And I'm that little bit of hope when my backs against the ropes
((OOC: Luke is officially dead. If you need your character to have a goodbye with him, I can probably manage that. Either way, he's dead. The italics in the death section are Becky's words in one of Luke's first posts. And Romeo is going to become non-local. This post was made in celebration of Robin's original journal creation. Two years ago as of
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It's been known to happen before.
"I'm happy to help. I really am."
She doesn't mind that there isn't much talking. It's easier that way. She can feel the emotional tension, and she knows that there's so much to have to deal with. There may have been a time when she'd prattle on endlessly. But she's more grown up. She understands that there are moments that are better left to silence.
And Elizabeth leads them to the hotel and gives them each keys to their own rooms. She explains where the cafeteria is and tells them that they can ask questions to anyone in the basement. She tries not to take up too much of their time.
They must be exhausted. They must need to talk.
She promises to check in on them again. She tells them if they ever need her to contact her over the journals... and then she has to explain about that.
Eventually, she leaves them.
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The world feels so unstable, like they can be ripped from each other at any moment. He won't take the chance... as if he can somehow stop it from happening again if he only keeps her close
He promised that he would explain everything to her when they got to a safe place. They're in a safe place. He has to explain, and he will. He will as soon as he can find the words to say everything.
Harry sits on the edge of the bed. He's tired. He's tired and tense, and he's trying to think of where to start.
"What's the... last thing you remember?"
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It's not about being alone, it's about being with him. She trusts him. She also needs to see, needs to know that he's safe. It's vital to her sanity right now, quite frankly.
Now that he's here, that they're somewhere, she knows he'll explain things. There's a set of mixed emotions that go with that. She doesn't think everything is going to be good, and she's scared of how hard it's going to be on him to tell her.
'What's the... last thing you remember?'
Hermione looks down for a moment, wanting to make sure she tells him precisely what she remembers. Her voice takes on a precise quality as she recounts her memory. "We'd just got to the Forest of Dean. Where I used to go camping? I told you that, I think."
She's already sitting on the bed and she moves her foot until the tip of her shoe is touching his. It almost makes her smile.
"You slept that night, and I kept watch and tried to read." Hermione clears her throat, leaning over. Her chin goes to rest on the palm of her hand and she feels an ache in her back that has more to do with stress than anything else. "I couldn't, though."
"I went over to sit beside you," she admits, "and ...I think I fell asleep."
Her teeth bite down on her lower lip and she shrugs her shoulders. "I'm not sure. I was awake and falling, and then I was landing on you."
Hermione shakes her head and looks up at him, confusion evident in her expression. "That's all there is."
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It feels heavy, too. Something feels heavy. When there's a pause in her words, tension hits. It feels as though the walls in this room are closing in on them.
Forest of Dean.
He remembers that she told him about going camping there. He remembers but that was-- It was so long ago. So much has happened since then. Why wouldn't she remember? It's one more unanswerable question to add to the list that seems to be getting longer with every passing hour.
There's more that he has to say than he'd realized. Words get caught in his throat. There's a second where he doubts his ability to do it, but then he locks his jaw and faces her. They've been through so much. He has to be capable of telling her. There is no other option. He promised.
Secrets can create distance. They're further than they've ever been from home before. They're further from everyone that they love than they've ever been before. Harry cannot afford distance, even if it might spare her some pain.
"I was--" Harry hesitates, searching for the right words. "I don't know if it's just that you don't... remember everything that happened after. Or if somehow we're from different moments in our lives. You never disappeared or anything. We both woke up in that tent, and we were not in Chicago when we did."
He takes in a deep breath, turning his head away. "There's... more to tell than I realized, Hermione. I don't really know where to start. I'll try."
Harry doesn't know if he should try to get it all out at once. It seems like it might be better if there are pauses, but where to insert the pauses? His head is reeling as he tries to think back that far and to sort out what happened after.
"Ron came back." It's something good to give her. There's so little that's good that he can tell, and he wants to pause on this moment. Because it is good. "He... saved my life actually. It was a bit of a dramatic re-entrance." If he forces some lightness, maybe this moment won't feel so heavy. "He was... brilliant, Hermione. Really brilliant."
