Part 3 – Promises Broken, Promises Kept

Fifth year and beyond…

Hermione stood behind Harry watching the scene through the open doorway in disbelief.

Shockingly enough, all her worst nightmares were being played out before her for everyone to see—except she was not the one having these horrible visions. These fears belonged to Mrs. Weasley.

It was as if someone had plucked the image of Harry lying dead out of her mind, for this scenario echoed exactly what Hermione had seen over a year ago during her end of term exam for Professor Lupin. This boggart Harry—for it had to be a boggart, as the real Harry was standing a few paces in front of her, just inside the doorway—was lying in a patch of moonlight shining through the window on the dusty, worn-out carpet of the drawing-room at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He had the same blank expression in his eyes, the same broken glasses resting askew on his head, and the same twisted body that could never exist on someone who was alive.

Mrs. Weasley was cowering against the opposite wall, sobbing as Harry yelled at her to leave the room.

Alarmed, Hermione stepped forward to offer her assistance, but someone suddenly pushed her aside. It was Remus Lupin, followed closely by Sirius Black and Mad-Eye Moody.

Hermione was not surprised when Lupin quickly dispelled the boggart, or when he immediately comforted Mrs. Weasley as soon as it was nothing but a wisp of smoke.

For he had seen this image before, had he not? With her…

As Mrs. Weasley was crying on his shoulder, Lupin looked up for an instant and caught Hermione's eye—and when he did, she was sure Harry would notice her standing behind him, but he did not. Hermione watched and listened as Mrs. Weasley groaned and apologized and sobbed some more, while Lupin tried to reason with her that her whole family, including Harry, was not going to die.

But Hermione knew how Mrs. Weasley felt. She understood that terror all too well.

When Harry finally turned and stepped out of the room, a pale, weary expression on his face, Hermione had tears streaming down her cheeks, too.

"Hermione? What are doing here?"

His voice sounded heavy and burdened, and she knew that he'd been through too much for one evening. It was all too much for a fifteen-year-old. This reminded Hermione why she had come upstairs in the first place.

"I was worried about you," she admitted softly, wiping the tears from her eyes with her palms. "I came to check on you."

The truth was she'd been concerned about him all day, from the time the prefect badges had arrived (excluding him from those duties) to the moment he thought he'd slipped out of the kitchen after supper unseen, away from the celebratory chatter surrounding Ron and herself, and away from Mad-Eye Moody, who had cornered Harry with his sad, old memories and tatty Wizarding photographs. She had not missed how Harry had avoided her eyes when he had congratulated her on becoming a prefect, had not overlooked his grumpy mood when he had seen the scarlet banner Mrs. Weasley had hung over the dinner table toasting her and Ron for the honor. Not long after he had left the kitchen, she had followed him because she couldn't stand the thought of him being alone, angry and upset.

But she had never expected to see what she did…

Harry didn't say anything for a long moment.

"You saw."

It wasn't a question, but she nodded in return.

"Maybe you and Mrs. Weasley could start a new club," he said blandly, and Hermione looked at him in alarm.

He couldn't possibly know about her boggart!

But Harry continued darkly, "For worrying too much, I mean. You could invite Professor Trelawney to join in. I'm sure she'd be happy to join the pity-party for poor Knocking-On-Death's-Door Harry."

"That's not funny," said Hermione, frowning at him, but she already knew that he agreed with her. There had been no humor in his voice whatsoever.

"You can't blame her for worrying. You can't blame any of us," she continued sharply, rubbing more tears away from her face. "You're family to her, Harry. You might as well be one of her own sons."

From his expression, she had the feeling Harry didn't find this thought very comforting just now.

"So, you checked on me. I'm fine," he stated flatly.

Hermione eyed him suspiciously. "No, you're not."

She could see it in his eyes. The images he had seen were haunting him, just like her boggart Harry still haunted her.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" he asked, his voice rising just a bit (but not loud enough to rouse the portrait of Sirius's mother, thank Merlin).

Hermione shook her head sadly.

