Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Flight
The airport was chaos.
The murmurs of small crowds clogging every departure gate mixed with the crackle of the loudspeakers. They announced the same information that the harassed flight attendants —badgered by people who simply didn't want to listen— had been repeating for the past forty minutes: your flight is delayed.
Hermione sighed, blowing her fringe out of her face. The cabin she had rented for the Christmas holidays wasn't far away, but all Muggle routes were closed due to the snowstorm and she was stuck in that place until they reopened. Her hands tried to warm themselves around her tea; the paper cup was so thin that, if it had been summer, her fingers wouldn't have been able to stand the temperature.
"I told you that if we arrived late we were going to miss the flight!"
"They gave us another one, we didn't miss it!"
"Another one that's NOT going to leave because the routes are closed!"
"Now I control the weather?!"
"They weren't closed when the flight we missed, because YOU didn't want to turn off the telly, was supposed to departure!"
A couple a bit older than her were shouting near the café. The girl had her cheeks flushed with anger and, if you looked closely, she seemed about to start crying; it was obvious this wasn't the first time something like this had happened. She noticed the boy. He genuinely seemed unable to understand that he had been wrong and kept defending himself without listening to a single word she was saying; too busy trying to prove he wasn't a bad person.
A cold draft that wasn't really there pierced the pit of her stomach. Seeing herself reflected in other people was a terrible lesson in humility, and the desire to hug the girl on the verge of tears grew stronger.
The worst part?
She was willing to take Ron back, even though the memory of their last fight was still fresh in her mind, repeating nonstop for the past six months. Her vision blurred slightly under the bright, artificial white light; it was like being back in her small flat in London again…
"He needs us! He's devastated!"
Hermione reached out towards Ron. Her clenched teeth kept her from pulling her hair out by the roots. How could he be so stubborn?
His face was contorted with rage. He was trying to calm down with all his might, but it wasn't working.
"If he's sooo devastated like you say, then he needs to go back to Ginny! Ginny, his girlfriend! But nooo, he chooses to run to you!"
Hermione's hands slowly lowered at his mocking comments.
"Wh-what did you say?" she asked, almost in a whisper, afraid of escalating the argument but not wanting to believe he had just said that.
"You heard me," Ron continued, pursing his lips. "You're here, all worried about him, completely forgetting that it was HIM who broke Ginny's heart."
"He's my best friend too, Ronald!" Her hands massaged her temples; she was really trying not to shout at him, but she couldn't stand how irrational he became when it came to Ginny and Harry.
"You act like this wasn't his decision and you completely forget that my sister is the one who was betrayed and that she's your friend too!"
Ron swallowed; he had become very protective of Ginny after Fred's death and that made both Hermione and Harry feel like they were walking on eggshells most of the time.
Hermione looked to the side, inhaling before answering. The windows showed it was past midnight, but all the interior lights were on.
"I love Ginny, you know that," she replied, biting the insides of her cheeks, but the shout escaped her lips anyway. "But Harry is my family!"
Ron interrupted her, his chest rising and falling uncontrollably.
"Ginny is your family too because I am your family, Hermione!"
How could he not see that after three years of dating she was closer to becoming Ginny's sister-in-law than whatever she was to Harry? That sooner or later she would be a Weasley?
Hermione squeezed her eyelids shut.
She was exhausted.
Her chin trembled, holding back the tears that threatened to fall; Ron was her family, of course he was, but that didn't make Harry any less of a brother to her.
She loved them both equally, only in different ways, and Ron seemed unable to understand that. It had been just her and Harry for a long time during the Horcrux hunt and then… only he could understand what it was like not being able to find her parents in Australia for the entire time the search took.
"If you hadn't thought we were going to die that night, would you have kissed me?"
Hermione received that question like a hard blow to the chest. She wanted to answer, she really did, but she didn't dare open her mouth; it wasn't the first time he had asked her that, but it was the first time she couldn't answer: truthfully, she wasn't sure if she would have or not.
But she would never say that to his face.
"Maybe you should go with him," Ron said bitterly, turning his back on her and heading towards the door.
Hermione's silence only made him feel worse.
A part of him could only fill in the blanks with terrible reasons to explain why she didn't approach him to pull him into her arms and tell him she would have kissed him anywhere, at any time, with or without the shadow of death looming over them.
