Help Me Remember

by KalKent

A fifty-six year old Hermione Granger returns to Hogwarts as the new professor of Arithmancy after the sudden demise of Prof. Vector. Her reason, a secret she wishes to never acknowledge.

Help Me Remember

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A/N: Adios mates, welcome back. I couldn't get this idea out of my head. A 2 part story centered around our favourite bookworm.

Trigger Warnings: Refrences to suicide, refrences to character death, mild sexual content.

Without further ado...

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The high street was bare except for an elderly couple taking a late-night stroll, hand in hand, when Hermione Granger materialized out of thin air at the edge of the town known as Hogsmeade.

She sniffed the chilly December air, the scent of wood smoke heavy in the breeze. She walked over to the wooden box attached to the lamp post nearest to her. Written in neat, clear script in red ink was, Used Portkeys. Hermione unfolded her fist. A single piece of thread, red, an inch in length, was curled up in her palm. She tipped her hand and watched it float down into the round opening on top of the box before shoving her hand in the pocket of her long coat.

She cast a wandless heating charm on her person before turning on her heel and taking off towards the main street that led to the castle, obscured from vision because of the thick fog.

Since natural light was hidden behind dark grey clouds, the streetlamps helped guide her way, but only until she reached the arch stone bridge and passed the entrance into the town.

She navigated the rest of the way through by casting Lumos.

She reached the iron gate and had to wait only a few seconds after placing her hand on one of the frozen bars before she was granted entry.

The trek up to the courtyard had her wishing she had kept up with her morning walks, or some form of exercise. By the time the inclined surface became level, her blouse was sticking to her back as if she had just been pelted with golf ball sized raindrops. She stepped into the courtyard, huffing and puffing. Her cheeks were chafed red from the stinging wind and sparkling with perspiration.

She leaned against the stone fountain to catch a breath before continuing towards her destination.

The tapping of her shoes bouncing off empty corridor walls brought forth memories of a time long past to the forefront of her mind when she used to walk these very same halls during her nightly patrols for two years straight.

It took her close to twenty minutes, in which she crossed dozens of hallways, climbed multitude of stairs, made a short stop in the girl's lavatory, before she reached the seventh-floor corridor that housed the person in charge of the castle. She stepped onto the spiraled staircase and leaned into the rotating gargoyle to take a moment's respite before she found herself standing before the wooden door to the headmaster's office.

As she was walking the short distance to the door, she half expected it to open before she even lifted her hand to knock, a ghost of a smile pulling at her lips as a memory of twinkling blue eyes shining with mirth flashed through her mind – it became their own little game every time she was summoned by the late headmaster, she would try and reach the door before it opened itself. She always lost.

She shook her head before tapping her knuckles thrice against thousand-year-old timber.

A moment later the door creaked open with a low whine and Hermione stepped inside. A beaming smile stretched across her face as the door closed behind her. Leaning on a large wooden desk with his arms folded over his chest was a man she had not seen in over three decades, and though he had changed much during that time, one thing hadn't, his boyish smile.

"Neville" she exhaled happily.

"Hermione." He pushed himself off the desk and closed the gap between them.

They shared a light hug before pulling away.

"It's been so long." He spoke, as he tucked his hands in his trousers pockets.

An unsuspecting chuckle burst from her lips.

"What?"

She shook her head. "Oh, it's just stupid."

He arched an eyebrow. "Hermione Granger, stupid?"

"It's just really weird seeing the headmaster in trackpants."

His laughter bounced off the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the mesmerizing waterfall cascading between two snowy peaks.

Though she didn't have any expectations regarding her living arrangements, the quarters assigned to her were a pleasant surprise. A narrow passage of about ten meters led from the main door to the living room. A burgundy sofa sat in the middle of the room, facing east, one armchair facing it and a small wooden table between them.

Hermione pulled out a miniature leather suitcase from her pocket, placed it on the ground before taking out her wand and casting the luggage back to its original size. She dropped her long coat on the sofa and rubbed her eyes, a long sigh escaping her parted lips.

She looked around the space and naturally her gaze fell on the bookshelf aligned against the wall adjacent to the round dining table that was placed right next to the kitchen counter. She could see into the small kitchen from where she stood.

She finished her perusal in less than two minutes and after satisfying her curiosity, dropped onto the mattress she would sleep on for the visible future.

Nerves high, she woke up an hour earlier than her normal time and opted against going to the great hall for breakfast, and instead spread raspberry jam on two slices of bread. The jam was surprisingly not bad considering she had a very particular and limited palate.

She had been sitting at her desk for a good thirty minutes when the first batch of students – three girls from Slytherin - walked into the classroom and took their seats, murmuring between each other as their scrutinizing eyes never left her face. Soon after, the rest of the seventh-year students from Slytherin and Gryffindor filled the classroom.

Hermione stood up before she walked around her desk with her hands folded in front of her.

Clearing her throat, she spoke in a clear and loud voice. "Welcome back. I hope you had a wonderful time during the winter holidays." Her gaze swept the room from one side to the other. "My name is Hermione Granger –" Loud gasps cut through her speech, turning every stare wide-eyed. "And I will be your professor for Advanced Arithmancy for the remainder of the year. As I'm sure you're all aware of the passing of Professor Vector. A truly remarkable witch who I have always admired. The headmaster told me that even in her later years she didn't let old age succumb her lively personality and that her cutting remarks were as sharp as ever." She smirked as guilt overcame several students' faces, revealing who had been on the receiving end of the late professor's ire. "Now" She schooled her features back to normal. "I understand that it may be difficult for you to adjust to me and my teaching method at the beginning, but I will do my best to make myself as flexible as I'm able so that you feel comfortable around me and are not shy to pose questions or even challenge me in some regard, and in return I hope that you respect my title. I don't care what you think of me, you can talk about me when you're outside the walls of this classroom but the moment you step inside, you will act and behave in an exemplary manner. You're all adults now so if you wish to be treated as one, act as such."

She raked her eyes over every set of eyes before giving a slight nod of her head.

"Good, now please open your books to page 127."

She turned her back to the class and walked over to the blackboard.

Hermione was occupying one side of the sofa in the staff room, revision notes in one hand and cup of coffee in the other.

Three weeks had passed by since her first night in the castle and for the most part, the in-the-moment decision to accept Neville's offer had gone better than she had initially thought. There had been some moments sprinkled throughout the three weeks where she wished she was back in her house in Copenhagen, but those moments didn't linger for more than a few seconds.

A shift in the sofa made her turn her head to the left.

"Professor." She bowed her head slightly.

"Professor." Draco Malfoy reciprocated her greeting as he crossed one knee over the other and pulled off his glasses, sighing as she rubbed at his eyes before plopping the glasses back on.

"Long day."

He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead with it. "Excruciatingly hectic. I swear…" He shook his head. "I can't stand it when parents try and force their kids into something they have no interest in. I know for a fact that half of my class has no future in the field of potions. Most of them are probably not even going to get an acceptable and then whose fault will that be." He faced her, the scowl on his face highlighting the aging lines under his eyes. "I'll tell you whose. Mine. It's always the teacher's fault. Once they are done berating their kids, they come after us."

Her lips curled in amusement. She placed her notes on the sofa and the coffee on the side table before she got up and walked over to the dining table. She poured a hot coffee in a cup before retreating her steps.

"Here."

He lifted his head.

"Thanks." He took the cup from her.

She took her seat, sitting with her back against the arm of the sofa so she was facing him, legs crossed at the ankles.

"I can neither agree nor disagree with your point since I'm practically a baby yet. I guess we'll see when the time comes."

"Trust me." He grunted, blowing over the steaming liquid before he took a tentative sip. "I've been doing this for 32 years so you can take everything I say as a guarantee."

"I'll remember that" He paused mid movement, the cup only inches away from his lips when he turned his head towards her, eyes narrowing. She lifted her palms up. "I'm not being facetious."

"You'd better not." He growled.

She arched an eyebrow. "Trying to emulate the late professor, Malfoy?" She tutted. "Doesn't suit you."

She could see a smile trying to break through his façade, and after a moment as their stare kept prolonging, it finally did.

The grounds were finally clear of any snow when February rolled in and Hermione had taken to go for morning walks, a fairly new habit.

Her skin was coated in a light sheen of sweat as she briskly walked past the front gate of the quidditch stadium. She changed her direction midway back to the castle and instead headed towards the great lake.

A lonely figure stood on the edge of the lake, but she couldn't discern from the man's back profile who it was. He had midnight black hair with silver streaks at the nape of his neck.

He turned around when only a few feet separated them, and her breath got lost in her throat.

The last time she was face to face with the man standing before her was when she was 21. That was thirty-five years ago and yet, unlike everyone else where it took her a brief moment for recognition to kick in, this time it was instant.

She had no idea why.

"Harry."

"Hermione."

"So how long have you been back for?" He asked her when they had been walking for a few minutes. She noticed a slight limp in his stride, and inwardly rolled her eyes that even at the age of fifty-five his deep-rooted connection with injuries was just as strong as when he was a young man, no doubt a result of top tier brashness and stupidity.

"Last week of December." she answered.

"Teaching…..." He trailed off, sighing. "I read about you resigning from – "

"How about you?"

Kicking a small rock off the dirt path with the tip of his size 12 boot, she was grateful that he chose not to acknowledge her abrupt, and quite frankly, rude cut off.

"What about me?"

"What have you been up to?"

With a slight incline of his head, he gave her a wry smile. "For the past thirty-five years?"

She chuckled, nodding.

"Fair. Alright, what have you been up to lately?"

"The same thing I've been up to for the last thirty-five years."

She rolled her eyes.

"Jerk."

This time it was his turn to chuckle.

"Catching bad guys as long as I can remember. Same old life for me."

"Hopefully one or two promotions in all that time or I would seriously doubt your choice in profession."

He snorted. "Not that incompetent, though my ex-wife would say otherwise." He stretched his arms up over his head, rolling his neck in the process as they continued at a leisurely pace.

"Head of the auror department?" she asked, pushing a stray curl from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"Hmm."

No words were spoken for a long stretch of time, but Harry's light whistling kept Hermione from sorting out her muddled thoughts about the surreal situation she found herself in.

It was highly disconcerting. A person she once knew like the back of her hand feeling like they were meeting for the first time all over again.

She turned to him once they reached the wooden bridge. "What are you doing here?"

His head was turned the other way and involuntarily her gaze shifted to the back of his head. From up close the grey streaks in his hair seemed much more prominent. "Came to see Neville." He stopped, and naturally she followed. She leaned against the waist high railing, as did he, their eyes locked together. "Haven't seen him in a while."

She nodded, craning her neck forward, eyes landing on specks of dust littering the wooden planks.

Another bout of silence lingered in the air and this time she couldn't find it in herself to break it. Though a million questions were running inside her head, she couldn't find the courage to voice any, too afraid that once she did, he would pose his own and that prospect slammed down her curiosity like a bludger to the head.

Looking up, she offered what she hoped was a polite smile before saying, "Well, it was good seeing you, but I have a morning class, so I better get going."

He pushed off the railing and took a step forward and for a second, she was worried that he might hug her but thankfully that didn't happen. "It was good seeing you, too." He smiled back, before quickly shifting his eyes to the ground and that's when she realized that he was just as disconcerted with this whole thing as her.

He scuffed his shoes against the surface as the awkward moment kept prolonging and it wasn't until he cleared his throat that Hermione realized he was waiting for her to leave, and with final parting words, "Right – bye", she took off.

"Potter was here, yesterday."

She peered above the newspaper. "Yeah, we met."

He took a seat next to her on the large, round staff dining table. "I met him as he was leaving Longbottom's office."

"Hmm."

He plucked a handful of grapes from the fruit basket and popped one into his mouth. "He didn't mention meeting you."

She shrugged. "Why would he?"

She folded the paper and put it on the table beside her empty plate before taking a sip from her wine glass, feeling his gaze boring down on her.

Sighing, she brought the glass down and faced him.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Act your age, Malfoy, these scheming tactics don't suit you anymore." She huffed impatiently.

He chuckled. "Fine." He leaned forward, creating a 'V' with his arms as he folded his hands. "What happened between you two?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"C'mon, Granger." He scoffed. "Who's playing now?"

Her lips curled down to form a scowl. "I have no fucking clue what you are on about."

His eyebrows rose in disbelief, creating parallel lines across his forehead. "Even I skim the gossip rags occasionally, and never once have I seen you two pictured together since you fled across the continent to Africa. But you know what I do read every few months in the daily prophet, a new article on what fractured the unbreakable bond between the boy who lived and the golden girl."

