One of Two

“Hello, Harry.”

Harry freezes for a moment before responding; “Hi, Hermione.” He shouldn’t be surprised she knew it was him without looking. Who else would be searching the Burrow for her? Percy is still in Azkaban—Harry’s done everything in his power, provided every scrap of information and knowledge he could, and now it’s up to the Wizengamot. And George flat-out refuses to set foot in his former home. Over a year later and Molly’s Dusting Charms are still working, but they only leave the place feeling sterile. Empty. Dead.

Harry wishes Luna had come with him, but she had pushed him toward the stairs and said she’d wait. Now that they’ve found Hermione, he has no idea what to do.. They’d tried Hermione’s parents’ home first, but as soon as they were told that she wasn’t there Luna knew immediately where she must be. Harry was disgusted with himself it didn’t occurred to him sooner. Not that it matters, since finding her is merely the first futile step towards failing her. Again.

She’s sitting on a bed and gazing out the window. There’s never been much of a view from R- from that window, but sometimes when the wind outside sways the trees just right Harry had been able to see as far as Stoatshead Hill.

Not that he’s ever tried again, after that summer before fifth year. Places can come to have certain meanings to a specific person, and often that’s not a good thing. Look at George, shut away with Katie and her family because he can’t step into the Burrow or his own shop without seeing altogether too many ghosts; Harry wondered for a short while whether George would go mad. Perhaps he has.

Look at Hermione sitting by the window in an upstairs bedroom of a house she lost two fingers and her ability to bear children defending because it was a part of her. She’s playing absent-mindedly with the ring, which she can’t move to her other hand because the ring finger is gone. And she might not want to, even if she could.

Look at Harry himself. He hasn’t been in the House of Black since Sirius died, even though it belongs to him. He doesn’t have a home, nor does he really want one. There are people out there who deserve a home, a family, but Harry isn’t one of them.

Of all the ones who fought, he was the only one not physically marred. Not further physically marred. Neville’s back will be permanently scarred with the burns he got from Bellatrix Lestrange. Hannah Abbott is paralyzed from the waist down. Luna’s left breast will forever bear a magical brand of the word traitor. George’s right arm has no feeling left, although he can move it normally. If they ever let Percy out of Azkaban, he’ll never walk right again.

And there’s Harry, with the infamous scar faded, the smooth skin on his forehead mocking him far worse than any cruel words ever did. Harry, who got nothing worse than a nick from Gryffindor’s sword as he rammed it up into Voldemort’s skull. Two worlds he ran through, chasing that slippery, cowardly bastard; Apparating after him, chasing right through the middle of Muggle London and not caring how many people saw the Unforgivables he was throwing, or the tears streaking his face or the shiny sword already encrusted with Wormtail’s blood, and Malfoy’s. Cornering Tom under an anti-Apparition field, cutting off his wand hand, breaking his legs, and finally ending it. And all he got was a single, tiny nick that a silent Luna healed with a tap of her wand. It just wasn’t bloody fair.

“You’re better at this,” Hermione says casually, still not taking her eyes from whatever she sees outside.

“Er…at what?”

“Comforting someone.”

Harry shifts awkwardly, acutely aware that saying Yeah, well I’ve had a lot more practice lately would be, quite possibly, the most horrible thing he’s ever done, and that’s saying something. “I haven’t even done anything,” he points out instead.

“Sometimes not doing anything is the right thing,” Hermione responds.

Harry nods. A year ago, before everything started going bad, he’d have said she was crazy, but he understands it now. He sits on the other end of the bed, next to her, and observes her face, which looks surprisingly calm. “What do you see?” he asks.

“Him,” she says softly. “Down there by that tree, that’s where it happened. I don’t know if I ever told you.”

“I know,” Harry tells her. He saw it himself, through Ron’s eyes, when he told Harry; every second, every movement and pause, in loving detail.

