Rain drummed on the roof as Harry tried desperately to sleep. It had been a futile battle all night, even to the point where it was dangerously close to dawn, and he hadn’t had the slightest hint of rest. With a sigh, he rolled over and fumbled for his glasses and his wand. When the former was in place, he touched the latter to the top of his clock, lighting up the face so he could see in the dark. Just past four in the morning.

Even though his eyes burned from lack of sleep, Harry slid out of bed and wandered over to the window. After months of work, the house was finally ready to move into, and it was just in time. His wedding was in less than eleven hours, and this was his wedding present to Ginny. It’s what she’d always wanted: a house of her own to start a family, and he wanted to give her that dream.

But each night he’d spent in that house the past two months, the walls seemed to sneak up on him every day. Maybe it was the emptiness of being there alone or cold feet more than anything; all he knew was that, the closer he got to the big day, the more he felt like running away from the house and never laying eyes on it again. It was probably cowardly as hell, but he couldn’t help it.

And the room was far too quiet. Silence made him think too much about things, especially about his upcoming nuptials. He wanted to marry Ginny — if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have asked her — but every time he thought about his future being laid out in front of him, it made him feel like a caged animal. He’d spent a giant portion of his life fulfilling his so-called destiny yet feared the first future he actually got to choose.

His musings were broken by the sight of someone rushing up the pavement toward the door. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, since hardly anyone he knew was even aware of the house’s existence, and it wasn’t likely to be a burglar. Nevertheless, he grabbed his wand and went downstairs to investigate. As he was about to open the door, though, there was a brisk knock on the other side.

Curious, he opened the door. “Hermione?”

Tugging her rain coat more snugly around her, Hermione said, “C-can I talk to you?”

Harry heard the wobble in her voice, like she had been crying. As long as he’d known her, Hermione had tried her best to never let him see her upset. Whatever had brought her there in the dead of night had to be nothing short of gigantic. “Sure,” he said weakly, stepping aside to let her in.

Shedding her coat and making a beeline to the kitchen, Hermione started making tea, though her hands were shaking so badly that she could hardly hold onto the teapot. He watched her force her way through the otherwise mundane routine, but he knew better than to interrupt or offer to help. Whatever she wanted to say, she would get to it, so he resigned himself to sitting at the table and watching her fumble through the motions until she sat next to him with a full pot and two mugs.

Taking over, Harry poured and added one lump of sugar from the dish in the centre of the table to her cup. Hermione smiled appreciatively and inhaled the vapours, which was one of her favourite ways of calming her nerves. It actually soothed his own jittery psyche that such simple pleasures could still be found on the verge of major life changes.

Finally, though, Hermione decided to share why she was there. “I’ve had something on my mind for a while now, and I…” Staring down at her half-empty cup, she said, “I need to get it out before it’s too late.”

“What do you mean ‘too late’?” Harry asked, becoming concerned by the solemnity in her tone. “Are you having some sort of trouble that Ron doesn’t know about?” Concerned, his hand moved to cover hers, but she flinched at his touch before her fingers curled and clenched into a fist. Surprised by her reaction, he withdrew, instead favouring a more subtle approach. “How did you know I’d still be awake?”

Hermione sighed. “For the past week, you look like you hadn’t slept more than a couple hours per night. I figured tonight would be no different, what with the wedding coming up.”

“Am I really that obvious?”

“Ron hadn’t noticed until I pointed it out,” she said, sipping her tea. “So, no. Not too obvious.”

Taking a drink of his own, Harry offered, “I suppose it’s because I’ve had my future laid out for me for so long that I’m afraid that the first major decision I make when it’s left up to me will be the wrong one. I’d say that’s enough to steal a few hours of sleep.”

“Do you, though?” she asked. “Do you really think you’re making a mistake?”

A quick ‘no’ sprang to Harry’s tongue, but his mouth wouldn’t allow that sole syllable to escape. In its place, he said, “I’ve always wanted to marry Ginny, ever since the war ended and we finally got to be normal for a change. I mean, who could be better? She knows me so well, and she’s funny and smart and one of the most loyal people I know — almost like my soul mate.”

A laugh that bordered on choking came from Hermione, surprising Harry. “What?” he asked.

“You don’t believe in soul mates. You said so yourself.”

Shrugging, Harry said, “I sort of do. It’s probably the person who you’re just meant to stick with, no matter what: the person with you at your lowest, who knocks you down a peg when you’re at your worst,” he chuckles wryly at that last thought, vividly recalling his own phase of such behaviour, “but never hesitates to show you why they care. Until the very end. At least that’s what I always thought.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said breathily before finishing off her tea. “Sounds about right.” She reached for the teapot to pour a fresh cup, only to have her hand shake violently. Barely able to set it down before dropping it, Hermione buried her face in her hands. “I can’t do this,” she said, her speech muffled by her palms.

“Do what?” Harry said, now utterly confused.

Wrenching her gaze toward him, she said, “Listening to this! Soul mates!” Her voice was beginning to take on a higher pitch, which he recognised as her being dangerously close to losing composure. “Ron and I are supposed to be soul mates, but look where that got us.”

Becoming alarmed, Harry said, “What happened between you and Ron?” Exhaling heavily, he asked, “You split up again?”

“Two weeks ago, actually, but this time, it’s for good,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “Right after our last fitting at Madam Malkin’s. I… I can’t even remember why we started fighting, but when we got back to the Burrow, things just sort of exploded. He said I was a self-righteous control freak, and I told him he was an inconsiderate imbecile. I went to stay with Mum and Dad for the night, and he stayed in the old flat over the shop and has barely left since.”