"There's nothing to be done. We can only do what we can," she said. "We can be there for each other. Help each other. Protect each other."

She paused and noticed suddenly how very bright Harry's eyes looked in the dimness of the hallway.

"Love each other?" added Harry in a whisper.

Startling her, he rose one hand and brushed a tear from her cheek, his fingers lingering, warm and soft, against her skin for just an instant. The moment was brief, but also intimate and filled with promise just the same.

Less than ten minutes later, Hermione returned to her room and echoed Harry's words softly in the darkness.

"Yes… We will love each other, Harry. We will…"

It was ten months later, and two days before the end of term, when Hermione walked with Harry near the lake by Hogwarts castle.

He was in a very quiet mood, not that she blamed him for it, and she was trying hard not to chatter at him too much. It had taken quite a lot of convincing on her part to get him to go with her, and since they were, at present, strolling in comfortable silence, she feared any topic she could choose to talk about would sound insignificant compared to whatever grievous thoughts Harry might be lamenting inside his head.

She had tried bringing up the subject of Sirius with him a few times the previous day, but Harry had given her the impression that he was not yet ready to talk about his godfather. And Ron, who was indoors packing, had not helped matters any by trying to hush her every time she said Sirius's name. So, she had given up on that for now and was trying to be content in the fact that maybe she was helping Harry just by being with him.

"How are you feeling?" asked Harry after they had circled the lake twice.

The question sounded odd coming from him, when Hermione felt she should be inquiring that of him instead.

"Fine," she said.

She was fibbing to him just the tiniest bit but didn't want him to know that Madam Pomfrey had admitted to her that the wound near her ribs, the one Dolohov had given her in the Department of Mysteries, may never heal altogether. She had taken the news calmly, had accepted that she may carry that pain with her forever.

She looked over at Harry's grim face. Some wounds never heal, she thought sadly.

Though she had been hoping Harry would talk to her about Sirius's death, and perhaps tell her what had happened in Dumbledore's office, there was another reason she had asked him to take a walk with her. There was something she felt she had to do, and since Harry had finally broken the silence between them, she thought now was as good a time as any.

"Harry," she said, stopping underneath a familiar beech tree, "I owe you an apology."

His eyes turned to hers in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember two years ago…?" Under this very same tree, she thought absently, before continuing, "I made you a promise that I would always fight by your side."

"And you did," he said, a hint of a smile on his lips mixed with something else in his eyes, something that, oddly enough, looked like pain.

She shook her head after a moment and tried not to think about how she would have felt if it had been Harry who had died instead of Sirius, because she had not been there as she had always promised herself she would be.

"I failed you," she whispered, and the rest of her words spilled out as the guilt threatened to overwhelm her, "I did. I wasn't strong enough. I was foolish and blind…"

And distracted, she thought, remembering how she and Harry, amidst the chaotic battle at the Ministry of Magic, had played off one another rather well until she had paused to praise him on a particularly successful full Body-Bind. She had been so singularly focused on protecting Harry at that moment that she had forgotten all about protecting herself.

She was certainly no good to him after that, was she? Her mind questioned her miserably.

"No!" Harry protested immediately, as if reading her thoughts. "You stood by me just like you always do. Even when you thought you were right and I was wrong, you were there. You went to Umbridge's office with me! You saved me from the Cruciatus Curse! You traveled all that way to the stupid Department of Mysteries, and for what? You could have died because of me!"

Hermione shook her head throughout his entire speech, desperately wanting him to take back all his words.

Harry put his hands on her shoulders. "I tried to make you stay behind. You wouldn't listen to me! You were furious with me for even suggesting it."

"Well, can you blame me?" asked Hermione, thinking back to when Harry had proposed his "bright idea" in the forest of her staying behind to attract more thestrals. That had merely been an excuse for her—and Neville and Ginny and Luna—not to go with him. As it was, that hadn't been necessary, for luckily enough, more thestrals had arrived for all of them, but it pained her to think that, for a brief instant, he had not wanted her by his side.

