# Wounded

Word_waterfall

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 17/07/2007
Last Updated: 30/07/2007
Status: In Progress

The war is over, Voldemort is dead, but at a great cost to Harry. It seems no matter how hard Harry Potter tries, he still finds himself fighting for control. Harry is suffering for all his efforts, can his best friends help him? A story about the aftermath of the war, the three friends must piece their broken lives back together.

## 1. Prologue

Disclaimer: If It was mine, I would be re-writing HBP right now.

Authors note: So, I'm finally up and running on portkey. The plan is to better my writing skills and to share my angst bunnies. This is the Prologue to a revised, bettered version of a previous story. There are around 10 chapters at the moment, but it could become novel length, maybe. Angst Bunny anyone?

Prologue

His breaths came in uneven grunts, causing fine tendrils of mist to form from his list. He was so cold, the grass beneath his feet was crusted with ice. July had failed to bring summer to Britain, Voldemort had brought so much suffering to the world, taking away any ray of sunshine, of hope. He pitched to his knees, and steadied himself with his right hand, the frozen grass crunching beneath his fingers. Ice had already began to form over the denim of his jeans, raising an involuntary shudder. So tired, so cold, but he couldn't stop here, not yet. Harry grimaced, his eyes snapped shut. He willed away the clouding darkness stealing his vision, only to open his eyes and find himself dizzier still. He coughed out a sob of frustration, falling forwards, and thrust his hands out the prevent his face from hitting the grass. Afraid he would pass out before he could finish what he had spent so long wishing to be done with. The charred body laying a few centimetres from his splayed hands, lay twitching and moaning, icy fingers claiming the material of the robes, casting a fine sheen over the white skin. All he had to do was end this pathetic creature's life and it would all be over. The wizarding world's fear, his own suffering. He could end this in a second if he wasn't so damn tired, another sob escaped his throat, and it took all his might to refrain from howling with misery. One spell was all he needed to utter, and he would complete what he had been destined to do for all eighteen years of his life. Kill Voldemort. Harry's eyes flittered closed again, he struggled to open them. His eyelids became much heavier, and moving became almost impossible, like he was buried under a mountain of sand. The physical and mental exhaustion threatened to take over, pain threatened to overpower him- but he couldn't lose. Wouldn't lose. Not now, not after all he had lost. He looked at his fingers, his skin was pale, his fingertips blue with the cold. He called on the last of his strength and pushed himself up onto his knees. So close, he muttered, too quietly for anyone to hear. The deadly quiet surrounding him was punctured with his anguished cry of pain, as he finally pulled himself to his feet. This was it. He was going to end this now.

His head reeled with the effort, and he fought to keep himself steady. "One job, one last time" He whispered his mantra to himself over, and over. Pleading with himself to find the strength and the courage to raise his wand and utter the two words. The two words that had killed his parents, Cedric... Do it for them, he told himself, your parents, Sirius, the friends he took from you. He opened his eyes, not remember having closed them, the forest clearing around him spinning. The leaves crunching under his hands as he steadied himself, The rising sun caste golden light around him, but shared no warmth with him. If- no- when you finish this, everyone will feel the sun again, warming their faces drying away the tears that the bastard before you caused. This failed to reassure him, all he could feel was the threatening pain, and Voldemort's presence very close to him. The ice had almost covered every surface of the dark lord, the thin sheets cracked and splintered starting a cacophony of sound as he continued to writhe and twitch, perhaps more violently now. One last breath, raise your wand, utter the words, its simple Harry, damn simple. Tears leaked from his eyes, you coward, Harry Potter, you fucking coward. Pain now filled him to the point that he felt he could never feel anything else again, just pain for the rest of his being. Which can't be much longer, he found himself hoping desperately. Shaking violently, he fumbled to find some base of strength to complete his task, bestowed upon him while he was asleep in a crib.

Then end it.

I can't, “I can't!” All his training had led up to this, all his friends were out there covering, fighting for this moment. Waiting for you, Harry, waiting for you. Finish it! He lost his footing, and stumbled away from the body, adding his noisy footsteps to his and Voldemort's final, morbid melody. He secured his position, and raised his wand, he saw double, both wands shook violently before his eyes.