At the beginning of their relationship, Hermione used to do it all the time. Every time doubt assailed him, when insecurity ate away at him, when the memory of the others before him tormented him, she promised him that she had chosen him out of love. But as the years passed, she had become more and more distant and barely reassured him when he began to feel he didn't fit with her.
And that broke him a little more every day.
"Where are you going? We're talking!" Hermione shouted as she saw him grab his coat from the rack by the door.
"With Ginny."
Hermione took a deep breath. She knew exactly what was about to happen; it had happened so many times before that she had lost count. She didn't have the heart to keep counting them. She knew what she had to do: survive the argument without breaking and wait for it to end without it getting worse.
"I should understand once and for all that I can't compete with Krum or Harry," he muttered, putting on his jacket.
That was the last straw.
Hermione, with her fingers tangled at the roots of her hair, pulled, trying to contain herself and not accidentally cast a nonverbal spell at him. It had been a long time since she had been this angry. She took a deep breath before answering, failing spectacularly at keeping her voice low and calm.
"Viktor again! I told you that Harry and I never kissed, it was the Horcrux playing with you, that never happened!"
"But if he had kissed you, he would be sharing this flat with you, not me!"
"For the thousandth time, we didn't! He's like a brother to me!"
"But he isn't!"
The room fell silent.
Hermione's eyes filled with tears while Ron clenched his jaw, overcome by guilt: he had hurt her again. It always ended like this; he would shout something he regretted instantly and she would cry.
He would leave.
He would come back.
They would have incredible sex and then…
"I can't keep doing this, Ron," Hermione choked back a sob, her chin trembling. "If you leave one more time, I swear…!"
The pain pulling from her heart to her stomach was too much to bear. This wasn't what she had in mind when she started her relationship with him, but it was almost the entire relationship.
The hole in her solar plexus grew deeper and deeper. As if the arguments were enlarging it more each time and there was almost nothing left of her to give.
Ron, ashamed and with his eyes burning from the tears he tried to ignore, took off the necklace from around his neck. Hermione watched as he left it on the hall table with his open palm, without hesitation. The sound of the ring hanging from the gold chain —the one she also had— hit the wood at the same time he disappeared from her sight.
Hermione sighed vaguely.
The room was once again left in icy silence.
She hugged herself, her heart tearing. And suddenly the cold wasn't because of Ron's departure but because of a broken heating unit that was now blowing cold air. She shook her head, pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead.
She blinked quickly.
She was back at Heathrow, in the middle of an airport full of people asking the same questions to different flight attendants, as if their answers would change if they insisted enough. The snow outside made the windows look blurry; the planes couldn't be seen. She touched her collarbones with her fingertips: the necklace Ron had given her with the ring as a pendant was no longer there.
It was the first time she noticed how heavy it had been.
"Hey."
Harry's voice made her turn around. Seeing him with a small black suitcase with enough clothes for three days and his old Gryffindor scarf —which no one in that Muggle airport recognised— immediately lifted her spirits.
"Hi," she smiled at him, comforted not to be in a trench anymore and that he was there without any urge to fight with her.
And when he hugged her… every frozen fibre in her body began to warm, and the contracted muscles around her shoulder blades found somewhere to rest and relax. For a moment she felt back in the tent in the Forest of Dean, dancing with Harry to sad music in the background and her heart broken by Ron's abandonment. The scent of his neck was already part of her, and she wouldn't admit out loud that, when she most needed to feel calm, she imagined breathing in the warmth of her best friend, her brother, and peace would return to her, as it happened in all families that had been through difficult times.
"You're freezing."
Harry pulled her to his chest to wrap her inside his black coat.
"We can't leave until the storm passes," Hermione replied, offering him a sip of her tea.
"They say we won't leave for another five hours," he shrugged, unconcerned, drinking from the cup and burning his tongue; he had lost the habit of her and her scalding drinks.
Hermione frowned; always the same thing. She hated that he didn't take care of himself and hurt himself by being impulsive.
Harry smiled at that. Ten years had passed since the day they met… but he couldn't stop seeing the little girl with the focused expression and bossy voice on the Hogwarts Express looking for a lost toad.
"Let's eat something. If we manage to leave in a few more hours, we're going to arrive very late. Dinner will already be over and we don't know if there'll be anywhere to eat or not; the brochures said they did food deliveries, but we don't know if that's still valid or if the storm will allow…"
Harry listened to her talk, mentioning all the possible scenarios that could or could not unfold upon their arrival —or lack thereof— and nodded, taking a step back.
