Hello beautifuls!

I'm really really REALLY sorry for the lack of updating when I said I was going to update. Again, whereas I have no real life, my beta has, and I depend on her magical touch :D.

I didn't find the right chapter (I most probably deleted it thinking it was the draft…) so I had to rebuild it entirely. It took me hell, to be honest, but well, I hope you like it.

Thanks a bunch for reading!

Madelaine x

PS: On a side note, rebumping up stories in here is more complicated than any Einstein's theory, good lord… ;-D

*************************

MENDING THE WRONG

*************************

“Harry, you're coming tonight, right?”

Today was the last day of Duelling Training for a while, and even though we're all beat and tired, a sort of celebration has been planned for tonight.

“I'm sorry, Helena, I don't think I'm going.”

She's not satisfied with the answer; she never is, so I brace myself for -

“Come on, Harry! You never go anywhere with us!

She's right, of course. Unlike Ron, who is always up for it, I am less inclined to hang out with our training classmates. Somehow she guessed I wasn't planning on going tonight either. Black-haired, slender, athletic, beautiful. And very determined, she is. And still…

It's been more than nine months since Ginny and I broke up. It was a long process, but Ron was right. As painful and uncomfortable as it was, Ginny is a tough one, so after a while, things went back to normal. We're not best friends -in truth, we never were- but at least things stopped being extremely uncomfortable.

Helena, along with a rather high number of witches, seems to think that it is time for old Harry Potter to have some fun. I don't get why they all think I'm in dire need of cheering up. I really don't. I'm ok. Honest. More ok than any of them can imagine. For the first time in my life, I feel free and loved. And if not content, because I still dream of The War every night, at least content with the state of things…almost, anyway. But overall, all is well.

I try to convince her that I'm just tired and I don't really feel like partying, but she doesn't seem interested in my excuses. She tells me I don't need to worry about her throwing herself at my feet tonight, since I've made it abundantly clear that I'm not interested in her, or any other witch, for that matter. The way she says it would have made me feel a little guilty had I not known that she hasn't really given up. And neither have the other witches, to my utter embarrassment most of the time.

“Come on, Harry,” she says, stepping closer. “You always look so tired and gloomy. And we really want you to be there, yes?”

I consider for a moment. Well, it's a special party after all; Ron and Hermione will be there, too. And we're taking a well-earned break. The first since we started months ago.

As soon as she realises I have somewhat agreed, I feel a pair of strong arms around my neck. Too tight of a hug, actually.

“Harry, are you— oh, I'm sorry,” a voice comes from the door, where Hermione is standing, looking slightly shocked, and probably deciding whether she should stay or leave.

Helena lets go of me and storms out of the room, barely acknowledging Hermione, but not before reminding me that I'm a man of my word and I have finally said yes.

I can't help but smile at Hermione's stunned face. She's never really liked Helena since Day One, and the feeling is definitely not one-sided. They couldn't be more different, considering Helena is a scary mix between Parvati, Lavender and Ginny, all rolled into one. At the beginning of Auror training, when we first met Helena and she was seriously set on winning my affections, she confessed to me that she was so very jealous of Hermione, who, though happily dating Ron, always gave off this territorial vibe wherever I was involved.

Well, Hermione was very good at protecting me from the hordes of fan girls I had to deal with since my break up with Ginny, and I must confess that I was more than pleased with it, so I gave her free reign on the matter. We never discussed it, ever, but after New Year's Eve, I knew she knew. And because she knew, I'm sure she felt somewhat responsible of my supposed `unhappiness.' Bless her.

“And?” I hear Hermione say, bringing me back to reality. She's looking at me, raising an eyebrow.

“And, nothing. She just came to invite me to the party tonight.”

“Well, she can be really convincing, I see.”

I can't help but laugh as I put the last of my things into my training bag. From time to time, I indulge in the fantasy that Helena's Auror instincts are correct and Hermione does get slightly jealous.

“So…are you going, then?” she asks me as we walk together towards the closest fireplace.