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She refuses to look away, and when he faces her, she offers him her full attention. There's nothing she won't listen to, and she'll try very hard to understand. She'll try hard to make sense of whatever is coming.
Her eyes narrow in confusion as he speaks, and when he says there's more to tell than he realized, she finds herself tearing at a fingernail just to keep silent.
An encouraging smile is given, and then he's telling her. He's telling her 'Ron came back.'
Her eyes slide closed as she takes a moment to absorb this.
Hermione's been so frustrated and angry and hurt, on both of their behalves, but she's never doubted the Ron would come back if he could. ...It was simply the logistics. After they left the campsite they'd been at with Ron, she'd felt any hope of him finding them was lost.
She'd felt that Ron had been lost.
But, this is good; it's amazing to discover. It's wonderful, honestly, and she smiles sincerely at the notion of Ronald making a grand, dramatic re-entrance. Oh, Ron. Of course.
"He saved you," she says softly. There's pride in her voice, and it's somehow easier for her to recognize that when it's just the two of them here.
The fact that she doesn't recall any of this makes it no less true to her. Harry remembers and, so, it is truth. She believes him, and she nods. However much this situation and this place confuses her, she's choosing to rely on what she can.
That choice is keeping her from doubting and it's keeping her sense of reason in tact.
It's giving her the strength now to encourage Harry to continue. There's no hiding the happiness the news of Ron's return has given her, but there's also something solemn there. She's preparing herself. "Whatever you need to tell me, Harry, I'm right here."
I'm right here.
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He hopes when he says the rest that he doesn't forget all the happiness that this news brought her.
The rest of it is painful. The rest of it fills him with guilt and heaviness to the point that it's almost tangible.
He stands, walking away from the bed. It's not the anger that drives him away this time. It's that heaviness, that tightness in his chest. Harry turns toward her, but he's looking at the wall that's behind the bed. It's difficult to figure out what's most important. There's so much, and she doesn't know it.
In the silence, the words build in his chest and start to pour out.
"I said his name. Voldemort's. Accidentally. They found us. We were taken to the Malfoys. You-- They hurt... you," Harry says, avoiding the details of it.
He can still hear her screams in his head. It's not even something he has to think hard about. If he hadn't been so exhausted every night he slept after that, he thinks he would have had nightmares about it. He clears his throat to remove the tight sound of his voice.
"Dobby helped us escape, but as we were disapparating... Bellatrix-" Harry pauses. Anger floods through him followed by grief. "She threw a knife. It hit Dobby. He... died."
Harry takes in a deep breath. He held Dobby while he died. It never struck him how painful it could be... to have someone die for his sake, but it keeps happening. It's happened so many times. It started with his mother. He looks across the room at her, even though he's afraid that her expression might call him over again. Harry doesn't want her to have to deal with her grief alone.
There's still so much to say.
He walks over to her side again, sinking down on to the bed. Harry has a feeling that he'll be doing a lot of this, pulling away and coming back.
"I buried him. We had a funeral. His headstone says, Here lies Dobby, a free elf," he says, reaching for her. "I think-- He'd have liked that."
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It's different this time, and she can feel that difference. It's all around them.
She knows he needs to tell her as much as she needs to hear this, and as she cannot reach out... she listens.
When he begins, Hermione's eyes close for a moment, then she looks closely at him even as he looks beyond her. 'I said his name. Voldemort's. Accidentally.'
Accidentally.
Hermione doesn't need the details. She's a clever girl, and she hopes she was brave in the face of what happened. She'll never ask him to give her those details. Not ever.
Any guilt is wrong here. It's wrong, and it makes it difficult to breathe. And, hasn't he always carried the world on his shoulders? When has it ever been right or fair?
There's the smallest of smiles on her lips when he says that Dobby helped them to escape. It doesn't surprise her in the least.
Unfortunately, the cruelty and senselessness doesn't surprise her either. Her smile fades away like it had never been there. 'She threw a knife. It hit Dobby. He... died.'
"Oh no." Her arms move around herself, holding on. The words' effect feel violent to her system. The loss. For everyone.
For Harry.
The tears, the grief, they start in her chest. It floods her and she's known this would be a war. She's known there would be losses. There already have been. It doesn't make this one any easier.