"And they will never stop publishing this rubbish as you've just proved that flashy headlines will keep garnering attention no matter how inconsequential they are. They are called fluff pieces for a reason, Malfoy. Don't expect to find any truth in them."

"Fine, I won't. I'll get the answer from the source itself. So, tell me, what happened?"

She dropped her head in her palms and rubbed her temples. "Nothing happened, Malfoy. God, have you always been this nosy? Believe me, it doesn't suit the stern and suave personality you're trying to pull off."

"I'm not trying to pull anything, Granger. I know who I am and I'm perfectly fine with it."

"And who are you, Malfoy?" She looked up at him.

"Someone who doesn't give two shits about his personality."

A wry smile passed over her face. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "We didn't know how to be friends when life became…. normal. The weekly dinners at the Burrow, the going out at the weekends, having lunch breaks together…...a weird tension always surrounded us whenever we were together or in a group. I know he felt it too, that's why neither of us ever brought it up. Eventually we stopped meeting for lunches and only saw each other once or twice a week and when I met Richard and moved with him to Ireland, I only saw Harry maybe once every two months. He never made an effort to call or meet up, neither did I and our friendship just fizzled out – even before I moved to Africa."

"Was it the same with weasel?"

She sighed. "No. In fact, whereas the war drifted me and Harry apart, it brought Ron and I together. We began dating right after and once it was over, our dynamic shifted back to what it was. It hurt, at first, when I broke it off as I really did love him, but our outlook on life, on the world, on matters that were important to us were so far apart that I couldn't make it work. He tried, he really did, bless him. But everything worked out fine because not long after he married Daphne and moved to France and then, yeah, life happened. We kept in touch – at the beginning, even when I moved to Africa but with time the calls became less frequent and then…" she trailed off with a shrug.

"Why do you think the war pulled you and Potter apart but had the opposite effect with the weasel?"

"Would you please stop calling him that!"

"Never."

She was silent for a while before opening her mouth. "Harry and I never talked about anything friends normally talk about. How was your day? How did you find today's lesson? You want to hang out? What do you do during the summer holidays? What's your home life like? What are your interests? Your hobbies? Do you want to have a walk around the grounds? Want to come to my quidditch practice? Can you help me with my homework? We never talked about these kinds of things. Ron and I did. With Harry it was always either something to do with the strange things going on in the castle, theorizing who was behind them during the first two years, third year was whole another adventure that was entirely terrifying, and then fourth year was all about Harry's survival, don't even get me started on fifth and then sixth year was where everything became real. The prophecy, learning about horcruxes, his obsession with you. All I wanted was one normal year because I knew that it would never be the same again and to some extent, I was right. That was the only time Harry and I came close to fighting and we were both at fault."

He eyed her critically and Hermione felt sweat trail down the back of her neck. He must have caught onto her uneasiness because he leaned forward in his seat, a smirk pulling the corner of his mouth in an upward curve.

Bastard.

She cursed herself as she dropped her gaze, stood up and without another word walked back to her quarters, hoping that this line of topic would never be brought up again.

The graduation party was a much merrier event than she had anticipated. The great hall was decorated lavishly. The enchanted ceiling cast a sparkling glow with thousands of shooting stars zooming across the night sky, weaving their way through the traffic and often, colliding and bursting into fireworks.

Members of the staff and graduating students occupied the hall. Some were dancing on the squared platform, some conversing around round tables, some hanging at the long table at the back enjoying the delicious spread that had been prepared by the elves.

Even though she had been cursing while shaving her legs and arms a few hours earlier, the smile on the students' faces made the grueling task worth it.

"There you go."

She turned towards the voice as Neville came to stand beside her, a wine glass in each hand. He handed one over to her.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She relished the tangy, flowery taste as it washed down the leftover remnants of the steak she had devoured not fifteen minutes ago.

"Hey." Neville began after a few minutes. She rolled her neck to face him. "Thank you." He expressed gratitude with a sincere and grateful smile. "It meant a lot when you said yes, really. I know it wasn't easy for you but – "

She laid a hand on his arm, pausing his speech mid-sentence.

"Thank you." She mirrored his smile. "For thinking of me."

He stared at her for a moment before putting an end to the topic with a single nod.

"Professor Granger."

Hermione turned her head around. Alex Grazer, one of her students, was standing before her, sporting a nervous smile.

"Alex."

He took a deep breath before words flew out of his mouth. "I-I just want to say thank you – I know – I know that we didn't make it easy for you at the beginning but you were really understanding and – you did a great job is what I want to say and I wouldn't mind learning under you again – not that I want to repeat the class but because you're really good at it and…yeah." His face had gone a particular shade of red that reminded her of Ron when he was singled out by Professor McGonagall during the first dance lesson in fourth year.

"Thank you, Mr. Grazer. I hope you find success in whatever you desire."

He gave a deep bow, hastily stood straight back up, muttered, "stupid", gave her a tight-lipped smile before turning on his heel and almost sprinting towards his table where his mates were bellowing with their hands clutching their stomachs.

"That was painful to the eyes, brought back memories of you, Nev."

Hermione whirled around at the sound of that unmistakable voice.

Harry Potter, dressed in all black, a glass of water in one hand, patted Neville on the back.

The wizards embraced in a one arm hug before his gaze shifted towards her.

"Professor." He smirked.

She hadn't realized she had been holding her breath but that one word had a calming effect on her nerves.

"Harry, good to see you."

"Likewise." He drowned the glass in one big gulp.

"When did you get back?" asked Neville.

"Yesterday."

"How did it go?"

"Boring, as usual. Don't know why the head auror of every department needs to show up to a bloody ICW conference."

"You're not fooling me, mate. I saw you looking at that French head auror at last year's gala."

"That's old news, mate."

Neville's eyebrow arched up to what used to be his hairline. "Really!"

"Yeah." grimaced Harry. "I think someone played a prank on us by seating us together. God, was it awkward."

"I bet." Chuckled Neville, shaking his head. "Oh shit" he cursed. "The head of the board members just walked in. "Excuse me, guys." With that he was gone.

"So," began Harry. "How have you been?"

"Good." She finished her drink and placed it on a levitating tray. "You?"

"Not bad."

Silence fell upon them, just as it had during their reunion – if one can call it that – and once again Hermione didn't know how to break it, neither did he, apparently. She was about to make an excuse to leave when Malfoy's drawling voice cut the tension in half.

"Doesn't this bring back memories."

They both turned towards him as he strutted towards them. Hermione noticed he had slicked his hair on either side of his bald head.

"Malfoy." nodded Harry.

"Potter." Malfoy leaned on his cane as he stopped before them.

"Heard your latest book made some headlines." commented Harry.

Malfoy shrugged, flashing his teeth in a smug smile. "Breaking records as we speak, not that I'm much into statistics."

"Right." drawled Harry. "Sorry I've lost track by now, is third or fourth autobiography?"

Malfoy's smile faltered but he recovered quickly. "Do I sense a hint of jealousy, Potter."

"Not at all. In fact, I should thank you for stealing away the spotlight even though we both know it will only be for a little while as the past has proven. So, enjoy it while you have it." Harry slapped himself on the forehead, laughing derisively. "Wait what am I saying, telling a Malfoy to enjoy their hard-earned fame is like telling an addict to enjoy the next hit. You will be only wasting breath."

The faux smile vanished off Harry's face as he stared deep into Malfoy's blazing eyes. "I'm sure there are some ignorant souls roaming around that haven't heard about your latest monumental achievement, so why don't you go and change that."

One of Malfoy's best attributes – well she considered it to be an attribute, anyways – was that what you saw was what you got. He was a transparent person who spoke in plain terms and there were no two ways about him. Scheming, sure, but never fake. However, in situations like this, where she could clearly see him desperately trying and failing to mask the humiliation behind a smirk, her heart clenched and she swallowed her words from months prior, she truly felt sorry for him.

The potions professor tucked his chin and chuckled without a note of humor. He looked back up at Harry. "Guess that answers the age-old question of whether people see me as anything other than the lowest scum to ever walk the earth. If even after all this time you can't forgive me, Potter, the one person who can truly understand why I was the way I was, then no one can." He shrugged his shoulder. "And here I was living in a bubble thinking that finally, after thirty plus years, I was now considered a respectful citizen." His eyes flashed towards her for a miniscule of a moment before snapping back to Harry's.

"Thank you, Potter," Malfoy held out his hand that Harry didn't even acknowledge. A few seconds later he chuckled and pulled it back, shaking his head. "Thank you for saving me the time and effort of coming up with a draft for my next autobiography. Shame though, I had finally plucked up the courage – sworn to myself, in fact – after I got informed by my editor that all copies were sold out on the first day to ask you to write a forward for what would have been the final chapter of my life." He stared deep into Harry's eyes, jaw ticking. "Thank you."

With a final nod to both, he walked away.

"Sarcastic fucker." Muttered Harry, as he took a sip of his drink.

Hermione took off. She feared that if she stayed it had the potential of them never regaining even a miniscule of what they had.

As she spotted Malfoy down the line of a hallway, she wondered why now she wanted to mend their relationship when she had never once felt the impulse to do so in all the years.

She saw him again the next day as she was coming back from her morning jog, limping towards her with a raised hand. It had been months since their first meeting, surely an injured hip wouldn't take this long to recover, which only left one conclusion, he got injured again, and on the same spot. That thought somehow increased her frustration and anger towards him from last night even more.

They greeted each other with a nod.

"Were you waiting for me?" she gasped, hunching over to rest her hands on her knees.

"I was actually."

She could hear his footsteps getting closer until his leather shoes came into view.

"You left in such a hurry, yesterday."

She straightened back up and wiped the sweat gathered above her upper lip with her forearm. "And?"

He looked down at his shoes, scuffing them on the grass. "I know it was because of what I said to Malfoy."

She waited for him to continue.

"I was wrong." He sighed. "What I said last night doesn't do me justice. That's not what I'm about. I acted like a jerk. I don't know what overcame me, or why I felt the need to demean him – I know it upset you and I don't want you to think that that's who I've become. I'm not a bully."

After a moment of peering at him, she nodded. "You scared me, frankly. What you said and the way you said it really freaked me out. If I'd not left, then there would have been nothing left to salvage."

"I understand and thank you for understanding."

She gave a curt nod of her head.

Silence enveloped them once more and to cope with the mounting tension, Hermione focused her attention on the majestic scenery. They were standing on a small hill that overlooked the vast landscape. She could see the quidditch stadium in her periphery but kept her eyes glued to the first rays of sun peaking above the horizon.

Harry cleared his throat. "Anyway – " He paused, before adding. "See you around."

"Yeah." She made a deliberate choice to not look at him as he walked away, cursing herself when she finally gave into the urge and turned her head, watching his retreating form that was no larger than the palm of her hand.

Hermione spent the first half of the summer holidays mostly holed up in her quarters. Her daily routine consisted of waking up at six in the morning and going for a jog – her stamina improving at a gradual pace – followed by a quick shower before eating a heavy breakfast that consisted of six egg whites with two toasts and three slices of bacon as she read the morning paper, the next four hours were poured into research for her thesis, Numerology and Runology: A connection centuries old – a project she had been ruminating over for two years now and this two month break provided the perfect opportunity to realize it - she had her lunch around noon and then would take a nap for an hour – it did the job of sucking lunch induced lethargy out of her system and reinvigorated her mind - from then out till five in the evening she prepared notes for the upcoming semester – Neville as headmaster was flexible and open of teachers modifying the curriculum to their own preferences as long as everything mandatory in the syllabus remained - , she would visit Neville in his office around six and sometimes he would come to her quarters and the two old friends would chat about everything and nothing – their conversation ranged from politics to that time in third year when Dean sneaked a spider under Ron's pillow -, and then together they would walk to the staff room for dinner and sit around the round table with three other members of the staff team – the rest back to their home for the holidays or on vacation -, and then, lastly, Hermione would read a book for an hour and a half before shutting her eyes at ten.

She took a trip to London on the 4th of August. Her thesis had been completed and would be published in the next edition of The science behind magic, and the preparation of the new curriculum was in its final stages. So now with the two most time-consuming activities of her day behind her, she found herself with absolutely no idea how to pass the hours, leaving her with her thoughts, and in no time at all she found the darkness sucking her back in to the endless abyss from which she had clawed her way out of.

The tears she had shed in the last three days had sucked her soul dry. Dark thoughts fizzled in and out of her mind. She didn't know when a memory or thought would flash in her mind that would trigger her mental breakdown, and thus, had avoided all and any interactions.

Last night he had come into her dream and reminded her of the promise she made him, and now here she was walking down the streets of Soho, keeping her promise.