“It wasn’t just that, you know,” Hermione says, and her expression is almost impish, full of mischief. “We did other things by that tree, late at night.” Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Once we even—well, the next day you slapped him on the shoulder and he winced in pain. He told you he’d had an owl that had dug into his shoulder too hard with its talons.”

Harry takes a moment to work out what Hermione means. When he does he can’t suppress a chuckle. “I can’t believe…I mean, you? You’re having me on.”

“No, really,” she insists, chuckling a bit herself. “It was remarkable, the fear of getting caught was like an aphrodisiac. I don’t think I ever came so hard in my life.”

Harry can’t help but laugh a bit. “There was a point where I wondered if you weren’t too uptight to even have an orgasm at all!”

“Harry!” Hermione gasps, and finally looks over at him, scandalized. “I’ll have you know I had my first orgasm when I was twelve, and I enjoyed it so much that hardly a day went by after where I didn’t find time for at least one or two!”

“No wonder he was always so happy, every single day,” Harry retorts.

“Yes,” Hermione agrees, her smile sliding off her face, and Harry curses himself. Hermione’s gaze takes in Harry’s appearance. “You look terrible.”

Harry knows it’s true; he hasn’t taken much care of his clothes or his person lately. “You look…you look okay,” he decided.

“Well, there’s no reason to let myself go,” Hermione says properly.

Harry could think of a few good reasons. Several dozen, in fact.

Well, one, really.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to hold me or am I going to fall to the floor when I start to cry?”

Their arms go around each other and now Harry really wishes Luna was there because he’s no good for anything now. He’s too busy trying to force air into his lungs around his sobs, trying to keep them both from sliding onto the cold hardwood floor. They end up falling back onto the bed and Hermione curls into his chest. His own face is lost in her hair and their crying shakes the bed so much it squeaks.

Eventually there’s just nothing left inside and they both fall silent and still, too tired to fall asleep. “Hermione,” Harry whispers finally, “where have you been?”

“Anywhere,” Hermione answers. “Anywhere that wasn’t here. For several weeks I just… wandered, up in Scotland, mostly. Half the time I literally didn’t know where I was. Then I went and saw the cliffs at Dover; it was beautiful, I stayed there almost a week, just sitting and watching the sea. When the weather cleared I could see France, just barely.” She pushes her face into Harry’s chest. “But I couldn’t stay away. I tried—I really wanted to just leave and never come back. But I couldn’t.” Harry feels her body tense up. “Have you been looking for me this whole time? I’m sorry.”

“No, we’ve been busy,” Harry says, feeling guilty for implying that any of the bollocks he and Luna had been dealing with in the months since the war ended was more important to him than Hermione, because not one single bit of it was. “Luna helped George get settled with the Bells, and I’ve been dealing with the Ministry. Well, what’s left of it.”

“Is George still the same?” Hermione asks, and sags when Harry nods. “He got the worst of it, of all of us. If they’d killed him after they’d done with Fred it would have been a mercy.”

“Yeah, it would have,” Harry agrees. “Which is why they didn’t.”

“You…you and Luna are still—?”

Harry twists his neck and looks into Hermione’s eyes. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I thought—I thought it might be too hard for you,” Hermione admits.

“It is. It’s too hard. Every second I’m with Luna, every time I look at her…but I do it anyway.” He smiles weakly. “I know you never really understood, but I loved them both the same. When one love dies, it doesn’t chase away the others.”

“You’re so lucky,” Hermione says, ignoring Harry’s incredulous expression. “You have Luna to help you through…through it all.”

But Harry shakes his head. "You’ve got it backwards, Hermione; I don't still have Luna, Luna still has me. She's a lot worse off than me now, believe me. And sick as it is, I think I got a bit…er, desensitized to loss. By the time G—by the time it happened I’d already lost so many that I think I was expecting it. But it’s not easier to deal with because I’ve still got Luna, if that’s what you’re saying.” He pulls Hermione closer, feeling her warm up from the chill in the unheated house. “I’m definitely luckier than you,” He murmurs in her ear. “You lost twice as much as me.”

