Disclaimer: I don’t own them.

Author’s Note: My second multi-chapter fic! This one’s set four years post-Hogwarts. Harry’s been in Auror training for the last two, just so you know. This story is going to incorporate a lot of flashbacks�”idea that I got from a Puerto Rican movie called ‘Cayo’ (I highly recommend it)�”and they’ll be in italic text, so they’ll be easy to identify.

I don’t think there’s anything more to say, really. If you have any questions, please, feel free to send me an e-mail or ask them in your review. I’ll answer. =)

Well, enjoy! And do know that feedback is extremely appreciated.

---

Chapter One: Memories

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

(Please, don’t destroy this letter, Harry. What I have to say is something you’ll want to hear, trust me.)

As you know, I took up the post as Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts after studying abroad for two years. It’s been a wonderful two years since. Hogwarts is, and will always be, my second home. And I know you feel even more passionately for it.

The number of students attending the school has gone down immensely, Harry. Parents fear for their children’s safety even more now. With Death Eaters on the loose, and the rumors of Voldemort still being alive, most people have not yet lost their fear. In better times, Hogwarts would have been viewed as the safest place to be in such circumstances, but you know better than anyone that since Dumbledore’s death, Death Eaters don’t fear Hogwarts like they used to. You must have read the papers�”five breaches on security in the last two years!

Which brings me to this. I write this letter in hopes that you will accede to the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You must realize, Harry, that you are really the only hope the school has left. Your presence there, if only for one year, will no doubt encourage parents, children, and possible teachers to come as well. They look up to you, no matter how much you deny it. You saved them from Voldemort’s reign of terror, and you’ve defended them for the last few years against the Death Eaters. You being at the school makes it automatically safer. Besides, I don’t think there is anyone better qualified for the post than you.

And…if it’s worth anything…I really have missed you. And I am really, really sorry for what happened. But I don’t think that is a conversation to have through a letter, Harry. I want to talk to you. We need to set the record straight.

I don’t want what happened to define our lives this way, Harry.

We’ll be expecting you later.

With love,
Hermione

***

Harry Potter stared at the letter in his hands. He read through it again furiously, an unpleasant wave of shock coursing through him. He read each word twice, barely believing what was said.

The first coherent thought that pushed its way into his mind was that Hermione still hadn’t lost her personality. To the point, rational arguments, all the while dropping a few key words here and there as a form of subtle persuasion. He doubted she noticed that she did this, really, but it didn’t fail to annoy him right now.

The second thought that managed its way was the fact that it had been four years since they’d seen or spoken (in person) to each other, and yet he still felt the same way about her. Anger and resentment and all included.

And last, though certainly not least, was the thought of the circumstances that had pushed him into leaving Scotland in the first place.

Overcoming the impulse to burn the letter, he read through it again. Once the shock of Hermione writing to him vanished, he realized there were quite a few things of interest to him in the letter after all. Frowning, he pondered on the fact that Hogwarts security had been breached, not once, but five times in the last two years.

He knew that the Death Eaters hadn’t lost their faith after the Final Battle. If anything, they seemed even more encouraged by the death of their Master. An alarming number of them had avoided capture thus far, and the ones that had been caught had been broken out of Azkaban. The Ministry, noticing this, had taken a leaf out of Barty Crouch’s book and permitted the use of the Unforgivables on them. This had resulted in a semi-war between the Ministry and the Death Eaters, whom had seen this as an outrage and had begun to attack and terrorize freely.

But what worried Harry was this: why would they even bother fighting if they weren’t sure their Master would rise again? Why weren’t they saying that they’d been Imperiused, or that they were actually skilled Occlumens serving as spies for someone on the good side? Why did they persist, if Voldemort had been killed and had been gone for four years?

What if Voldemort wasn’t dead after all?

He wondered whether there had been an eighth Horcrux. Voldemort could have found out at any time that Harry was aware of the Horcruxes, and thus decided to create one or even two more. What could have kept him from doing so? The risk had always been there, after all. Making more than one Horcrux had been, until then, unheard of. Making one more wouldn’t have been much of a problem.

And this thought…deeply troubled him. Voldemort coming back again would mean going back to where he had been only four years ago…to a place where it was all really up to him and his power against Voldemort. And it would mean facing him again, only to find himself alone this time. No one by his side…just him.

His gaze found its way to the letter again. “…I write this letter in hopes that you will accede to the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Could he really be fit for teaching? Certainly, he was perfectly suited for the post, but…going back to Hogwarts would imply seeing Hermione again. It would imply facing things that he had been running away from for the past four years, and had very little inclination of going back to.

He just couldn’t go back…not yet. He wasn’t ready.

And�”wait a second…

There was a hasty scribble at the end of the letter…it seemed to have been written in a haste, because Hermione’s usually neat handwriting was incredibly bunched together and barely legible. He squinted, bringing the letter closer to his eyes, trying to make it out…

“Hello, Harry.”

Harry jumped, turning around and staring at the person in the doorway. Stunned, he felt the letter slip from his hands as he watched Ginny Weasley stride comfortably into the room, her hair fluttering behind her as she walked, and stop about four feet from him. Raking her eyes over him, she let her gaze linger on the letter at his feet before looking back up at him. She smirked.

“I take it that’s Hermione’s letter?”

“Erm…Ginny?”

Her smile, if possible, widened even more, “Yep. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? I hope training’s been good.”

“Yeah…it’s been…great,” mumbled Harry, his tone awfully unconvincing. He continued to gape at Ginny in shock, wondering if he was perhaps dreaming. The day had barely begun and it was already getting overwhelmingly strange.

Ginny took a step closer, “Haven’t you missed us?” she asked softly, reaching to touch his face with her hand, “Me?” Her eyes seemed to lose their confident gleam for a moment, before reverting back to that oddly determined, overly happy look. Harry looked at her, utterly bewildered, and took a step back.

“Y-yeah. Of course I have, Gin,” he attempted a grin, “But�”err…what are you doing here?”