The streets were filled with rambunctious atmosphere with people of all ages and colour enjoying their night out.

She was famished and was impatiently rotating her head from left to right in search of a place that wasn't packed. She rounded a corner and felt a rise in her hopes. The alley was littered with only a dozen bodies but filled with pubs and clubs on either side.

She had lost all hope when she couldn't spot a single vacant seat as she kept peering through windows until she reached the edge of the alley and glanced inside the tiniest of pubs she'd ever come across, and much to her astonishment and relief, the place was empty except for a couple huddled together in a corner and a hunched over figure sitting next to the bar.

She walked in and took a seat on a barstool, drumming her fingers against the polished wood. A burly looking man came out from a back door, a welcoming smile stretched across his face.

"What can I get you miss?"

"Food."

He chuckled, passing her the menu. Hermione made up her mind in less than five seconds. "I'll take the classic burger with chips and a pint."

As he walked away, she placed her purse on the bar, removed her coat, folded it, and placed it next to her purse.

She busied herself by admiring the design on the walls, fisting a hand over her mouth when a silent yawn escaped her mouth.

"Long day?"

She whipped her head to the right at the man seated a couple of seats away from her. He seemed right about her age despite a good head of grey hair parted to one side. His brown skin glowed in the overhanging yellow light.

"Mentally."

He sighed, nodding his head. "All been there."

She placed her arms on the bar and leaned forward, shifting her gaze to the space in between.

"I'm Robert, by the way."

She craned her neck back towards him and offered a tight smile. "Hermione."

"Is this your first time here, I've never seen you before and I come here every day."

"Sir," she raised an eyebrow. "Please…..."

His smile faltered slightly before he gave her a nod. "Of course, my apologies."

"Thank you."

She rested her forehead in her palms and shut her eyes.

"There you go, miss."

Hermione jerked up, blinking her eyes. She must have dozed off because the man to her right had left.

"Thank you."

Hermione devoured her meal in record time and was nursing a second round of beer when she asked the barman for the bill.

"Oh, it's already been taken care of miss. He fished out a folded napkin from his pocket and handed it to her. "Here, I was told to give this to you."

Hermione unfolded the napkin and read the words written in neat cursive loops.

Please accept this humble gesture as my apology. If your conscience won't allow it, you can return the favor this time tomorrow. I'll be waiting in the corner booth at the far end.

She curled the napkin into a crumpled ball before tipping her head back and downing the remaining amber liquid in one gulp. As she wiped the lingering residue over her upper lip, the slightest hint of a smile curled the corner of her mouth in an upward trail.

That night she dreamt about a pair of balloons flying high in the air, one red and the other white, squeaking loudly as they rubbed against each other, shining in the glow of the setting sun dipping below the horizon, when suddenly a gust of wind sent the white ball of helium spiraling away while the red remained rooted to its spot, hovering, not an inch of movement in any direction, watching helplessly as its mate drifted off into the sunset, leaving the lone sphere in utter gloom.

She returned to the pub the next day at precisely the same time. Spotting the back of his head at the proposed booth, she began moving towards it before further doubts crawled up in her mind.

He greeted her with a polite smile and a slight nod.

She reciprocated, barring the smile, still unsure if she made the right decision by showing up.

Looking around, she observed that the place was populated twice as much as yesterday.

She removed the strap of her leather bag from her shoulder and placed it on the seat beside her before placing her forearms on the table, locking her hands in a loose grip.

Her nerves kicked into high gear as the silence kept prolonging, but, the constant sound of low-pitched chatter provided a tiny semblance of calm to her thumping heart, a steady thrum in her ears that she focused all her attention into until -

He cleared his throat.

She snapped out of her inner conflict and whipped up her gaze from the table, twin orbs of black pools staring back at her in trepidation. And that, more than anything, convinced her to stay. Seeing the apprehension and uncertainty on his face somewhat assured her that maybe coming here was not a giant mistake.

That she was not alone in feeling this way.

There wouldn't be any judgement. That despite his confident manner yesterday and his bold words, he was just as nervous as her.

Contorting her features into what she hoped portrayed some form of a smile, Hermione cut the silence between them with her husky voice. "Shall we order?"

He let out a sigh before his mouth quirked into a genuine smile. "I always order the Garlic Chicken Schnitzel."

"You folks ready to order?"

They both looked up at the young man dressed in black trousers and a white shirt, a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. By Hermione's estimation, he looked no older than twenty.

"Hey Frank. Usual for me and I think the lady is still deciding."

"I'll have the same."

A fleck of surprise flashed through his eyes before he smiled and turned back to the waiter. "Two pints to go with that and…. that's it for now."

"Won't take long." With that, the young man turned on his heel and scampered away.

"You come here often?" asked Hermione, as he mirrored her posture by placing his elbows on the table and slightly leaning forward.

"Every day for the past six months."

"I'd given up all hope yeste - "

"I'm sorry," He lifted his hand in apology, smiling sheepishly. "I think we need a proper introduction because I don't think yesterday really counts. I'm sure you don't even remember my name."

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up as she admitted. "I don't even remember us exchanging names."

He chuckled. "My point, exactly. And please, don't feel bad." He extended his hand. "Robert, Robert Dyson."

Smiling, Hermione clasped it firmly and they shook it once. "Hermione Granger."

"Fans of A Winter's Tale, your parents."

"Mum." She nodded, as her smile widened.

"Please continue with what you were saying before I so rudely interrupted."

"No, that's alright." She waved her hand. "I was just saying that this place was my last check before I was going to head back home. Everywhere else was full."

"That's one of the reasons why I always come here, and the food just tips it over the scale."

In the next hour and fifteen minutes, she never once checked her watch. The conversation flowed smoothly, and ventured into all sorts of topics, from their profession, to politics, interests, hobbies, even dipping a little into childhood memories before Hermione brought it back to the food – which was sumptuous, by the way – lest she accidentally reveal something that might raise an eyebrow. She had never been good at holding her liquor and after three glasses of pint her tongue had a mind of her own.

She kept all personal information as close to the truth as possible: she taught Mathematics in a private school in Scotland. It was where she did her schooling, but then shortly after moved to Africa and had only come back six months ago.

Robert was a writer. His trilogy of fantasy novels, though nowhere near bestsellers, had garnered a niche fanbase and he preferred it that way. His mother was from Barbados and father an Englishmen. He was an avid Manchester United fan and a cricket lover, having played in the county league for two seasons before giving up his playing career because of a back injury. Writing was his hobby, but reading was a lifelong passion. His personal collection amounted to 2200, and that included novels – fiction and non-fiction – archaeological manuscripts – his most prized possession – and tomes he had paid a hefty price for at auctions. He described himself as a liberalist in every sense and had quite a few tasteful words about the current regime.

His ring finger was empty and without an indent. She had caught his gaze wandering over to her hand multiple times as well and was glad he chose to remain silent because she didn't know what her answer was going to be.

They came out of the alley and stopped on the footpath.

He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "I'm this way."

Hermione jerked her head behind her even though the nearest apparition point was in the same direction as him.

He nodded before looking down at the ground, and for the first time since they shook hands Hermione felt some of the awkwardness creep back in but before it could fully sink its claws in, she chose to act.

"I had a great time."

"We should do this again, sometime."

They both burst into laughter.

He gestured to her to speak first.

Taking a deep breath as her laughter subsided, she reiterated her words. "I had a great time."

"Likewise." His expression sobered up before he continued. "Thank you, again, for showing up." His eyes roved over her face. "I'm sure it mustn't have been an easy decision – especially after how I acted yesterday."

The wind rose around them, making Hermione's curls tickle the side of her face. She swept them back and pulled the collar of her long coat higher on her neck. "Yes," she said with an absent smile. "It wasn't an easy decision." Seeing the muscles on his face tense up at her admission, she quickly clarified. "But it had nothing to do with you and please, as I've already said earlier, you're not to blame for yesterday. I was just in a bad mood."

"Let's both share the blame." He smiled as the tension eased off his hard features. "I was getting pretty annoying, you got to admit that."

"Maybe a little." She held up her hand, a miniscule gap separating her thumb and finger.

"Good." He nodded. "Well," He spread out his arms. "Till next time, I suppose."

"Till next time."

She didn't let her gaze move to his arms, feigning ignorance. "Till next time."

Whether he caught onto her she wasn't sure, but she sighed inwardly when his arms dropped to his sides.

Turning halfway, she gave one a final wave over her shoulder before walking away.

His footsteps told her that he didn't linger, which meant that she should be good to turn around after a couple of minutes, but for now, she trudged forward in her flats, ignoring the wart on her little toe.

Standing before the mirror in her bathroom, she swept her gaze over her nude form with a critical eye. She had added yoga to her daily workout and the results were promising. Thighs: toned and thick, shoulders: defined and strong, ass: curvy and round, but a little too plush for her own liking. The fat on her hips bothered her still, as did the little pouch on her lower belly. Her once firm and taut breasts sagged with age despite muscle strengthening exercises and wearing supporting bras. Though she loved the tan she'd acquired in the past month or so, it wasn't without its perks, the wrinkles on her forehead seemed much more prominent and her once spotless skin was now a map of freckles. The other negative factor was it further highlighted her stretch marks.

Still, despite the flaws, she was happy with the way she looked and so there should be no reason for her to still feel the crippling anxiety that had latched itself into her brain the moment Robert told her he would like to take her out to his cottage in the countryside.

They had been meeting regularly for the past four weeks. Two hours ago, as they were walking back to the spot where they parted ways, he casually mentioned that he wouldn't be able to see her for the next three days as he would be out of town to check upon his cottage that he visits at the end of every month. She, the naïve creature that she is, casually replied, "Oh, I haven't been to the countryside in ages. The last time I visited was at my late gran's funeral."

His eyes had lit up and before she could realize what that meant, it was too late. "Come with me. It's a truly magical site – the scenery, the people, the ambience – you'll love it."

His pleading eyes had sealed the deal.

Plus, she was done with lying to herself and not admitting that the idea of a mini vacation out in the countryside didn't sound mighty appealing would indeed be a lie.

They were to leave on the 29th of July, which is tomorrow, and return on the 1st of August. The scenario of living under the same roof with another male was the reason she has been checking herself out from every angle possible for the last fifteen minutes. Slow as she might be on picking up clues, she was acutely aware of this trip changing the dynamics of their…...whatever they are. It doesn't feel right to label them anything more than friends, and it doesn't not to as well.

Right from the beginning they were on the precipice of tipping one way or another, and this trip had the potential of pointing them in the right direction and hurling them way off the path.

She knew what she hoped would happen and was quite certain that he felt the same, but she also knew didn't want her expectations to cloud her mind with fantasies. She was too old for that crap.

She was broken out of her reverie by loud tapping coming from the living room.

Frowning, she stayed put, wondering if it simply wasn't her mind playing tricks on her for surely no one would be rude enough to knock on her door at midnight. The knocking grew more insistent, so she was left with no choice. Quickly donning her robe, she strode out of the bathroom and down the short hallway that led to the living room.

The knocking wasn't coming from the door but the window overlooking the quidditch stadium. A pair of dark blue eyes were staring at her, and the heavy rain splattering against the window made it impossible to make out anything else.

She hurried over to the window, pulled it open with just enough gap for the owl to get in before shutting it back. The drenched owl flew a circle around the room, water dripping on the ground in rivulets that she vanished with a wave of her hand.

The creature was stunningly beautiful and one of the most unique looking she had ever seen. Midnight black, with streaks of crimson that ran diagonally across its wings, flecks of gold curving around the edges of dark blue irises.

She was so mesmerized by the winged creature that she momentarily forgot the purpose of its visit.

A loud, angry hoot snapped her out of her daze, her gaze landing on the letter tied to its left leg.

She untied the string before grabbing the letter, turning it over to find her name written in a loopy script. She could spot that writing from a mile away.

Her heartbeat sped up and the hair at the back of her neck stirred to life as she opened the letter with fumbling fingers.

Pulling out a scrap of parchment the size of her palm, she read the contents written in similar font.

In honor of celebrating my fading immortality as lust for inheritance has diminished their morality, the kids are throwing me a party at the manor. True to their word they've taken care of everything, formal invitations to friends and family have been sent but, this invitation I wanted to send personally, thus no fancy cards decorated with edible gold embroidery for you. Still, I hope this will be enough. Chaos will begin at 8 sharp.

Harry.

PS: Roman loves cheese.

As she lay in bed a few hours later, sleep eluded her once more after experiencing three consecutive weeks of a good night's rest, though thankfully it had nothing to do with haunting visions plaguing her mind, but because she was trying and hopelessly and frustratingly failing to understand her muddled emotions as a single line ran an endless loop around her head.

