We Were There

A/N: So, here is chapter two. Nothing really big, just an author wishing that you, the readers, would take the time to review. Thanks! :D

Disclaimer: I do not make money, nor will I. This is a fanfiction. I don't own Harry Potter, and never will-as saddening as that is.
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Chapter 2
April 3, 2001


The space of the flat was lonesome. Long had this place been her happy home with Ron, yet it was going raw—sour even. Hermione wondered how their path together led them to her doing this. Presently, she held the last small box, going around for the miscellaneous knick knacks about the place. She was moving out and away from Ronald Weasley. For some time, he'd been her pillar of love. Many memories stood vacant in her eyes.

She sighed.

She had to do this.

But it was terribly painful.

Perhaps it was a mistake?

No. Not a mistake.

It was what needed to be done. Ron wanted to hold onto this relationship desperately, though he seemed not to be interested talking things over with her. She finally decided.

Pivoting in an about-face motion, she now faced the opposing wall to the one she'd just spent taking pictures down from. After she set the box down upon the floor, she went to the table, taking a quill and writing a letter of apology to Ron. It explained why she needed space from him, also why she needed to be with him. She wasn't breaking up with him, just moving out of his flat. This she tried to spell out desperately, though she knew he'd think they had no future together anymore. She didn't know if she should wait for him to return, whenever that would be.

No, she couldn't face him. Not yet. It was too hard for her to face him in his pleas. She only ever submitted unto him. It had always been him. These days, she doubted it would always be him. Hermione had a hard time trying to picture her life apart from him, though if it was what was necessary in order to save their friendship, then so be it. Always had he been her friend first.

She noticed a certain photo sticking out amongst the rest of the lot. It was of her and Ron playing in a field outside the Burrow. He held her from behind and she was smiling. Eventually, they looked to each other. Both of their smiles widened. How much they loved each other then. The picture was taken right before she went back to Hogwarts—all alone without her two best friends. Two years had passed since her graduation—two very long years. She missed the structure of it all—the books, the library, the House Points.

Tears finally dripped from her eyes. She hunched over the photo, currently in her lap, and moaned in agony. Had she changed so much? Had he only wanted her back then because she was something new? God, she loved this man. He seemed distantly in love, though she doubted his feelings these days. Perhaps he was clouded by his own self. He and Harry always and unknowingly competed against each other. Perhaps that was the reason he wanted to be with her. She was the person who wanted Harry's best friend, rather than Harry. Lavender was just a fling, but she still praised Harry in their younger years.

Her whole body felt as if it were falling through a sheet of glass, the shards tearing at her flesh and deeply inflicting wounds that would turn into gashes and scars, always reminding her of the pain. She'd worked so hard to be everything he needed. He never really had to do much to be everything she would ever need. But this couldn't go on. Loneliness wasn't something she dealt with easily. She felt her chest shaking viciously against her breaths. She whispered his name only once.

How she desperately wanted out of this torment. Their relationship would eventually fade away. It took two to tango, and only she was dancing. Dancing in burning room in the dark was simply devastating and impossible. Eventually one would inhale too much smoke and become suffocated from it. The darkness engulfed the light of the dancer's desires, so there would never be a means of escape.

Now, her entire body shook. Her cries became louder, more frantic. For dear life, she clung to that photo.

A hand fell to her shoulder. She stood up and looked behind her. Harry was there. Without meeting her gaze, he wrapped his arms around her and allowed her to cry. She still held the photo in the warmth of her chest.

"He's been everything I've ever known, Harry. It wasn't supposed to be like this!" shouted Hermione. She leaned against a wall, sliding down hastily. Her hair was disheveled from her hands pulling at it. Her eyes were puffy. But she still was beautiful, Harry noticed.

Harry crouched to meet her height on the floor, "Life isn't supposed to be many things. It simply just is. We all have to accept that and then decide what to do with the realization."

"I don't like it, Harry. Why us? We've been through so much together! I waited for him for years while in school! It's not fair!" she exclaimed hopelessly.

Harry placed a hand on her right cheek, causing her to meet his gaze, "I know it hurts. You're allowed to cry, Hermione. You're allowed to grieve until you can't any longer."

Her forehead rested against his and she closed her eyes. His hand still touched her face, "You're hand is coarse."

Harry smiled. This made him laugh somewhat, despite the mood, "I suppose I'm not the best consoler." He tried to retract his hand from her face.

Hermione's hand caught his, "It's nice, Harry. And you're perfect, so don't go thinking otherwise." Her grip tightened on his hand and they let their hands remain together.

A noise in the background was heard. They both stood up slowly.

"Hermione?" a voice spoke softly. A few footsteps were heard, "Hermione?" She walked to where the voice was shouting from. It was Ron.

"Ron. . ." she whispered.

He turned to face her. "Where are all of your things?"

She looked away, "They are at Grimmauld Place."

"What?" he hissed in retort.

Harry walked through the same threshold she had, "Don't worry, mate, she's not leaving you. She just wants a change of scenery." He encouraged with a half-assed smirk.

Ron tried to charge toward him, but Hermione caught his wrist, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Ron. I'm not able to be thrown to the side anymore. It's too lonely."

"What do you mean 'thrown to the side?'" the copper-haired man said absolute. His face was void of emotion.

Hermione scrunched her eyebrows together, her face filled with disbelief, "Sure you know! It's you who spends nearly twenty hours 'at work'! It's you who spends his time with Lavender Brown regardless of knowing that I am here!"

Ron stepped forward. Both of them were clearly unmoved by Harry's presence. "I have to work those long hours to pay for this flat!"

Hermione chuckled, "This flat is paid for by your family!"

His face fell to a void of any emotion, "How did you know that?"