“Didn’t you read the note at the end?” she asked softly, closing the distance between them and taking his hand. She pulled him close to her, so that they were pressed together, and looked up into his eyes. Her expression misty and full of longing, she seemed to force her smile as she spoke, “See you on the other side,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

And then, Harry felt that all-too-familiar sensation of being squeezed through a very thick rubber tube…he couldn’t breathe…Ginny was pressed up against him…and he was suffocating…every part of him was being compressed beyond measure, and just when he felt as if he couldn’t take it anymore, it seemed to stop…

And was replaced by a searing pain in his hand.

“Oh�”God, Ginny! What in the world did you do?” this voice, he knew so well…and it had been so long since he had heard it. It was shrill at the moment, and seemed extremely distressed about something. Opening his eyes and looking around in shock, he watched as Hermione Granger looked at him and Ginny in horror, eyes wide. Her curly mass of brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail at the back of her head, and she wore fine, silky robes on a burgundy color. A single thought managed to push through the confusion in Harry’s mind.

Damn. She’s still beautiful…

Ron Weasley stood beside her, staring at his sister with wide, incredulous eyes, “Bloody hell, Ginny! What did you do�”force him to do side Apparate?” he craned his neck, “Shit! You’ve splinched him�”look! There’s a finger missing!”

Ginny jumped away from him, biting her lip, “Oh�”I’m so sorry, Harry!” she sputtered, covering her mouth with her hand, before turning to Ron, “I messed up! You two didn’t tell me how I was supposed to do it! And excuse me if I was a little effing nervous!” she snarled, her cheeks reddening.

Harry, who had thus far managed to ignore the dull aching in his hand, glanced down at it. Immediately, he cursed and looked at the other three for help. They stood watching him, apparently too shocked to think of anything.

Grimacing horribly, he managed to ground out, “Somebody�”help! Do something!”

All of them ran forward, pulling out their wand and pointing them at him simultaneously. Ginny, who was still embarrassed about what had happened, muttered a feeble charm and succeeded in turning a bit of Harry’s hair green. Ron opened his mouth as if to do something, but didn’t speak at all, instead frowning in confusion. It was Hermione who wielded her wand expertly, muttered something, and caused a great bang and a cloud of purple smoke to appear. The pain vanished instantly, and as the smoke cleared, they could all see Harry’s finger, back and safe in place.

After an awkward pause, Hermione cleared her throat and smiled, “Erm…welcome back, Harry,” she said, apparently stifling a laugh, “Sorry about that…”

“Yeah, how’ve you been, mate?” asked Ron, grinning, “Had a nice break from us?”

He stared at them incredulously, “What is going on?” he blurted out, looking between the two of them, as if the answer might somehow be written on their faces.

“Oh, nothing. We were just bored,” said Ron, his tone gleeful. He seemed to be enjoying Harry’s obvious confusion very much.

Harry gave his friend a venomous look worthy of Malfoy. Hermione seemed to sense danger, because she stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, saying, “We just wanted to talk to you, Harry. You got my letter; you’ve read it…we just thought we should sort out the matter as quickly as possible.”

“Couldn’t you just wait till the next Order meeting?” asked Harry irritably, looking at them incredulously.

“We didn’t want to risk you not coming…and, well, other…things,” Hermione finished weakly, her voice coming to a mere whisper. Ron gave her a funny look, frowning, before looking back at Harry with a bemused expression. And Harry stood there, waiting until she lifted her gaze to him again.

His eyes seemed empty as she looked at him. They locked on hers so easily, as they both felt the memories coming back to them, reminding them about their mistakes…of the things they had done. For a moment, everything else around them seemed to disappear as they remembered…and nothing, nothing else mattered…

--

“Mmmm…’Mione’s going to…to marry me someday…”

Ron was drunk. Everyone was. Voldemort had been defeated a week ago, but the celebrations just kept on going, and the Golden Trio kept on being invited. Ron and Hermione had had to drag Harry to most of them, but they ended up having a good time, for the most part. Right now, they were all staggering back to the flat they shared, Hermione being the most sober of the three.

She rolled her eyes, “Sure I will, Ron,” she said sarcastically, “You’re the man of my dreams,” she added, snorting. She stumbled under both Ron and Harry’s combined weight, but steadied herself quickly, steering them in the right direction.

He shook his head, “N-nnno. Seriosuly. You, me…togezzer…”

Harry laughed, standing on the other side of Hermione, “Yeah, right. I think you’ve had…one too many firewhiskeys, Rum…”

“You wanna bet, Potter?”

“Yeah, you’re on, Weazzly.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Hermione said, shaking her head, “You two are really going to feel those drinks in the morning. Honestly…” she steered them around a corner, and walked them up the steps to their flat.

“’O d’you love the mostesst, eh, ‘Mione?” Ron slurred, looking at Hermione with foggy eyes, “Me…or him?”

Hermione smiled, “I love you both, Ron. I couldn’t possibly choose between the two of you,” she said softly as she lifted the wards on their door and opened it, “You’re my best friends,” she added, guiding them inside and smiling warmly at them, her eyes hazy with emotion.

--

Hermione’s eyes seemed drained of happiness as they met his. He watched her, his eyes still empty and emotionless, even if inside he was burning to reach out and run his fingers across the soft skin of her cheeks. He watched her lips form a thin line of her face; watched as her cheeks grew slightly red…just stood there, watching as the tension grew inside her and as she fought to keep it at bay. He was so entranced, he barely heard Ginny’s silent excuse as she rushed to leave the room.

It hadn’t been until now that he realized just how much he had missed Hermione over the past four years. The resentment and the bitter anger towards her had only covered up the dull aching and longing he felt for her.

He felt the memories hit him like a kick in the chest. It was as if everything he had ever felt for her came back to him at that very moment, making him feel like the confused eighteen-year-old boy he had been not too long ago. He remembered everything; from his confusion about his feelings for her, to that pleasant sensation in his stomach he experienced whenever she touched him.

And he remembered other things…things that had never been meant to happen. Things that had been a mistake on both their parts; something that had happened as a result of dull loneliness and reckless longing and had progressed into so much more…

And they had both lost their rationality…they had both been enveloped by a stronger, more superior force that caused them to forget everything they had ever known or thought. It made everything else meaningless; worthless, next to it…

--

“Oh, Harry…I can’t take this,”

She was heartbroken. Tears ran down her pale, damp cheeks, and her frail body shook from her shuddering sobs. She was on the edge of losing her mind, he knew. It had been two months now, and Ron showed no signs of recovering. The Healers were doing everything in their power to reverse the horrible effects of the curse, but so far they had only just succeeded in keeping him from dying. He was alive, but barely so.