This invitation I wanted to send personally.

The Benz's engine purring softly under the black hood along with the rhythmic humming of the tyres made her want to curl up and drift off into a deep slumber, and she would have had she not been in such awe of the rolling dales. The winding roads through the scenic route were nothing short of picturesque.

Her chin rested over her folded arms on the window strip as she enjoyed the tickling sensation of the warm breeze cascading her bare arms and face.

They had been on the road for the better part of two hours and someone who had been somewhat dreading the long road trip as she wasn't prone to sitting in one position for a long period of time, not to mention she always ended up with a sore neck afterwards, she was glad that neither inconvenience had bothered her yet.

"There it is."

She sat up straight and stared through the window as the small village of St Mary Bourne came into view.

"My village."

She could hear the pride in his voice. Turning her head towards him, she smiled. "It's beautiful."

"I have been to every corner of the world, Hermione." He shook his head. "But nothing comes close to this place. You won't meet a more loving and nice community of people."

"How many are there?"

His eyebrows scrunched for a moment in thought. "Close to 1200, I think."

Hermione paid close attention to every small detail as they passed a mixture of farms and woodlands before entering the village. As expected, there was no bustling traffic of London or people trying stomp over one another in their haste. She only saw a handful of elderly folks either walking on the footpath or tending to their garden as they drove past thatched houses towards the south part of the village where stood the flint and stone church of St Peter. Two minutes later Robert pulled the car into the gravel driveway of a two-story structure made of brick.

He turned off the engine and got out of the car while she was still getting her seatbelt off. She was about to push open the door when it was pulled open, and a hand came into her eyeline.

Looking up, she saw a impish smile etched across his lips. Her own lips curled into amusement as she shook her head before taking his hand.

"I'll bring the luggage in later, first let me give you a tour."

She motioned ahead with her free hand while the other was still cocooned tightly in his.

They walked across the narrow passage of stone steps embedded in the soil bisecting the overgrown lawn, leading them to the wooden double French doors. Robert opened the door with a brass key and led her through first before closing the door behind him.

Robert began removing his shoes and she followed him, tucking them neatly in the lower shelf of the glass shoe rack. A light shiver ran through her spine as her bare feet contacted the cement tile floors, the sensation only intensified when Robert took her hand in his once more. She masked her surprise well and in return flexed her fingers around his.

A slight curl of his mouth gave her the confidence to brush her shoulder against his as they moved forward.

An open sitting room with exposed beams greeted her to the left of the long hallway painted with white walls. One large bean bag sat next to the oval window while the space in the middle was occupied by a red sofa and two leather chairs facing it. A small bookshelf stood at the right corner of the back wall, and upon a quick perusal Hermione found out that most of the collection consisted of either classic literature or historical fiction.

The hallway opened to a large open space lit by natural light coming in through the floor to ceiling windows on either side of the sliding door on the east wall. A large curved brown leather sofa was situated a few meters from the door, and surrounded a low mahogany table that was sat upon a fluffy rug. A mural was painted around a large brick fireplace on the wall facing the windows and adjacent to that, was the open kitchen. A small hallway, but twice as wide as the one at the front, divided the staircase and the dining room with an archway. There were three bedrooms and two bathrooms on the upper floor.

"So," Robert began as he opened the last door in the hallway. "What do you think?" The room was twice as large as any of the others. It had a high beamed ceiling, a fitted wardrobe and cupboard and overlooked the back garden.

Shaking her head she murmured, "It's a lovely house."

His chuckling response made her turn her head towards him with a confused expression.

"I meant the room." A brief pause. "It's yours."

This time she couldn't mask her surprise and the laughter that sprang past his lips gave her an inclination of how silly she must have looked at that moment.

"Why don't you freshen up and I'll bring in the luggage, hmm." And without waiting for a reply – not that she was capable of any – he left.

Two days passed by in the blink of an eye, or that's what it certainly felt like. Robert wasn't exaggerating when he said that the place exudes peace. She felt it all around her, felt it in the ground as she walked laps in the back garden at the crack of dawn, felt it in the air as she breathed deep lungfuls of lilac and jasmine that looked ethereal with the sun rising in the backdrop. Aside from the magic of nature, the community itself couldn't have been more welcoming. The people were curious, yes, and she expected as much as an outsider visiting their little nest in the middle of nowhere, but they were never blunt with their questioning.

As Hermione sat down on the patio with a low sigh, plucking wet blades of grass off her damp feet and watching the sun rise over the vast horizon, her mind was at an unrest, something she hadn't experienced since her arrival.

Today was to be her last day in St Mary Bourne and this time tomorrow she would be getting ready to leave. Not for the first time since the thought first flashed through her mind it brought a sense of unfulfillment with it. Even though the trip far exceeded her expectations it didn't change the fact that the main purpose for which she had come – the one thing she most wanted to get out of it - remained unresolved.

Whatever it may reveal, all she wanted was an answer that would clear the cloud of ambiguity so Robert and she could stop pretending, which is what they had been doing from the very beginning. She realized that he was bold enough to tip his toe over the line to assess and gauge her reactions but not enough to cross it for the fear of the foundation not being strong enough.

Games of this nature didn't excite her anymore. At one point in her life, sure, but now they only managed to leave her emotionally drained. If she were to break a sweat at the ripe age of fifty-five, it better be due to physical exertion.

Over the past number of weeks her initial attraction had morphed into genuine admiration for the person he was as layers of his personality were gradually peeled away.

As she flicked the last blade of grass stuck to her heel and ran her hand over the arch of her foot, she decided that she would give him till tonight and if he didn't act by then, she would.

Firm in her resolve, her attention turned to the issue that she had locked away in her mind cage – a guarding mechanism she had conceptualized in her late teens to protect her sanity from problems she didn't have the mental capacity to deal with at the time, which is exactly what she was currently dealing with right now, but this problem turned out to be a pest of the worst nature as it failed to sit idle, and instead kept constantly banging to be let out of the cage and demanding to be her utmost priority. She had hoped that time would provide her the solution as it had done so many times in the past, but she was quickly running out of it and yet, her thoughts on the matter were still a befuddled mess.

Slipping her right hand into her trouser pocket Hermione pulled out the crinkled chit of parchment that she always kept on her person since she first read its contents. Peeling it open, she let her eyes trail over the words for the ninety-seventh time – yes, she had been counting – and as always, the moment her vision landed on the final line, it stayed there as her mind was overtook with memories of a time she seldom thought of.

"Ronda can be quiet overwhelming." Robert's soft voice cut through the humid air. "Especially when she really takes to someone."

"She was the perfect host. And the food was delicious. Especially loved the garlic chicken."

"It's her showstopper. She only brings it out on special occasions."

She snorted and shot him a sideways glance. "This could hardly be considered a special occasion."

Her curls caressed her bare shoulders with every step, swaying from left to right in rhythm with the sharp clicking of her heels against the footpath.

"Oh, it most definitely was." He kicked a rock out of his path. "She wasn't just being polite when she said that I always managed to bring you up during our nightly phone calls."

Her head jerked in his direction. His, however, remained tilted towards the ground.

Suddenly the smirk that had accompanied Ronda's words took on a new meaning.

Also, one doesn't bring up another person's name on a daily basis while talking to their best friend, not unless they yearn for something other than a platonic relationship.

She was not sure how much more of this she could handle, and beginning to doubt whether this was nothing more than amusement for him or he truly felt something for her.

Tilting her neck backwards before shutting her eyes, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Opening her eyes, she tracked abstract shapes by connecting stars while contemplating how to broach the subject that had the potential of breaking her newly formed connection with the man walking beside her.

He beat her to it.

"I have a lot of demons in my closet."

She came to an abrupt halt.

The scuffling of Robert's shoes stopped a few paces ahead of her.

Fixing her eyes on him, she resisted the urge to grip the fabric of her dress as he slowly turned around and faced her, his gaze, however, lingered on a spot on the ground between them before it lifted to hers. Her skin pricked with anticipation at seeing the intensity in his eyes.

This was it. The moment she had been waiting for. Whatever the outcome maybe she just wanted it to be in her rear view. If she was correct in her observation and he wanted to move their relationship forward to its natural progression, great, if he wanted it to remain as it were – with clearly defined rules – perfectly fine, however, if the upcoming interaction revealed deceitfulness and resulted in ugliness, then she would simply pretend that the last number of weeks never existed and rewind her mind back to her miserable existence prior to this episode.

She was getting pretty good at shutting down her emotions and living a lie anyway.

"I know you do, too." He continued, taking small steps towards her, the scraping of his shoes against the concrete grounding her to the moment. "A woman like you doesn't walk into a hole in the wall pub alone at night unless she is running away from something."

He stopped, looked to the right at the wheat fields that stretched till they faded into darkness before gazing back at her. "But I saw it the moment you walked in. Your eyes you see, they were empty, drained of energy, and not the physical kind.

He took a step forward and she involuntarily took one back. Holding up his hand he forestalled her movement. "Not long ago I saw something similar stare back at me as I stood in front of the mirror.

I had a closet full of monsters too. In fact, they still manage to sneak their way in every once in a while." He gave a wry chuckle, but stopped immediately after seeing that she did not find the joke funny. "Sorry."

Silence enveloped them and once more he turned his head to the side, but Hermione found herself unable to tear her eyes away from his face as it scrunched up with emotion. He seemed conflicted with himself, but it only lasted a few moments as his expression changed back to neutral and the tension left his jaw. He had come to a decision, and he when he rotated his neck in her direction his features were settled in resolution.

"I lost someone I cared about, and the months that followed I spent solely in here." He touched a finger to the side of his head. "In the beginning there was some light but with time it kept getting darker and by the end I was encased in darkness."

This time it was her turn to shift her gaze downwards, finding his open expression and haunted gaze too unnerving.

"One day, I was in Hyde Park – it was the first time I'd stepped outside my house in three months – when an elderly chap sat next to me. It was close to midnight so there was no one else besides us. He didn't say anything but just put his arm around me and patted me on the arm as I bawled my eyes out. After, he looked me in the eye and said, 'Let the gloom drift off into the night. The sun will shine that much brighter in the morning.'"

He took a deep breath before continuing. "I didn't understand what he meant or if he even meant anything. Were they just some fancy words rehearsed well ahead of time or was there actual truth behind them."

Lifting her head, she realized his eyes had glazed over. A light sheen spread over the tissue, and she found herself leaning forward, catching her reflection in the identical pools of black.

"I never saw him again, so I had to figure it out myself, and I did, eventually."

"And what did you figure out" she murmured, voice just above a whisper.

"That you have to bash your way out of the maze. Otherwise, you'll be lost forever."

Swallowing, she gave a small nod.

He reduced the distance between them till the front of their shoes were kissing.

"I wanted to be with you after we parted ways that first night, but I also promised myself that I wouldn't – couldn't do that till I was sure that you wouldn't run away after I told you about my past. Not that I thought that you were emotionally immature, no, but because I was afraid you shut me away, shut yourself away…." He trailed off.

Robert lifted a hand and skimmed the back of his fingers across the curls dancing along her shoulder. "Broken beings like us just want to forget. That's what this place did for me." He looked around and she followed his gaze. "That's why I asked you to come with me because I hoped that it could help you forget, too, offer you some semblance of peace. Let's be honest," Their eyes connected again as his hand moved to cradle her cheek. "At the end of the day that's all we crave."

Roving her eyes over his face, she found his expression open and yielding, totally at her mercy, eyes shining with sincerity.

"Robert," breathed Hermione. "Help me forget."

With one hand tucked beneath her head and the other resting on her stomach above the cover, Hermione gazed through the open window of Robert's room and mindlessly drew imaginary lines across the starry sky.

Mere minutes after her body had stopped twitching and her muscles had stopped spasming and the haze of pleasure had evaporated from her lust filled brain as she came down from the euphoric peak one could only reach by participating in the oldest and purest form of dance, the emptiness she has lived with for more than a year and had hoped would go away after cementing her relationship with Robert still remained. Instead of feeling her heart burst with fulfillment a deep melancholy has now settled in it.

Frustration simmered in her veins. This wasn't how she had envisioned this moment. Ater the exertion she put her body through she should be deep in unconsciousness, nestled against the warm body of the man sleeping beside her. Instead, she was pondering, pragmatically, if she was broken beyond repair and would never know what happiness felt like…smelt like….

As she rolled onto her back, her gaze landed on the clock hanging above the framed lined across the opposite wall.