“Well, I don't feel much like partying, to be honest. More like having a long, long shower and sleeping for a week. But I said I'd go. I never do anything with them, you know.”

She smiles. “I know.”

She does know. Unlike Ron, who is always willing to have some fun with the rest of the trainees, Hermione is not a great fan of outings, either. She used to go along with him, to silence Ron's complaints mostly. But other times, she would stay to keep me company at home, a regular occurrence once she didn't feel obligated anymore.

Sometimes I wish she didn't stay; that she would go with Ron and the others, too. But I can't tell her that without hurting her feelings, so I've had to re-master my talent of, in those days, think of her as I used to before…well, before things changed for me. Or didn't change at all. I just realised.

I look at her, walking beside me, smiling and saying goodbye to some people as we stop in front of the fireplace.

“Ron's going, by the way,” she says, reaching for some Floo powder.

“He is?” I laugh. “He didn't send you to convince my gloomy third of the Trio to show up, did he?”

I love her smiles. I truly do.

“Actually, yes, but…” she pauses, not looking at me. “Well, I don't think I'm going, so I can hardly pester you, can I?”

I look at her, suddenly suspicious of that little barely there smile.

“Is everything ok, Hermione?”

She looks at me for a moment, the powder in her hand, with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

“Yes, Harry, of course. Grimmauld, right?”

Several seconds pass before I nod and watch her disappear into the flames.

Five minutes later we are in my kitchen. She's staying for lunch, as she often does. I listen to her while preparing the pasta. I like cooking without magic -I like doing many things without magic, actually- so she takes seat at my kitchen table, asking me about this and that and...

And I know her. She's telling me she'll leave me to prepare for the party. Perhaps I'm imagining things, but there's definitely something amiss with her today. Especially when I see her trying to smile as she explains her plans, which involve just staying at home, having a relaxing bath, and reading a bit. Or, even better, she says, watching Pride and Prejudice yet again.

And then I suddenly know. For some reason, she needed one of our best friends' nights tonight. Perhaps she came to suggest it when she found me with Helena. But of course she won't tell me. Not after last summer.

It's scary, that déjà vu feeling.

“Ok, Hermione. What's wrong,” I state more than ask, putting her plate in front of her.

She tries to talk like she's all right and has no idea of what gives me the idea. But I know her; and she's not trying that hard, anyway.

I choose to be a Gryffindor this time.

“You had plans for us tonight and I ruined it all, right?” I try to sound light, almost teasing, but I see her redden all the same.

“Don't be silly,” she says to her pasta. “You didn't ruin anything. And you know I still am very sorry for that, Harry.”

I can't help the little smile that appears on my face.

My Hermione.

That, as she calls it, was the worst fight in our history as best friends. I had never thought I'd see the day when Hermione Granger would get angry and bitter because I had made plans -a dinner with a witch that ended with me in bed, alone, by eleven- the same day she had come to invite me for dinner.

Angry as she was, I got even angrier. Angry, but mostly hurt. She had no right. But when the very next day she Apparated to my door -she didn't want to intrude in case I had someone here, she said- with puffy eyes and blurting apologies and bear hugs, all was forgotten.

“I just…” she trails, and finally looks up. “I just assumed you weren't going to attend. I know, I mustn't assume, Harry. But don't worry, it's ok,” she smiles now. “I can always go to bed with Mr. Darcy.”

“I'm sorry, Hermione, really. I didn't know.”

“Of course you didn't, silly. I'm glad you didn't, and I'm glad you're having some fun at last.”

“Hey, I have lots of fun.”

She laughs. “Of course, Potter,” and she takes another forkful of pasta in her mouth. “What I still can't believe,” she says, and stops to properly chew and swallow. “It's that you finally said yes to…what's her name again?”

“Helena.”

“Ah, yes, Helena. As in Helen of Troy. Look how well that went.”

Now it's me who bursts out laughing and almost chokes on my food.

“You're terrible, Hermione!” I say, and she rolls her eyes. “And it's not like it's a date. I said yes to going there with the rest of the team, you know.”

