_The Day You Lost Me_
CHAPTER 4
"All that you had to do, you didn't."
A/N: My updating skills are terrible. Here you go, enjoy! Short chapter, but I needed to get it out so I could focus on the next chapter.
"When I was a little girl, my mother used to…used to treat me like a little doll. She'd dress me up on occasions. Frills, lace, ribbons. Make-up. She'd do something miraculous to my hair. I looked so…pretty."
Harry smiled as he listened to his best friend tell him her childhood memories. They were in the middle of a place he'd rather not bother to learn. They were on the run. Ron had left them a couple of days ago. It was just him and Hermione.
He'd never heard Hermione talk about her parents before. Well, he had heard about them. But she'd never told him so much. She never told him about the kind of parents they were. From what he'd learned so far, her mother had been very pleased with having a daughter. And her father, though he never took the first step into a conversation, was very pleased with Hermione's intelligence.
"I broke her stupid heart," Hermione muttered all of the sudden, causing Harry to turn to her from his position on his bed.
She smiled at him, before wiping a stray tear.
"She used to make me up to be some…some princess. And I'd ruin it by being…by being me." A moment; an intake of breath, and then she continued. "I'd ruin it by saying something…something related to books or facts. Or I'd argue with the logic of the guests at the parties. Adults don't like to be made a fool of by children."
"Hermione, I'm sure you're exaggerating –"
"'Hermione Granger, I have had enough of this. Sweetheart, why can't you just sit still and make mummy and daddy happy?'" Hermione mimicked.
Harry paused, and stared at his best friend, who kept her eyes on the ground.
"They understood eventually, though, that frills and ribbons was just not me. Books and quills. Books and spells. Books and…books." She inclined her head to the side, and her brow furrowed as she added, "The funny thing was that people at those parties used to tell them how cute or how beautiful their little girl was. But what they meant was the dresses and make-up." Hermione looked up at Harry. "Once they saw the real me…well, you understand."
"Hermione –"
"Don't, Harry. I don't need to hear it."
"I think you do," Harry said, standing up and going over to her place on the chair by the table. He knelt down at her side, and leaned against her knees. "Hermione Granger…"
"Yes, Harry Potter?" He grinned as she began to blush.
"You're beautiful."
"Hermione –" Harry whispered as they parted from their hug.
"We're not the same anymore, Harry," she said softly, not meeting his eyes. She walked away, her arms folded.
"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione asked, coming down from the girl's dormitory. Harry looked up from his books, and rubbed his eyes.
"Just studying."
"Liar," Hermione said, grinning slightly. She sat next to him, and he dropped his head into his arms, pretending to snore. "Harry Potter studying…I've seen more impossible things happen."
"I'm hurt, Hermione," Harry said, feigning pain. He tilted his head to look at her. "I'm hurt by the fact that you do not believe that I can study."
"I do believe that you can study, Harry - just not without me having to force you to."
Harry thought it over for a moment, then shrugged.
"You're right."
"I'm always right."
He smiled.
"What're you really doing, Harry?"
"Thinking."
"About?"
"Stuff," Harry said, stretching.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "What stuff?"
"My sessions with Dumbledore."
"Ah."
"I think I'm scared."
"I'm scared too," Hermione offered. Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "I don't want you to get hurt."
"Hoping for the impossible, 'Mione. I always get hurt."
"I don't want you to get hurt," Hermione said, staring him straight in the eyes.
Harry understood. Translation: I don't want you to die.
"I won't," he promised her.
There was a long silence, before Hermione patted him on the shoulder and stood.
"Don't make me any promises, Harry," she said sadly.
"I won't die," he said, standing up as well. The chair he had been sitting on fell due to his rashness. "I won't die," he said clearly. "I won't die," he said, huffing, as Hermione threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.
"You won't die," she said, her voice muffled. "I won't let you," she added, sounding more assured.
"Likewise," Harry said once she looked up at him. "Hermione," he said, smiling. "You can stop hugging me. I'll let you hug me after this is all over."
She smiled, blushed, and backed away from him.
"If you die," she said lightly. "I'll be right behind you." Pause. "So don't die, Harry," she said finally, smiling. She walked towards the staircase, and stopped at the bottom stair. "Good night, Harry." She turned back and trudged up the stairs, leaving him back in the silence and emptiness of the common room.
If you die, I'll be right behind you. Harry shook off the thought, picked up his books, and headed for the boy's dormitory.
So don't die, Harry.
"Er – What are you – OW!" Harry grunted as Hermione struck him across the face. She'd turned away, then turned back to him in a flash, hitting him. He supposed he would have deserved it if it were a slap. He had previous experience with that. Ginny had slapped him a few times in the past. But Hermione had decked him. Hermione had decked him! Did she…had she…did – "You punched me?" Harry exclaimed, holding his hand to his left cheek as he regained posture and faced her.