It doesn't want to fit in her mind. The words don't want to fit. Through the frantic grief, she hears him. She sees him close and closer and she wants to apologize for the world, for the universe. She wants to find a way to right all that's been stolen from him, and there isn't a way.
'Here lies Dobby, a free elf.'
Hermione reaches back. Her arms slide down from where they were gripping her arms tightly and she wraps around him and holds on. Her face is buried into his shoulder and she can feel the fabric there growing steadily more and more damp from her tears. "He would've, Harry. He would've loved that."
She knows he truly would have. She thinks Dobby would have been happy Harry had been there for him, he would have been happy he'd been able to help the one he cared for most, and he would have been heartbroken to see the look on Harry's face right now.
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It doesn't make it right. It doesn't make it any easier to take.
His mother had been just as happy, just as willing.
He pulls her closer, tighter. It's enough to relish in the grief of this moment without adding more to it yet. His chest aches, and he pulls back again. His hands remain against her arms.
The pain in her expression is palpable. It's difficult to imagine how much worse it will become.
"There's more to tell," he says, looking in her eyes while he can still manage it. "So much more."
Harry stands again. His hands slip away from her. He moves to the center of the room, and there are events that he'll skip over, because they're not so important anymore.
"We got another Horcrux. And then I had a vision about Voldemort. He was... listing all the locations. He realized his others were being taken. We had to go to Hogwarts before... it was too late, and he took the one that was there," Harry says. His voice is quiet, but he can hear that heaviness in it. It feels like even this happened weeks ago, years ago. "You should have seen them. All our friends at Hogwarts, they'd kept Dumbledore's Army going. Neville, Ginny, Dean, Luna, everyone. Snape was run off. We found the other Horcrux. We destroyed the ones that we had, and--"
Harry pauses, shaking his head. It all feels as though it weighs so much. The room is pressing down against him. He closes his eyes and pushes forward.
"There was a battle. Voldemort and his army attacked Hogwarts. So many-" He hesitates, as a bitter taste rises up his throat. It's like acid or fire, burning, and it reaches his eyes. A few tears slip down his face. His throat is tight. "Lupin, Tonks, Fred, and Colin Creevey. They all... died in that battle. I didn't see their bodies until after it'd-- after there was a break, but they're dead."
Harry waits. She needs this time. She must need some time to process it. And he needs time before he can continue. It's difficult to breathe as it is. He swallows thickly, forcing himself to look at her and forcing himself to walk across the room back to her side.
He doesn't sit. His hand slips on to her shoulder, squeezing tightly.
I'm sorry.
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She hopes he is.
She always hopes.
She also worries. She's scared for everything he keeps inside of himself, for everything he takes on, takes responsibility for. Hermione knows it's a part of who he is. She knows that. The knowing does little to quell the fear she carries.
There's a readiness built into her this time when he pulls away.
'There's more to tell.'
No manner of steeling herself could possibly have helped.
He speaks of a vision and she winces, knowing how those visions hurt him. She's seen it, and it's always so terrifying. He speaks of Hogwarts, and that hurts, too. There's an ache at just the name. She misses it. She misses what it represented and everything it was to them.
She feels warmth rush over her, welcome and slightly unexpected in this moment, at the names of all of their friends. She can easily picture them, each and every one; she can almost hear their voices.
'You should have seen them'
Then, there's a sense of something lifting within that knowing. They'd found it, and they'd destroyed them. There's still more, she knows that, but they'd come so far.
Voldemort at Hogwarts. Attacking Hogwarts. She's known it was a possibility for a long time, now. It doesn't make the reality of knowing it's happened any less shocking, really.
...The names of the dead drag a stricken sound from her.
Little Colin Creevey with his camera. Fred... Hermione looks down at her hands. They're shaking just slightly and she clasps them tightly together. She thinks of George and how incomplete he must feel, of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. She thinks of Ron.
Hermione can't imagine how hard this is for Harry to tell her. She can't, and she doesn't want to add to it. It's impossible to hold back the grief, the waves of it. She's so angry and sad. It's already done. All there is now is Harry, standing in front of her. He's crying and there are cracks in her heart she knows will never mend.