“I'm trying!” Not trying hard enough. He wanted to expel the voice. Sleep, he just wanted to sleep. Surrender to the darkness ever collecting at the edge of his vision. He wanted to scream, get rid of the burning in his head, the bruises, the bleeding. The screams. The body that lay before him began to rise, its breathing raspy, blood collecting around its feet. It laughed. “You are a fool, Harry Potter”, the voice scratched at him. “We'll both die here tonight” Another laughed, mocking him “And you tried so hard, Harry…”

Blood Harry thought Voldemort could never bleed, but, oh, he bled. He bled the blood of those he had slaughtered, felt their pain. Harry made sure of that, and all he had to do was utter two worlds, to end the whole Wizarding worlds fear. I was beyond him how he, himself could cause this monster so much pain, yet couldn't bring himself to kill him.

DO IT!

“I CAN'T!” He screamed, his voice most unlike his own, tears of pain, anger, fear- rolling down his cold skin. It was not supposed to be like this, it was suppose to be simple. Easy. Two words-

Voldemort's high pitched voice sliced through the air, screaming a spell that Harry's failing ears couldn't comprehend, laughing the whole while. Suddenly, the pain Harry had felt previously was unrivalled, this must be it, he must be dying. All he could comprehend was the pain erupting from his abdomen; he pitched forward, pushing his hand to the ground to hold himself up, he still found his nose touching the ice cold ground. A fresh wave of pain followed this action, and his grip on his wand loosened. He looked up through blurry eyes, his glasses shattered somewhere beyond his reach. He heaved, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth, the same viscous liquid running down his chin.

“Pathetic, you would always lose, Harry Potter” Voldemort's weakened voice hissed his name and his scar burned. Harry struggled for breath, and thrust his wand in the general direction of the voice, his eyes finally failing him. He held his wand blindly in front of him, and choked on his next words-

“Avada Kedavra!”

All he heard was an echoing thump. And the call of a hundred birds as they fled from the trees. He fell forward, soil from the ground mingling with the blood crawling from his lips. He choked, trying and failing to climb to his feet. He just wanted to sleep where he had fallen. Safe. It was over. He had ended it. Only he too was dying, and that wasn't how it went, not how the prophecy described events at all- his mind feebly wandered over this face as he lay semi-conscious in the clearing of the woods. Completely alone- but not for long. He barely heard the pounding of footsteps, or the screams and shouts of his best friends as they approached where he lay. He barely heard the crying, the sobbing, and the frantic orders. He barely felt being lifted from the ground, and didn't register the pull of a portkey.

He was far past the stage of feeling now.

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## 2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: If it were mine, surely I would be on a beach somewhere drinking Vodka and something nice, either that or being hounded by anxious Harry Potter fans for spoilers…on a beach.

Authors note: Oh dear, oh dear- Last chapter before DH! It's so weird, the last Harry Potter book we will read for the first time!

Chapter 1

Hermione hadn't slept properly for a week. Her house was no longer the safe haven she knew as a child, it was cold, and it was painful. Her parents were no longer the loving caring parents she once knew. Not since their capture and struggle at the hand of Voldemort himself, their close stint with death for which they owed Harry their lives. Yet the end of the war brought no comfort to them. Fear dawned in her parents' eyes as they looked at her. At first she thought it was the scar, sitting on her cheek, unwelcome, ugly. She slowly began to realise, it was her they feared. Their little girl, who they had raised to do only good, how could she have brought them such pain, how could she have let anything happen to them? They feared her screams in the night, they feared what she could do, what she had done and they feared what she had become. They tiptoed around her, as though expecting her to spin around and shout, bare fangs- or maybe banish them away. She could never understand it. She'd like to think it was fear for her, not of her. Only, It was too far beyond that now. She was much less naive now, than at the beginning of the war, less naive than her own parents- reduced to children in her eyes. Her own parents. It upset her; of course it upset her- But- but- she couldn't think about that now.