Hermione’s hand is resting unconsciously on her belly. “We’d already named him, you know,” she says softly. “He never had to ask about the gender. The moment we heard he knew the name.”

“Please tell me it wasn’t Harry.”

Hermione snorts out a surprised laugh. “Of course not. Why would we want to torture him like that?” Harry makes an indignant sound, but smiles. “It was Arthur.”

“Oh.” Wand-to-wand with Lucius Malfoy. The daft, lovely sod should have known better.

“Harry?” Hermione says in a tiny voice, “Do you think it will ever stop hurting?”

“No,” Harry responds, because he knows that she knows any other answer would be a lie. “If it did it would mean we never really loved them.”

Hermione is crying again; not hysterically like before, no sobs and shaking, just tears running out and soaking the big H on Harry’s sweater. “Why did they all have to be so wonderful?” she asks pointlessly.

They were all wonderful, Harry thinks; and he was too late for each and every one of them. He arrived just in time to see Arthur hit by the Killing Curse. He found Molly the next day—she used the knife right that time. He witnessed Charlie force-fed poison, watched helplessly when the Inferi dragged Bill underwater and that stupid bint Fleur dove in after. He reached his wand just a second too late to get the Dementors off of Fred, and almost wished he’d let them do George too before he’d destroyed them. Percy had his leg almost burned off and gotten a nice long dose of Cruciatus, followed by an extended stay in Azkaban. Ginny—

Hermione instinctively draws Harry closer when he begins to sob again. “Harry…?”

“Sh-she was f-fine when I left,” Harry chokes out. “He ran and I f-followed. I was so bloody angry, I just wanted him dead. It was ten minutes before I thought of the Anti-Apparition Charm – I spent too long taking him down…too long enjoying killing him. And wh-when I got back…”

Luna had taken his hand and healed the small cut. When she didn’t say a word he’d known instantly. He didn’t even have to see her body.

“I f-failed,” he sobs. “failed everyone! All the Weasleys, Sirius, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Hagrid. And then Ron. Ron, I c-couldn’t even spare you having to see—! And then right when I think it’s f-finally done, G-G—”

“Ginny,” Luna says from the doorway, and Harry and Hermione break apart like lovers caught out in a tryst. “He won’t say her name, you know,” Luna says to Hermione; the airy quality was scourged from her voice months ago and it still hasn’t returned. “I suppose I understand why it would be painful. But I think you have to voice someone’s name to properly invoke their memory. Why are you avoiding touching Harry? He didn’t seem to mind.”

“I, um…I didn’t want you to think I was…” Hermione trails off nervously, wringing her hands in her lap.

Luna’s unblinking stare is unnerving. “If Harry needs something that you can give him then you should,” she says simply, walking closer. “Sex is a wonderful release, so maybe it would help both of you. Harry’s a very considerate lover; he’ll make certain you enjoy it.”

Harry catches a flash of something unclear on Luna’s face; almost everything Luna says is plain truth, to be taken at face value. Almost. He used to be able to differentiate, but not any longer. “Luna, Hermione hasn’t seen me in months; she’s not about to hop in the sack with me,” he says.

“There was a time when I would have,” Hermione says shyly, surprising the hell out of Harry. “Oh, don’t look at me like that—I’m only human. You certainly had enough crushes on girls!”

“There you are, then,” Luna says, as though the matter is settled. But now Harry has discerned what she’s thinking and he remembers how open she is now, like a wound wrapped in gauze, and there’s no way he’ll be alone with Hermione now, even innocently. “I’ll go back downstairs—”

“Wait—you’re serious!” Hermione declares, shocked.

“Lu, I won’t cheat on you,” Harry states flatly.