I hear her muttering something, and I can't help but feel all warm inside as I watch her finish her meal. She does love me after all, no matter if entirely platonic. Hearts don't make those sorts of distinctions. They just feel the warmth.

When we're finished, we move to the couch. It's only 4pm, so I turn on the telly and go through the channels.

“You know there's nothing worth watching at this time of day,” she says, amused, making herself comfortable on the couch. She hands me a couple of pillows.

I finally find some animal documentary, look at her and smugly tell her that I knew there was something interesting out there.

And she shouldn't do that.

She shouldn't look at me that way.

“Come here,” she beckons softly, and I can't help but wonder if she ever thinks of that day at the tent. The first of many days. She ruffles my hair as I get closer, and before I can do something, my head is on her lap and her hand is caressing my hair and I don't know how I manage.

****

The next time I open my eyes, the TV is off, and the room much darker. I remember then that Hermione's fingers were in my hair, that I must have fallen asleep at some point, and Hermione must be home by now.

Well, I'm wrong.

I'm not alone on the couch.

Hermione didn't go home.

I don't remember her laying beside me, but she is. Her left arm around my middle, her left leg on top of mine. And her breath... She's breathing into my neck, and I suddenly feel the need to get away from this couch. It must be around seven, anyway.

She is free now, I tell myself, as that part of me is been whispering since that night at the Burrow, not three months after the night at the pub with Ron, when they surprised everyone with the news of their break up. They never said a word about the particulars, only that they had decided that it was for the best, and they were going to be ok.

I never asked. Not openly, at least. Hermione gave me a tight hug when I told her I would be there for her, no matter what. And Ron…well, we met again in the pub a week later. It's for the best, Harry, really, he said. I really am not oblivious anymore, eh? He tried to lighten up the situation, but the sadness in his eyes told me otherwise. He had opened his heart to me, after all. I felt genuinely sad for him, while trying to remember if I could have said something, do something that day that made things worse somehow. Apparently, I didn't.

And what now? What have I done? Nothing. We have lunches, and dinners, and training together. But those nights alone with her that I equally treasure and dread. I have to give her time before…well, I don't know. Before the memory of my best friend's pained look in the pub, playing with his pint fades away. Before she can think of me differently. Before I can gather some courage. Or those are my excuses, anyway, for it is better than thinking that she simply doesn't want me.

I try to move without making too much noise. I don't care if she stays here, sleeping. She's hardly been sleeping lately. But then I feel her stirring behind me.

I feel other things, too.

“Harry?” she mutters, half asleep, and I roll on my left to face her. I instantly miss her arm around me, but she has tucked her hand under her head, just like the other was. In the dim light of the room, her gaze feels different.

“Yes?” I barely whisper, afraid to end the moment if I speak louder.

“I fell asleep.”

“I know,” and I smile. “Me too.”

“It must be almost seven. You should be going.”

“Yes.”

“Because you said you'd go.”

“Yes.”

But I don't move, I can't move, and she's not moving either. She's just looking at me, in my eyes. In my soul. And when I look back, I can't stop my words from coming out.

“Do you want me to stay, Hermione?”

She moves slightly. She's closer now. Too close.

“Harry—”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” she breathes.

And then I close my eyes, because I can feel her hot breath on my mouth and my breath on hers and I can't move.

The next thing I know is that Hermione, my best friend since forever, Ron's ex-girl, the woman I love above all things and creatures, has her lips on mine. There's no mistake.

She's kissing me.

As I lie there, frozen, I search for a logical explanation, the reason as to why she's doing this. Most likely I was right and she's feeling down. But this is not a friendly kiss. She shouldn't…

But she is, and I can think and feel nothing but her mouth, which is now doing more, trapping my lower lip between hers, caressing, tasting.

The question, buried for months, surfaces again. Is this what Ron felt every time they kissed? Merlin, I don't want to think anymore.