They all knew the final battle would have lasting effects, of course they did. History told of plenty of wars from which they drew experience. Still, she didn't expect this. She would dream of the hellish images that would haunt her all her life. She'd never expected what she'd seen. Muggle war was simple, go to a terrorist county and bomb their supplies, main imports, exports, cut them off. She understood Muggle war, muggle war even made sense sometimes. This war, their war, there was no goal other than to take over, to own, to be the ultimate power, there was no strategy, no plan, and no order- and- all the order could do was kill, if you're going down, take the bastards with you. Harry was the only one, who could ever tell the next move, but at the most vital moments he was fighting his war, he was fighting alone, because this war was the war only he could fight. The war between him, and Voldemort. Harry Potter's war, and it cost them all so much. He changed from the boy-who-lived, to the boy- who-defeated and the boy-who-fell, all in one night.

Hermione spent her days repeating, reliving the occurrences, trying to make order of the events that tore them all apart. She spent her time calculating, and destroying theories, writing, ripping up paper, anything. Anything to keep her mind off Harry. She was out of her mind with worry, so it was best to keep in her mind to ignore it.

She couldn't sleep, sometimes she would wake and wish never to sleep again. She found Harry in her dreams. The final act in his war. She'd known when he'd done it. The face of the death eater with whom she had been duelling contorted and screamed in pain. His wand reduced to dust, the left arm of his robes bursting into flame. She'd seen this, and she'd ran. Find Harry, find Harry. She knew he was hurt, she knew, she could feel it. She had ran into Ron waiting by the entrance to the forest, the look in his eyes showed his expectation to Harry to run out crying Victory. She hadn't expected anything more from Ron, not really, his child like innocence is what attracted her to him in the first place, and then the war had destroyed her naivety.- and any pleasure she had in a romantic endeavour with Ron.

She and Ginny found him. They found him face down in the dirt, near a pile of soaked robes. They found him hardly breathing, they found him bleeding. Hermione had sobbed, Ginny screamed. What remained of the order rushed in around them, Lupin spearheading them, and they all grinded to a halt at his raised hand.

“Is he…” He asked his eyes wide.

No, Hermione mouthed, shaking her head, hardly able to speak.

Moody pushed to the front of the crowd, “Let me see him” He called Lupin over to help, and together, they gently and slowl y turned him over. The crowd gasped. A deep gash ripped through Ha rry's middle, blood pumped and bubbled up through the torn skin. Turning Hermione sick. Lupin cursed, and picked H arry up in his arms, Moody moved forward and pulled out his wand, makin g complicated shapes, and muttering complicated words. The wound healed over, the crowd exhaled as one, a mass sigh of relief.

For a second everyone relaxed, almost happy. Could it really be over?.

The wound ripped open with violent vigour, Harry was sucked from his blissful unconsciousness and screamed. Hermione would never forget that scream. Harry screamed and choked on sobs and she had fallen to her knees. Ron rushed to her side, covering her ears, hunching his own shoulders against the noise, clutching at her as if she was the last solid thing on earth.

Lupin's eyes widened, and he looked at Moody with fresh horror, and he disapperated with Harry still twitching in his grasp.

Leaving Hermione clutching to each other, every frustrated feeling, and all their anger bleeding away as they sobbed.

Hermione hadn't seen Harry since; she and Ron were told to wait for further news. No further news came. She had no idea how Harry was, or where he was even. Whether he was still alive. She'd try to forget, immersing herself in a job, book or film. Her parents were weary, and spoke what was expected of them in dead voices.

“You look tired… Dear, How about trying to get some sleep?”

“Please- try to eat something, Hermione!”

“All this work can't be good for you”

“You look Pale…too thin…”

“That scar, Hermione, Dear, how did you get it?”

Hermione refused to release this information to her parents, not caring much for minor details anymore. All she cared about now was Harry; she needed to know he was alright. That he was alive, at least, that would be nice. She sent one disgruntled look in her parents' direction, and climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

She was expecting, another, long and lonely night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ron put his quill down, scrunching up another failed letter to Hermione. He knew she was beside herself with worry, but her lack of correspondence was disturbing and unfamiliar to him. Her silence was disconcerting. It was usually here complaining of his silence. She'd ignored all his letters bar the select few with which she answered shortly and to the point.

