrible and heartbreaking thing that's happened has led to this.

We live in a world free of Tom, a world where I have my son and my best mates and you.

Did you know, toward the end of the war especially, my greatest fear besides failing Harry, was never having the chance to know you better?

I only ever wanted to be your friend, Hermione. I never dared let myself hope for anything more, not until you first met me in Godric's Hollow and I started to imagine more.

It's been so long since I wanted anything for myself truly. If anyone is being selfish in this relationship, it's me, love. I selfishly want you all to myself for as often and as long as you'll have me. I selfishly wish I could go to Muggle University with you (I could pass for a student, couldn't I?), to follow you wherever the next part of your journey takes you.

Being with you is more than slightly addictive, and I don't fancy feeling differently any time in the next hundred years, Hermione.

You didn't tell me no. You gave excuses because you're scared, but I'm fucking terrified, too. If that's the case, wouldn't we logically do better to worry together? Would it be so bad, if we agreed to tolerate each other's company until we learned to leave our fears behind?

This is not a goodbye, Hermione. By your own hand, you said you still want us in your life. I'm going to hold you to your word. I won't give up until you begin to believe me when I say you have so much to give, so much to offer.

Damn, this letter is too long. I've already covered two sides and Bilbo will bite me if I add another page. I'll write more soon.

Yours,

James

The kitchen was in shambles.

It wasn't quite an accident.

More like an explosion of the magic that had been brewing in him over the long hours he waited after Remus convinced him to give her space.

It was midnight when Bilbo finally delivered her first reply.

I don't know if I can stand living like this anymore, she'd said.

His magic lashed out. Glass and porcelain shattered around the room and he hadn't bothered to clean up before snatching up his broom and escaping to the skies. It had been later, as he'd read and re-read her letter to make sense of it all when James realized...

She didn't say no.

She was trying to say goodbye, this much was obvious and unacceptable.

He would not let her fade away into the Muggle world without a bloody by-your-leave.

But...

I could never want you completely out of my life, she'd said.

James summoned parchment, ink, and quill to his kitchen table and in the early hours of the morning began writing his first frenzied reply.

He sent the first letter with a sullen Bilbo, and then he sat down again to write more.

He wouldn't give up on her. Sirius and Remus advised distance, but they could shove it up their arses when they inevitably caught him. He wasn't bloody showing up on her lawn, like she said, after all. But he wasn't letting her go this easily.

This was the way Harry found his father hours later.

James barely felt his son pass through the house wards before stepping through the back door.

"Dad?" Harry's voice broke his concentration. "What the hell happened here?" Glass crunched beneath Harry's boots.

James ran a hand through his windswept hair and grimaced. "Yeah, sorry about the mess, Harry."

Harry set his broom and satchel beside the door and slowly pulled his wand from his wrist holster. "Mind if I clean up a bit? Unless this is part of some experiment I don't know about?"

James snorted and shook his head. "No, not this time, Prongslet." He glanced up from the drying ink of his latest letter and shrugged as he leaned back in his seat. "Just a bit of accidental magic."

"I'll say," Harry drawled as he turned and swished his wand to begin mending the broken dish and glassware.

James waited for the last sliver of glass to return to its proper place before rising and crossing the kitchen to gather his son in his arms. "Glad to have you home."

"Feels like forever, doesn't it?" Harry returned his embrace with a brief, tight squeeze.

James still lived for these little moments. He'd always drawn strength from having his son near.

Harry was not quite as tall as James, though so many of his facial features and the hair were all Potter. James felt a familiar distant ache as he met Harry's gaze—Lilly's eyes—and clapped his back. "Longer than I'd like, but tell me how the last game went? Padfoot show up?"

"Yeah, not sure who cheered louder, him or Luna." Harry smiled as he followed James to the counter and watched as his father started a pot of tea.

"Your Witch wear anything exceptionally creative for this game?"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to brighten at the mention of his girlfriend. "Oh yeah, Sirius might have screamed a little when she suddenly turned up with a transfigured Falcon headdress."

James chuckled and hoped it didn't sound forced. He hoped that he could keep Harry chatting about Quidditch, or Luna, or literally anything except for the bloody elephant in the room. James had never been lucky.

"So...are you gonna tell me why you blew up the kitchen?" Harry's expression was nonchalant, but his tone was too knowing.

James paused and narrowed his gaze at his son. "What did Sirius tell you."