He recalled third year, having watched her do the same thing to Malfoy…and how the Harry then had thought it was marvelous. Brilliant, even.
Now it just plain hurt.
"I'm sorry, Harry. I can't exactly cast spells at the moment," Hermione muttered, reaching forward to check his cheek.
"You're insane, you know?" he screamed at her. She gave him a grim look.
"You deserved it."
"I deserved it?" he practically roared, looking at her like she was mad. Then it dawned on him. Her silence. Her lack of nagging. Her lack of confidence. Her lack of…Hermione. "You're the one who walked away!"
"You told me to!"
"Hermione, you were being petty – you were making it as though I was an idiot – like I was making a mistake –"
"Are you happy now then?" Hermione asked him, stepping forward and shoving him slightly. "Was I wrong?"
"Yes –"
"Oh, really?" she asked sardonically.
"Yes!"
"Harry. I know you. You're not happy," she told him flatly.
He stopped, and straightened up, folding his arms.
"Well, I know you, Hermione. You're not happy either."
Hermione shrugged, and met his gaze. There was a glint of honesty in her eyes.
"I'm miserable."
O – O – O – O – O – O – O – O – O – O – O – O
Harry dropped the plate he was holding. It crashed against the wood of the floor. It was two weeks after Hermione had gone, and it had become very obvious that she was not coming back. He, himself, had moved into Grimmauld Place 12. He'd just spent the afternoon searching for these plates, and now he was spending the evening unpacking them…and dropping them on the ground.
"Harry, what the -" Ron asked, coming in, a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hands. When Harry looked up though, Ron immediately tucked the Prophet under his arms, hiding it from view.
"What's it say?" Harry asked, looking at the ground. Ron felt himself tense. There was a shiver in Harry's voice that told him his best friend was around five minutes from losing it.
"Nothing bad," Ron stalled.
"But?"
"It's not taking aim at you, Harry…it's taking aim at…at Hermione."
"Well," Harry said. He stumbled a bit, and picked up two plates, holding one in his right hand and one in his left. "That's." He smashed one plate against the floor. "Bullshit." He smashed the other plate. He inhaled deeply and stared at the ceiling, trying to calm down. Harry picked up another plate, but Ron held up his hand and dropped the Prophet on the kitchen table.
"Mate, don't –"
"Don't what, Ron? What am I doing, exactly?" Harry asked, looking anywhere but Ron.
"You're drunk, you know that? I can see that bottle behind you, Harry. What is that?" Ron tilted to the side, trying to see the bottle. Harry followed his actions, but slowed a little in his actions, giving Ron an easy gateway. Ron picked up the bottle. "Is this a muggle drink?"
"Yeah," Harry murmured.
"Vodka?" He'd heard of it before.
"Yeah."
Ron took a whiff of it, then pulled it far from his face. Harry took the bottle, surprising Ron, and drank from it. It had been half-way finished when Ron had picked it up, and now Harry was draining the remaining half. Once he was done, he stepped back into the stove, and dropped the bottle onto the ground, where its smashed up pieces joined the plates.
"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron swore, half-carrying Harry out of the kitchen. They made it to the staircase when Harry pushed Ron away and dropped, on his back, onto the bottom stair. He fell with a thud, and groaned. "You're in a right state, you know that?"
"She's a bitch, Ron."
"Who?"
"Hermione."
Ron scoffed, and tried to pick Harry up again. "Do you honestly believe that?"
"I loved her."
"So did I."
"No, Ron," Harry said, pushing his friend away again. He stared at Ron with his bloodshot eyes. "I loved her enough to never – ever – leave her. I guess she didn't feel the same." Then he dropped backwards, his head coming in contact with a step again, and began to snore.
And Ron sighed. He did not try to pick his best friend up. He did not try to wake him. Harry was right, in a way. Well, not that Ron could speak. He knew that he had once abandoned Hermione…and Harry too, for good measure. But Harry had never abandoned Hermione. And for Hermione to abandon Harry well…that was bullshit.
And maybe, just maybe, even for just that moment and that situation…Hermione had been quite the bitch.
They'd been quiet for the past ten minutes. Hermione hadn't asked him to leave, and she only hit him that one time. After she said she was miserable, there was a change in her eyes. Like all her defenses had gone down, and she was Hermione again. She hated the feeling, and made her best attempt at escaping Harry's company. She knew she could have told him to leave, but he wouldn't have listened anyway. Hadn't she walked out of St. Mungo's earlier? Didn't she ignore him, and practically run away? And did he take notice? Did he read between the lines that were so obvious and begging him to stay away? No! He bloody well looked up her file and found her address, or so he was mentioning now as she ruffled in the attic, searching through the many left-behind boxes.
"Are you wondering how I got your address?" he'd asked carefully, trying to keep his tone light. Trying to stay void of emotions.