Ron,

I'm fine, busy arranging holiday with my parents, No need to write-

Hermione

This was written in handwriting much unlike her own. More of an untidy scrawl than her tidy linked up letters. Too many details missing from a life Hermione usually had plenty to tell of. He sighed, and moved from his desk to his window. The persistent rain matched the mood in the burrow. The Weasley family were already mourning the loss of Harry Potter, much to Ron's despair, he was sure that Harry's silence meant he was alive. Why keep the fact that he had died from anyone?

Ron was hoping on this fact, hoping Harry needed recuperating time. Time away from people. Therapy. Whatever. He wasn't dead, he couldn't be. Not Harry. He'd survived too much to die now. He left his room to wander down to the kitchen, taking a plate of sandwiches his mother had prepared. He noticed Ginny's tear stained face watching him from the living room; he sighed once more and turned away from her. He was tired of the constant cloud hanging over his home; he just wanted to get away.

The idea of owling Lupin flittered across his mind, and then flittered away again. Did he really want to know? After all this waiting, did he really just want to find out Harry was dead? It would end the limbo, of course. But what then? What's next? What would he do?

The war had shown him the true hostility of the world, beyond the bulling of Malfoy and the Slytherins', beyond school, teachers and homework. On that night, he was in Harry's world, and it broke his heart. He'd watched people break, cry, scream, beg, and Die. His dreams were never the same since that night, and he feared he would never be alright again. He wasn't as strong as he thought he was. He was a small boy, cold, lost and afraid in a world of horror. He needed Harry to get through this, if Harry could Survive, He, and Hermione could too. He was sure of it. He felt his eyes burning from hot tears, and his chest throbbed. His constant reminder of that night.

His mother busied herself in the garden; he stopped to watch her from the window. She looked so worn and old these days, more and more grey hairs appeared amongst the dull red. His father wasn't fairing much better, he moved much slower, and required a walking stick since the war. The attitude in the house was much less care-free, much quieter, but much louder at the same time. Ginny spent her days crying in plain sight, and relished in the sympathy of family and friends. It made Ron sick to watch. She expected the same off him, and he guessed she was very disappointed when he didn't apply himself. He found her act plastic, and couldn't help thinking that if Harry saw it, he'd be sickened too. Maybe seeing Ginny doing it would be worse.

Ron dreaded how Harry would be after he emerged from this, if he emerged. Would he be traumatized, more observant, scared of life, scared of everything, would he remember them? Would he remember anything? Would he walk? Talk? Ron just didn't know, and it scared him.

A bat landed on the windowsill before him, and he smiled faintly. Ronald the Bat was Luna Lovegood's Mail-bat. It only delivered at night, but not on full moons, or past midnight in August, as Luna believed August was a bad month for her because her house faces north. Luna was the only person constantly writing to Ron, and Ron fully appreciated her quirky letter, which were usually very long and consisted of much waffling. It was exactly what he needed. He quickly untied the scroll from the bat's back, and it quickly flew off into the night.

He was about to open it, when his mother walked in, and sat at the kitchen table. She looked at him, and began to cry, dropping her head into her hands. Ron bit his lip, and stuffed the scroll into his pocket, and left the dismal kitchen.

He opened the door to his cellar, and sat on the wooden stairs in the dark, eating his sandwich. Away from everything.

And he'd do the same thing tomorrow.

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## 3. Chapter 2

It had been three months; Remus Lupin knew he could keep them in the dark no longer. He couldn't keep their best friend from them. His guilt had shadowed his conscience for too long. His reasoning, no matter how selfish, was finally not enough. Full moon was approaching and he could not continue himself. He knew that Hermione and Ron would be tearing themselves apart, with no body to be seen and with their families already mourning Harry Potter's death. On reflection, He supposed Hermione hadn't told her own parents, he hadn't expected her too.

He ambled slowly along the path to the Borrow, the crunch of his cane against the gravel, coupled with his ragged breathing was the only sound to be heard in the suffocating July heat. He suffered many injuries during the war. He could see the rickety building known as The Burrow, becoming larger as he walked closer. It was strangely quiet for a sunny July afternoon, the only sun they'd had in a month. No Weasleys' were flying around on brooms, and no good-natured arguments travelled from the house. Remus felt another tug on his heart, the last three months had been hard for the whole wizarding community.