And she was suffering so much for him. “Everything had been just fine,” she’d said so many times, “It was all over. We were…fine…” It had been worse than the Final Battle itself when they had been attacked by those Death Easters. It had been as if all her worse fears had been confirmed, and everything had come back to haunt her. Her illusion of normality and happiness had been broken by them, and she was barely hanging on now.

“He’s not lost, Hermione,” whispered Harry, striding towards her and enveloping her in his arms, “They’ll find a cure…you’ll see…”

She buried her face in his neck, and Harry was struck by how cold she felt. He tightened his arms around her, resting his face on the top of her head. A lump rose in his throat as she began to sob again; as more tears began to fall and run down the bare skin on his neck. He felt as if someone was taking his heart from him and ripping it to shreds before his very eyes…

No one knew. No one was aware of how much it pained him to sit here and watch Hermione cry and sob and suffer so desolately. This was the worst form of torture anyone could ever conceive, and he just couldn’t take it.

“I hope you’re right, Harry…I really do…” she whispered, looking up at him with that saddened expression. She blinked twice to clear the remaining tears out of them, and leaned forward, her lips coming in contact with his chin, where they remained, immobile, until her tears had dissipated and her sobs had died.

--

“Err…”

Ron cleared his throat, looking at the two of them with a painfully confused expression. He snapped his fingers in front of their faces to get their attention, before saying, “What’s the matter with you two? I know it’s been ages since we’ve last seen each other, but honestly, you two look like you’ve seen You-Know-Who or something.”

Harry blinked, looking at Ron. He glanced at Hermione, who now looked slightly more composed, before looking back at Ron. He attempted a weak grin, “Yeah, well…two years is a long time, mate.”

“You got our letters, though, didn’t you?” asked Hermione, her voice wavering slightly.

“Yeah. Looks like you two have been doing just fine, huh?”

“Better than fine,” chuckled Ron, “I just got accepted as Keeper for the Chudley Cannons!” he said excitedly, ginning broadly.

This time, Harry’s smile was completely honest as he said, “Nice one! I knew you were being stupid when you said you played rubbish.”

Hermione smirked, “Kept me up all night after that. He kept poking me and asking if I thought he’d done well or not, only to shoot down my opinion saying I was ‘biased’,” she said, rolling her eyes, “I ended up hexing him out of the room at two a.m.”

An unpleasant wave of shock washed over Harry at those words. He tried his best to keep his voice level, “You’re living together, then?” he asked. By their letters, he’d pretty much surmised so, but that did nothing to ease the horrible feeling of loss that welled up inside him.

Hermione’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink, “Oh�”err…yes,” she mumbled sheepishly, biting her lip. The words clearly seemed to have slipped out, because she suddenly seemed extremely uncomfortable under Harry’s gaze.

“It’ll be seven months now, right?” Ron said absentmindedly, apparently oblivious to his friend’s reactions.

“Y-yes, I suppose…”

“So! What was it you wanted to discuss, Hermione?” Harry asked, eager to get through with this as soon as possible so that he could get back to his flat and just…think.

Hermione seemed to be thinking along the same lines as he was, “Well, Minerva really needs to know whether you’re up for the post as soon as possible, because if you refuse�”” here she paused, giving him a significant look, as if she were saying something that couldn’t be expressed in words, “�”we’ll need to contact someone else within the next week or so.”

There was a pause, “I…have the papers and everything in my bag. You can read through them tonight, and when you’ve decided�”which should really be within the next two days�”just contact me.”

Harry watched her for a few moments, thinking. He wondered whether she understood what him being at Hogwarts might mean for them. She was clever enough to know that he hadn’t forgotten about her, after all. What told her that what happened two years ago wouldn’t repeat itself? He knew she was with Ron now, and respected it, but he knew it would inevitably happen.

--

“This…this is wrong,” Harry whispered, grabbing her wrists gently, trying to push her away. He knew they couldn’t do this. He wanted to, of course, but…he knew she didn’t. She was just overwhelmingly lonely, and tired of it. She…she didn’t really want this.

Hermione shook her head, “No,” she said, her voice low, “I swear…this isn’t wrong,” she leaned forward again, capturing his lips with hers softly, lingering there for a moment, before pulling back again. And, looking at him straight in the eye, she whispered, “Harry, this is the farthest possible thing from wrong.”

“Hermione�”you miss Ron,” croaked Harry, doing his best to pull himself away. But he couldn’t, somehow. How many times had he fantasized of this moment? How many times had he imagined himself doing exactly what he was now? Truly, he should be glad this happened.

And yet he wasn’t. This was the worst possible situation he could be in.

Between the sword and the wall.

Before she could respond, he said, “You’re just…lonely. I know it’s tough, but don’t…you can make it.”

“I love Ron,” she said simply, nodding, and for a moment she seemed to lose her determination. But then she looked back at him, and spoke, “I do. But it’s not the same as with you. You don’t understand�”you give me a reason to keep on going, Harry. Up till now, I thought I had that with Ron, but…I’ve realized that with you, my bond is ten times stronger. I feel for you, Harry…when I saw you suffer, I suffered for you. When you were happy, I was happy for you. When you needed someone, just someone, to listen, I would listen and feel the way you felt. And over these past months, you’ve given me that.”

Harry watched her, the pain almost suffocating him. He was torn between what he desired and what was right, and he knew which he would have to choose. He’d learned that long ago, from the moment he learned the reality of his life. It would always be the same for him.

He knew her words were true. He knew such things would never come out of the mouth of a liar, something Hermione was certainly not.

And because he had to do the right thing, he knew she would be hurt. Because of him. And he could do nothing to avoid it.

Looking up at her once more, he sighed. Gathering her hands in his once more, he pushed her aside gently, putting some distance between them. Looking at her with the pained eyes of a man who was denying himself what he’d always wanted, he said:

“You know we can’t.”

