February 2, 2004

Harry let himself and Hermione into his small flat and dropped into a chair. Everyone had been shocked when he decided to purchase the small apartment in Ottery St. Catchpole. The popular opinion seemed to be that Harry would move to Godric's Hollow but the neighborhood held no appeal to him, at least not at this point in his life. For now Harry strived to distance himself as much from his past as possible. And that meant purchasing a tiny flat - no more than a kitchen, a loo, and a bedroom - and living close to the Weasleys.

When Harry had explained his reasoning, Ron had simply said, "We're wizards, you know? We're literally close to anyone... well, so long as you can Apparate properly." Hermione had jabbed her elbow into his ribs and Molly hushed him.

"It's a lovely place, Harry, dear. And we're happy to have you so close," she'd said warmly. Arthur nodded in agreement.

But now, the tiny space was suffocating. Harry didn't bother with cleaning anymore and the filth seemed to grow daily. Hermione glanced around his kitchen once and immediately set to washing his dishes. Harry rested his elbows on the small table and placed his head in his hands. The alcohol was quickly moving him from a happy drunk to a miserable hangover. For several long moments, the only sound was running water and the clink of silverware as Hermione attacked the small pile. Harry groaned and glanced back at her for a moment.

"You're a witch, Hermione," he slurred. He dropped his arms to his side and simply rested his cheek against the cool tabletop.

"I know that," she said simply.

"S'why're you doing that? You could magic it away."

Hermione chuckled softly. "And to that I'd say so could you. But truth be told, it's old habits. I can't seem to shake myself of some of them," she explained simply. "It drives Ron mad. He can't understand why I'd spend time doing anything that can be accomplished with a simple flick of the wrist."

Harry grunted.

"Sometimes it's nice to do things the old fashioned way. I like to keep my hands busy and it gives me time to think." Hermione smiled to herself. "But maybe Ron is right. Maybe I am crazy."

"No, I get it," Harry responded. It was the same logic he used to explain why he chose to walk rather than Apparate. Hermione turned off the water and began to dry the various dishes and cups. The duo were silent for a while, the only sounds coming from a small clock on the wall and Hermione at the sink. Harry willed himself into sobriety. The fire whiskey was still clinging to mind - he was drunk enough that things still felt dull, but was sober enough to realize what an arse he had been that night. It was the worst part of the drink. When sobriety began to descend and with it, the crushing reality of life.

Hermione remained silent and for that Harry loved her. She didn't push him, or demand answers and explanations the way that Ron would have. No, Hermione gave Harry the time that he needed to sort himself out. And in that way, she was exactly like Luna. The thought of Luna sent his head spinning and made his stomach double over. But if Harry was honest with himself, he'd admit that Hermione really wasn't anything like Luna. For so long, Luna had been what kept him on this side of humanity, on just this side of the darkness. And Luna simply understood him - both his thoughts and his needs. Hermione would give him time but wouldn't fully understand where he was coming from. She would require clarification and need to ask questions. Luna just knew.

Harry lifted his head up from the table and licked his lips. "Hermione, I think that I need help," he admitted quietly.

Hermione stopped her chore for a moment, no doubt deciding how to best respond to Harry. After a moment, she began placing his silverware into the correct drawers. "We will find you help, Harry. But you're going to have to give us some slack."

Harry nodded and pushed his chair back so that he could watch her at her work. She was bent over, seemingly lost in arranging his spoons by size.

"Hermione, please - you really don't need to do that." She nodded, never looking back at Harry.

"I know." She continued her work. "You need help," she gently prompted.

Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm angry all of the time," he began. "I'm constantly being thanked and congratulated and these people stop me on the street and they ask me, what's next? What will I do next to amaze the world? And I just want to be left alone. I just want to walk down the street and not be stared at." Hermione closed the drawer softly, rounded the table, and sat across from Harry. "I feel like I'm standing on the edge of this cliff, constantly fighting not to fall. And below? I don't know what's below but it's dark and it's bad but I'm always on the verge. But now? Now I just want to fall because I know that it's inevitable. And because at least at the bottom, it'll be quiet."

Hermione watched Harry with sad eyes. She reached across the table and took one of his hands in hers. For the first time in months, Harry didn't jump at the touch of another human.

"Does this have anything to do with Ginny?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "I wish it were that simple but no. It's always been this way. Ever since the day that Hagrid brought me my letter. I've always been the center of attention and it used to be okay. Back when I was too naive to understand what I was missing out on. But now I'm just tired of it. I want to be forgotten. I hate when strangers thank me because honestly, if I could go back and trade it all in for Dumbledore and Sirius to be alive right now, I would."

"Harry, you can't mean that -"

"Yes, Hermione. I do mean that." Harry pulled his hand from hers and ran his fingers through his hair. "And I know how it makes me sound but I don't care. This is who I am and I just don't care anymore. And no one gets it. No one ever got it, except..." Harry trailed off and stared down at his hands.

Hermione nodded sadly. "Except for Ginny," she said.

Harry blinked at Hermione. "No," he said simply. "The only person who ever understood was... Luna."

Hermione lifted an eyebrow. "Lovegood?"

Harry chuckled without humor. "Was there ever any other?" Hermione stared at Harry, bewildered. She studied his face and after a few tense moments, she sucked in a sharp breath.

"Oh my God. You're in love with her."

Harry looked up and met her eyes. "Smartest witch in our year, eh?"

"But... I don't - when? Luna? Harry, none of this makes any sense."

Harry simply shrugged his shoulders and dropped his gaze back to his folded hands.

"Wait a minute - you've been with Ginny all this time!"

Harry sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. "Ginny was always gone. First, she was at Hogwarts... and then she got picked up by the Cannons."

"That doesn't make it right, Harry. God, if Ron knew..." Hermione trailed off, and put a horrified hand over her mouth. Harry looked up at her.

"I'd be more worried about what Ginny would do to me but no... Luna and I - we never did-" Harry stopped as Hermione held up a hand.

"Don't you sit there and justify your behavior to me. You were wrong," Hermione snapped. Harry nodded - he knew that Hermione was right. He hadn't treated Ginny with the respect that she deserved.

"I know. And if I could change things... God, I would give anything to go back and change everything. But I can't, Hermione and believe me, I've suffered for it. But if something doesn't change..." Harry shook his head grimly. "I can't look at myself in the mirror anymore," he confessed, his voice cracking.

Hermione let her look of disgust fade into one of worry. Once more, she reached across the table and took Harry's hand.