And that's probably why one of my hands suddenly grasps her nape, and the other caresses her face, and her hands grab my shirt, and we're kissing, properly kissing, closer than we've ever been. Merlin, I never knew…

But the kiss ends, leaving us there, both breathing heavily, our features darkened in the dim light of the room. And as suddenly as it started, the moment ends, and she sits up, her mouth open in horror, or shame, I can't tell, but definitely not the one I have envisioned in my dreams so many times.

I dread what's coming.

“Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry,” she sounds like she's about to cry.

I sit up beside her. I don't understand.

“Don't,” I try to sound soothing and natural, but she can't even look at me. “Hermione, look at me.”

She does. And I fall in love all over again.

“What's wrong? I'm the one wh -”

“I've spent my whole life wanting you to be happy, Harry,” she says with such a calmed tone that scares me. “Me hurting you is simply against my nature. And still…”

She pauses, taking a deep breath before going on.

“Perhaps I'm assuming too much here, but last Christmas, something changed. Like…like you…” she looks extremely embarrassed. “Why did you leave Ginny, Harry?”

The question should be simple enough to answer, since I've known the answer forever, and I suspect she's assuming correctly, too.

“I didn't love her,” I finally say. “And she deserved more. She deserved being loved in the same way she loved me. I couldn't offer her that.”

She nods, her head down, and I realise she's having trouble keeping the tears at bay.

“The simple idea of me hurting you in any way kills me, Harry. I've told you, it's against my nature. After New Year's Eve…everything changed. In my head, anyway. For weeks I couldn't stop thinking, wishing things were different, and you could go back to Ginny, or meet a wonderful witch- ” She pauses, looking down, a small sad smile on her lips. “But as it turned out, every time the opportunity presented itself, I despised any woman who dared to come close to you. So much for your happiness meaning everything to me.

“In my head, I was just being overprotective. Of course it made sense that I was overprotective of you, I guess,” she continues, “I was your best friend after all. How stupid…But I soon started to run out of excuses. `It's normal to care for Harry, he's my best friend', I'd reason. `It's normal to think of what Harry will be doing. It's normal to think of him and smile and feel giddy when I know I'll be seeing him.' Oh, Merlin, I am stupid. I should have known better. Well, maybe I knew,” she says, “but chose to look elsewhere. The alternative…well, the alternative scared me more than I had ever been. Ever, Harry.”

“That horrible, uh?” I say smiling, and I swear I don't know how I manage to sound light when my heart is practically breaking my ribs.

“Silly,” she smiles back, her eyes moist. “I was with Ron. I truly thought I loved Ron. I had waited for so long. But then… I didn't even bother to fight with him anymore, Harry. It was just not worth the effort most of the time. I know he loved me, he made sure he told me often enough, but I…I felt so horrible,” she says, her voice finally cracking. “I didn't want to hurt him. I didn't want to hurt you. And in the end I hurt everyone. Everything was going to be so good for all of us this year…”

For a moment I'm sure I won't be able to stop myself from kissing those tears away, but we need to talk, so a conjured handkerchief will have to do. She even pauses to sincerely thank me for it.

How I love this woman.

“And then,” she continues, handkerchief in hand, “then we had that horrible fight last summer.” She looks at me then. “We had a fight that day over your plans just because I was jealous, Harry. That is the sad truth: I was plainly and utterly jealous. I had no right to be angry at you for having plans that didn't involve me, but someone else. But I…” she trails, looking at her hands, which are playing with the little piece of fabric. “I…well, I had planned something that night. I thought… Merlin, I don't think I can tell you.”

I take her hands in mine, caressing her soft skin with my thumbs. And because I don't think I can go on without her reassuring touch.

“You know you can tell me anything.”

She nods, looking down at our joined hands, a shy smile on her lips when she looks up again.

“I was going to take you out.”

I stare at her, waiting for her to continue, but she seems to be expecting something else.

“On a date, Harry,” she explains. “I was going to ask if you…well, if you could or would go out, on a date, with me.”

“Oh,” I say, unable to elaborate beyond that.

“You don't have to show how elated the prospect of a date with me gets you,” she teases, and I realise that I must look as confused and lost as I'm feeling. Little by little, her words reach my brain, but the implications of what she's saying, or what I am understanding… Merlin, what is she really saying?