His voice was soft, yet his words seemed so rough�”so hurtful somehow. He experienced a sudden impulse to take her in his arms and tell her that he loved her…that he was sorry…

But instead he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

--

Yes…he remembered very clearly the things that had happened. And she did too, so why was she insisting?

Hermione is a selfless person, he argued with himself, she probably knows all this, but she’d put the school’s safety before her own personal problems.

Which left it all rather up to him. Was he really going to risk people’s lives, and the future of the school, just because he wasn’t sure if he could hold back his feelings for Hermione? It was a stupid question to ask himself. Of course he wasn’t going to risk all those things. Therefore, he was going to have to take up the post, and he was going to have to spend a whole year alongside Hermione at Hogwarts, and he was going to have to get over his weaknesses.

Technically, if he’d survived Voldemort, he could do this.

And life was just full of technicalities, wasn’t it?

“…or if you want to speak to Professor McGonagall, I think�”“

Harry shook his head, “No�”that won’t be necessary, Hermione. I’m�”I’m taking the job,” he said simply, watching her closely for any sign…anything that might tell him how she felt about all this…

But she just blinked, “Are…are you sure?” she asked, and her uncertain tone told him that his response had clearly been unexpected to her, “You can have a few days to decide�”I mean, that’s a big decision and I don’t want you to rush�””

He shock his head, “I’m sure. Dead sure, actually. I�”I agree…with what you said, and well, maybe I can help. I don’t want Hogwarts to be in danger.”

“I…well, excellent, then!” she said weakly, smiling, “Professor McGonagall will be very pleased to hear so, Harry. And…I am, too,” she added, and her smile suddenly seemed more real; more genuine.

“Yeah, now you’ll have someone under seventy to talk to,” snorted Ron, shaking his head, “That should be an improvement, eh?” he grinned, looking back at Harry and saying, with a serious face, “Still, I’m glad too, mate. You…keep an eye on her for me, okay? Watch the sixth years, specifically,” he added in an undertone, his expression darkening.

“Err…sure,” Harry said, wondering only vaguely why. Turning to Hermione, he said, “So, where to now? How about we go to Diagon Alley? Have a walk ‘round the shops, maybe eat an ice cream or two…?”

Ron nodded fervently, “Excellent�”there’s a new broom out, Harry…I’ve been wanting to go see it for ages�””

“�”and it’ll be good to get some shopping done…I’m not sure we’ll have more free time before term begins…” Hermione interrupted, frowning.

“�”I’ve been wanting another owl, too. Pig mated with one and left the house about a month ago…never came back. Ruddy bird�””

“�”Crookshanks does need a little tuning-up…”

“It’s settled then,” said Ron, grinning, “It’ll be just like old times.”

Harry looked at his friend, whose face was lit up with an odd sort of happiness only people like Ron could achieve, and pondered on his words. He doubted very much this would be remotely like old times. Back when they used to do this more often, it used to be Harry, Ron and Hermione. A trio. One group of people; no divisions.

But now, it was entirely different. Now, it was Ron and Hermione, and Harry on the side. It wasn’t hard to miss; from his arm, draped over her shoulders, to those private jokes and whispers they shared together…the smiles she reserved just for him…

And the ironic thing was, that it used to be Harry who received those smiles. He used to be the one to hold her and whisper softly in her ear…he used to mean something more to her.

And because he had not seized the opportunity when it had come, he was now condemned to a life of watching; of watching and quiet longing. Of knowing and seeing what could have been his ever after alongside Hermione.

He deserved this misery, didn’t he? He’d made her suffer in the past. He’d pushed her away and left her because he thought he was doing the right thing. This was his reward for nobility and loving and all those stupid qualities that had, supposedly, helped him along his life. This was what he got, an a small part of him welcomed it, because he knew he deserved it.

So he forced himself to smile, to walk on the other side of her, opposite Ron, and say, “Yeah. Just like old times.”

And as they all prepared to Apparate, he couldn’t help noticing the way Hermione was looking at him. Her face, usually inscrutable, seemed a canvas of emotions. On one hand, she watched him with silent wonder, as if he was a very complicated-looking puzzle she was looking to solve. And at the same time, it was as if she was holding back something she wanted to say. She looked so incredibly tense; so completely and utterly confused…

And her eyes…oh, they seemed full of sorrow. A harsh, sad regret that she couldn’t hold back, no matter how much she knew she should.

But it was just for a moment. Then she was back to that happy, smiling Hermione, and he was left with millions of questions and no answer.

TBC

Chapter Two: It’s All Coming Back

Ron and Hermione’s flat �“ Scotland, 11:54 p.m.

Quietly, Hermione moved from her desk towards the window. As she sat down, she gazed down at the soft ripples in the crystalline waters of the lake and sighed. Closing her eyes, she tried to push all thoughts and worries away from her mind…she tried very hard not to think about Diagon Alley, or Harry, or the things she should (and shouldn’t have) said. She really did.

But things like that were rather hard to forget about, weren’t they?

She had to admit, she liked the comfort that going to Diagon Alley with Harry and Ron brought her. For the most part, neither of them had changed much in the last few years. Ron and Harry were still fascinated by Quidditch; they still ate a lot; and they were still able to laugh and joke around as if no time had passed. Hermione looked at them, and rather than seeing them as they were now, she saw them as they had been back at Hogwarts.

And that gave her a sense of normality…of pure happiness.

But as always, things like that didn’t last long.

Whenever she caught Harry’s eye; whenever they accidentally brushed hands or bumped shoulders, that happiness seemed to fade back into her worries and regrets. Seeing him was a dull reminder of what she hated most about herself, and of the fact that she couldn’t do anything about it now.

And it was all so confusing…

She knew she didn’t fancy Harry anymore. She was perfectly content and happy with Ron and their relationship of two years. They supported each other�”even if they didn’t quite agree�”and had learned to compromise. They didn’t argue as much anymore, because they had learned to cut back on the retorts and petty insults, and think before they spoke. Ron, in particular, had changed a great deal.