Hermione could have scoffed at his attempt to keep things friendly. To make it sound like being at her house was something he did very often, and seeing her was done on a regular basis. She merely bent down, her knees supporting her as she searched deep in one of the two trunks found in the attic. She wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for…but she'd find it. Or atleast she would keep searching, and maybe Harry would get tired of trying to talk to her.
"I – er – took a look at your file –"
"I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to do that." Her voice was quiet, and it wasn't dripping with accusation. It was just a comment. A fact.
"No. But Luna works for St. Mungo's so she was able to –"
"Get my file."
"Yeah. And we saw that –"
"You know. You know that I can't cast magic, atleast not for a while," she snapped, pulling herself out of the trunk and turning to him, hands gripping onto the edge of the trunk.
"It said 'indefinitely', Hermione," was his soft reply.
Hermione fought back the burning behind her eyes. The way he said it. Like she was destined to live the rest of her life like that. That she couldn't use magic anymore. That the past eleven years of her life were a total waste, and no, she wasn't going to get that time back anymore. As though Harry Potter, great, good and mighty, pitied her. As though this crash of events was the main reason he was there. He pitied her. Poor Hermione Granger, can't make use of her wand anymore. Poor Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age...well, she's not a witch anymore, now is she? Poor, weak, stupid, dumb, runaway Granger.
She couldn't help it. She just let out a sob, and that just led to another one, and pretty soon her chest was heaving and her body trembling. She had turned and sat on one of the boxes, her right palm against her forehead as she cried. He moved forward, ready to put his arms around her, but she held up her left hand.
"No. Don't. Don't."
He ignored her, reaching forward, and she stood up abruptly, knocking the box over as she had been sitting on. She turned away from him.
"No. Harry. Please."
She felt as though her chest was burning. She couldn't breathe. All her energy was forced upon trying to breathe, and she couldn't do it. Just another disappointment. Something else she could no longer do. It was like her chest felt heavy, but on the inside it was just hollow. Her hands were balled up into fists, covering her face, as she sobbed. She tried to hold it back, but every time she did, it felt as though she was dying. Yet every time she let out a sob, it felt like she was paper thin.
It was like she could feel all the pain again, and it was attacking her chest. It was attacking her lungs. And attacking her heart. She was pretty sure she could feel her blood clog up as she cried, her tears feeling hot against her cheeks. Like fire burning through paper. And the ashes were collecting at her feet.
She walked past him, running as she went downstairs and locked herself in the bathroom. She climbed into the tub, and pulled the shower curtain shut, holding back her sobs again. She could cry, she could cry all she want. But she wouldn't want to hear it. She wouldn't want to hear herself break down.
Chest heaves up. Chest heaves down.
Still no air.
She could hear his footsteps as he came downstairs. The house was so silent. So silent.
Oh, God. Mum. Dad, she thought, her hand coming to her mouth, clamping it shut to stop the sobs that followed the thought.
She could hear him walk up to the bathroom, and she could hear his breathing.
What have I done?
It was a good three more sobs before she heard him slowly walk away.
Chest heaves up. Chest heaves down. Tears falling down her eyes, dripping off her chin, falling to her hands. Falling to her lap. Falling. Bits and pieces.
Harry. Harry. Harry. Oh, God. Harry.
Chest heaves up. Chest heaves down. Her body felt cold.
She could feel everything rushing in. The sight of him as he walked into her house. The sight of his hair, still unruly, still worth running your hand through it.
I'm sorry I walked away.
The sight of him. He'd grown up. He'd grown up. They'd all grown up. They weren't children anymore. They weren't even recognizable to each other. There was so much difference. So much time had passed, and in that time they'd turned into different people.
Oh, God. It hurts. So much.
Chest heaves up. Chest heaves down. She tried her best to suck in the sobs, but that just made her throat hoarse and her ribs feel crushed. Like she was vomiting, except that she felt nothing inside. Nothing at all.
She wiped at her eyes, hoping that her tears would come to a stop. Hoping that if she tried to stop her tears from falling out, they'd catch on and listen to her.
Harry.
Each time she wiped her eyes, a new thought rushed to her mind, causing it to hurt even more. Making her tears fall harder. Each time she tried to stop, it just got harder.
You chose Cho.
She could hear the door slowly creak open, and hear the door shut. There was no loud bang. There was no shattering crash. He had shut it as quietly as he could.
You chose Ginny.
Eventually she just gave up, and leaned her head backwards against the edge of the tub. Her knees bent, and her arms leaning against them.
You chose everyone else.
And then it stopped. It stopped so suddenly, she thought she'd cried herself to sleep. There was a slight tremble as her lips threatened to let out a sob, but she just closed her eyes, and inhaled as much air as she could. There were no more tears. Nothing coming out, everything still inside. Like the only pain left was the one left at the bottom of her, and she just couldn't reach it.
All you had to do was choose me.
A/N: Review?