“Cheat?” Luna looks confused and relieved, together. “I didn’t say anything about cheating. Is it because I wouldn’t be here? I am feeling a bit tense myself, so perhaps it would be easier if the three of us—”

“Luna!” Hermione exclaims, and she looks so stunned Harry can’t help but laugh; he’s had plenty of time to get used to Luna’s surprising comments; it was a comment almost identical to this one that led to their first amazing night with G—with the three of them together. Luna’s desperation disguised as flightiness makes the suggestion seem more ludicrous, and the fact that Hermione doesn’t notice the desperation even more so.

“What’s so funny?” Hermione demands of Harry. “How can you laugh when Luna is trying to use me to replace Ginny for you?”

“You could never replace Ginny, Hermione,” Luna says before Harry can even open his mouth. “You’re too different from her. I was just talking about sex, but you might be too uptight for that.”

Hermione’s mouth opens and closes as she tries to properly voice her indignation. “Hermione,” Harry mutters, reaching for her hand, “you know Luna means well…”

“I don’t know,” Hermione says sharply, yanking her hand away from Harry. “You’re absolutely right, Harry—I never understood why you felt the need to…” Hermione trails off and looks disgusted with herself. “I’m sorry; that isn’t fair,” she mutters.

“People find what they need in vastly different circumstances. You had what you needed,” Luna says, pointing first to Hermione’s ring, and then to her belly. “So did we,” she adds, and smiles at Harry; he wishes he could look away, because the pain etched permanently into Luna’s face is open and raw, like everything about her. Luna returns her stare to Hermione. “I was simply suggesting we all give each other a bit of what we need now. Is it because it’s sex that you don’t want to? I know some people think sex is very inappropriate—or sacred—instead of a biological function.”

“No, it…Well, all right, yes, a part of it is,” Hermione answers, and Harry can see she is trying to maintain her composure in the face of Luna’s frankness.

“And a part of it is because you miss Ronald, and would feel like you were betraying him,” Luna states.

“I—no,” Hermione denies. Her composure is melting. “Honestly. I mean, of course I miss him. But R-Ron would have wanted me to be happy; I know that with every part of my being. He would want me to have what I need.”

“Well then, if you need something we can give you, why would you torture yourself denying it?” Luna asked reasonably.

“One night of…release wouldn’t help,” Hermione whispers. “Luna, I appreciate that you want to help me, truly. But I…I couldn’t let it be just physical—I’m not s-strong enough, not any more. My need and love are too muddled together. I so desperately want to climb into Harry’s arms and just give up everything, let him take care of me and love me, and that’s so incredibly unfair to you and to him—” She wipes her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt, and refuses to meet Luna’s or Harry’s gaze. “You both lost as much as I did, but you have each other and I’m so envious of you both! You have comfort that I can’t touch, I c-can’t ever see myself having again…”

“Harry and I aren’t so selfish that we’d keep each other from giving what we could to someone we care for,” Luna says softly. “And while we do have each other, we lost as much as you did, and hurt just as much as you do. I shared Harry with Ginny…Why wouldn’t I share him with you? Maybe you have something we need. It doesn’t have to be sex if you’re too conventional for that,” she adds, making Hermione smirk tearfully. “It might not be the fire Ginny made in us, or that Ronald made in you, but it’s something.” And Harry’s heart tears again, because he feels the cold the fire left behind, feels it in himself and every time he touches Luna’s skin. Cold like ice even on a hot summer day.

“I’d… I’d get jealous,” Hermione admits shamefully. “I’d resent you for taking part of Harry’s love and attention…and I’d resent Harry for the same thing.”

Luna looks at Hermione oddly, as if what she just said was incomprehensible. “Do you think that Ginny and Harry and I never resented each other?” she asks finally. “There were times I definitely hated each of them, or both of them. I’m sure I’ll resent you quite a lot just for being around, because knowing Harry he’ll want to spend a lot of time taking care of you even if you decide not to let him.”

Hermione snorts, seeing the truth in Luna’s observation. “Harry can’t help himself. It’s the bloody power the Dark, Decapitated, Deceased Lord knows not.”