She had loved Harry once. She remembered falling for him desperately, blindly, and yearning for him so much it hurt. It had been completely unsettling for her�”literally everything about him fascinated her. And it wasn’t merely his appearance that enthralled her…that was only the beginning. It was his way of making her feel as if everything really was going to turn out fine, even when the world was falling to pieces around them. It was they way he made her laugh even when she’d thought she never would again…the way he listened and simply accepted her and her ideas, and didn’t criticize her…

--

“I think these are nice.”

She was holding a bouquet of elegant white roses in her hands. She gazed at them gleefully, looking very much like a little girl, and glanced up at him, waiting for approval. Her eyes shone with an inexplicable joy as they locked on his, and he was blown away. To him, she was always beautiful, but there was something about her holding those flowers that made her appear almost…angel-like.

Harry nodded, “They are,” he said softly, smiling.

She inclined her head forward slightly, the tip of her nose almost touching the petals as she tried to catch their scent. Her eyes flickered to a close for a moment, before she opened them again and looked back at Harry, “I think…I’ll take these home. They’ll brighten up the room, don’t you think?”

Harry nodded, “Are we going to stop by the Weasley’s?” he asked.

“Mmm…yes, I think we should. Molly asked me to keep her up-to-date with…Ron.”

It happened so quickly. She herself felt her happiness being taken away by that single word and the memories it effected. Her eyes drifted downwards, back to the flowers, and she suddenly felt rather sick. How could she be here so happy, when Ron was lying on a bed, on a coma? How could she be here with Harry, of all people, when the person she should be with was so very far away?

Looking up at Harry, she sighed, giving him a sad smile, “It’s nothing; don’t worry. Just…the usual,” she said, her voice quiet. More to distract herself than anything else, she turned away from him and began scanning the bouquets for one Mrs. Weasley might like.

“It matters to me,” he said softly, his hand on her shoulder, “I don’t like this, Hermione. I hate seeing you so broken up…I just wish�”I wish I could help you somehow…”

Hermione closed her eyes, taking in a breath, as if bracing herself for something. The heat of his hand on her shoulder was clouding her thoughts…she suddenly felt a very strong impulse to turn around and tell him exactly what was making her feel so broken up and troubled. It was a combination of so many things�”so many thought and feelings she wished she could ignore�”and the pressure seemed to suffocate her. She couldn’t think; she couldn’t breathe freely anymore…

She let her gaze linger on his hand for a moment, before she said, “I know you do. And you don’t know how much that means to me,” her voice cracked a little as she paused, taking in a deep breath, “B-but you can’t, Harry. You’ve already helped me a lot, believe me. I would be…so lost…without you right now…”

She turned around, not looking up at him, and buried her face in his chest. She wasn’t crying, but she wasn’t exactly very far from it. By avoiding looking at him, however, she gained more time to compose herself.

But he captured her chin with the tips of his fingers, gently forcing her to look up at him. Her face slightly pink from tension, Hermione locked her eyes on his…and it felt as if they were suddenly slipping away to another place. It felt as if all thoughts slipped from her mind and she was speeding away, into a world where she had no worries and preoccupations, nothing to think about. It was a sort of blissful happiness, where she finally felt at peace…for just a moment…

“I’ll find a way, Hermione. I’ll find a way to get you and�”and Ron, and everyone�”out of this mess. I will.”

And she was so captivated by his solemn tone and worried eyes…she was so captivated by the thought that he would always risk and do anything to help others when they needed it. By the thought that he wanted to help her.

That he cared…

Leaning forward, she let her head fall back on his chest and wrapped his arms around him in a hug.

--

And those times had been so long ago, really; it was silly that she hadn’t let go. Wasn’t it time that she got over herself and got on with her life?

Yes, it was, and that was why she was going to go through with the whole Hogwarts thing.

At first, she hadn’t been sure about it�”and she still wasn’t, completely�”but she knew it was necessary. What she’d said in her letter had been the truth: Hogwarts was still in danger. Many dismissed the attacks as pathetic attempts from the Death Eaters to ‘honor their Master’s memory’, but she thought otherwise. Last time, only the most faithful had remained active after the Dark Lord had fallen. Now, a great number of them were still out and about doing horrible things.

There were two possible explanations. One, they could not accept that their Master had really died.

And two…Voldemort hadn’t died at all. He was merely in hiding, waiting for the best possible moment to attack and gain power. He might well be planning his comeback this very moment.

She shivered at this thought. She remembered the War as if it had been yesterday. The normality that had come after, the peace and quiet, had been so welcome that they had passed in a blur…she could remember the months prior to the battle better than she could remember the last few. Maybe it was because the moments where you felt terror and despair left their mark better than those that had caused you no pain.

A voice, groggy and sleepy, spoke behind her, “Herm…” there was a huge yawn, “…iome? What’re you doing up so late?”

She turned, her eyes taking in Ron’s tall, lanky figure leaning against the doorframe. He was still wearing his Quidditch robes, which were covered in mud and dripping of water. She pursed her lips at this, watching the drops as they fell on the carpet, “I had some work to do,” she explained, sighing and smiling at him, “How was practice?”

“Good…I’m beat, though…”

Looking into Ron’s tired, foggy eyes, she was unable to explain to herself why they were together; how this had happened. It had been so different with Harry; with him, she had always had clear reasons as to why she loved him, why she felt for him, why she was his friend…and yet with Ron, she couldn’t explain most of those concepts. In truth, had she never met Harry, it would have been extremely unlikely that Ron and her got together. They were just so very different from each other…where she was rational and organized, he was foolish and messy; where he was cunning and composed, she was confused and worried.

She supposed though, that one’s qualities made up for the other’s faults. They complemented each other. And she really did care for him; he was her friend and they helped each other. He made her feel safe, like Harry did, and he gave her a sense of that unreachable normality she so desperately wanted to believe existed.

She smiled, “Do you want something to eat or are you going to bed?”

“Food would be nice, thanks.”

Hermione pulled her hand out of her pocket and gave it a wave, pointing it to the bathroom. A small vial of green liquid came floating through thin air towards Ron, who eyed it wearily.

“What’s it this time?” he asked, taking the vial in his hand and looking at her suspiciously.

“A modified form of the Pepperup Potion. It’s designed to wake and energize you rather than cure a cold,” she paused, eyeing the vial proudly, “Much better than that coffee you like.”