They picked up their suitcases and walked without hurry, dodging the crowd and the screaming children, until they reached a small café that was a little less packed than the others.
"Ten pounds for a sandwich!" Hermione complained once they sat down and she had the menu in her hands.
"Have you heard anything from him?" Harry asked, ignoring his menu and his friend's mouth open, two seconds away from giving a speech about the price of things. She pursed her lips at that question before answering curtly:
"No."
Harry saw her lower her head, looking away from the menu; now that she wasn't looking him in the eyes, he could see her more closely and notice her marked dark circles. They both knew she was still waiting for Ron to show up so they could be boyfriend and girlfriend again. They had talked about it on several occasions, especially during the first times Ron had disappeared in the middle of an argument, even just days after they made their relationship official —just as he had done during the Triwizard Tournament and in the Forest of Dean—, but after a while she had stopped bringing it up and had simply accepted that that was how things were, whether she liked it or not.
Hermione hated still waiting for him and that Harry knew she was doing it.
And he hated it too.
"I've seen him at work, but we don't really talk much. He's still angry with me for breaking up with Ginny," Harry tried to sound casual, as if it didn't bother him, believing that if Hermione thought he was as much persona non grata as she was, maybe she would feel less alone.
"Ginny's fine," she said, avoiding going back to the Ron subject. "We haven't written much since she's very busy playing for the Harpies, but she sent me tickets for her next match."
"I heard Krum got married," Harry continued, looking at the pastry counter in search of treacle tart to go with his tea.
"Don't tell anyone," Hermione whispered, "but he's going to be a dad soon."
Harry nodded, disappointed not to find treacle tart among the options. He knew that Krum and Hermione hadn't stopped exchanging letters since their fourth year; although Ron had no idea that it hadn't stopped after the Horcrux hunt. The relationship between Hermione and Viktor was friendly, but his best friend wasn't ready to accept that yet.
And maybe he never would be.
The airport loudspeakers began to make a static-like noise, and after an unpleasant musical tone, a woman with a kind voice drew the travellers' attention:
Dear passengers, the flight to Inverness has been rescheduled for tomorrow at midday. Please proceed to the desk to obtain a food and transport voucher to a courtesy hotel for the night.
Hermione threw her head back and let out a groan. Harry closed the menu.
"Hey, at least we saved ourselves ten pounds."
She laughed at his terrible sense of humour and they began walking towards the counter. When they reached the bus that would take them to the hotel, Harry saw a beautiful red-haired woman a couple of rows ahead of them. She was shorter than Ginny and her hair was a darker shade than hers, but she could have fooled him. However, the girl didn't look sad and heartbroken, not like the last time he had been in the same room with her.
He could still see her on his bed, dressed in black lingerie. He remembered clearly how Ginny's eyes were red and swollen, her chin trembling and her long, silky red hair falling over her bare shoulders.
"I don't understand what's so wrong with me that you don't want me…" she sniffled, hugging herself, trying to get warm.
Her voice was barely audible.
The room felt so big and so… narrow at the same time. She had been trying for months to awaken Harry's interest. She hadn't left a magazine unread or a friend unconsulted, but nothing worked: the lingerie had been part of the last article she had read a few days earlier. The fabric was itchy, it scratched a little, and the underwires that were supposed to keep everything in place dug into her ribs and hips; but she no longer knew what else to try.
And still she was failing.
The eleven-year-old girl who still lived inside her came out at times like this, times when Harry was the boy who lived and she was his best friend's little sister, dying of embarrasement at running into him at the Burrow one summer morning.
Harry didn't dare look at her. He couldn't stand seeing her like that, insecure, confused… like before, and much less knowing it was because of him; he had let it continue for too long and now she was paying the price for his cowardice.
"It's not that, Gin, I promise—"
"Then why don't you touch me?" she interrupted, her head collapsing with theories and other people's voices telling her it was her fault she couldn't awaken that instinct in him. "I told you I'm not a virgin, you won't hurt me!"
"There's nothing wrong with you. It's me," Harry insisted, sitting on the edge of the bed, turning his back to her. The lump in his throat was choking him. He rubbed his forehead; he was tired, sick of this conversation that repeated itself more and more often and only became tenser.
"I don't understand! I really don't understand!"
Seeing him turn around, leaving her talking to herself… was…
"I just can't…"
"It's been three years, Harry!"