Pulling the covers off, Hermione sat up, quite abruptly. Looking down to her right she shut her eyes in relief. It turned out Robert wasn't a light sleeper. Swinging first her left, then right leg off the bed, she placed her feet on the wooden surface before standing up. A grimace took over her expression as the combined fluids of Robert and hers trailed down her thighs. Glancing over her shoulder and confirming that Robert's head was still turned in the opposite direction, she waved a hand over thighs and vanished the evidence off.

She tiptoed out of the room – luckily the door was ajar – and closed the distance to her room in five steps. In less than a minute she was dressed in a pair of loose-fit trousers and a Christmas jumper with her wand grasped tightly in her right hand.

Closing her eyes, she muttered "What are you doing…fuck it."

With a twist of her hips and a blast of air, she was gone.

The surprise of landing inside the property dissipated right away as a familiar looking hand came into her view.

Inclining her head back, she locked eyes with the green-eyed wizard doing a piss poor job of hiding a smirk. He lifted an eyebrow when she remained immobile and directed her gaze towards his outstretched hand.

Huffing, she took it and for the second time in a matter of seconds surprise took hold of her features, this time by his effortless show of strength as he pulled her up as if she weighed no more than a paper plane.

Drying the dew off her knee with a wordless spell, she fixed him with a scrutinizing gaze. "You knew I would come."

It was a statement.

Folding his hands behind his back, he replied with, "That's quite presumptuous," before motioning her to follow with a jerk of his head. "Hunch would be better suited."

"Yeah, right." She scoffed.

He stopped. She followed.

For a moment she lost track of her thought by watching his eyes glimmer with mirth as it reminded her of a man she had not seen in decades – at least not in person.

"I may not know you like I used to," she began. "But I bet my left hand that if anyone else tried to apparate inside the property they would be on their hands and knees trying to find their missing limbs." His face broke into a full grin, and Hermione found his pearly white teeth shining in the moon light utterly distracting. Snapping her eyes back to his, she continued. "Which means you manipulated the wards for me specifically." Saying the words out loud stole some of her breath away. "I didn't know you could do that." She half whispered, half gasped.

Hermione held her breath as he leaned down and brought his face inches from hers. "You're correct. You don't know me." He tutted.

Her face broke into a scowl as he turned and resumed the walk towards a small, white round table placed right next to the Koi Pond. A bottle of liquor sat atop it in the middle with two tumblers on either side of it.

He pulled out a metal chair for her, which she accepted after a moment's pause, muttering a soft, "Thanks," before he walked around the table and took the seat facing her.

He leaned forward and grabbed the bottle, uncorked it, summoned both glasses silently till they were perched at the edge of the table. "I was beginning to lose hope, if I'm being honest – "

"Are you?" She interrupted him midway through.

He didn't answer straight away, instead took his time pouring a hefty amount of the dark brown liquid into each glass, filling them to the brim. Setting the bottle aside, he levitated a glass and sent it towards her. She tracked its trajectory from the corner of her eye, keeping her gaze locked on him. He lifted his glass and took a log whiff, swirled the liquid with a rotating motion of his hand before setting it down. Hers landed neatly beside her forearm, not a drop spilling over.

"Depends." He finally answered, raising his eyes to hers with a critical but composed look. "Will you?"

Flustered, she clenched her jaw in vexation, picked up her drink, shrugged her shoulder in reply, before downing the smoky liquid in one big gulp. Her eyes snapped shut as the burning fluid rolled down her throat, masking her grimace behind her hand before slamming the glass back down.

"Guess that answers that." He murmured, before taking a small swig of his own drink.

Despite the foul taste, with a beckoning motion Hermione summoned the bottle and poured herself another glassful. A moment later she slammed the empty glass back down again.

"Why did you invite me?" she demanded.

He shrugged, placing his elbows on the table, leaning forward. "I invited everyone."

"Not personally." she growled.

A low chuckle sounded past his lips as he nodded. "Not personally," he repeated, craning his head towards the yellow leaves floating across the dark blue water in the pond.

Silence enveloped them, and just like previous times, it became stifling.

Maybe it was the alcohol giving her the strength to act instead of adopting the policy of wait and see or maybe she was just too tired, but Hermione didn't let it prolong this time.

"This was a mistake."

Standing up abruptly, sending the chair toppling over and taking a few steps to the side, Hermione pulled out her wand, shut her eyes and pictured the destination in her mind's eye, ready for take-off, back to St. Mary Bourne, back to the house, back to Robert…

Fate, it seemed, had other plans, or rather, someone did.

Startled, Hermione snapped her eyes open and looked down at the hand wrapped around her wrist. Heart thundering inside her chest, slowly, very slowly, Hermione lifted her eyes, swallowing when brown met green.

It was like staring at a totally different person, so contrasting was the change.

Gone was the levity from before, mouth no longer curled into a smirk, eyes no longer glinting with amusement, instead his gaze bore into her with an intensity that took her breath away.

Cocking his head to the side in an inspecting manner, Harry spoke in a low timbre.

"Now why would you do that?"

The answer was already rolling off her tongue before the question even fully registered in her rapidly fogging mind, the effects of gulping down hard liquor manifesting at a rapid pace.

"I don't know." She whispered with a blank look on her face that morphed into a wide-eyed expression the next moment as realization struck her that those three words she had voiced with nary a thought spoke nothing but truth, and the reaction it brought forth out of her made Harry's face stricken in alarm as sardonic laughter disturbed the quiet, warm ambience. He let her be as her voice rose in pitch, hard lines creasing his forehead and the corners of his mouth in a deep frown, but even while experiencing an episode of momentary mania, Hermione could tell it was just a mask he had put on to hide his true emotion, pity. But she saw right through him, like she always had, and her laughter came to an abrupt halt.

Snatching her hand from his hold, she looked down and snapped her eyes shut to stop the tears from escaping, and only once she was sure that it was safe, she tipped her head back and looked him in the eye before uttering a hoarse whisper, "I don't know anything anymore."

She turned on the spot and walked up to the edge of the pond, whereupon she lifted her hands and tangled them in her unruly mass of hair, the tips of her fingers moisturizing as they grazed across her sweaty scalp. Pulling her hands down, she rubbed her eyes with the heel of each palm and took a calming breath that did nothing except make her breath hitch in rolling waves.

The liberation that came with finally admitting that she didn't know what she was doing filled her heart with equal parts relief and sorrow, relief that her mind was no longer confined in the prison of her own false reality, sorrow that she could no longer hide behind the farce she had created to portray herself as someone who always had her faculties under control, she had gotten so attuned with pretending that it became her reality, thus the shock when her lie built upon a frail foundation crumpled down with a single blow.

As these conflicting emotions waged war in her mind, Hermione felt completely inept in trying to understand them let alone control them. So deeply was she entrenched in her thoughts that she started at the contact.

"Hermione?" Harry curled his fingers around her shoulder as he came to stand by her side, turning her around to face him.

As she raised her head and locked eyes with him, an influx of shame enveloped her. Never had she felt more vulnerable, more seen as she did now, gazing back at herself through emerald eyes full of compassion and sympathy.

She despised what she saw.

Weak. Broken. Alone.

Suddenly, she was consumed with blinding rage that overruled every other emotion as she refocused her gaze on the wizard whose reflective eyes spoke more truth than the talking mirror hanging in her wardrobe, and since the moment she first laid eyes on them all those years ago on the moving train, today marked the first time she detested them – detested him.

How dare he, someone she hadn't met or talked to in over three decades, someone with whom she felt the need to walk away from a conversation before it even began, how dare he still had the gall to unravel her when no one could, and that too without saying anything.

Her expression must be in sync with her thoughts for he dropped his hand from her shoulder and took half a step back.

But the fire burning inside her wouldn't be tempered down so easily, not without an explosion.

"Who do you think you are, hmm?" She snarled, giving him a push that had her rebounding back a couple of steps.

"Hermione, stop. Listen – "

"NO! You listen!" She jerked a finger at him. "Who the fuck are you to judge me!" Her speech slurred slightly at the end as she covered the distance between them on stumbling feet. "You think I'm some poor old woman who has lost her way. You think I'm weak – that – that I can't take care of myself."

"Hermione, I never said that." He lifted his right hand to placate her. "Where is this coming from – "

"Oh, I'll tell you where it's coming from, you narcissistic douchebag. It's written all over your face – your pretentious smile, like – like you know everything about me. WELL, YOU DON'T!"

She breathed harshly; chin jutted up toward him.

"Can't wait to add me to your list of victims who need fixing, can you." She barked a laugh that came across as cruel as it felt sliding past her throat. "Harry Potter and his savior complex, the yin and yang, the double package deal, where one goes the other always follows." Scoffing, she added, "It appears you're no better than me after all, if this is how you get your daily fix."

"Hermione," he sighed. "Let me get you inside. You're drunk, I believe I still have some hangover po– "

"Oh my god!" she gasped; eyes wide in revelation. "That's why you invited me." She clamped her hand over her mouth as a giggle burst through her parted lips. "I should've known – god I should've known."

Harry watched with a blank expression on his face as she began circling him with her head tilted down, no longer addressing him.

"You just wanted an opportunity to goad about your perfect little life, and your perfect little friends, and your perfect little family – make me feel even more pathetic and lonely and miserable – it makes perfect sense. And then when I – "

An arm slid around her waist, followed by a swirling sensation in the pit of her stomach, and then Hermione was flying through a vortex of endless space. The trip lasted the duration of a second, but the damage was done as the moment her feet landed on solid ground, Hermione belched a stream of brown gooey liquid.

Confused and bleary-eyed, she watched the former contents of her stomach cascade down Harry's white suit shirt.

"Well," He sighed, making her snap her gaze up. He wore an expression of resignation. "Another notch to the tally of Potter acting without thinking." He grimaced as a single blob of chunder rolled down his crotch. "I would never live this down if Ron found out about it." He caught her gaze and raised a single eyebrow. "No one needs to know about this, right?"

Dumbly, she nodded.

That turned out to be a mistake as her features contorted in unease before her cheeks hollowed out.

"Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me."

A second stream sprang forth from her gaping mouth, this one landing right between his legs.

Satisfied that she was cleansed of the rancid smell, Hermione turned off the tap before grabbing the towel from the rack.

"Nngh!" she groaned, as she dragged the towel across her forehead. Though the feeling of her head getting stomped by a mountain troll as a result of Harry side-along Apparating her inside the manor had warded off somewhat once she had splashed her face with cold water twenty odd times – she was in no condition to perform even a simple healing spell and she wouldn't trust Harry with one even if he were her only option – however, a dull yet a persistent throbbing remained, as did the haze of intoxication.

Even from two feet away, she couldn't track the finer lines that now graced the thin skin of her face, or the white at her hairline.

Placing the towel back in its place, she walked out of the bathroom and immediately felt the gentle caress of the warm breeze glide over her skin as the door closed behind her. Turning her head to the right, she saw Harry leaning against the railing through the open doors to the balcony.

Pulling her gaze back inside the room, Hermione let her eyes roam across the bare walls and the minimum furniture that consisted solely of a dressing table with a wooden chair placed before it, a large bed made out of the elf-wood tree that could only be found in the mountains about twenty miles north of the property sat in the middle of the room, she was standing in one of the many guest bedrooms of the manor.

Potter Manor…..An authoritarian structure with exterior made from Krust, a pure black stone with magical properties that was mined in the deepest pits of Gringotts and was sold at the ridiculous price of ten-thousand gold pieces per kilo, the interior, however, was a mixture of marble and granite. She had walked through the halls once and could still recall the feeling of absolute wonderment she had felt gazing at the majestic architecture.

Harry turned around as she stepped onto the balcony that overlooked the east side of the garden and painted it in a gloomy shadow.

Hermione grappled the metal railing with one hand and pinched the bridge of her nose with the other as the fog hanging around the edges of her sight spread across her vision.

"What the fuck did you give me?" She gritted, clamping her eyes shut.

Harry chuckled. "I told you to go easy, remember. Here."

She felt him remove her hand holding on to the railing and place what by the shape of it felt like a tiny phial in it.

"Drink."

Hermione took a deep breath, for no other reason than to prepare herself for the foul taste that she was going to consume momentarily, then brought the phial to her lips and downed it in a single gulp.

Her face contorted into a picture of pure disgust, and her displeasure was aggravated further by Harry's muffled snickering.

"There, there." She could hear the laughter in his voice as he patted her on the back. "The aftertaste lingers for a while, but it sets you straight almost right away." A small pause before, "You do realize I'm stocking this moment for forever – Ow!"

He was right though, the effect was instantaneous and in a matter of few short seconds, the witch found herself in control of her faculties as the haze of fog cleared from her vision and the throbbing pulse banging the inside of her forehead diminished entirely.