Ron gave her a bemused look, before uncorking the vial. Sniffing it, he shook his head and muttered in an undertone, “It better not make tentacles sprout out of my ears this time…”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, “I heard that! That was only once�”and in case you don’t quite remember, I managed to correct it in a heartbeat,” she added, shrugging.

“Still. The fact that it happened was quite enough, thanks.”

“I’ve checked it this time, Ron,” Hermione insisted wearily, “You can take it or leave it, but you know I’m no good at cooking.”

“Fine, fine…here goes,” said Ron, who truly needed no reminder of his girlfriend’s terrible cooking. Funny how someone so clever could mess up like that, really. Irony of ironies. Smiling slightly, he raised the vial to his lips, draining its contents in a single gulp.

At first, nothing happened. He blinked, then smiled at Hermione, “It actually kind of does taste like coffee,” he said brightly, and she smiled back at him, probably biting back a smug remark. But just when he opened his mouth to speak again, his stomach seemed to give a jerk. He frowned, suddenly feeling very weak. His legs bent and he fell on his knees to the floor, grimacing. His stomach jerked again, and he closed his eyes as pain shot through his body. He heard Hermione’s worried voice speaking…

“Ron�”oh, God, Ron! What�”?”

Her voice was so worried…so deeply troubled…and he felt, as if in a dream, like he was being torn apart both by her voice and the pain. His eyelids were flickering open and closed, and he was seeing…things. Memories that he didn’t even know he had, as if they belonged to someone else. He could hear ear-shattering, terrorized screams and cries of pain, and in his own agony, he was unable to distinguish his cries from the ones he heard…

And out of nowhere, he felt as if his whole body was on fire. It was pain like he had experienced only once before, clouding his thoughts and vision until he could only see darkness.

***

St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries �“ 2:16 a.m.

“And you’re acquainted with Mr. Weasley how?”

Hermione held back her initial impulse to roll her eyes, “I’m his…we’re…romantically involved. My name is Hermione Granger, you see, and�”“

The mediwitch held a hand to silence her, nodding, “Oh, yes of course, Miss Granger. Pardon me. Come right along�”the Healer would like word with you…” she began walking at a fast pace, going up a flight of stairs and taking a sharp left, “…terrible accident. He drank a potion, you said? Awful business indeed…”

“B�”but is he going to be okay?”

“Well, I don’t�”ah, here we are. Right through this door, Miss Granger. Good day to you,” and, without even bothering to answer Hermione’s question, she rushed off in the direction they’d come.

Hermione stood there for a few minutes, trying to compose herself, before walking into the room.

Her first impression was that it really needed decoration of some sort. Or color, for that matter. Everything�”every tiny little inch of the room�”was a bare, extremely bright shade of white. From the walls to the furnishings, there wasn’t a single thing that was at least gray. It was extremely small, consisting only of a very comfortable white couch, which sat across from a small desk and a chair. There was a nameplate on the desk, but, being white as well, it could barely be read.

There was a sudden crash nearby, followed by a small squeal of pain. Hermione jumped as a door opened from behind the desk, revealing a very narrow, long passage of filing cabinets and other things of the sort. Someone had apparently made one of the cabinets fall down, as there were papers flying everywhere and a large cloud of dust was escaping into the immaculate white room. Sure enough, after a few seconds, the figure of a person began crawling out of the rubble, coughing and sputtering muffled curses. When the shock seemed to lessen, Hermione pulled out her wand and made her way inside the passageway. Muttering something and waving her wand, the papers all flew to the cabinet, which straightened itself and went back to its position.

“Are y-you okay?” she called out, coughing slightly.

“Thanks,” said the person, taking Hermione’s hand as she held it out and coming to his feet. The young man frowned as he looked at her, squinting, as if he wasn’t sure of what he was seeing. His hand reached up to brush dust off his face, and he continued to squint at her.

Slightly confused by the boy’s behavior, Hermione asked, “Are you the Healer?”

“N-no, I just�”” the boy paused in mid-sentence, his face suddenly breaking into a large smile as he said, in an excited tone, “No way�”Hermione? What�”it’s me, Neville! How�”how are you?”

“Neville?” Hermione repeated, looking at him incredulously. Maybe it was the dust, but Neville looked nothing like she remembered. He had less hair for one, and he was much taller, though still slightly chubby. But there was no mistaking that it was him; he still bore that happy, plump face that had always distinguished him. She smiled, coming to hug him, “What are you doing here? It’s been ages!”

“My uncle works here�”got me a summer job,” he explained, pulling way and grinning, “Mostly filing papers and rubbish like that.”

“That’s�”great,” Hermione said, after a moment’s hesitation, “You’ve been studying Herbology, though, right?”

“Yep. Term starts on September the third. After this year I’ll be able to get a decent job,” he paused, gesturing that they go outside into the room, “And what about you? You’ve been in the papers a lot recently.”

Hermione laughed, “Don’t believe anything. They’re actually speculating about the name of our tenth child. Popular choice says ‘Bilius’ is it,” she rolled her eyes at this, remembering the article Rita Skeeter had published only last week.

Neville laughed, “I thought so. You two aren’t married yet?”

“Not yet.”

He nodded, “And Harry? I hear he’s been abroad. How’s he doing?”

Hermione’s expression darkened momentarily at the mention of Harry’s name, before she shrugged and said, “He’s good, too. Going to teach at Hogwarts this year.”

“He is? Blimey, that’s great! Looks like you three are set,” Neville smiled, “You deserve it, too, after everything. I wish you all the best.”

“Thanks, Neville.”

“So what are you doing here again? It’s two in the morning!”

“I…well, Ron had a little…accident with a potion I brewed. He, err…well, it didn’t go very well,” Hermione mumbled, the sudden happiness she’d felt at seeing Neville again suddenly gone. In theory, the potion was supposed to work�”all the ingredients mixed well together, and nothing happened when she’d tried it on herself. She really was quite worried about this…why did the potion do this to him?

Neville opened his mouth to speak, but the door to the office opened. A short, corpulent man with thinning gray hair and small brown eyes walked into the room, looking flustered and rather tired. He was carrying several papers and vials of potions, along with his wand, which was tucked under his arm. When he noticed them, he gave a little jump, before turning his eyes on Neville.