Harry sighed and ran a hand over his hair. "Okay, so he might have warned me you were a right mess. Surprisingly, he didn't tell me everything the way he usually would. But between my botched call to Hermione and the state of the kitchen, I know something happened."

James ducked his head, focusing on steadying his nerves as he waited for the kettle to steam. "You spoke to her. When? H-how did she sound?" He winced as Harry turned to face him.

"Yeah, see, that is what I'm talking about. You're both acting cagey. She actually hung up on me. I seriously considered visiting her first, but I thought I'd give you the chance to tell me what happened. Then I can know how mad I should be about it." Harry's fists tightened over his arms, the same way James's did when he was holding himself back.

James braced himself against the counter. All the good cheer he'd brought to the fore faded as he confessed. "You're right, I have made a mess of things, but I hope you understand that I never meant for it to go this far. It's just..." He swallowed past the embarrassment and the fear and the pain he'd been battling the past day and forced himself to face Harry's heavy gaze.

"She's unlike any Witch I've met. I think I knew that even before you arranged our lessons. But I didn't know how much she would move me, just by being herself." James shook his head and smiled as he recalled their conversations, the way she worked so hard to piece herself back together since the War. "She has so much to offer and she has no clue..."

"Merlin," Harry interrupted, as he uncrossed his arms and said with wonder, "you're in love with her."

By unspoken agreement, father and son took their tea to the kitchen table, where James did his best to tell the full story. He might have omitted some things, of course. Hermione might be Harry's best friend, but James wouldn't break her confidence. Instead, he told his son the way Hermione made him feel.

"Her magic is so pure," he found himself saying much later after he took a break to mail his next letter and move on to a stiffer drink in his study. "She thinks she's broken and tainted, but she's not. She's like sunlight, and the skies after rain, and she makes me feel so bloody alive..." James laughed as he caught Harry's reddened face. "Sorry, for a moment, I think I forgot you're my son."

Harry's hand slipped from his face, unveiling his broad smile. "She is like a sister to me." His nose scrunched in the way Lily's once had. "Wow...guess I shouldn't use that comparison anymore."

James tossed back the rest of his Firewhisky and groaned as she sank back in his armchair. "Godric, it does sound bloody awful. I'm twice her age, at least."

"Actually," Harry coughed and straightened from his seat in the cushioned seat across from James, "she's older than me by almost a year. And she kind of overused a time-turner in third year. We're not exactly sure, of course, but she thinks she may be much closer to twenty-seven than twenty-two."

James blinked, and when Harry shrugged, burst into relieved laughter. "Oh, gods, that shouldn't make me feel better, but it does."

Harry chuckled and shook his head as he turned to the fire. "I still can't believe Luna was right."

"What do you mean, Luna was right?"

"Well, she sort of thought you and Hermione were destined to be together. Least...that's what she said when she was trying to convince me to set the two of you up last week."

The tumbler nearly fell from James's casual hold as he barked, "What!"

At this precise moment, Bilbo swooped into the study, a thinly folded parchment in claw.

Harry dropped his glass and held up his hands as his father stood. "Isn't that a letter from Hermione?"

James narrowed his gaze as he took the offered parchment. "As soon as I'm finished reading this, we're having bloody words, Harry James Potter." His grip tightened as his son nodded with obvious relief before James sank back into his chair and unfolded the letter.

James,

How can you be dazzled by me? How could you have looked at me after the War with anything but pity? How did you know that I needed you all those years ago?

I have wished quite often, especially during the past week, to peek inside your mind to learn the secret.

You are the only person I've ever known who treated me as though I were both powerful and something to protect.

For so much of my life, I've been the one people relied on to look after them, or to keep them on the right path. Until you.

I wasn't going to write you back. I thought we'd already said goodbye, James.

But if what you said is true. If you truly feel this way about me (and how much I wish for it to be true, as much as I'm afraid I'll only let you down in the end) then I don't think I can tell you goodbye. Not for long, anyway.

I don't know when I'll see you again, but please don't stop writing to me, James. You said you were the selfish one, but I suppose we must both be selfish then. Because I selfishly clung to your confessions.

I'm not ready to tell you what I feel. I'm not so sure it's wise. I don't want to hurt you, James, but I need your words.

Will you give me your words, if I asked?

Please write again, soon.

Hermione

Review: Enter Harry Potter, stage left! :D I hope everyone loved finally seeing Harry in person for this chapter. Next, more lovely letters from James, and a happy ending approaching :) Thanks so much to all of you who have followed and continued to show love and support for my Jamione stories!