"I'm sorry, I…"
"I'm not the little girl who adored you!" she shouted, unfastening the lingerie from her chest that no longer let her breathe. "I grew up! I changed! I have my own life and you still don't see it!"
"I do see you! It's not—"
"Then what is it?"
"I see him!"
Ginny frowned and took off the top part of the lingerie, replacing it with a loose cotton t-shirt. Even without looking at him directly, she could see Harry's chest rising and falling rapidly.
He had finally said it, but that left her with even more questions than before.
"I see him," he repeated, swallowing hard as he said it out loud for the second time. The only other person who knew that besides him was Hermione. "I feel like… I feel like I'm still his puppet every time… we…" He exhaled heavily. "Us…"
"How… him?" Ginny asked, abruptly untying the garters fastened to her thighs.
How could Harry feel him when he was with her? Voldemort of all people!
It was like a stab straight to the heart.
"I don't know," he confessed, clenching his teeth. Frustration cramped every muscle in his body. "I think it's… I feel… different now that I'm no longer a Horcrux. I've… noticed how a part of him was always inside me and…"
Harry bit his clenched fist, holding his breath before continuing.
"I know what's like," Ginny interrupted, softening her voice, approaching him to gently rest her hands on his back, feeling him become even more stiff at her touch. "I remember… when he was inside my body I… I don't have to imagine it."
She needed him to know he wasn't alone, that she understood, that there was no real danger out there anymore. She tried to get closer, to hold him in her arms, but he stood up, taking a few steps forward without looking back as he ran a hand through his messy black hair.
A shiver ran down her spine: even with the truth out in the open, the space between them hadn't closed.
The landline phone, which only Harry used, began to ring, breaking the silence. Ginny shook her head; it couldn't be any other way.
"Aren't you going to answer?" she challenged him, crossing her arms, anticipating his answer.
Harry swallowed at the inopportune call.
That was the last thing he needed.
"I'm talking to you, of course I'm not going to answer," he replied, trying to hide his nervousness, because they both knew who it was. However, it was true that he didn't want to be interrupted in such a delicate situation and for things to get even more complicated.
"You make me wait all the time," Ginny replied sarcastically. "Go on, answer it, she's not used to waiting for you."
Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his face. The phone kept ringing on the bedside table.
"I want to be with you," he answered dryly, putting his glasses back on. He simply didn't… —he took a breath— "I don't know how."
"I didn't know I was a task you had to solve."
The phone kept ringing, making them both nervous with its repetitive ring-ring. A sharp beep, and then Harry's recorded voice, indicated that the answering machine had picked up the call.
"I've been reading articles about trauma and it's very common to feel uncomfortable with a partner when you come back from war. So it's not that it's a specific problem of yours, okay? Actually I see myself reflected in a lot of what I read, unfortunately; I highlighted some important information that you can share with Ginny so she can understand better when…"
"Shit…" Harry gasped before lunging for the phone to cut off the call, but it was already too late.
Ginny clenched her teeth. Her nostrils flared with her furious breathing. She got up from the bed and covered herself with her robe: she didn't want him within half a metre of her.
Hermione's voice continued speaking at full speed, citing one study after another, but neither of them could concentrate on her words, not when Ginny looked ready to explode.
"You told her," she muttered, tucking her hair behind her ears.
With his eyes wide open, Harry yanked the cord from the machine to unplug it. The sound died and he looked to the side, ready to listen to her complaint; he deserved it, he wasn't going to argue.
"You told her," Ginny repeated, this time her voice was clear.
"I did it because I want to fix th—"
"You told HER."
"I was trying to—"
"YOU. TOLD. HER."
"She's my friend, I needed advice!"
"I'M YOUR GIRLFRIEND! YOU SHOULD TALK TO ME ABOUT THINGS THAT ARE ABOUT US!"
Ginny's eyes were too tired of the dynamic to keep crying and Harry couldn't stand seeing her broken because of him.
He knew he had to end it.
Ginny had been a victim of Tom Riddle, he knew that, but she hadn't been in the heart of the war the way they had. She didn't have nightmares about Hermione's screams from being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. She didn't have visions of Ron dismembered, covered in blood when in a training session his best friend fell to the ground.
She didn't know what it had been like to carry the weight of everyone's survival on his shoulders, feeling that one wrong move would get them all killed.
Listening to the list of dead and missing increase day after day, remembering those who fell at Hogwarts while he took too long to find the last two Horcruxes, something many had paid for with their lives.