“You’re Longbottom, right? Fourth floor needs those papers right away. Hurry along, now,” he said, waving him towards the door. Neville mumbled an apology and hurried off, waving a hand at Hermione over his shoulder as if to say goodbye.

The man gestured at the comfortable-looking couch, “Excuse me for the delay, madam. Sit down, please. I am Healer Stratovac.”

Hermione had barely sat down, before the man began speaking again, “I won’t beat around the bush with this, Miss Granger�”Mr. Weasley is not well. The potion you administered appears to have affected his nervous system, and for the moment, we have not yet found a way to return him to normal state. For now, he is being given periodic does of the Calming Draught to ease the…feeling of pain. He is under the belief that he is under the Cruciatus curse, you see. This is especially dangerous, because such trauma could affect him…permanently. Do you know who Frank and Alice Longbottom are?”

Hermione nodded silently.

“Well, something along those lines could happen to Mr. Weasley if we don’t find a cure for him soon.”

Hermione shook her head, saying, in a very quiet voice, “I�”I don’t understand, Mr. Stratovac. I tried the potion on myself before giving it to him. I checked that every ingredient worked together and wouldn’t result in poisoning. I just…I don’t understand why this happened.”

“There are two possible explanations to this. One, you made a mistake despite all your preparations. And two, there is something else in Mr. Weasley’s body that affected him. I understand he was recently in a coma?”

“Y-yes.”

“And that was due to a very obscure curse, was it not? A curse that had been unheard of until that time, which goes to suggest that it was created by a Death Eater.”

“Yes, and it was. I was there when it happened,” Hermione said, a little forcefully.

“Then you must understand that its long-term effects are yet unknown. It could go on to ail him for the rest of his life for no possible reason, because it has some sort of lasting effect that can’t be taken away by magic or potions.”

“Then you have to�”I don’t know, fix that! Run some tests, check his body for�”“

“We have checked. We have conducted every test imaginable, and there is nothing to suggest that the spell left anything behind. Everything in his body appears normal. For now, the theory that the curse may have had long-term effects is just that�”a theory.”

“Then what are you going to do? You’re just going to leave him there to�”go mad?”

“We are in the process of making an antidote to help him, and I assure you, my team of Healers is working extremely hard,” the healer paused, watching her thoughtfully. Then, heaving a large sigh, le leaned forward on his desk and said, “Miss Granger, at this point of the game, it is impossible to say whether or not he is in mortal danger. Anything could happen. The most I can say is that he is suffering from a sort of mental trauma very similar to that experienced under the Cruciatus curse, and that he is being treated for it.”

Hermione sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. She felt as if she was drowning in her own guilt now. If only she hadn’t convinced him to try the potion…if only she hadn’t been so stubborn and hadn’t talked him into it…

If only she hadn’t…he wouldn’t be in this position now.

Biting her lip, she looked up at the healer, who was watching her with a slightly pitiful expression. Clearing her throat, she asked, “When…do you have any idea of when he might be well again?” her voice was so quiet, so painfully tentative, that hearing it made her feel even worse than she already did.

“No, Miss Granger. Not at the moment.”

She nodded numbly, closing her eyes again. It was as if all of the most horrible moments in her life were closing in on her now, erasing any remnant of happiness she may have possessed. She felt as if she was falling down an abysm of sorrow and despair, and no one…no one could help her…

She was falling…

--

“What did you do to him?” hissed Harry, his face contorted in such righteous anger that she never even knew existed. His eyes were narrowed, cold and ruthless, and his lips were but a straight line on his face. She could count the times when Harry had frightened her so with one hand, but she couldn’t deny that they were moments that would stay in her memory forever.

The Death Eater, who was bound tightly by ropes, sneered, “What he deserved and only that,” he spat, his eyes gleaming with pleasure at Harry’s anger.

“I swear to God if he’s�”if you�”I’ll kill you like I killed him,” Harry finished viciously, fingering his wand menacingly. The Death Eater’s eyes widened for a moment, before he burst out in maniacal laughter, spitting out words here and there, as if he knew that would drive Harry mad. Hermione, watching as Harry’s frame grew tenser and his grip on his wand became stronger, grabbed his shoulder and held him back.

“No�”Harry, come on. He’s not worth it,” she said desperately, trying to speak as quickly as possible, “R-Ron’s hurt…we need to take him�”somewhere…please…

“Please, Harry…”

And in an instant, Harry lowered his wand, though grudgingly. His eyes were locked on the man’s, hatred evident, and Hermione knew that he had been prepared to kill the Death Eater. He muttered something, and the man was left unconscious, though alive.

“Stunned,” he grunted, before kneeling and taking Ron’s body in his arms. He beckoned Hermione towards him, and she kneeled beside them, barely managing an expression of braveness. She knew that what he needed right now weren’t tears; he needed support and courage, and she was prepared to give that to him, no matter what.

Wordlessly, he took his arm and closed his eyes. She did the same, and before long, the familiar feeling of Apparition took over her.

--

Oh, God, she couldn’t help it. The memories went and came, flashing before her eyes in a blur of colors and emotions, before they stopped, and she saw the scene unfolding before her very eyes. And she felt everything as if she were there at that moment; the sadness, excitement and fear of it all, just coming back to her…

--

The night was only slightly chilly, but she pretended to shiver anyway, just so he would drape his hand over her shoulders and beckon her closer to him. They sat outside on the porch, watching as the rain fell only a few feet from them and unmade the small mountain of leaves that was leaning against the steps. And she leant her head on his shoulder, her vision hazy, smiling.

“Harry?” she asked, her voice soft as a whisper.

He seemed to turn his head to look at her before he answered, “Yeah?”

She licked her lips, propping her chin on the side of his shoulder to look up at him, “Is this what you want?” she asked as she took in his profile. It was strange; over the years he had managed to redefine almost every aspect of her thoughts. When someone spoke of bravery, she thought of Harry. When someone mentioned friendship, she thought of him. And when someone slipped in the word ‘love’ into a conversation, her mind immediately supplied a picture of Harry, and she was taken to another world.

