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.
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