But she also wondered if, somewhere in that moment, sometime amidst her angry assertion that she was "not staying behind," he had recalled his promise to her. And in remembering, he had finally agreed (if somewhat angrily) that she, and the others, could go along with him.

Harry's voice cut into her thoughts, and he was giving her a look that said he could blame her—and would—for not listening to him when he had protested.

"You have no idea how I felt after Dolohov cursed you. When you fell to the floor, it was like every feeling in me stopped completely. I couldn't think properly! Neville had to check to make sure you were all right because I panicked! If you had died, it would have been my fault! Mine! And I couldn't live with that. I couldn't!"

Harry paused, his hands still pressing on her arms, the weight of them filling her with sorrow, as he looked at her very sincerely now.

Hermione held her breath, almost hearing his next words.

I couldn't live without you.

But he didn't have to say them aloud. She already knew…

Instead she threw her arms around him, grasping him closely against her, never wanting to let him go.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry about Sirius."

"I know," he muttered against her hair.

"But if something had happened to you," she gasped, and his arms tightened around her. "If it had been you instead…"

"Sometimes I wish it had been," said Harry darkly.

Hermione pulled back and looked at him directly.

"No! Harry, no!" she said, shaking her head. "Sirius would not have wanted that."

"I don't know what he would have wanted," said Harry bitterly. "I'll never know now…"

"I'll tell you what he would have wanted. The same thing we all want—Ron, and the rest of the Weasleys, and Lupin, and Tonks, and Mad-Eye, and Neville, and Luna—and me, Harry. Me!" said Hermione very seriously.

She put a hand on his chest. "You are safe, Harry. And that's all that matters!"

He pulled away from her abruptly, anger blazing in his eyes. "Why? Why is that all that matters?"

"Because, Harry," she said softly, and his green eyes locked with hers, "without you, there is nothing."

He stared at her silently for a long moment afterward.

When they walked back to the castle later, Hermione prayed Harry would understand what she had truly meant by her words—that he was not just a symbol of hope to the Wizarding world; he was not just a representative of goodness and strength against the evilness of Voldemort…

She longed for him to see that it was her belief in him that kept her going, for he was the only light in her world.

He was her only hope, her only love…

"Love?"

Hermione made her way through the darkness trying desperately to find Harry.

It was over.

She knew it. She could feel it.

Voldemort was dead… finally… at last…

And Harry…

"You have to be all right, Harry, my love… You have to…"

She had found Ron, hurt and bleeding, but alive. They had fought to the end, the three of them, together… until Harry had disappeared…

"You promised me. You promised…" she muttered into the darkness, needing to cling to something, even if it was the sound of her own voice. She tried not to think about how many lives had been lost—did not want to know their names or their faces…

Not until she knew…

However horrible the rest of it was, she knew could face it… with Harry.

But without him…

Hermione was starting to panic. The magical residue of the last battle between the defeated Tom Riddle and Harry was still lingering in the air, drawing her to the source, the very place where it had been finished once and for all.

And there… There amidst the dying flames, the smoke and the ashes was…

"Harry!"

He was lying on the ground, bleeding heavily from the scratches on his face and hands. There were large welts on his arms where his shirt was torn, his jeans were dirty and ripped to shreds, and his glasses lay shattered near his fingertips, as if he had removed them himself. The round glass, broken and in shards, and bent frame were useless to him now.

He looked so pale… so…

"No!"

Hermione ran over to him, her tangled hair flying in her face, her wobbly legs faltering beneath her, as she fell to her knees.

"No, Harry! No, no," she murmured over and over, clutching one of his hands. It was icy cold! And something in Hermione's stomach lurched…

No!

"This can't be real! It can't be!"

And pulling out her wand, Hermione pointed it at Harry and shouted, "Riddikulus!"

Once, twice, three times…

Nothing.

"Riddikulus!"

She tried it again and again.

"It has to work… has to…You're not real… not real…"

But the spell did not work, and Harry did not awaken.

Tears coursed down Hermione's cheeks as she knelt next to him, her body pressing against his as she kissed him softly on the lips.