Harry's injuries were extensive, one was even impossible to heal. He sighed, Harry had suffered greatly. The story of his life, it seemed. Remus had moved him to a house in the country, where he wished to live on his own. Remus was sad that he was able to understand this, Harry had felt alone for the majority of his life, what was the difference if he spent the rest of it the same way. Everyone wanted to help him, their saviour, but for every time help was refused, Harry erected another wall around himself. Harry had been through months of unwilling therapy with Nymphadora Tonks. Nowadays, he was tired easily, agitated, and angry. He was hard to cope with.

Remus arrived at the front gate, the sunlight was mirrored by the Burrow windows; somehow it didn't seem right, nothing seemed right. He walked up to the front door, and raised his fist to knock-

The door opened, Surprising Remus and disorientating him for a second. Molly gasped, and ushered him in. Remus found himself pushed along into the kitchen as though a current had forced him there.

“Remus, How are you? Do you bring news?”

The whole of the Weasley family erupted from the rooms around the kitchen, Remus was pushed into a chair, and handed a mug. “Drink up! and How can we help you?” He was engulfed by all the hands, and was being hounded with questions from every side. Molly pushed her face as close as she could to his. “What is it, Remus?” Remus blinked at her, Molly was unusually blunt.

“I'm here to take Ron” He answered, looking around the kitchen, not seeing him “Where is he?”

“Take Ron” Molly's eyes widened “Take him where?”

Remus looked at his brimming mug. “To Harry” There were collective gasps around the room and Molly Clapped her hands together “Oh, Remus,” Her voice was raspy, she wiped her hands on her apron. Her eyes were starting to swell with tears “He's alive… I've been so worried Remus! We all thought- Well- I'll pack my things-“

“No, Molly” Remus said, clearly. He knew that Molly considered Harry as her own son, but right now, fuss was not what Harry wanted, no matter how much he needed it. “Only Ron, I'm afraid. Harry isn't up to much visitors…” He visibly blanched “In fact, he doesn't know I'm bringing Ron and Hermione”

Molly paused, as though she did not hear what Remus said at all, since she probably didn't want to hear what he was saying. “What sort of shape is he in? Has anyone cooked him a full meal? Is he staying with you-?” She was cut off, as Remus raised a hand to still her.

“I'm sure he'll visit when he's ready, Molly. He is being fed by Nymphadora, who is quite the cook, I assure you. Dobby was also sent from the castle” Molly bristled, as though Remus was insulting her by allowing a House elf to look after Harry. “As for the shape he is in, well, He's alive, lets be grateful”

Ginny let out a dramatic, shuddering sob. “I'm going with Ron” she exclaimed in a high voice, Remus looked at her in alarm, having forgotten the rest of the Weasleys where there.

“I'm sorry, Ginny. But I cannot allow you to come with us” Ginny burst into more tears at his words and ran from the room, Molly sighed sadly and ran after her, her cries of “Ginny, Dear, Wait” faded off into the depths of the house. The Weasleys filtered from the kitchen, leaving Remus quite alone.

“What took you so Long?” Remus jumped, startled, and turned to see Ron in the doorway.

“Ron” He sighed, standing and turning to face him.

“I said- what took you so long?” Ron repeated, his tone taking some anger.

“Ron” Remus started awkwardly, realising all the reasons he gave himself would never be enough to explain what he had done to this trio of friends “Harry had to-“

“And why couldn't me and Hermione help?”

“He is in bad shape-“

“Do you have ANY idea…What Hermione has been going through!? How much I have-”

He cut himself off, turning his back on the werewolf. Remus sighed, sitting back heavily on the chair. He had expected a bit of retaliation, of course he had. How could he not? He'd let the two people closest to Harry believe their best friend was dead. His guilt was all consuming, and not only for that, but for the face that he wasn't there to help Harry at the end. If he had been there, Harry would have been okay. All he had to do was be there, maybe to warn him in some way. He sighed once again, and pointed his eyes to Ron's turned back.

“I'm Sorry, Ron. To you and Hermione. For everything I've put you through, for letting you believe-” He took a slow, deep breath. “You'll understand when you see him” They would, he hoped.

