Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I pretend I own the characters. J.K. Rowling is a goddess, and, while I wishI was smart enough to think up something like that, Ididn't.But the plot is entirely my own.
A/N: Hey, I just wanted to sayI'm so sorry for all the typos and bad grammar and stuff from the last chapter. My computer was acting up, and I was getting so frustrated and I just wanted to get the chapter on Fan Fiction … so, yes. Terribly sorry. Anyway, on with the story!
The air is brisk. It feels good against his face, whipping through his hair.
How could she say something like that? Harry seethes as he walks along the streets in Diagon Alley, his hands shoved in his pockets. Something so cruel and uncalled for. And the look in her eyes—why was she angry with him? What had he done? Did he say something?
Harry wants desperately to believe it hasn't affected him. That Hermione's outburst doesn't still sting him. That he doesn't feel anything from that. He's not even sure how he reacted to Hermione's biting comments when they were younger, when things weren't this complicated. He's not sure how "Harry" would react. The Harry who grew up with Hermione, who never saw her as anything more than his best friend, the girl he could talk to about all of his other girl issues with. And he valued that, still does, and he's afraid of losing that for this – this awkwardness. He's not sure if he should just act like nothing happened all the time or show his feelings, tell her just how he feels … and it's terrible this way.
And this is just the first two months, he thinks bitterly. And he hates himself for having such a though, such a terrible thought just two months into this thing he got himself into.
And suddenly, Harry knows where he wants to be.
And with a turn, he's there.
The plot of land is still marked off. No one dares to clean it up. It's almost sacred. It's certainly sacred to Harry.
This is where Voldermort killed his parents.
And this is where he killed Voldermort.
Harry walks over some of the rubble carefully, reaching a small clearing.
This is where he stood.
This is where he watched Voldermort fall.
Harry sits down on a piece of stone. He rubs his forehead and bites his lip. He's not even sure what made him think this was a good idea.
And he just starts to talk.
"Er, hi," he says awkwardly. "Mum, dad. I know you can hear me. At least, I hope you can." He coughs. It's quiet, and it's getting dark, and it's peaceful, so peaceful. "I'm sorry I haven't—haven't come here in a while. I've been busy with work and—well, life, I guess. And I think I was scared to come here. I don't really know why. And I don't why this – this new thing makes me want to come here more." Harry swallows the lump in his throat. "I'm scared, honestly. I'm scared for myself, for her—I don't know what's going to happen. I didn't mean for this to happen. Hermione's my best friend, and I—I never even thought about something like this. I never thought I'd see her this way, but I do, and I don't know why. And I'm not sure if it's all just connected to me getting her pregnant, but I can't help but feel like it's more than that. I'm scared of what's going to happen afterwards—will I just see my child on weekends? Will our friendship last something as big as this? Are we—are we meant to be together? Am I in love with my best friend?" Harry laughs and shakes his head. "That can't be it—I never even thought about it until that night. I never even considered it, never toyed with that idea. And yet here it is, sitting right in front of me. And I just—I just don't know what to do with it."
Harry looks up. A few stars are twinkling in the sky. "I wish you could see this," he says softly. "I wish you could be here, to see this sky, to sit with me and just look up and love life. But you're not. I am, and I'm so confused as to where I'm to go from here. Where am I supposed to go? I just don't know anymore."
A few tears are stinging his eyes, and they slide past his temples, his head still tilted upwards. "I wish you were here," he whispers.
Hermione paces around the apartment anxiously. She's called all of their friends ("Don't be so worried, Hermione!" Ron had scolded her. "He said he was going for a walk, so I'm betting he's walking!"). She's completely forgotten about the food. And now, she's walking around and around in circles, waiting for him to get home.
She goes into his room. It feels wrong, in a way. Invading his privacy when he's not even home.
She would never have cared about this before. Why does she now?
His dresser has a few pictures on it, some in frames, and a few, obviously taken with a Muggle camera, lying in a pile at the edge of the dresser. She picks up one of the moving pictures in a plain glass frame, studying it.
It was a picture of the three of them, but Harry's missing from the picture, and Hermione just looks worried. Ron's laughing, though, like he was when the picture was taken. From Bill's wedding. They had just been dancing, and they were sweating and their hair was plastered to their faces. And Hermione had taken off her shoes and was dancing in her bare feet, and Ron and Harry had loosened their ties. And Hermione had demanded they play some Muggle classics that she and Harry sang along to. And Ron had shoved Harry's face into his piece of cake. And Harry and Ginny had kissed and she and Ron had kissed and things, for once, were entirely uncomplicated. And it was wonderful. And they had been happy.
Hermione feels goose bumps rising on her arms, just thinking about what happened next. Standing in Godric's Hollow, crying incantations at the Death Eaters surrounding her. Seeing Ron fall and shouting out a spell for a protection shield that surrounded him. And watching Harry, in the rubble of his parents' house, screaming spells at Voldermort, ducking behind the few bits of stonewall that still stood as Voldermort screamed back at him. And Voldermort's cackle as he cried, "Do not hide from me, boy! Not this time!" And Harry had stood up, raised his wand, and screamed the words, which had seemed so muffled to her, and there was a flash of green light and Voldermort was gone … gone.
She's crying now. Remembering holding Harry and Ron and just breathing as one. Friends to the very end. And now? Can a friendship endure something like this?
The door slams shut, and Hermione runs back to the main room, still clutching the picture. "You're back," she says.
"I'm back," he repeats, turning his back to her to hang his coat. And when he turns back, she's just standing there. Watching him. "What? Do you have any more snide remarks?"
Hermione shakes her head. The words are on the tip of her tongue. "I'm – I'm – I'm -" She stops. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said, and I don't – I don't even know why I said those things. It just came out. I'm sorry."
She looks up, holds his stare for one, two, three seconds before looking away. "I'm sorry," she repeats quietly.
Why won't she look at him? What is she so afraid of?
He finally says, "It's Ok." That's it. He doesn't raise his voice or anything. He doesn't get angry with her.
She can't help but feel like it would be more normal for him to kick and scream. Tell her she was being so ridiculously stupid. But then again, she's not sure if that's even what her friend Harry would do. Yes, he has his outbursts, but not often—not nearly as often as Ron does, that's for sure. But not many things get him angry. Is this something the friend Harry wouldn't get mad about, or something the Harry-who-feels-awkward-because-he-had-sex-with-her wouldn't get angry about? She doesn't know. She just doesn't know.
"What are you holding?" he asks her, gently pulling the picture from her grasp. He studies it. She looks at it upside-down. They're all back in the picture, back to smiling. But Hermione's brow is still furrowed, even with a grin plastered on her face.
"I could – heat up the food," Hermione offers.
Harry lifts his eyes. "You mean you didn't eat it?"
The tone of his voice surprises her.
"No—it's no big deal! I wasn't hungry after you left."
"Hermione," Harry groans. "You have to eat something—you can't just not eat for a whole day -"
"Harry, it's fine! Don't worry! I promise the baby's not going to get sick. I had a few cookies at my parents' house." She pauses. "Look, if you're so upset, I'll go eat right now. Ok?"
Harry nods, and Hermione smiles. It's actually quite sweet, really, how concerned he is.
Harry looks at her. He could reach out, touch her face, pull her to him and kiss her. He could tell her about all of these new emotions he has when he looks at her. How much he needs her. She's absolutely beautiful right now, and all she's doing is standing in front of him with her arms folded across her chest.
He could tell her.
He could, but he won't.
She's just one step too far away.
She's his best friend.
Nothing more, nothing less.
