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You are the strength that keeps me walking
You are the hope that keeps me trusting
You are the life to my soul
You are my purpose
You’re everything
Everything, Lifehouse
Celebrate Christmas. That’s what everyone was trying to tell her when they tried to get her out of her flat. Like it might somehow cheer her up to pretend to be festive when, in fact, she was nowhere near even a sniff of holiday cheer. What did she have to be so bloody happy about, anyway? She had no family, she couldn’t look at her friends without remembering everyone they’ve lost, and while Hermione was labeled a war hero, it was such because she sacrificed every piece of her that was still good.
No one could understand why she locked herself up in a tiny flat in the middle of muggle London and refused to come out. White walls, white furniture, white carpet. She was surrounded by a sterile-looking environment and refused to decorate. She didn’t want reminders of the way the world had gone to shit after the war. Red reminded her of Snape’s bloody throat. Blue reminded her of the patronus that set their months-long run in motion. There wasn’t a color in the spectrum she could look at without being reminded of some awful part of the war. It took everything from her.
So, it was Christmas – pft. She hid from everyone regardless. Ron tried knocking several times, sometimes shouting as he pounded firmly against her door and rattled its hinges. Ginny tried, too, threatening to hex down the entire building if Hermione wouldn’t come out of hiding. Arthur offered her muggle clichés as if he thought it would help endear her to him and open the door. It didn’t.
One after the other, they tried and failed.
Hermione ordered in wine. She drank too much. She fell asleep on her settee – half on, half off and never covered with a duvet. Her hair was wild around her head and she didn’t care. Dark circles under her eyes because the only food she’d make was macaroni and cheese and bland, flavorless chicken breast.
The only time she lifted her head for the door was on Christmas Eve. It was his voice, desperate and hard, worried and husky, as he rapped gently against her door.
“Hermione,” Harry called to her, “I know you’re in there. Open the door for me.”
She thought about it. After all, everything she gave up was for him. To ensure he survived. But she didn’t think she could look him in the eyes, not after everything. Would he blame her, finally, for everything that happened at Malfoy Manor, for abandoning him while he learned about the truth of Voldemort’s final Horcrux, for letting him go into that forest alone to face his death? All of those moments haunted her and she curled into herself on the sofa. Chin on knees, arms wrapped securely around legs. She couldn’t answer the door. Physically could not make herself do it.
“Hermione.” Harry’s voice grew more desperate still. “I need you. Please.”
Her heart clenched in her chest, seizing with such pain that it burned straight to her soul. Her arms unwound from her legs. She lifted her chin. It was only half a dozen steps to the door but she froze the second that her bare feet hit the carpet.
Harry was quiet for several minutes. She thought he left.
“I can hear you, you know.” Something thudded against the door and then she could hear material against wood as it slid down the door. “You’re scared and that’s okay.”
Hermione took a step. She chewed her lip. Her hands shook. Legs were wobbly. The world swam around her and she closed her eyes. Steadying breath. Her heart hurt like someone was hexing it over and over again and it stung.
“I’m scared, too.” His voice was quieter, a mumble through the door. “I’m scared that I’m going to lose my best friend.”
Tears. They appeared so quickly and prickled at the corners of her eyes. She was scared, too. Her best friend died. Her best friend lived. Hermione also died, though she couldn’t claim to be alive anymore. She took another small, timid step toward the door.
“She’s everything.” There was a thunk against the door. His head, she assumed. “The only person who really understood.”
Another step. Hand outstretched. Almost to the doorknob. Something squeezed at her throat. Heart slammed against her chest. The world faded in and out twice. She was so broken. She stopped before she grabbed the knob.
“She’s strong.” So was his conviction in the way the words fall from his lips. “She’s clever. She’s selfless. Brave. Kind. The very best of the house of Gryffindor.”
Her finger touched the doorknob. It was cold against her skin. Her body jerked away from the feel. She was twitchy, effects of prolonged Cruciatus. Tremors were the new normal. She wasn’t brave or bold. She was a detriment to the house of Gryffindor. She pulled her hand away and stepped so that her body was pressed against the door and then she, too, slid down it to the floor. Legs out in front of her, hands folded in her lap. Hermione let her head fall back against it and didn’t flinch at the pain.
“Hermione, I can’t lose her.”
When she opened her mouth, the words stuck in her throat. She hadn’t spoken out loud in so long – months. Her breath smelled of wine still, a pungent grape aroma surrounded her. Merlin, her life had taken such a drastic turn. She wasn’t good enough to be his best friend. The things she’d done, they weren’t forgivable; her parents would say as much if she could figure out how to reverse the memory charm. Ron would say as much if he knew that she regretted their kiss. Ginny would say as much if she knew that Hermione was willing to sacrifice them all if it meant Harry would live.
“Please, Hermione. Please open the door.”
She shook her head as if he could see. Tears were cascading down her face now, a silent cry. She pulled her head away from the door and then let it fall back again. Over and over while tears dripped off her cheeks and onto her ratty Gryffindor shirt.
“I’m not going to force my way into your flat.” Harry’s voice was above her. He’d moved. She stopped hitting her head against the door. “But, I’m not leaving until you open the door. I’ll use magic. Right here in muggle London. I’ll cast so many charms that the Ministry will have no choice but to arrest me.”
Hermione sniffled. He was bluffing, she knew it. Besides, the Ministry couldn’t arrest Harry Potter. He had immunity, had to for all he’d given up. The words hung in her head, echoed around, louder and louder. All he’d given up. She shot up from the ground. Her hand wrapped around the doorknob and she twisted it sharply. The door flung open.
There he was.