Ron looked cautious, and then resolute. “I'll grab a bag”

Remus smiled weakly, and watched him run from the tiled kitchen. He rubbed his temples wearily. He wasn't sure what Harry's reaction would be to a surprise visit. He hadn't yet mastered the fact that he can't be as active as he used too. He hadn't mastered how much he could eat, and couldn't eat. He hadn't even mastered the stairs in his own house. How the hell did he expect to live on his own? Remus had battled Harry's request to live alone, throwing all these obvious facts at him, but this had just made Harry more determined to do it. Now there was nothing Remus could do, except wait. At least Harry allowed him the spare key.

Ron skidded back into the kitchen, his backpack slung over his shoulder. “I'm ready” Lupin Nodded and stood, groaning as a sharp pain shot through his back. Something he was sadly accustomed to these days. “Have you said goodbye to your family?” He asked, as they reached the door. Ron looked darkly towards the sound of Ginny's wailing.

“They'll hardly notice that I've gone anyway” He muttered. Remus looked at him sympathetically, he was astounded already at Ginny's behaviour, and he imagined that Harry would not be very impressed at all. Remus reassured himself it really was best not to take her. He tried to look confident at Ron, and straightened himself up, “Best be off then” he said quietly, and opened the door.

“Yeah” Ron answered just as quietly, and followed him out of the door.

Ron landed on the lawn with a soft thump, he still hadn't mastered portkey landing, even after the war. Remus landed effortlessly next to him, and looked at the house ahead of them. The tell-tale flickering lights of a television screen emitted through the large front windows, Hermione had told him of televisions once, and Ron could see a man and a woman sitting on the sofa. Hermione's parents, he supposed. He followed Remus to the front patio, feeling unaccountably nervous about seeing Hermione. He had no idea what state she would be in. The sunshine was giving way to quickly gaining darkness. He stood twiddling his thumbs as Remus knocked hesitantly. On ce, twice, three times…

The woman Ron had seen on the sofa opened the door. The chain latch was still locked, and the middle-aged woman glanced at them through the crack in the door.

“Can I help you?” Her voice was small, timid but there was an undertone telling of wisdom. The fear in his eyes shone out like beacons. Remus smiled as kindly as he could,

“We're here for Hermione, Mrs Granger”

Mrs Granger nodded, and blinked slowly. “And you're from the…” She was very hesitant to talk about where her daughter came from, although she had been fully immersed in it on her journeys to Diagon alley with Hermione.

“Wizarding world, Yes” Remus completed for her. Mrs granger smiled weakly and nodded, shutting the door, unchaining the lock and then opening it fully.

“Come in” She said quietly, watching Remus and Ron enter. She shut the door behind them, and looked at them carefully. She opened her mouth and closed it again, before asking with forced politeness. “Can I get you a cup of tea…?”

“No” Remus answered “Thank you, but we are in a bit of a Hurry. It'll be dark soon”

Mrs Granger bit her lip, in way not unlike Hermione and nodded once again. “I'll just go fetch her…she's…she's in the garden”

Ron sent a tense smile at Remus, Remus nodded “She'll be fine, Ron” Ron hoped he was right; he toyed with the buttons on his jumper, biting his lip, and looking to the doorway every few seconds.

Hermione burst into the hall, running towards Ron and threw her arms around him. Remus could hear her sobbing pitifully into Ron's neck, clutching his jumper in tight fists. Her mother watched in dismay, Remus gained the impression that this was the most emotion Hermione had shown in weeks.

Hermione looked up into Ron's face “Did you find him?” Ron nodded, and Hermione exhaled slowly. Remus cleared his throat, a quiet, raspy noise that instantly drew Hermione's attention.

“Remus” she said coldly, her anger at the man standing before her had grown without any signs of abating. He kept Harry from her, let her think he was dead- when she knew he couldn't be. She would feel something more than she did if he was gone, she knew.

Remus had- again- expected this. Retaliation was the last thing he was worried about. For the time being, all he cared about was that Harry's friends saw he was alive. For the time being, all he cared about was getting Harry's faith in life back.

“Hermione-“He started, but he was instantly cut off by her cold threat.