She saw Harry leaning on his side against the railing, his mouth twisted in a slight grimace as he rubbed a spot under his chest. "Got a rather bony elbow on you."

"We all do." she said, closing the distance between them.

"Tell that to Ron – what's happening?" He stood up straight as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"How bad was it?" Hermione asked in a trepidatious voice.

Offering her a warm smile, he answered, "I've endured worse."

Her chin dipped inwards as she let out a long sigh. "That doesn't make it better."

"No, it doesn't." He agreed, and she raised her gaze back to his. "And, you know," He tried to strike a lighter tone but his posture remained rigid, "If you had said all those things back in the day when our bond was tighter than an unbreakable vow, I might've held a grudge and played the victim card – wouldn't have been the first time," She snorted, as a half-smile tipped one side of his mouth in a curving bend. "But you're not a teenager anymore, and let's be honest, our bond is as strong as a Slytherin promising to play fair." He finished dryly, before he leaned down and grasped her shoulders in a firm grip, lines creasing his forehead as he raised both eyebrows. "You're a grown woman…...who is hurting deeply, and what's our most primal urge when we're hurt Hermione?"

She steadied her expression and looked him straight in the eye. "To pass on our pain."

"Exactly. To pass on our pain to others." Shooting her a rueful smile, he continued, "I'm well acquainted with this path, having traversed it countless times in my youth, and during each of those times I behaved like an imbecile to those who cared for me greatly, said some truly awful shit" Pulling away, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed, looking out into the dark vastness spread before them. "More often than not you bore the brunt of it because you cared the most, but you never stopped caring. Never gave up no matter what filth I spouted" Dropping his gaze back to her, he shrugged his shoulders, "This is me returning the favor," before crinkles appeared on the sides of his eyes as they narrowed in uncertainty. "Look, I don't know what I said or did that made you snap, but being a good listener is one of the few good qualities I possess – or so I've been told." Standing up straight, his face creased into a smile, "But if hurling insults at me or turning me into your own personal punching bag makes you feel better, go for it." He spread his arms wide. "My preference would be the latter, just wanted to throw that in there," He curled his arms, showing off his bulging muscles that stretched the cotton material of his white shirt.

Swallowing a lump, Hermione offered him a weak smile and patted him on the shoulder before turning away. She placed both hands on the railing and closed her eyes to thwart the descent of an oncoming wave. Releasing a shaky breath, she trained her ears to the sounds of nature – the gentle rustle of leaves of the oak trees, the distant yet quite discernible sound of water running in the fountain at the front of the property, the soft murmur of the humid breeze as it swayed all around her – to find some semblance of serenity for her soul.

It didn't work. The churning

Emitting a tired sigh as her shoulders dropped in defeat, she inhaled a quivering breath before letting her voice takeover. "My husband died last year." Craning her neck up towards him, she saw his eyes widen in shock. "No one knows…..." Sniffling, she wiped under her nose, and then snorted, "and now you do. Ironic, isn't it."

"Hermione – "

"They say time heals everything. It didn't for me. In my case the pain only became more unbearable with every passing moment." Dropping her gaze to the ground, she continued in a broken voice. "Quit my job at the embassy because I couldn't train my mind to focus on anything for more than a few minutes. I'm sure you're well aware of how the media milked the news dry for over two weeks with constant theories and speculations behind my decision. Naturally people were surprised, and they wanted answers. But I wasn't ready, because admitting it would have made it real and that would've just broken me completely. So, I just closed myself from the world."

After a few seconds of silence, she continued. "I'd always had an addictive personality, so I have always been cautious to never stray away from my morals. Lying ranks right at the top of the list that I never want to associate myself with, but I had no other option, and before I was even fully aware of it, my whole life revolved around one big lie. This false reality where he was still with me."

Another bout of silence filled the air, and it drew twice as long before Hermione cut through it with a much steadier voice, yet the pain in it was no less prevalent.

"Locked myself to the house, only stepped out for groceries…. slept on his side of the bed, in his clothes, wearing his cologne, anything to feel his presence. But with time, the solace that I had found in everything that reminded me of him became claustrophobic."

Releasing a wry chuckle, she added, "I never really understood the disadvantage of a creative mind up until then, but yeah," she tapped the side of her forehead. "Some truly fucked up shit went on in here. I wanted to get out of that house but couldn't. There were days when I stood on the threshold but couldn't cross it. Something was holding me back – he was holding me back. It was truly a godsend when Neville reached out to me because I was contemplating some very stupid ideas. And suddenly I had a reason, had a purpose." Lifting her gaze back to him, she whispered in a hoarse voice while shaking her head. "I've known darkness, but that was the darkest period I've lived through."

The tightness surrounding her mouth and cheekbones softened as her expression cleared. Her eyes became brown pools of vacancy, losing focus, reflecting in the moonlight. Continuing in a monotonous voice, she said "Death works in mysterious ways. Plucking and choosing its victims without any base formula. Vector had a loving family, was happy, and by all accounts fairly healthy and yet…I on the other hand had nothing…."

An invasion of emotions and memories hit her with a blasting force that she was not equipped to handle, thus, Hermione's rather feeble resolve to not breakdown – again – was swallowed whole and before she was even aware of it, tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she was weeping in silent agony.

She caught Harry hurrying over to her out of her periphery and realized she didn't have the strength of staring into his remorseful eyes and, at her broken self through them, again, so Hermione shut her eyes tight with escape at the forefront of her chaotic mind.

When she opened them after a whirlwind journey of less than a second, something between a dry sob and a chuckle filled the silent street as she stared at the white picket fence of a house she had not stepped foot in since she was twenty-one.

Whispering an inaudible Alohomora she pushed open the door to the double story, brick layered suburban house and stepped inside, the door shutting behind her.

Empty walls greeted her as she crossed into the living area, moonlight spilling in through the twin, single floor to ceiling windows adjacent to the curling staircase lighting her way. She crossed over to the staircase and trudged her way up to the first floor.

Pitch black darkness met her as she climbed the last step. Muttering a tired Lumos, Hermione turned left and stopped when she reached the second door in the hallway.

Curling her fist around the handle, she pressed it down before pushing forward.

The glow from her wand illuminated the room in a dull grey light, highlighting a single bed and what appeared to be a soft mattress atop it, draped in clean white sheets with a pillow resting at the top.

Completely drained out both mentally and physically, the wand slipped from Hermione's loose grip and rolled to the foot of the bed as her feet skidded across the carpet floor before she fell face first onto the mattress, the last thought flitting in her consciousness before slumber took over, I've never slept on this bed before.

It was the distinct smell of bacon and eggs that pulled her into confused wakefulness. A frown marred lines across her forehead, breaking her peaceful expression as she strained to lift eyelids that felt weighted with bricks.

Rolling onto her back with a soft groan, she blinked her eyes to get rid of the haze clouding her vision. Her mouth opened in a silent yawn that nearly had her jaw cramping, but she managed to shut it before the effect could take place. Lolling her head to the right, every nerve ending in her body froze in shock as her eyes turned wide. Sitting on a wooden chair with one foot dangling over a knee and a plate filled with two strips of bacon, scrambled eggs, and two pieces of toast perched in his lap was the grinning figure of the head of security of wizarding Britain.

"Some things never change it seems. You still snore like a hippogriff in must." He then did a perfect imitation of said beast in said state before his laughter bounced off the walls.

She briefly wondered if this was a dream but the sting from the pinch on her wrist proved otherwise.

Sucking the moisture that clung to the pliant muscle of her tongue, Hermione swallowed it before opening her mouth and whispered a single word. "How?"

Taking a deep breath once his laughter died down, Harry dropped his other foot to the floor before he leaned forward and placed the plate of food on the edge of the bed.

"Eat."

The divine aroma from just a foot away promised nothing but ecstasy. Her stomach agreed with a soft gurgle and had she not been in such a groggy and discombobulated state, would have hidden herself under the bed.

Pushing herself into an upright position, Hermione exhaled a long breath through closed lips as she rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes for a moment.

Opening them, she let her gaze rake over the empty room. Exactly how she remembered it, except…

"This bed…" She swept her hand across the ruffled sheet and pressed it into the plush mattress. It didn't squeak.

Though a lifetime ago, the feel of her childhood bed – creaky, springy – was forever etched in her brain, as was the precious memory of her lifting it with her dad to the front yard the day before they were to leave for Copenhagen – their final night in the house. She can still recall waking up the next day in a sleeping bag on the living room floor by the noise of the removal truck backing into their driveaway and with her heart filled with melancholy, watched the removers throw it in the back of the truck before driving away.

"It was mine." Harry's deep baritone pulled her back to the present. "Well, it was Dursley's originally but came as a package deal once I was promoted to his older bedroom."

Hermione lifted the plate and with gentle care put it in her lap.

"Why?"

The silence was heavy, and it kept on prolonging, and when she looked up, she realized that it was not because he was waiting for her to elaborate further. His eyes gave away that he had prepared for this moment – this question – and had still not come to terms with how to answer it. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he dropped his gaze to his thigh, fingers smoothing across the fabric of his trousers. "So that you had something to sleep on when – if – you ever decided to come back." Picking up a piece of lint stuck to his knee and dropping it to the ground, he lifted his gaze back to hers. "There was one in your parents room too until….." Sighing, he added, "Neville told me."

Piling the bacon strips on a slice of toast, Hermione then scooped up the scrambled eggs atop it before covering the mess with the second toast. Pressing hard on the disjointed sandwich, she picked it up and took a hefty bite.

Staring straight ahead, she chewed slowly with a closed mouth, aware of the oil dribbling down on either corner of her mouth.

"I had warded the house long ago, not to stop anyone from entering but alerting me if someone tried to. That's how I knew you were here." Huffing a low chuckle, he continued, "I was expecting to find you sprawled on the floor somewhere when I arrived this morning."

"It's clean." mused Hermione, her head inclined as she looked for cobwebs but found none.

"I come by every week." He replied vaguely.

Whirling her neck towards him, she stopped chewing and raised an eyebrow in surprise. For the first time since she had been back, she saw the first glimpse of the awkward, shy boy she had met on the train, a trait that had stayed with him through his angsty teenage years and well into his adulthood. She figured he had grown out of it in the years beyond, turns out she was wrong.

Discomfort rose in his body language as he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

Swallowing, she whispered incredulously. "Every week!"

Shrugging his shoulder, he replied, "Yeah."

"And you clean the place yourself?"

"Easier than hiring some poor maid. I can do it in a less than ten minutes."

Shaking her head, Hermione went back to finishing her breakfast.

Placing the empty plate to the side, she swung her legs before scooting to the edge of the bed, her feet touching the ground. Harry's head jerked up at the contact as she touched his knee.

"Thank you."

Mistaking her gratitude for the wrong reason as his eyes swiveled to the empty plate, he waved his hand in a dismissive manner. "No need to. I'm just glad you didn't spit it out."

"No." She put a slight pressure in her grip. Staring deep into his eyes, the sunlight spilling through the window highlighting the dark flecks in his green orbs, his brows arched out, like wings. "Thank you." She spoke slowly and distinctly.

Understanding dawned in his eyes. Smiling quietly, he gave her hand a light pat before muttering, "Like I said, you never need to."

A sudden influx of emotion began brewing in the pit of her stomach, the prickle behind her eyes the first warning.

Inclining her head to the side, her gaze landed on her wand lying next to the foot of the bed.

"Accio."

She snatched it in midair as it zoomed over to her, the velocity of which shocked them both. Twirling the wood between her fingers, she said, "My magic is all over the place so the blowback from apparition would be loud and destructive. I'm gonna head down to the backyard."

Standing up, she took off without another word but was stopped by his voice as she was about to approach the door.

"Hermione?"

Turning around, she found him standing.

"Where are you going?"

Maybe she would come to regret or be embarrassed about her response in the future, but for now, she lacked the patience to form her words in a more polite manner.

"To tell the man I fucked last night that it was a mistake, and we would be better of as friends."

Harry's eyebrows rose to his hairline as he nodded frantically, sputtering his words out. "Yeah, no, you do that. I'll – I'll just clean up here and then head home. Yeah." He cleared his throat, eyes fixed on the bedspread.

Landing on the edge of the hay field some two hundred yards from the house, Hermione looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Satisfied that she hadn't broken the sanctity of magic, she took off towards the dwelling through the narrow dirt path to make it seem as if she had gone out for a walk or a run. The marks of her shoeprints on the muddy soil proof enough.

She approached the house through the side gate and made her way into the back garden, stopping short as she rounded the corner and came face to face with Richard sitting on the deck.