It was inevitable. He’d left his mark on her life, and with each passing day, it seemed less prone to being erased.

He frowned, “What do you mean?”

She sighed, thinking of how she could word what she wanted to ask, “I mean…why are you here? Almost a year has gone by since Ron…you know…and you still come here every day to take care of me. I know you care about me�”and it really means a lot that you do�”but you must have other…goals; things you want to do in life…”

He didn’t answer. She closed her eyes, knowing she’d said the wrong thing and hating herself for it. But she had to ask him. It had been eating her from the inside out to wonder why he always came and held her when she cried, why he always took her out to places and made her smile and laugh like she had never laughed before. Her rationality said that it was because she was his friend; because he cared for her well being and didn’t know if she could go on by herself at this point. And such an explanation seemed perfectly logical and true, and she didn’t question it for a while.

But then one night another thought had crept into her mind…an aching, desperate hope that maybe it was because he loved her and didn’t want to leave her now. That he had grown accustomed to her company and couldn’t bear to be without her…

“This past few months,” he said suddenly, and she immediately noted how he seemed to weigh each word he spoke, “, have been…odd. On one hand, I’m here because we’re facing a horrible time. Ron’s in the hospital, and he shows no signs of recovering soon. I see you suffer and cry for him all the time, and that’s no easy task. If I based my opinion of these months on that, I’d say they’ve been the worst sort of torture imaginable, not because I don’t like being around you, but because I hate seeing you suffer.

“But then I think of the times when we’re having lunch or dinner, and your cheeks are pink because you’ve been laughing so much…and my stomach hurts because I’ve laughed more than I ever thought I would…and my opinion changes drastically. I think of you, as we’re sitting under one of the trees in the park, and I can’t…bring myself to say that I haven’t enjoyed these past few months.”

There was a pause, then, “Sure, I have other things I’d like to do. But none of them are nearly as important as you are, Hermione. None of them could ever be considered better than being with you.”

And as he turned his head to look at her, for while he had been speaking his gaze had been on the falling rain, she felt as if he were coming closer. She could still hear his words clearly, and they had touched her so deeply that tears actually welled in her eyes. She was so happy, and for a moment, she didn’t give a damn if he loved her or not, as long as he stayed with her, sweet and caring as always…

--

“Now, then…Miss Granger,” said the Healer, giving her a slightly worried look, “Will you be alright? I have some other patients to check…papers to sign…you know the drill. It’s late. Will you be able to get home safely?”

Hermione looked up into the man’s dark eyes, which were narrowed in slight confusion and concern as he watched her, and sighed heavily, “Honestly, sir? I really doubt I’ll be able to sleep well tonight. Can’t I stay here, in Ron’s room?”

“I understand your wishes, but I’m afraid it will not be possible. Hospital rules.”

She closed her eyes momentarily, before opening them again and giving him a wary look, “Well, thanks anyway. And thank you very much for taking care of Ron. You don’t know how much it…really means to me, knowing he’ll be fine.”

For the first time since he had entered the room, the Healer smiled, “Not a problem, Miss Granger. Not at all,” he stood up, leading her to the door, “Good night, and best wishes to you and Mr. Weasley.”

“Thanks very much.”

The healer opened the door and stepped aside to let her pass. He walked through a door to his left, while Hermione kept walking right on along the hall. There seemed to be a lot of activity despite the early hour�”two healers wearing white masks brushed past her in a haste, heading to Mr. Stratovac’s office, and as she stepped out into the hall, Healers were rushing up and down the corridors, shoving papers to each other as they passed, shouting last-minute instructions, and guiding patients to their rooms.

The place was so full of life and emotion…she could practically feel their anxiety as they exchanged hurried ideas on what potion would work best on a patient; feel their pain as they whispered, in hushed voices, that a person was not well…and it all led back to the same place, to the person that was lying on a hospital bed at that moment because she had accidentally poisoned him. Sure, it might have been because of the curse, but really, had she not given him the potion, this wouldn’t have happened at all. Despite what anyone said, this was her fault.

And now what was she going to do? She couldn’t fathom going back to their flat and just falling peacefully asleep. She didn’t have anyone to talk to, really; it was too early to worry anyone with this and she honestly couldn’t imagine someone that would really understand what she was going through. They would all say it wasn’t her fault, that she couldn’t have known…and they wouldn’t really believe it. Molly would say it, and almost believe it�”but a part of her would still feel slightly angry towards her. And who else was there to turn to, anyway?

Oh, God.

Harry?

No. She was not going to call Harry. They were on shaky grounds as it was; she couldn’t just call him for moral support. It had been different, speaking through letters when he’d been abroad. In letters, she had time to think of what she wanted to say exactly, and how to say it. They hadn’t been face-to-face in a very long time, and seeing each other today had thrown them both out of balance.

Waking her from her thoughts, another Healer pushed past her roughly, carrying a stack of papers. She huffed, glaring at him, and he turned his head slightly to look at her. He was wearing a mask that covered all of his face except his eyes, but she felt as if she had seen him before. His eyes stared a vague memory…those black eyes, full of contempt…she had seen those before…

But then he was gone. In a blur of white robes, he had turned the corner and was headed towards the next floor down.

She rolled her eyes, cursing under her breath, and decided to get something to drink; she was most certainly not going to leave. Turning, she headed towards the stairs to the upper floors, when a voice yelled behind her…

“Somebody�”Healers�”I need Healers�”Mr. Stratovac’s been attacked!”

The voice was slightly high-pitched and full of fear, and as Hermione turned to look at the woman waving madly at some Healers, she only had to remember those piercing dark eyes again, and she knew who it had been. She knew what was happening.

Death Eaters had broken into St. Mungo’s.

---

Author's Note

My God, t's been a while since I posted, hasn't it? I'm so sorry. I haven't really been writing regularly--school's kept me quite busy, and when I'm not doing schoolwork I'm spending time with my family and friends. The story's been on my mind, though. Sometimes when I get bored in class I start writing down ideas for future chapters or fragments of conversation and such. =D

Anyway, this has been written for a LONG time now, so I figured I'd post it. But more isn't really on its way. The story is officially paused as of now.

I'm sorry, all of you.