Harry scowls as though offended, but it’s tinged with humor, and relief that Hermione is at least listening instead of being her usual stubborn self. “Knew not,” he corrects dryly. “And I notice that I’m not even being consulted in all this,”

“That’s because you get no say,” Hermione retorts.

“Yes Harry, you need more than any of us,” Luna agrees, “and you know you have trouble with asking for what you need, so it’ll be easier on all of us if we just give it to you and ignore your complaints.”

Hermione laughs outright at Harry’s indignant squawk. “Well… Rather than be accused of copying Harry, I suppose I’d best stop arguing,” she says shyly. “But Luna... I don’t want you to be angry or disappointed because –well, because of what I’m not.”

“You can’t offer us what you aren’t,” Luna protests, and Harry can tell even Hermione hears the hint of desperation in her voice this time. She needs. “We can only accept what you offer.”

Well, if…if you’re sure I won’t get in the way…”

“Hermione, you heard what Luna said: you will get in the way, and we don’t care,” Harry tells her. He reaches for her hand again, and this time she lets him take it. “We’re friends and we’ll do what friends do for each other.”

“I—I don’t know if I can—” Hermione stammers, and there’s a flush in her cheeks that glows through the redness from her crying.

“Convention is very difficult to let go of,” Luna says solemnly. Hermione and Harry both laugh.

“Well, anything you can think of to help me get over that would be wonderful,” Hermione says wryly.

Harry knows instantly that Hermione has no idea what she’s just left herself open to, but she realizes very quickly once Luna’s lips are on hers. He waits for her to pull away, stammer out some excuse… but instead she closes her eyes and accepts. The kiss is perhaps not sexual to her, but a promise. No expectations are to be laid upon a friendship made all the more precious by its scarcity.

Harry has turned away when the two girls break apart. “Harry?” Hermione says tentatively.

Luna sits down and puts her arms around Harry, and after a moment of hesitation Hermione does too. “Sorry,” Harry sputters. “Didn’t think that seeing that would—sorry,” he said lamely, and tried to shrug the girls off. “You don’t have to—”

“You get no say, Harry,” Hermione repeats, tightening her grip. “So you may as well stop complaining.”

Harry gives in readily; it is, after all, what he needs. Luna’s hand is resting on Hermione’s arm, and Hermione’s hand has found its way to Luna’s lap. Once Harry has stopped crying, Luna speaks; “I think we should stay here,” she says quietly, surprising both the others.

“But Luna, this house feels like—” Hermione searches for the word.

“A coffin,” Harry says bluntly. “This house was a part of the Weasley family, and that family is dead. It’s a dead place.”

“When Harry came up here I stopped in Ginny’s old room, and after a few moments it came to life again,” Luna replies. “The Burrow has been life to all of us. The three of us may not fill it the same way or as full as the Weasleys did…well, not at first. But we can fill it with ourselves, and it can live a different life. I’d much rather remember this house as a cradle than a coffin.”

“Did… did you find something down there?” Harry asks in a tiny voice.

“I did,” Luna answers with a nod. “I found Ginny. Our Ginny, not the one who died. She was there, laughing at the look on Harry’s face the first time I kissed him.”

Harry hears the whimsical joy in Luna’s voice resurrected, and wonders if he’s avoiding the obvious answers when he looks for people. Places can have certain meanings. He looks to Hermione, who is clearly over-thinking, as usual. “You couldn’t stay away, Hermione,” he says. “Neither could we.”

“Would you like to see Ginny again, Harry?” Luna asks, full of innocence.

Harry’s muscles jump under Hermione’s hands; he isn’t strong enough either, not any more. “Don’t ask him, Luna,” Hermione admonishes with surprising fondness. “Just ignore his complaints.” She stands and offers Harry her hand—the injured one, and he is stunned as he takes it. “Once you’ve visited Ginny, Harry…I think I’d like to see Ron.”

FIN