He was in the motion of taking a sip from the mug held securely in his hand when their eyes connected and paused. Placing the steaming beverage down beside his hip, he looked up as she walked over, a grin tilting one corner of his mouth.

"You disrupted my mourning.'

"Really?" she felt some of the heaviness of the last twenty hours lift slightly as she sat down beside him. "And what were you mourning about, may I ask?"

"For my embarrassing performance last night that made you flee first thing in the morning." A loud snort joined the chirping of birds hanging about the edge of the fence. Facing her, he said, "Came back for your luggage, I guess."

Pulling her knees inwards she crossed her arms over them. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Oh, thank god." He wheezed exasperatedly, wiping the non-existent sweat off his forehead.

She knocked her knee with his, relaying the silent message that the following conversation wasn't meant for a light or teasing mood. A message he seemed to have understood well as his expression sobered up.

Not wanting to prolong the wait any further lest she talk herself out of it, Hermione began speaking. "You were right. I was running away that night when we met at the pub for the first time. But not from anyone but myself. I just had to get out so when I read your invitation on the napkin after you'd left….." She shrugged her shoulder. "I took a chance."

Turning her head in his direction with a warm smile, she added, "And I'm glad I did. Spending time with you helped me in so many ways you can't even fathom. The nightmares, for one, stopped their nightly appearances, only because the moment we would part ways I would go over everything we did that day, the places we visited, the conversations we had – there was no space left for the demons to squeeze through."

Turning her head to the right, she swept her gaze across the blue sky before it dropped to where it kissed the ground. "But…..." Exhaling a low sigh, she continued, "the sadness always returned with a lingering ache. Always in quiet moments, always unexpected, without warning. I wanted to forget it all – my past – and – " Chuckling dryly, she managed, "I thought the only way past it was to move forward. I figured that if we got together – romantically – than it would mean that I was still worth loving…..that you weren't just showing pity towards me and actually liked me." Sniffling, she wiped under her nose. "What an idiot."

Richard stayed silent, and she was thankful.

"Last night, you did make me forget, just like you promised. But it was so fleeting…" She tensed her jaw to stop it from trembling, breathing harshly through her nose. "It was over before I could even truly relish the moment and – I just had to get out –"

The feel of Richard's hand on her arm halted her speech and she whipped her head towards him.

"I get it." He said slowly, lines creasing his forehead as he raised both eyebrows. "Truly." He emphasized.

The muscles in her throat flexed as she swallowed, managing for now to quell the rise of emotion generating steam rather rapidly. Voice wobbling, she whispered, "Thank you. I was so afraid I had ruined our friendship."

He pulled her into a one arm hug. "Never. Plus, it was a mutual decision. Was I hoping to wake up in your embrace? Yes. Was I salivating for a repeat performance? Absolutely." He grinned as her shoulders shook in silent laughter and waited till she had calmed down before continuing. "Was I wishing that we would give this relationship thing a go? You bet." He pulled away slightly and with tender eyes, gazed deep into her brown ones. "But none of that matters if you aren't happy." Leaning closer till their foreheads were almost touching, he lowered the decibel level of his voice. "My grandad always used to say, When in doubt, retreat."

Pulling away, his expression converted back into a teasing smirk as his voice took on a much lighter tone. "Plus, you never know what the future holds. Maybe someday my wishes may come true." He finished with a coy smile that had her shaking her head, smiling widely. "But," A strange seriousness took hold of his features and voice that she had not expected, and she found her own smile fading. "You would have to make that decision. You won't find any help from me. It must come from you."

Staring deep into his eyes, Hermione nodded slowly.

"Also," He tilted his head down and focused on some part of his thigh. "I'm embarrassed to say this, but I can't help you with whatever you're struggling with. Please don't ask me to. I barely pulled through myself, and I don't have the strength to – "

Hermione cupped his mouth with her hand, silencing him. Her heart almost broke as he lifted his head but averted her gaze, ashamed of himself. "Do you think so little of me, that I would burden you like that? "Oh Richard," she sighed, as he finally looked back at her.

"I'm sorry." His voice cracked, and Hermione engulfed him in a fierce hug.

"All I ask is that you give me time."

Turning his neck to the side, he pressed his nose to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, voice muffled against her skin as he said, "Take all the time you need."

Not long after they left the town of St Mary Bourne and made the trip back to London in three hours, stopping once for lunch. Richard dropped her at Charring Cross Road upon her mention that she would be visiting a friend who had just arrived from overseas. As she watched the Benz turn left at the traffic lights, Hermione walked the short distance to Leaky Cauldron, dragging her suitcase behind her, and after waving a hello to Samantha, Tom the Barman's granddaughter, flooed straight to Hogsmeade.

The first day back at the castle went by in a haze, from having tea with Neville in his office to conversing with Ruby Spark, professor of Transfiguration, about the upcoming election, to encountering Draco Malfoy on her trek to her quarters.

"When did you arrive back?" asked Hermione, leaning slightly on her left leg to take some pressure of her right foot. The blisters forming on her big toe and her heel were getting into the territory of unbearable.

"Yesterday." He answered, hands tucked in the pockets of his long black coat, the hem ending just above his knees. Nodding at her, he asked, "How about yourself, went for a little vacation at Weasley Manor?" He accompanied his supercilious comment with the infamous Malfoy smirk.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned, "Just fuck off, Malfoy."

Without sparing him another glance, Hermione took off as Malfoy stared at her retreating form with a mixture of surprise and shock.

Entering her quarters, she turned on the radio, switching through the channels for something that piqued her interest in the hope that it would keep her mind from straying too far. Luckily Wizarding World Network was currently airing and after raising the volume so that she would be able to listen from her closet, Hermione went about emptying the contents of her suitcase after turning it back to its original size.

It worked mostly, but every five minutes or so she would find her mind drifting off and checked herself with a little mental shake. She knew she was putting off the inevitable and that it was not healthy, but after the events of the past few days she felt she had earned a little respite.

The real challenge came when she lay in bed at night, hands folded over her stomach, staring at the ceiling. Turning onto her side, she moved her right arm across and stretched it to the other side of the bed, clenching the quilt in her fist. A sudden vision sprang forth of her hand tightening around a blue shirt and Hermione immediately snapped her eyes closed to not get fully sucked into it.

The night continued in a similar manner, tossing, and turning, walking laps across the room, staring out the window and counting the stars, anything to stop the agony charring her heart from the inside out, and it wasn't until exhaustion took complete control over her body that she sobbed in relief and dozed off.

There was a knock on the door, startling Hermione from her spot on the sofa as she was reading through Hogwarts: A History. Placing her copy on the table, she got up and crossed the distance over, her bare feet barely making any noise.

Pulling the door open, she came face to face with Draco Malfoy. Her gaze dropped down to the bottle of what she could only guess to be very expensive wine in his hand before drifting back to his.

He lifted the bottle and with an awkward shuffle of his feet, murmured, "Care for a drink?"

"Why did you come back this early?" she asked, taking a sip of her glass. "I mean there's still a month left before classes begin."

Expecting a flippant remark in return, she was mildly surprised as he shrugged his shoulders and chose to remain silent for a while, eyes fixed on his own drink as his finger traced the edge of the rim.

"It gets lonely." His voice just above a whisper as he inclined his gaze towards her, curling his lips into a smirk, but it didn't seem natural. Infact, it almost seemed jarring and threw her off for a moment. "Go on, make your jokes. Promise I won't tell father." He snickered, before tipping the rest of the liquid down his throat.

A sharp knock drew both their attention towards the window facing the quidditch stadium. A very irate looking midnight black owl was flapping its wings on the other side.

"Roman." whispered Hermione.

In less than ten seconds she was untying the note from one of the owl's legs as Draco patted the bird and made cooing noises. "Oh, such a pretty bird. What's your name?" He chuckled, tickling its spine.

"Roman." She answered, unfolding the paper.

"Roman, eh. Such a pretty name for a pretty bir – "

"It's Harry's."

"d – ugly duckling. Get the fuck out of here. Shoo. Go on before I wring your neck and trust me, I'll make it slow and painful."

Staring at him with a deadpan look, Hermione shook her head before she returned her eyes to the crinkled chit of parchment and read the single line.

Meet me outside Honeydukes in ten minutes. Dress for cold.

A prickling sensation at the back of her neck made Hermione whirl her head around and peer up into Draco's inquisitive blue eyes over her shoulder.

"Honeydukes, huh?" He drawled with an air of nonchalance as he turned around and admired his nails.

Mentally shaking her head at him, she hid a smirk behind her impassive stare and pulled back the teasing retort on the tip of her tongue. Only because the wine was quite delicious, and because he made an effort to have a normal conversation that didn't consist of poking into her business or her affiliates.

"Well," clearing her throat as he turned back towards her, Hermione graced him with a polite smile as she spoke, "I better get ready."

She felt the urge to tap her foot as he continued staring down at his nose at her, reminding her now more than ever of their late potions master.

Huffing indignantly, he turned on his heel, snatched the wine bottle in mid-air with a wandless accio, and trotted towards the exit to her quarters with his head held impossibly high.

The moment the door clicked behind him Hermione released her bottom lip from the vicious hold of her teeth and giggled.

"Psst!"

Hermione whipped her head around, eyebrows rising in mild surprise as her gaze landed on the poking head of the savior of the wizarding world, gesturing her over from the narrow passage of space between Honeydukes and Gladrags.

Stifling a laugh, she walked over and arched an eyebrow. Standing up to his full height, he latched onto her arm, and before she could protest or voice why in merlin's beard was he behaving like a lunatic second year who wasn't supposed to be outside castle grounds, she felt herself whisk away into another dimension.

"Fucking hell, Harry." gritted Hermione, as she stumbled down to one knee the moment they landed.

"Sorry about that. The fanfare in Hogsmeade is on another level, one which I normally find myself avoiding anytime I visit the castle."

A chill swept through her as she felt the plush, soft snow beneath her fingertips. Pushing herself up, she looked around and was hopeless in reigning in the sharp gasp that fell mute against the harsh wind zooming all around her.

They were standing on a hilltop, and right below them, roughly triangular in shape, the glen was about half a mile in length, and perhaps half a mile in breadth at the widest point. On one side cliffs rose up in a flat sheet of marbled grey rock; on the other, the mountain's shoulder dropped away into the precipice. At the far end of the glen, a stream fell thirty feet from a fissure high on the rock face. It cascaded in an icy rush over a clutch of boulders and then fell again into a gorge that ran the length of the glen to narrow and disappeared in the forest to the right. From where she stood, Hermione could see the waters boiling lazily in a deep pool encased in ribbons of ice.

On one side, the banks of the gorge were built of layers of stone slabs like steps, which leveled into a series of terraces at the broadest point of the vale. There, in a grove of beech, pine, and blue spruce, a log cabin stood with its front porch facing the waterfall. It was low and solid, built in an L-shape, its deep roof scalloped with snow and dripping thick fingers of ice.

"C'mon," Hermione started at the contact as Harry took hold of her elbow. "It's a steep path down."

She let herself be pulled along. As Harry had said, the path down was slippery and tricky and even with Harry's nonstop commentary: "watch your step", "don't place your left foot here", "tilt your weight forward," and literally guiding her with his firm hold, she had to be very cautious. She was more worried for him as he kept tripping every few steps because of his bad leg. Surely, he hadn't done something to it again.

"Seriously Harry, don't tell me you're still out in the field at this age. For fuck's sake, you're the head of the department."

He stopped, which made her stop as he half turned in her direction. His brows knitted in a small frown. "What are you on about?"

She huffed, then pointed at his right hip with a drop of her gaze. "You've been limping since we met back in February. Face it, you're old. Do your family a favor and leave this adrenaline bullshit once and for all."

A slow smirk spread across his features as he chewed the inside of his mouth before he turned back around continued their trek.

Finally, fifteen minutes and 150 feet later, they reached the flat rocky surface where the wind was blowing in soft currents.

"Couldn't we have just apparated."

"We could've," peering at her from over his shoulder with a charming grin, he added, "But then you would've missed the view from top and where would've been the fun in that."

Though still somewhat peeved by the physical exertion her body was put to without warning, Hermione had to admit that the view was truly worth it.

Harry put on fire as soon as they entered the cabin.

"I don't use magic when I come here." He spoke as Hermione glanced around, the smell of wet timber wafting into her nose. "This is my sanctum. Anytime the noise gets too much, I stop everything and just stop by, sometimes for even an hour or so. It helps." He finished with a sigh as he placed his hands on his hips and let out a long yawn. "Sorry." He murmured, covering his sheepish smile behind a fist. "This new case is kicking my ass. Didn't sleep a wink last night."