Tonks...and Lupin.
She can't look down anymore.
When his hand moves over her shoulder, she covers it with her own. She stands and shakes her head. She sees the apology in his face.
You've nothing to be sorry for.
She's seen the pictures of his parents. She's seen him look at them. She remembers his face after realizing what Sirius was to him. She remembers seeing that hope, and she remembers what he was like after he lost him.
Oh, Professor Lupin, no...
So many lost, so many.
"Harry," she whispers, and the apology is hers, now. I'm so sorry. She works to speak the words and finds her voice lost. She takes a very long breath and holds onto the hand on her shoulder.
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He returns to the middle of the room one last time. What's left to say will be said from this spot. If he can get through it, quickly enough, he can be through with having to say it. It's still so fresh. It's almost good to get it out, but it's painful, too.
Exhaustion weighs against him. He presses his hand against his mouth as he fights to sort the rest out, as if that will stop the wrong words from coming out... as if there are any right words to explain all of it. It seems like there should be, there has to be for moments like this.
It's like ice sliding over his ribs, constricting his chest and making it tight and painful. It would be better to not say the rest. What difference does it make at this point?
He would hold it all in for the sake of sparing her the pain that this brings, because telling her won't do any good. But he promised. Harry said they'd been apart, and he promised that he would explain. He will. He really will. First, he has to allow himself the time to breathe.
Harry pulls his hand away from his face and turns to face her again. It might be easier if he looked at the wall instead, every noise that she makes, every expression of pain feels like a dagger being pressed further into him. He hates to see her hurting this much, even if it's inevitable.
Their lives haven't been easy ones.
The world they came from had so much magic and adventure, but it had pain and darkness, too.
The hurt is inevitable, and he promised that he would tell her why he was alone.
"During the battle, we went to the Shrieking Shack. Nagini was the last Horcrux." There's bitterness in that sentence that he can't keep out, even though he tries. "We had to get to Voldemort, but when we got there, he was with Snape. He... killed Snape and left him there. Dying. Snape poured out his memories for me to see. Voldemort gave us an ultimatum. In an hour, I had to surrender myself to him or he would join his Deatheaters and destroy everything in Hogwarts."
Harry takes in another cold, sharp breath. It almost feels wrong to be breathing when he should be dead. He swallows past the tightening of his throat.
"We got back to Hogwarts. I watched the memories that Snape had saved for me," Harry pauses and then laughs. The sound of it is empty. "He loved my Mum, knew her before they came to Hogwarts, even. It's why he acted as a spy for Dumbledore. It's why he saved me all those times. Dumbledore... asked Snape to kill him. There was an unbreakable vow involved. It's--"
That heavy feeling burns right up through his throat. He pauses, because it feels as if he won't be able to breathe unless he stops talking for a moment.
No one else will ever know that. If they're even able to still kill Voldemort, they won't know that Snape did good for Harry, for everyone. He made impossible choices for love, and he was stronger than them all.
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Her name adds to the pain in his chest. It's fire among all the ice. He knows what's coming. He knows how hard it will be for her take. This is why he walked away without telling them. Because they never would have let him go.
"The last memory was of-- It was Dumbledore speaking to Snape. He-- Nagini isn't the only last Horcrux. There's one more. Voldemort doesn't know, but he-- It's me." Harry shuts his eyes, tightly, against the pain. Intense and unforgiving. He doesn't want to face her reaction, even if he should. "As long as I'm alive, Voldemort can't die so I left."
Harry shoves out the rest of the world for the moment. She knows by now, but the words come anyway. "I didn't tell anyone. I walked to him, to Voldemort. I couldn't fight back. I just had to-- That's why you weren't with me when I landed here. That's why I said that you didn't leave me. It was me-- I had to leave you, and I wanted to say goodbye. I wanted to say something, but I knew--"
Knew they wouldn't let him go. They love him too much, and he wouldn't let themselves have to wrestle with that decision when it was the only choice.
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It's all over him. It's written into his face, and she knows that face so well.
Hermione watches him, waiting. There's a patience that might be strangely absent on any other day, any other moment of the day. Her eyes stay locked onto his face, and she wants so much to just reach out. She wants to tell him it will all be all right.