“That's why you were so angry, of course,” I finally say, things making sense in my mind at last. “I ruined our first date in the worst possible way.”

Our first date.

She smiles, and I feel her fingers caressing my hands. Perhaps she needs reassurance, too.

“You didn't know, Harry. You couldn't know that I had spent the last months thinking of every reason for not doing anything, and most importantly, the one reason for doing it. I wasn't even sure that you felt…well, something for me anymore. But, just my luck, the day I finally gathered the courage to ask you out, you had plans with another woman.”

There are so many things I want to tell her right now. Like how she didn't have to spend any second worrying over that woman, or any other woman, because she wasn't her. That she shouldn't have felt horrible for knowing, when I was the one who messed things up, even if unintentionally. That I love her more than I thought I was capable of loving anything or anyone, so of course I still had feelings last summer, and right now, and forever.

Instead, I only whisper the next best thing.

“Hermione…”

She brings my hands to her lips, placing the most gentle of kisses there. My sight is blurring, but I still can see her eyes, her beautiful and intelligent eyes, that seem to be still troubled by something.

“I shouldn't have assumed that you still wanted to…well, that you —”

“Loved you?”

She smiles, reddening.

“I didn't know, Harry. Not really. And I was so afraid that you could think I was just taking advantage of the fact that you…well, that things had changed for you. I didn't even know if after all that time...And, besides, I was starting to believe that I was a scarlet woman, jumping from one best friend to another just like that.”

I laugh, the tension I've been feeling for the last few minutes coming out in a deliriously happy laugh. Suddenly calm again, it's her hands I kiss this time.

“Can you forgive me, Harry?” she suddenly says, and a fear that I got it all wrong suddenly grips my heart. “Can you forgive me for hurting you?”

“You've not hurt me, Hermione, you never have. Even if I, well…even if things changed for me and I couldn't have what I really wanted, I knew you loved me more than anyone has ever loved me. Ever. And I knew you were happy, both of you, so that was enough.”

She moves to look at me, but barely, so I can still hold her.

“It was?” she asks me, sadness in her voice.

“It had to be.”

As I stare into her eyes, and she into mine, I just know I have to ask, no matter how weak it may sound.

“Hermione,” I say, closing the distance between us.

“Yes?”

“I need to hear it.”

Her palms find my face, her soul my soul. She understands, of course.

“I love you, Harry.”

Her words reeling in my head, I fear looking like a ninny, tears and all.

Of course, she understands, and places a gentle kiss on my mouth before speaking again.

“After so many months thinking of everything we've gone through, from that fateful Halloween night in the girls' toilet to last Christmas, I now know it. It's you Harry, it's always been you for me. It runs so deep within me that it took some time for me to recognise it for what it was. For what it is. And perhaps I am assuming too much once again but, if you'd still have me, I'd want nothing but to be able to tell you how much I love you, every day.”

I don't know how many times I have dreamt of this very moment, the moment Hermione Granger puts an end to my past life, a life full of misery and struggles and death, simply by telling me that she feels the same, that she loves me, totally and unconditionally. In my dreams, I always find the right words, which in turn make her whisper my name softly, while I wipe little happy tears off her lovely cheek.

Now the dream is reality at last. She loves me. She has put an end to my misery, making me feel that everything I've been through, everything, is been worth it if it was leading me to this moment. But as it, I can't mutter a word, and as much as I try to swallow it, the blasted lump is closing my throat. And it's her, not me, the one wiping tears off. My tears.

“Hermione,” I finally whisper, wiping her tears off her cheeks, too. “My Hermione.”

She smiles. And nods. And it's all I can remember before our lips meet again.

*

The room is darker than dark, now. I don't know what time is it, but I should be at the party, as I promised. But I think I'm just going to lay here, in the darkness, with this wonderful woman finally in my arms, and this stupid grin on my face, and letting this new-found peace engulf me until morning.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Poll: Needs wrap up chappie or not? What do you think?