“Just take us to Harry, I hope the journey takes three months, how else will you explain how long it's taken you to get us?”

Remus was left bewildered; he'd never heard Hermione talk in such a tone. He nodded, suddenly feeling how cold it was in the house. He watched Hermione's reaction to his nod, anger, relief, happiness, worry, dread.

“Is he…Has he?” She asked in a grafting tone, filled with horror, her hand slowly coming up to cover her mouth

“No” He answered, gaining his voice. “He's alive” He bit his lip, barely.

“Can we see him?” She moved away from Ron, viewing his backpack.

“That's why we're here”, Hermione turned away from them, and ran up the stairs, after stating quietly “I'll get my things”

“Are you taking her away?” Hermione's mother's voice sounded very tired now. Her face lined, and grey colours that Ron hadn't noticed before were coming into the dark auburn that still shined through.

“We'll bring her back, Mrs Granger” Remus placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his fingers ghostly pale next to her dark top.

“Will you bring her back right?” Remus' forehead creased at this, and he looked at Mrs Granger in disbelief.

The question made Ron's toes curl, Right, what the bloody hell did she mean by right? Didn't she understand what Hermione had been through, what they both had been through? What the Wizarding world had faced…? He regarded her sadly, and guessed not. Muggles would never understand the fear, the consequences of Magic. The dark side of magic, or magic, point blanc. He doubted they could grasp what their daughter had become, let alone the world they didn't want her to belong to.

Remus, very much alarmed by the question, reassured her he'd do the best he could. The three of them waited silently in the brightly lighted Hall. The only sound that could be heard were the whisper of Hermione's feet, and her badly concealed sobbing.

She was on the stairway a moment later, a bag thrown over her shoulder, and her hair tied back carefully. She walked to her mother, wearing a resolved look similar to the one Remus had seen on Ron's face in the Burrow, and put her arms around her. Her mother embraced her back, as if she was made of glass.

Together, Hermione, Ron and Remus stepped out onto the front lawn. The slit of light from on the porch slowly disappeared as the door was shut behind them, and they were left to the cold night.

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## 4. Chapter 3

Hermione didn't open her eyes until long after the tell-tale crunch of their feet hitting gravel. She found she was afraid, and it took a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder from Ron to open her eyelids again. The darkness was like a blanket around her, No sound was to be heard except for their footsteps against the tiny stones. A house towered before their eyes like a cruel shadow, blocking the light of the moon. Hermione's heart skipped beats, and hot tears burned her eyes. Harry wanted to live here alone, in a house that could hold six families. He could lose himself in it, and he probably has, she thought. Reaching out- she caught Ron's hand for support.

“He'll be fine Hermione, He's alive…That's good at least” Hermione smiled at Ron, a tiny smile to show that she appreciated that he was scoping beyond the young boy with the emotional range of a teaspoon. The war had aged them all beyond their own ages, forcing them to adapt to a conflict torn world. The diminutive bickering of Hogwarts was far behind them, lost along with many other happy memories.

Remus watched them, he felt awful for the extra pain he added to their young shoulders. Only, he knew that also he had saved them some pain, and that lessened the feeling some. He never knew what to expect every time he walked into that house, Harry's moods constantly fluctuated from suicidal to grateful, to depressed again. He didn't know what state Harry would be in as that front door opened; He hadn't seen or spoken to Harry all day, finally deciding to give Harry the peace he begged for. At least Harry's condition was under some control now- but even this did not secure Harry's wellbeing and so if he himself couldn't raise Harry's spirits, surely Hermione and Ron could.

Two thirds of the trio looked at the house ahead of them in awe. What they could see of it was epic. Old walls stretched across their eyesight, old rustic walls, they stretched across and up composed of ruby bricks. Hermione let her eyes wander from the many chimneys to the entrance before them. The double doors seemed to glare at Hermione and Ron as they approached. Their own images were reflected by the highly polished wood of the door, warning them of things that may await them after the door. Hermione almost expected a monster to jump from the keyhole and devour them all. Yet she knew only Harry resided inside, but how much would be left of the Harry she knew? Was he just a shadow of his former self? What had Voldemort done to him? She was packed full of too many questions. She wanted answers, but she was too afraid to take another step. She turned to study Remus. He followed at a distance, looking sad. Rage swelled in her chest, combing with the fear clawing her heart.