She shook her head, looking at Harry. She softly smiled to him and then looked to Ron again, "Your mother told me." She looked to the floor, tears welling up in her eyes. None of them fell, however. She glanced back up to Ron, "And what of Lavender?" Her voice was hardly audible and she spoke terribly soft.

There was silence. Hermione could hear the steady breathing of Ron and she closed her eyes, letting her tears fall. She did not care anymore. When no answer came, she finally spoke against the silence, "I know you once loved me, and perhaps you still do, but we both know we cannot go on like this. Perhaps space will be enough to fix us."

"When you walk out of these doors, you walk away from me," he warned.

Hermione smirked, shaking her head again, "Don't make me choose, Ronald. You know I have my pride to consider. And if you have to make me choose, then you'll always know my answer. Just under a year ago, I would have damned my pride to be with you, but now?" Her voice hitched and thus she paused. She inhaled deeply and calmly released the encaged breath, "Now I am thinking about myself, rather than other people."

"So be it," he said as he apparated from her sight.

The earth stood still. Time seemed to have frozen. Life wasn't fair, she thought. It never had been since the day she met Harry Potter, not that she would ever regret meeting him. He was her best, truest, and dearest friend. Sometimes, he seemed to be her only ally. It was decided. She was going to abandon these feelings of despair for Harry. He was always smiling to her. He'd let her cry on his shoulder many a times. She would stifle her inner self—for Harry. He did not need any more tears thrown his way. He faced enough of them himself during the Second Wizarding War. Harry had always been destined for a tragic life from the time of his parents' death that Halloween night.

She turned. Not a sign of being upset was written into her face. That frightened Harry. She took his hand and smiled, "Take me home."

It was eight o'clock. Harry was eating Hermione's dinner she'd fixed for him earlier. He hadn't seen her since earlier that morning. He felt tired. Perhaps he'd turn in earlier than usual. He ate the last remaining bites on his plate and cleaned up his mess. Slowly, Harry climbed the stairs, finally reaching his room. Before his door sat Hermione crouched down, holding her knees. She looked up to him. It caused him to shudder. Thankfully, he wore a lot of clothing.

"What is it?" he asked casually.

"Don't be creeped out, but might I sleep in your bed with you? I've tried falling asleep, but it won't come to me like I thought it would.

God help him. He nodded and they both entered his room.

Their bodies molded together as if they were simply meant to be. Her hair was everywhere, but he didn't care. They were spooning, but it wasn't like they hadn't ever done it before. The last time he could recall was when Ron had finally left them while in their Horcrux adventure. Hermione couldn't go to sleep because Ron wasn't there. Harry should have been jealous that she wanted to lie next to Ron, but he refused to be jealous. He looked at it from a different angle. The angle was simply that Ron had led her into Harry's arms. And once again, Ron had done the same thing.

Harry smiled.

She was fast asleep. In fact, it only took a whole five minutes for her to fall fast asleep when Harry lay next to her. He prided himself in that information.

His left arm draped across her upper stomach. He felt every steady breath she took. She stirred and he stiffened his body slightly. Her face now rested only a few centimeters from his. All he could seem to think about was how his lips were dangerously close to hers.

His eyes closed. She would think him a total git if he took advantage of her in her sleep. Still his heart would know him to be the betrayer if he didn't seize the moment and take grasp of something that could give him hope for his patience. He thought of Ron and instantly his teeth grinded against each other.

The green eyes were then covered by his lids, while he sighed. He cursed mentally at himself and damned his loyalty. Harry's biggest problem was that he'd always placed others before himself. Tonight he decided to abandon that part of himself. If only for tonight, he thought.

He closed in on her and stopped just shy of her lips—his target. His eyes desperately wanted her to wake up, if not to stop him from his temporary insanity. His heart yearned for her to keep her sleep. Harry would not regret this. His conscience would plea for him to, but he would so frantically silence it. Life had always given him his chances with Hermione. Never had he taken them in fear of what it would cost Ron or others he cared about. No one could sever this moment—this frozen secret he'd always have with himself. But would it be worth it?

He was convinced that it was.

Showing no signs of stirring or waking, his lips fell to her nose, quickly pecking it lovingly. Next on his list was her forehead. He planted his lips to it and the realness of this moment made his heart skip some. He lost his breath and he smile, taking a look at her sleeping form. Merlin she was perfect. Her hair was everywhere; it was so full, so spontaneous, and so crazy. It oddly reminded of their life together. As predictable as she could be, Harry never knew what her next move would be. Take example their adventure seeking out the Horcruxes. When Ron told her of his leave, Harry knew he wanted Hermione to with him, but she'd stayed behind with Harry. That sole decision was what probably gave Harry's only spark of hope to sustain his unspoken and almost forbidden feelings for his bushy-haired bookwork. She was his angel and always would be.

So it wouldn't matter. His lips met hers very lightly, as if they hadn't. Again he kissed her, only with noticeable effort this time. After pecking her mouth a few more times, he lost himself. Harry noticed she'd turned over onto her back, guiding Harry with her. Was this really happening? Was she awake? What would happen if she rejected him? What would he do without her if she ran away? His mind raced swiftly with nonsensical questions.

Luckily, she wasn't even awake. Her body and eyes were both in a hazy state that it gave away her slumber. He was glad. Harry closed his eyes and let his desires take control. For years—since their fourth year—he'd desperately wanted this moment. It was finally his. His tongue prodded at her lips, eventually gaining access to go deep into her mouth, exploring the unknown territory. His skin was on fire from where her hands dazedly touched him. He was intoxicated by her once again. He felt her tongue respond, felt it play with his.

Together, they moaned. Then suddenly, he was on the floor. Without having the Gryffindor courage to look back to see her reaction, he fled out of his room and downstairs. Oh, God, she knew!

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A/N: Woot! so, chapter three will be up very soon!