Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing. For proof, if I owned Harry and his world, I'd be the multi-millionaire author churning out the big fat novels. Instead here I am posting on Note: Okay, despite being super busy in school, I'll be trying my level best to post regularly once a week. Maybe more, but certainly not less.

Harry shivered as the ghosts of the past fell away. Time had passed, he was sure of that. Hermione had detached herself from his arms and was standing by the door.

"Come on, Harry," she said gently. "Time to go home."

Home? What was home to him? A long time ago, when he was a idealistic young boy, Sirius had said to him: "Home is where your heart is, Harry."

Sirius was dead. Many others were dead. His heart was broken, the fragments lost to the sands of time, slipping away with the memories of the dead. His godfather was nothing but a dim memory now, when things were so much simpler.

Unsteadily, he slipped from the bed and shuffled over to the door. Harry walked out, not looking back, out of the plush waiting room, ignoring the looks he got from the people he passed.

Hermione grabbed his hand and pulled him into a dark alleyway once they were out of sight. With a faint pop, they Disapparated and Apparated almost instantly in front of a handsome old building halfway across London.

The protective charms laid on 12 Grimmauld Place still lingered long after the casters were dust. Together, Harry and Hermione had managed to remove some of the most troublesome ones, including the Dumbledore's ghost which lurked in the hallway and wove new ones which ensured that the house maintained its status as one of the most secure in Britain, comparable only to the Ministry of Magic itself.

Inside, it was significantly less dusty than it had once been. The portrait of Mrs. Black, once the bane of so many visitors to the house, had finally been removed after Harry, in a fit of anger, blew out the entire portion of wall with his wand.

Harry wearily threw his jacket at the clothes stand, which caught it neatly. "I don't think I can do this anymore, Hermione," he muttered, striding into the kitchen.

In reply, she seized his shoulders with surprising strength. "Look at me, Harry," she commanded, fixing his eyes. "It's. Not. Your. Fault."

He broke free of her, running a hand through his hair. "They're following me everywhere. They won't leave me alone. There! He's back!"

Harry was aware he was rambling but the appearance of a black-robed figure at the kitchen door convinced him that he was sane.

"Thought I was dead? You deceive yourself once again, Potter. I will return."

"SHUT UP!"

Harry roared the words, his wand appearing in his hand. Out of the corner of his vision, he was vaguely aware of Hermione doing something with her wand.

"Stupefy!"

His mouth moved but strangely, nothing came out. Harry felt something hit the small of his back and everything went black.

"Do you love Hermione?"

The unexpected question caught Harry off guard. It was night, deep in the forests of Albania. He and Ron were taking the night watch while Hermione slept in the tent. The next day, they were due to explore a nearby cave which was giving off a lot of magical energy.

"Of course I do," answered Harry.

Ron scrutinized him, an act which made him feel uncomfortable. Busying himself with poking the fire, Harry tried to ignore him the best he could.

"Yes. You do."

This time, Harry was completely taken aback.

"I don't! I only love Hermione as I would my own sister! We've been friends for so long…" His protests died away as Ron shot him a death glare.

"Alright," he admitted, cracking under the intense scrutiny. "But I couldn't – We wouldn't – "

"I knew you wouldn't. You wouldn't want to do anything to hurt me."

Malice underlaid the seemingly calm words.

Harry got to his feet.

"Ron – "

Ron had already risen to his feet and was walking into his tent. "Don't bother, Harry. We know each other very well already. I know you'll do what's right."

They did not speak until a few hours later, the Trio hiked up the hill towards the mysterious cave. Harry took his time, watching Hermione walk in front of him, lost in memory.

Who would he choose: his best friend, or his best friend?

Harry resolved to tell her: tell Hermione everything and then walk away. Leave behind everything they had built. And preserve his and Ron's friendship. It was but a small price to pay for years of loyal, devoted support.

His soul was a poor exchange for everything he was about to lose.

Harry decided to begin once he stepped into the cave. Energy pulsated within, and he knew death lurked within. He had to save them, to get them away to live happily ever after.

"Any sign of him, get out," hissed Harry sharply, his face set. "It's between him and me." Resolutely, he let no hint of the turbulent emotions within show through the mask.

Ron wheeled around…

Approximately two hours later, Harry's world upended itself.

Harry awoke screaming. Ron was there, torturing him while Voldemort laughed. But what chilled him to the core was that Hermione was there. She had never appeared in the nightmarish parallel universe that he inhabited. But it all changed now.

She was beside him, writhing as Ron and Voldemort did unspeakable things to the both of them.

As he sat there, panting, eyes wide with shock, the real Hermione rushed in. Before she could say anything, Harry suddenly enveloped her in his arms.

"You're safe…I'm so glad that you're alright…I can't let them hurt you…" he murmured, his face in her hair.

Startled, Hermione stiffened, then relaxed into his embrace. Harry felt the comforting presence of her hands around his neck, easing the tension from that knot of fear deep inside him.

Then Harry took a step further.

Cupping Hermione's face with his hands, he tilted it upwards and kissed her.

The effect was electrifying.

Harry felt something stirring inside, something that had stayed dormant for far too long. Just as he was thinking: "What would this do to our friendship?", he received the answer.

Hermione was kissing him back.

The pressure of her hands had gone from comfortable to heavy, pulling him closer to her. Exhilarated, Harry's hands took on a life of their own, roaming all over her torso.

It was going to be a long night. Free, for a change, of the specters shadowing Harry's life.