“What is this place?” Ron breathed, turning to Remus. Remus Lupin cast his eyes toward the redhead tiredly.

“This is Harry's home. He owns it” Remus heard Hermione's breathe hitch, and turned to look at her. Ron followed his gaze, his eyes locking onto Hermione's. “We're in a small village in North Wales called Ruthin” Remus continued “It's one of the estates belonging to the Potter name”

Hermione sigh; living on your own in a house like that must be lonely. She imagined Harry chose it for its location and connection to a loved, lost family he never knew, that he was the last remaining member of. She felt like crying again, she didn't know what to expect as she entered through those doors. Her heartbeat skipped into double time. She'd missed Harry so much, dreamed of his death, and convinced herself of his death only to have to make herself believe she would see him again. Her mind constantly tore between logic and want. She wanted Harry, Logically she couldn't have him. Logical, always- didn't logic always lose out the want anyway?

“Oh, Ron-“Her voice was so quiet and worn. Ron took her in his arms, and ran his hand soothingly over her hair. Ron was never much in touch with emotions, but since the war, since he and Bill lost two of their brothers, Charlie and Percy, he'd never wanted to escape feeling so much. Hermione's silent tears quickly turned to noisy sobs. She felt as if her chest was seizing up, like her heart had stopped beating, even though she could hear its clamourus beating in her ears.

Remus pushed his hands into his pockets; he toed the driveway with his shoe and sighed heavily. This was going to be much, much harder than he had wanted to believe. Harder on who though? Him, them, or Harry? He'd promised Harry the peace he deserved, now he was about to break that promise for Harry's own good. He was doing the right thing, he was sure, but sometimes he wished he could be definite for once. A hand landed on his shoulder softly.

“We're ready to go in” Ron's voice made Remus stand up, brush the hair from his eyes and take charge. He longed for Tonks to be at his side, although he had dissuaded her to come. Tonks, as always was very enthusiastic when it came to assisting the trio. He took a deep breath, and stepped from the gravel to the tiled path. He pulled a key from his pocket, allowing the cold silver chain slip comfortingly between his fingers and slipped it into the lock. He shut his eyes momentarily, and then tugged the door open.

The door opened effortlessly, Hermione expected the groans of an old house. Strange, that she hoped on something so trivial for reassurance- But she was reassured in another way, if the door could be healed of its old age, if it could avoid rot and still house people for many years…Then she was quite certain Harry could be the same. A weak smile transmitted across her lips, but quickly disappeared, how could she have compared Harry to a door?

Hermione was last into the house, Ron's hand had to grip at her forearm so she couldn't stop. Without words, Remus showed them where to put their coats and bags. Hermione and Ron removed their shoes as they hung their coats, and although their socks made no sound against the carpet- They crept anyway.

They were led down a corridor, passing many closed doors. The corridor itself was furnished lightly with a red carpet, and a few portraits, Hermione noticed that they were all empty. Finally, Remus halted.

“This” He sighed heavily “This is a calm room, we put a charm on a lot of the rooms in the house, without Harry's knowledge of course, and can you imagine what he'd say…” He tailed off, laughing weakly and looking nervous. He instantly quietened, and began again in a business like tone “The charm places an instant calm over its occupants; this room has the strongest Charm on it. During your stay, if Harry becomes…Unmanageable, Just bring him here.” Hermione wondered what he meant by unmanageable, But see had no time to dwell on it; Remus put his hand on the door handle, and pushed the door open.

The lights in the room were heavily dimmed; Hermione noticed light gauze scarves over all the lamps in the room, bathing the room in a muted glow. The room strongly reminded Hermione of the Gryffindor Common room, with its fireplace crackling merrily, and the portraits on the wall- again, Empty- had the same frames. She felt highly comforted at the though of Hogwarts and…calm. She smiled, and looked around some more.

In the centre of the room, in front of the fire was a small table and a sofa, and upon the sofa was Harry. His head in one hand, his elbow leant against the armrest. His other hand clutched at his abdomen. Deep in sleep.

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