"The masked poachers?" asked Hermione, as she grazed her fingers across the round wooden table situated in the corner.

"Someone keeps up with the criminal section in the prophet." He chuckled.

"Right now, I'll do anything to not distract myself."

Silence.

Hermione shut her eyes and cursed herself mentally. Clearing her throat, she slowly faced him. "Plus, I find that section a lot more intriguing than all the other nonsense that gets published." Motioning the space around them with a swirl of her finger in an effort to change the subject, Hermione began, "How long have you been coming here?"

Blinking his eyes at the abrupt change in topic, Harry took a moment before answering, "Oh, umm, just a little over a year. That's when I first came upon this place."

"How did you find it?"

"We had discovered the location of Locke's hideout – you've heard of him haven't you? I would be surprised to know if the folk living in the southern hemisphere were totally oblivious to his existence."

"Of course."

"Well, it is about ten miles west from here, the hideout. A cave deep in the heart of the mountain. Anyway, just a week prior Locke and his cronies had hit the sanctuary in Scotland and stole five dragons, and I was really under the pump, from everyone, the press, public, even the minister. For two bloody years he was always one step ahead of us but this time we had him. And I trusted no one with this but myself. So, I chose fifteen of my best officers and assigned myself as the leader." A grim shadow fell upon his features as he continued in a forlorn voice. "It was a complete disaster. They were expecting us. Within minutes all my team were dead, as were Locke and his associates. I barely escaped. I had no strength left in me to apparate and our portkey was destroyed, so I ran, walked, crawled my way to here."

Pausing, a rueful smile made Harry's eyes crinkle as he cast a look around the cabin. "Bloody and broken, I survived a whole day in the wilderness before I found this place. I don't know who built this, but I'm forever grateful they did because it kept me warm and I'm not sure I would've survived otherwise. When I woke up, it was in a private room in St. Mungo's. They told me 2 months had passed. It was all over the news. I'd wondered why you never brought it up, but I got my answer the day before yesterday when you mentioned that you'd closed yourself off from the world. You didn't know. Quite a coincidence isn't it." He gave a small chuckle as he scuffed his shoe against the floor. A few seconds later, "We were both battling in our own ways at the same time."

Hermione lowered her head as a bucket full of guilt washed over her. Even though, as Harry had just said, she was completely oblivious to the fact, what troubled her was the thought that even if she would've known about what happened to him, she wasn't sure she would've reached out. And that had nothing to do with their past but entirely because she was in no place to provide any type of consolation.

"You made it." She eventually ended up saying in a thick voice as she sat down on the chair closest to her. "That's all that matters."

"Well,"

She whipped her head back towards him. She recognized that tone very well, she was as familiar with it as she was with the lines on the palm of her hand.

"Not entirely." He chuckled dryly.

"No." Her pleading whisper was nothing more than a puff of air, but it easily drowned out the wind whipping against the cabin.

Before he had even bent forward, her gaze dropped to his right hip, and then trailed down the length of his leg, and suddenly it all clicked in.

He rolled up the right leg of his brown trousers. Inch by inch the prosthetic leg came into view and her mouth gaped open when he kept tugging the hem as the fabric rolled over the metal knee, stopping when it reached mid-thigh.

"Jesus, Harry." She gasped.

"There's more." He said, as he covered the artificial limb a few seconds later. "But – " glancing up at her, his lips curled into a sad smile. "Maybe some other time."

No response came to her so she just nodded silently.

Hermione shifted her gaze to the dusty floorboards as she felt a lump rise in her throat. Quickly, she swallowed it.

The wood creaked under his boots as he walked over and sat across from her.

"Don't pity me, Hermione." He sighed. Hermione whipped her head sharply in his direction. Thrumming his fingers on the table, he continued. "This is the life I chose for myself."

"I'm not pitying you." She glared. "I'm angry at you." Exhaling an angry huff, she said, "Merlin Harry." Shaking her head, she fixed him in a penetrating gaze. "You know what the biggest difference between Voldemort and Dumbledore was?" She leaned forward on her elbow. "Dumbledore understood the difference between power and invincibility, whereas Voldemort couldn't even fathom the mere thought that the two are as far apart from each other as light and dark." Her voice lowered to just above a whisper as she said, "If you keep knocking on death's door, it will answer. Did you think that you'd keep riding your luck till the end of time?"

His jaw ticked as he clenched it tightly. Cocking his head to the side, he replied in a neutral tone. "Luck wouldn't be a word I would use to describe my life."

With that he got up and left. Hermione dropped her head in her hands as the sound of the door closing reverberated in her ears.

She found him sitting on the edge of a large boulder, one arm braced behind his back, the other resting atop a bent knee with the other leg stretched forward. The stream flowed in fast currents, bouncing off the rocks but never reaching the surface.

Taking a seat next to him, she let her eyes soak in the breathtaking view.

"It's beautiful."

"It's calming." He spoke after a moment.

"Beauty makes you calm?" she questioned, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

A hint of a smile spread across his features before he faced her. "Depends on the type of beauty."

"So, there are types?"

"Oh, most definitely." His emerald orbs appeared that much more vibrant in the white backdrop.

"Humor me."

"Well," he deliberated. "I associate beauty with emotion. What I'm feeling in the moment, the type of emotion it evokes out of me."

She hummed, looking around.

"That…. somehow makes sense. I suppose."

"You were expecting some cock and bull story, weren't you?" She could hear the laughter in his voice, and for the first time felt the urge to tease him back.

"With you, always."

"That cut deep."

"Doubt it."

"You think me heartless."

"I think you enjoy messing with me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're a prick."

"Your vocabulary has gotten a lot more colorful, which is strange because normally people get mellow with age."

"That's because I don't receive spankings anymore."

"Is that why you broke up with the guy? Because he wouldn't smarten your arse?"

"Oh, he most definitely did, but they were of a different nature."

"That's dark."

"You should've seen my cheeks by the time he was done if you think this is dark."

"Top or bottom."

"Wouldn't you like to know."

An elation of sorts swept through her as color rose to his cheeks, and his stunned silence only confirmed that she won this battle that began as an innocent game but by the end had turned into anything but innocent. She was surprised by her answers, which were driven by her determination to not back down, which she now realized was because since the moment she saw Harry in Hogsmeade, she never once thought of let alone felt the fear of her thoughts straying to the darkness always scuttling in the corner of her mind. Even with the heartbreaking revelation of seeing Harry's mutilated form, she didn't get sucked back into the dark abyss. And though she felt some part of that had to do with this majestic scenery, she had no doubt that it was mainly because of the company present.

Naturally, her ever curious mind simply couldn't bask in the serenity this moment provided but instead went into overdrive to find out the reason as to why that was the case. Why she felt an urgent need to go to him that night, what made her open up to him in the first place, lay all her secrets out as if they weighed nothing, secrets that she had guarded from everyone else. The answer came to her readily.

Because deep down she knew that Harry would make it alright. He always did. For her, he would do anything. Even when she let her insecurity get the better of her and hurled the most hateful words at him, he didn't back down. From silently assuring an eleven-year-old that she didn't need to change who she was to cater to others, to glaring at anyone who looked at her the wrong way much less hissed hateful comments at her, to lending a shoulder to cry on when their best friend shredded her heart by choosing another girl, to always treating her with respect even when tension grew between them, to always being the first to apologize even when she was at fault, Harry was always there.

Her conversation with Draco months prior shot to the forefront of her mind. It was true what she had said, and she wouldn't retract her words. There was seldom a time Harry and her talked about anything that wasn't related to school or the threat always looming over his head, there was never a moment of nonsensical chatter or conspicuous whispers or secret smiles that is the main form of conversation between friends at that age. There was none of that. And maybe that's why their relationship petered out after the war. There were times when the two of them got together during lunch breaks at the ministry during their training years that she felt she was staring at a stranger. But even with the advantage of hindsight, she wouldn't change what they had or wish for it to be anymore or less than what it was.

But….

"Do you regret it?"

His silence confirmed that he knew what she was insinuating.

"No."

Picking up a small rock that lay between her legs, she juggled it a couple of times before flinging it in the air. A beat of silence later, "Do you think – "

"I don't think it pulled us apart if that's what you're thinking." He cut her off. "I believe things would have played exactly how they did unless…..."

She looked up at him as he trailed off.

"Unless."

A wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth. "Unless we both wanted to change the narrative."

Neither blinked as the sky above them rolled over alternating patches of blue and clouds. "Did you?" She whispered in a raspy voice, and then licking her lips, added, "Wanted to change the narrative."

He gave a light shrug of his shoulder before tilting his head down. "Can't say I never thought about it. Especially then, in that moment." He picked up a rock, twice as big as the one she had, and with a light flick of his wrist sent it whirling over the stream.

"But – "

"I never thought of Ginny before, during and especially after in that way ever again." Taking in a deep breath, he let it out in a melodic whistle as he leaned back on his hands and craned his head in her direction. "But I know that wasn't the case for you. The guilt in your eyes kept getting bigger with every second. That's why I chose to keep with the narrative." He gave her a wan smile at the end.

For the next ten minutes Hermione sat in stunned silence, trying to process this dump load of information that even when Harry snapped her out of it with a little shake of her shoulder, she wasn't sure what to make of it.

The rest of the day went by in a haze and Hermione only remembered little snippets of it: walking behind Harry as he took her on a tour along the edge of the stream, never taking her eyes off him as he showed her how to catch fish, staring at his muscular forearm as he cooked the meat out in the open after setting up a small fire, raising an eyebrow when he picked out the bones out of the meat and slobbered the rest in three humungous bites, shooting her a grin as she shook her head in exasperation.

Now as she watched him set up two makeshift beds made from bamboo sticks, a sudden surge of emotion made her eyes well up and she had to cover her mouth to hold the sob in.

"It will feel awkward and a little uncomfortable at first but trust me your body will adapt to it in no time. You can use your jacket as a pil – what's the matter?"

He hurried over to her in two long strides. She could see hesitancy in his eyes as he lifted an arm but then dropped it to his side.

"I'm sorry." She sniffled, wiping her eyes.

"Please tell me it's not because you'll be sleeping without a mattress."

A choked laugh burst past her lips. "Shut up." Fanning her face, she took a deep breath. "I don't know – I'm just being silly."

"C'mon now. We've already had this talk, haven't we. Silly and Hermione Granger don't mesh. So, take that nonsense out of here." Leaning down till he was at her eye level, he whispered, "Okay?"

Nodding, Hermine whispered back. "Okay."

"Good." With a hand on her shoulder, he guided her towards one of the makeshift beds. The wood creaked as they both sat down. "Never mind that." A moment later. "Actually, you know what. I think it's better if I sit on the other one."

She snorted, before wiping the salty moisture along her upper lip.

"Now," He leaned forward, elbows digging into his thighs. "Tell me what's the matter. It's good to let it out."

Shaking her head, she tried her best to hold the tears at bay but could only manage it for a few scant seconds.

The pearly drops streamed down her cheeks as she sputtered through her sentence. "It – it's been so long si – since I've felt th – this happy."

Harry pulled her hand towards him and held it between them. He stayed silent with eyes cast down until her sobs subsided.

Lifting his gaze, he focused on a spot somewhere behind her as his calming voice filled the space around them. "Among the many valuable lessons I learned from him by simply observing him or things he said to me, I'll never forget his last words before Snape struck him. At the time I thought it was meant solely for me, but then I realized it was meant for Snape too." A small pause. "To grieve deeply is to have loved fully."

Switching his gaze towards her, he continued. "You tried to convince yourself that Roger never left, then you tried to entirely not think about him because the memories brought you so much pain that you couldn't bear it. But it's time you accepted that he's gone, only then will you be able to move forward, and you must. If not for yourself then for him, because he wouldn't have wanted it any other way. The ache will always remain, Hermione, but there's a way to squash it down so that its nothing more than a dull throb, and that's by celebrating the life he lived – the life he built with you, the beautiful moments you two created. I swear to you that there will be a huge smile on your face every time his face pops up in your head. If nothing else than remember this, he died the happiest man because he got to spend his life with you. You have grieved long enough, now it's time to love. Love him again, Hermione, because he never stopped. Remember him."

Chin wobbling, she croaked, "Harry, help me remember," before she threw herself at him, holding onto him tightly as Harry's arms wound around her waist. Her cries bounced off the walls, but they didn't burn her heart like before, instead it was thumping wildly in exhilaration because for the first time in a long time she could see a future that wasn't just filled with misery and pain, there was love too.

---

A/N: As always let me know your thoughts and I'll catch you on the flip side.