Bright green eyes. Fly-away raven hair. Shadow on his jaw. More color to his face than she’d seen in years. Clothes that fit for once in his life. Wand in hand. He smiled at her, just a small curl of the edge of his lip. His eyes took in all of her, too, and she blushed. Tattered shirt. Shabby joggers. Frizzy curls everywhere around her head. Stained red lips. Utterly destroyed.
He stepped forward and hesitated. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and gripped the hem of her shirt. He looked good and she was a mess.
Then he crushed himself to her, arms wrapped tight and secure around her waist. She stood there, not sure if she could bring herself to hug him back. He didn’t relent. He murmured in his ear about missing her, praising her for letting him in. And when he let out a shaky, emotional breath, Hermione finally lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck. And then she promptly broke down in sobs.
Her body was scooped up, head cradled against his chest and legs resting against his forearms. Like a child. He held her close and smoothed her hair and promised her that everything would be okay. He soothed her gently. Whispered into her ear.
“I’m here,” he said to her softly. “I’m here and I’m not leaving.”
Through her sobs, she choked out apology after apology and he shushed her. Harry sat on the settee and settled her into his lap. She heard the clink of wine bottles and wondered how poorly he must think of her to see everything around her in such disarray. Bottles of wine, empty glasses, plates, a mess, just like her.
His wand waved as she sniffed against his shirt. All of that was gone. It zoomed around the room. Her mind stuttered. Like her thoughts were used to mimicking the clutter around her flat. She felt lighter somehow, though devastated still.
“I drank firewhiskey for a week straight,” he confessed to her and pushed a thick, wild lock of hair behind her ear. “Ron floo’d me to Mungo’s for alcohol poisoning.”
Her head snapped up. Their gazes met for several moments, silent beats ticking by between them. She didn’t know, wouldn’t have guessed, that Harry would… but then, she supposed, she never thought she would, either.
“Grimmauld Place is still empty.” She swallowed as his eyes shut. “The Burrow is too full.”
“Harry.” She finally spoke and it was raw and crackly. His eyes opened as her hand found his stubbly cheek. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”
“It’s not your fault.” His breath smelled of mint as it fanned across her face. “I never should have left you alone… after. Hermione, I can’t do this without you.”
The pressure of his words struck her somewhere inside, where she’d imagined that her soul resides. It hurt. Her thumb stroked his cheek. Their faces were so close. Her wine breath to his mint. Harry’s gaze was intense, unrelenting. His jaw ticked under her hand.
“I did so many things wrong,” she confessed and his eyes flashed darker. “No, Harry. It’s true. I obliviated my parents and I can’t… I can’t undo it. They don’t know that I exist. They never will.”
“You were keeping them safe, love.” As he coaxed a hand through her tangled hair, his face grows closer still. “You can’t punish yourself forever. I won’t let you.”
“I don’t deserve –“
“You deserve everything , Hermione.” He was firm, fingers curled against her scalp. “You are the only reason that I’m alive.”
“I’m not.” She was just as firm, fingers curled against his chin. “You can’t tell me that I’m the reason you’re alive when I let you go into that goddamn forest on your own and –”
“I chose to go alone, Hermione. I couldn’t have you… I couldn’t watch you…” He was struggling, his chest heaving under the stress of his words. The intensity of his stare brought a bright flush to her face as he pressed on. “In no fucking universe would I have ever allowed you to stand before him .”
She didn’t know what to do, what to say. He was so earnest. She felt it down to her core. So when her lips smashed into his, it was as much a surprise to her as it was to him. But it took only a moment before they found a groove with their kiss, her wine red lips being devoured by him. They stayed like that for what felt like ages, tasting the pain of the other and breathing hard against one another. When they finally broke apart, her chest was heaving and his heart was banging against his chest under her hand.
“You’re everything.” Harry’s hand was gentle against her jaw as he marveled at her. “Since first year, Hermione, you’ve been everything to me. When you hurt, I hurt.”
“I don’t understand,” she answered him breathlessly. “It’s never been me. You’ve always –“
“How can it not be you?” Harry’s head shook, a small smirk at the corner of his lips as if he held a secret she wasn’t privy to. “I love you, Hermione.”
She gasped, surprised because she always thought Ginny or perhaps Cho, but never in a thousand years would she have believed that Harry Potter could love her the way she loved him. She kissed him again, pouring every ounce of herself into it so that he knew she felt the same way. To say the words… she wasn’t ready yet.
“I have a few things for you,” he said when their lips parted for air. “From the Weasleys for Christmas.”
“I don’t want –”
“You’re not sending me back to Molly Weasley with returned gifts.” Harry’s eyes are hard, voice firm, but his chest rumbles through a laugh and she can’t help but smile at him. “You’ll accept them and when they ask, you’ll tell them that I was perfect in their deliverance.”
She quirked an eyebrow as he lifted her small body and deposited it back onto the settee. He grabbed his wand from her side and waved it around in an elaborate flourish while muttering the incantation. In seconds, her tiny flat was decorated with a beautiful gold and red Christmas tree. The walls were lined with lights and red ribbon. Green garland wrapped in spiral shapes around her doorframe.
“Oh, Harry… it’s beautiful! How –?” Hermione’s drab living room, plain and sterile only moments before, was filled with color and Christmas.
“Mrs. Weasley taught me, just in case you allowed me into your flat.” He grinned sheepishly at her and then tossed his wand next to her. Harry’s hand found hers and he dragged her from the settee and pulled her close. “She also taught me how to use the WWN.”
Soft music began playing around her flat. It felt like Christmas, a fluffy melody that jingled gently. Harry wrapped her hands around his neck and he placed his on her hips. Reminiscent of a special memory she’ll hold in her heart forever. He smiled down at her and she blushed as she tightened her grip on him.
“We’ll figure it out,” he whispered as he pulled her closer. “Together, yeah?”
Hermione nodded before resting her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat. “Yeah.”