It was a long moment before Hermione noticed the warmth coming from Harry's mouth, before the breaths rising and falling lightly against her chest registered in her panicky brain. Even when he leaned into her, returning her kiss with passion, Hermione was sure she was only imagining what she so desperately wanted to be true. When Harry's arms pushed them off the ground and he wrapped them tightly around her, Hermione pulled back from the kiss, wide-eyed and disbelieving.

"Harry?"

He had an odd expression on his face. It was a mixture of calm contentment, weariness and… amusement?

For a moment, just a moment, Hermione wondered if it was her boggart Harry staring back at her.

He opened his mouth to speak and Hermione held her breath.

"What's so ridiculous?"

She let out her breath with a laugh.

"Nothing," her voice burst with all the happiness and relief and wonder in the world. "Nothing at all!"

She threw her arms around him, closing her eyes and sending a silent thanks to whomever, or whatever, had allowed him to return to her alive.

"I love you," he muttered—or maybe it was she… It didn't matter truly, for they had each other now. And that was enough. That was everything.

After a moment, or an hour, or an eternity of time, Harry pulled back from Hermione and looked deeply into her eyes. His own were a rich emerald in color and filled with emotion.

"What is it?" she asked him.

"I want to know why you never told me…" he started very solemnly as he pulled her onto his lap.

"What's that?" asked Hermione as she pushed his damp hair off his forehead. She proceeded to kiss his scar, his nose, his cheeks and chin—but when he didn't continue, she pulled slightly away from him.

He was so silent, so serious…

She wondered for a moment if he had guessed about her boggart, or if he had always known, from their end of term exam third year to that time at Grimmauld Place. She wondered if he had known exactly how afraid she'd been of failing him… of losing him… and of not being there to save him as she had so foolishly believed she could….

Upon hearing his next words, she was almost certain it was so, but she discovered he did not find her so foolish after all.

"Hermione, some things I had to do on my own. I think you know that. I made a promise to you long ago… Yes… But I hope you don't think I broke it," he said, gazing deeply into her eyes.

She thought back to earlier, when he had disappeared, and her anger when she had realized he had elected to abandon her and Ron to fight Voldemort on his own. And she couldn't stop him, because he had chosen…

There were so many circumstances she couldn't control, in the past and now… That didn't make it any easier.

"Hermione, I want you to know that you were beside me every step of the way," said Harry earnestly. "I carried you with me. Here…"

He motioned to his chest, pulling one of her hands away from his shoulder to place it over his heart.

"All the love I had inside me… That is what allowed me to defeat Voldemort at last. I could feel that love radiating from everyone who has stood by me—from Dumbledore, and the Weasleys, and Lupin, and Ron—but especially from you. You have always been there… Always…"

"I still am."

Harry pulled her closer to him, touched by her words.

"You saved me, Hermione. It was your love that saved me," he gasped, his palms cupping her cheeks, drawing her in even nearer. She was amazed at the raw intensity in his voice and in his eyes.

When he spoke next, it was in a mere whisper, "And it was my love for you that carried me home."

When he kissed her then—long and deep and true—Hermione was unfailing in her certainty that now… Now, they would be together as they were always meant to be…

Their love would carry them onward… To new adventures, new hopes, and new dreams…

Always…

The Beginning…

Further Notes:

On Hermione's Boggart: JKR confirmed on her website that Hermione's boggart in PoA was indeed Professor McGonagall (which for some reason, I doubted when I read it), for she mentions outright in the "Extras" section of the website that "underneath Hermione's swottiness there is a lot of insecurity and a great fear of failure (as shown by her Boggart in PoA)." While I originally wrote most of this story shortly after reading OotP, I still believe the themes are relevant in some ways to canon. This story is more about Hermione's fears, and what she believes will save Harry, rather than about the physical form of Hermione's boggart. Having said that, however, Hermione does tell us in PoA that her Boggart McGonagall said she'd "failed everything!" Thus, failure could manifest itself in many forms and does not necessarily have to refer to schoolwork or classes. That is my justification for keeping this story as it is… Cheers!