She can't though, can she? She can't ever say that, because she can't ever lie to him. His honesty is costing him so much, and she sees it. She feels it. A very strong part of her wants to go to him now, to tell him that he doesn't need to say any more. That part of her wants to just let it go, if he'll be able to wipe away that look. Only...she doesn't believe it would. She's not sure anything could.
She's not sure telling her will help. The only thing she's sure of is that he's keeping his promise, as she knew he would. There won't be secrets between them, not ever, and that's a choice. It's important and it's not easy, but it's a choice.
Listening to everything is strange. It makes sense, and it all falls into place.
She has to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek when she hears of Voldemort's ultimatum. Her eyes close for a moment, and for that moment, she wants to scream. She wants to hunt him down herself, and alone, and she wants to tear him apart or die trying. She hates everything Voldemort stands for, and she hates what he's done. So much pain, so much ripped away and all for madness.
Hearing about Professor Snape really doesn't surprise her. She plays through a million memories of the man, of how he treated Harry. She can't imagine how he managed, how it must have felt...how that cost must have felt. The reason he did it all: for love... It simply makes all the sense in the world.
She's watching him when he says her name, and the sound of it is an ache. It's something she'll never forget, not for as long as she lives.
There will always be the sound of her voice and that look on his face.
He's hurting, and she's so sorry for it.
'Nagini isn't the only last Horcrux. There's one more.'
It's good that his eyes are closed. Her mouth falls open just slightly. Her eyes are hollow and wide and dark. They're shattered. It's falling and having the wind knocked out and never quite getting it back.
'It's me.'
"No."
She doesn't recognize her own voice; she can barely hear herself, in truth.
She listens to him and her own eyes slide shut. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows there are tears, hot and fast, sliding down her face. Her hands are fisted and pushed against her chest. The air is fighting her, and it's so hard to breathe.
"No," she whispers. "Not you. It's not..." Fair? Of course not.
'As long as I'm alive, Voldemort can't die so I left.'
There's shame, thick and ugly and dark, inside of her. She can't help it. There's a screaming, unrelenting voice inside of her. It wails at the injustice, at how wrong it all is. It says to let the bastard live just so Harry can, and she can't help it.
A world with Harry isn't right.
She can't bear the thought. It's simply agony.
'I had to leave you, and I wanted to say goodbye.'
She understands and she doesn't want to. No. She never would have let him go. Never, not for any reason.
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"I can't -"
She doesn't know how to voice what she wants to say, and she makes a strange, foreign noise in the back of her throat. It's frustration and rage and it's the purest love.
"I can't -" Her hands fly up to her face and she shakes her head.
It's in her head now, so clear. She can see him, so damned brave and giving. When has he ever thought of himself first?
It's never, that's when, and it infuriates her as much as she respects him for it. The moment she pictures that...that thing raising his wand, she chokes. There have been so many times over the years that she's been so scared for him, and none of them...none match up to what this knowing is.
She's leaning over and gasping for breath as she sobs. "I'm so sorry." She's sorry for so many things. Stronger, I wish I could be stronger for him, for this.
"Please." She reaches out to him, her hands shaking. He's a blur in the center of the room and she can't even see him. "Please, Harry. I love you. Please, don't -"
Don't go? Don't die? Don't be the man you are...only it's all you can be, isn't it?
"I'm so sorry." She repeats it, over and over again.
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No. It's not- I can't- Please.
Harry wishes that he could take it back. He wishes that he had another truth to give her, something that didn't make her sound so lost and so full of pain. He doesn't. This is the only truth that he has, and he could not bear to give her a lie.
She deserves the truth. He knows that she's capable of handling it, but he wishes that there had been another way. He wishes that he'd somehow forgotten that last part at least, to make it easier for them both.
He's looking at her, hearing those sobs. Like her screams, it's a sound that he will never forget. This moment is one that will remain with him for a long time. He doubts that another truth could ever carry so much weight or cause so much pain.
When she reaches for him, Harry walks to her side, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. The weight remains. The guilt, the pain, the truth remains, pressing against his chest, despite how empty it feels now.