“But you two seemed all right at the rehearsal dinner.” Harry was racking his brain, desperately trying to see the signs that his two best friends had fallen out so badly, but wrapped in his own selfish cocoon, he’d never even seen it. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I know you both did your best to make things work.” This time, when he touched her hand, she didn’t flinch, and their fingers laced together almost of their own accord.

Some things seemed to fall in place for Harry. “I guess that’s why the idea of soul mates makes you sceptical.”

Shaking her head, Hermione said, “That’s not what I meant. Our soul mates aren’t always who we assume they are. I believe all the same things you do, but now… I just realised that I’d always thought I could choose between…” She took a deep breath before adding, “Between who I want and who I need.”

Harry felt a bit thick, because he had no idea what she was talking about. His expression must have betrayed him, because Hermione gripped his hand harder and said, “I’ve been in love with two people since I was a teenager, and now I think I’ve let the right one go.”

His brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to figure out to whom she was referring. “I don’t get it. There’s Ron, and then there’s… who else is there?” Neville? Dean? Seamus? Krum? Draco? The last thought made him want to laugh out loud.

Nothing on the face of the planet could’ve prepared him for what came next. In an instant, she was out of her chair, pressing her lips to his, her hands gripping his nightshirt like an iron vice. At first, he was too surprised to react, but soon, she was sitting on his lap, the humidity of the summer night compounded by the heat of her body pressing into his. Of their own accord, his arms slid around her waist and his lips moved in tandem with hers. She tasted of tea and spearmint, which was a potent combination to his sleep-deprived senses.

At last, he was able to wrench his mouth from hers. “I… we can’t do this. I l-love Ginny, and you love Ron.”

“I know,” Hermione said, blinking furiously as her eyes became saturated with tears. “I just needed to be sure. I wondered if you ever, you know… thought about me like that.”

Had he? Harry scoured his brain for any hint of showing interest in Hermione in a non-platonic fashion, and he hoped for her sake that he did think of something. If he had some instance where he had considered her in a romantic fashion, then she could accept that it just happened from time to time and that they belonged with Ginny and Ron, respectively.

And the truth was that he hadn’t. Not once. While they were kids, he was so busy worrying about whether Voldemort would ever get to him and kill him that he’d never looked to the side and saw the person who stood beside him every step of the way as anything but the person who had saved his life countless times. Plus, with Ron carrying a torch for her for so long, his brain would’ve boarded up that passage right away as off limits. Then the war ended, and they got wrapped up in separate worlds and lovers that the alternative never would’ve come up.

She was waiting for an answer, but Harry wasn’t sure how to say any of what he’d just thought. Instead, he said a cryptic, “I don’t know.”

He could see her deflating. “Is that what you meant by ‘before it’s too late’? Did you want to make sure we… well, before I got married?”

Straightening her back and stepping away from him, she said, “I can see you’ve made up your mind. I’ll be going now; sorry to have bothered you.”

His head still not wrapped around what was happening, Harry called, “Wait!” When Hermione didn’t stop, he stood and chased after her. Right before she got to the door, his hand closed around her arm, and he wrenched her around. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and his breath nearly stopped at the sight.

Trying to tug her arm from his grip, she said, “Let me go, Harry.”

“I can’t let you go like this.”

“Yes, you can!” she shouted. “I have my answer, now let… me…g—”

Harry pulled her close to him and ravaged her mouth with his. He could feel her indecision, the instinctive response to relent versus her brain telling her to keep on running and never look back, but the worst part was that he had no idea which he really wanted her to do. Whatever had possessed him to kiss her again, he had no idea, but he was sure that, after she left, she would’ve moved heaven and earth to stay as far from him as possible, to respect his choice. But the last thing he wanted was for her to leave. In an instant, he had considered his own formula for a soul mate and found that he, too, could’ve ended up with two matches, two women who could have completed him.

Hermione finally freed herself and swiped at the moisture on her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Why are you doing this? Tomorrow, you’re getting married, and all this is for me is torture.”

Her hand fell on the doorknob, but mid-turn, his voice stopped her. “Because you’re right!” Still staring at her rigid back, he said, “And because I still don’t know.”

He was holding her hostage, and he knew it, but Harry felt justified in his selfishness. She couldn’t just show up and turn his entire world upside down and leave him afterward. He was far too much a coward to make that decision, and she was not enough a coward to make him do so. And despite everything, her touch made his nerve endings rattle like mad. All he could manage was one word. “Please.”

His hand reached out, but instead of grabbing her arm, he laced their fingers together like they had done at the table. He indicated for her to sit back at the table, but instead of sitting beside her, he slipped into what was going to be his home office and scribbled a quick note. The new house owl was sent off into the breaking daylight with the missive, and he returned to the kitchen, where Hermione was staring into space, silent save for a loud sniff. When she noticed him return, she tried and failed a smile.

Harry knew how she felt: shame, guilt, confusion, and the innate sensation of her mind wanting to fly apart in every direction. After the note he’d sent, all of those emotions had increased threefold. But that didn’t matter. “I sent Ginny a note.”

Hermione looked stricken. “You’re going to tell her that I —”

“No,” Harry said firmly. “I told her that I wasn’t sure, and that she didn’t deserve to marry someone who wasn’t sure how he felt.”

Blinking rapidly, Hermione whispered, “You did?”

“Yeah, I did,” he replied, still surprised by the fact himself. “I guess I’ve overlooked you in that regard for so long, I never stopped to think that I might have been standing next to the person I was supposed to be with the whole time.”

Hesitantly, Hermione said, “But you said you didn’t know.”

With a nod of acknowledgement, Harry said, “And I don’t. I still don’t. I want to be sure.”

“But if you call things off with Ginny now, then if this isn’t what you want, she won’t come back. We both know that.”

“I know,” Harry said, a catch in his voice. “I know.”

Once again, their hands were linked as Harry led her toward the stairs.