Ginny believed she was responsible for the failed relationship, but it was he who didn't feel in a condition to hold her and… it was time to tell her frankly.
"I really tried," Harry whispered, his vision blurred, lost on some loose strands of the carpet that Mrs Weasley had given them so the bed would be framed. "But I…"
"Please, don't say it," Ginny approached, wrapping her robe around herself, swallowing her pride with her eyes full of tears.
Harry pursed his lips and dropped to his knees before her, defeated. The last thing he wanted to do was break her trust and her heart, and he was doing both at the same time.
The dense air seemed to push him towards the centre of the earth.
"You deserve something better than th—"
"You can be better," Ginny retorted, with tears falling silently down her freckled cheeks, holding his face between her hands to find his eyes, the green eyes that had made her dream for so many years.
Harry lowered his head and shook it. All the understanding of the world that Ginny had until that moment collapsed before her eyes.
"Harry, what happens now depends on you. You can let me in or…" she tried to insist with her chest tight and rigid; she loved him, but she wouldn't let anyone have her as a second option.
Much less him.
Harry caressed her cheek with a trembling hand, raising his gaze to her wet, sad cheekbones. She looked beautiful when she cried and this would be the last time he would see it.
Ginny looked away and firmly pushed Harry's hand away before Disapparating, leaving a void in the room.
It was over.
The bus stopped abruptly, jolting Harry forward and bringing him back to reality. The red-haired woman got off the van and crossed the door of the hotel, disappearing into the lobby behind the wide, clean windows that looked as if they weren't there. Hermione gently tugged on his sleeve to guide him and, for the first time in a long time, he didn't have to think about anything: he was simply there, following her guidance.
He had forgotten what it was like to be able to trust someone so much that she understood him in silence and allowed him to switch off his brain without fear of tripping.
When they reached the counter they were given two keys; one for room seven and one for room eight. Hermione, tired and with sore feet, kissed him on the cheek and wished him good night. Once in her room, she took off her clothes; taking off her bra was the ritual that marked the end of the day. She went into the bathroom to shower before sleeping; her bones were still cold from the memories.
The hot water made her skin burn at the contrast in temperature.
"We're sharing a bathroom."
Harry's unexpected intervention made her heart leap to the ceiling, pulling her out of her peaceful trance. With her face as hot as the water falling on her, she poked her head out from the edge of the curtain.
"Hey!" she complained, feeling her heartbeat in her throat and making sure her body was well covered.
Harry looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
"I wanted to shower too," he shrugged, holding back a laugh so as not to make her angry for accidentally scaring her.
"Well, you can brush your teeth if you want. I'll be out soon," she replied, pretending she hadn't felt like she was going to die of a heart attack, grabbing the shampoo to make her hands busy with something.
Harry didn't argue and took his toothbrush; the steam in the bathroom began to fog up the mirror. A part of him felt at home smelling the classic rose scent of Hermione's shampoo. He remembered that she used to make the entire bathroom and hallway of the Burrow smell of flowers every time she bathed; it seemed like a lifetime had passed since those summers before returning to Hogwarts.
"If you keep brushing that hard you're going to destroy your enamel. I've told you a thousand times!"
Harry couldn't tell if he was smiling because he had her there as if no time had passed, or if he was just baring his teeth so he could clean them.
"Shampoo got in your mouth, didn't it?" he asked, hearing her cough.
"It's not funny," she grumbled with feigned offence, and Harry could imagine her furrowed brow. "If you knew how to brush properly it wouldn't have happened to me."
"Oh, you would have found something else to say, don't worry."
Hermione poked her head out from the shower curtain again, looking at him with narrowed eyes.
"I want to get out, go away."
Harry left the bathroom so quickly that she smiled when she saw him disappear like a scared little boy from her orders in the Gryffindor common room. A part of her was back in the summers together, long before the war had taken so many things from them that they could never get back.
When the two of them met in their respective rooms, clean and in pajamas, they realised they couldn't sleep.
Hermione thought about going to Harry's room to talk, but she shook her head with it resting on the pillow, setting a limit for herself; Ron's words were still echoing in her ears.
Harry had the same problem.
He wanted to talk, for hours, like when they were children. Like the conversations they sometimes —not many— still had on the phone, but the fiasco with the answering machine was still on his mind.
Neither of them got up that night and they fell asleep wishing the other had done it.