Somehow it's a little easier to breathe when he's holding on to her. The embrace is protective as much as there's need in it, too. He would never admit it, but there's nothing he would have liked more than to share his burden with someone and to hug them and be hugged in return. Hot tears slip down his face. He never thought that he would get this.
It was to be him, alone, joined by the spirits of his loved ones thanks to the Resurrection Stone, but spirits are only spirits. It had felt so wrong and too right to take that last journey alone.
"There's nothing for you to be sorry about, Hermione." It's a fierce whisper against her hair. The bitterness rises up in his chest and throat again. He hates that she feels the need to apologize to him. She's the last person that would need to apologize to him. "Nothing."
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It's only when he's holding her that she's flooded with her own sense of self. He's warm and here.
Somewhere inside the iciness this honesty has settled within her chest, there's warmth, too. A voice inside her mind tells her to find hope in that.
She holds onto him so tightly, unable to even conceive of letting go. She buries her face against him, trying desperately to curb the waves of anguish.
He's here. He's alive and he's here.
'There's nothing for you to be sorry about, Hermione. Nothing.'
There's not a doubt in her mind that he means it.
Her eyes remain closed and she can only see his words, everything he's described. It plays out in her mind, over and over, and it's a nightmare. It's everything she's ever feared, and she feels so sore and lacking and lost.
Nothing to be sorry about.
She buries all of those sorries, and there are so many.
Hermione can't think of them all now or she'll break, but she knows they're there. She knows Harry deserves them from someone, somewhere.
She doesn't let go. She can't.
She does pull back, just slightly, and she looks up at him. "I'll not let you go off again," she says. "Not alone." There's an apology in her voice and there's a promise.
Wherever he goes, she'll follow.
It's who she is.
She holds on and she nods, just once before resting her face against his shoulder. "You're not alone, Harry." And then, softer, because it's hard to say...even if she does mean it. "I'm glad you told me. Thank you for telling me."
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She's already been through so much having to listen to him and accept what he says, as painful as it is, even though she can't remember it. He knows that she has accepted it as truth, without question.
She has faith in him. The kind of faith that's both terrifying and heartwarming. She wants to stand with him when it comes to the end, but it's senseless. There's no reason for all of his friends to die, because he has to. He won't let another person die in his place. The thought of it is terrifying enough that his hold on her tightens.
"Hermione," he starts. The sound of his voice expresses a certain kind of ache that he feels deep within his chest. He appreciates what she's trying to do, what she's always done, but-- "I know that I'm not alone. I do. You and Ron have shown me that. When I was walking to face Voldemort, I opened the snitch that Dumbledore had given me. It had the resurrection stone inside. The spirits of my parents, Sirius, and Lupin all walked with me. I know that you and Ron would have been there if you could have. But you can't. Please."
It's useless to fight it, because he knows that she's stubborn and she would say that it was worth it. She would insist. If there really is a chance that they could get back (there had better be), he can't really stand the thought of her following him there.
He has to do this, one way or another. If necessary, he'll do it the hard way. Harry is hoping if they get back. They'll return to where they had been at that exact time, if the rifts truly are breaks in time as well as space.
"If we get home, I have to do this, and I have to do it alone," Harry says. The ache is still there, and he pauses, wincing and locking his jaw.
He can feel the pain of it as if it's actually something physical happening to him. It's a fate that he has to accept for himself, but it's nearly terrifying thinking that he'll have to fight her on this, if they do get back, that she might follow him anyway. Voldemort would likely kill her first, before killing Harry.
He shuts his eyes, resting his forehead against hers as the weight of it hits him again. "I don't want anyone else to die for me, Hermione. I can't-"
Some of that constriction in his chest eases slightly when she thanks him for telling her. He can't say if he's glad for it or not, but he promised her. He owes her the truth, and he knows that she can handle those painful truths. It still hurts that he had to tell her.
"Thank you... for being willing to listen." Harry pulls his head away again to look her in the eyes. There's a bitter burning on the edges of his again. His lips slip into a tight line. "Thank you."
For everything.
For all of these years of her faith and devotion and friendship and loyalty.
It was rarely easy, but they remained by his side. She remained by his side always, not leaving him once, even when it became too difficult, too dark to bare.
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