1,000 Days

Chapter 3

Hermione

Hermione woke up that morning in a state of wonder. Nine years had passed since she'd last spoken to Harry, and now he was here. She saw him every day. It was like they were teenagers again....

And Harry still had secrets. It was obvious. Those cryptic conversations between Harry and some of the other staff members, especially Malfoy, were the biggest clue. What was with that? And last night she'd seen him walk intoHarry's room. She'd been on her way there to tell Harry the secret she'd been holding onto for 8 ½ years.

That secret, that one little secret would change not only her life, but his life as well.

But there was more to it than that. It was the secret that would come out, no matter what, in two years, maybe less, and then there was the other one. The one she could tell him and not have to worry about, but this one...could she ever do it?

Did she even have a choice? He would know if he were still teaching.

Hermione sat down in the staff room for breakfast and stared out through the open window. She saw owls flying home from the nights hunt and the sky was brilliantly blue and clear. It would be a beautiful day, and she would be stuck inside doing paperwo.

The door opened and two people entered. Hermione looked up at the two men and watched them sit down, seemingly as far apart from each other as they could possibly be.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked her.

"Nothing," Hermione replied distantly.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked again, obviously not convinced.

Hermione looked into Harry's eyes, determined that nothing was wrong with her. She shook her head.

"Nothing's wrong," she insisted. "I'm spacey, that's all."

"You sure?" Harry asked.

"Don't worry about it, Harry."

She didn't let him say anything more before getting up and walking away. She went to her room and opened a box that was in her desk drawer. Inside was a picture of her and Harry, smiling and waving. It was taken the day before she left. That was the day it happened.

Flash Back <>

"I don't want you to leave," Harry said sitting down next to her on the sofa in his small crowded London flat, a glass of Firewiskey in his hand. "Who's to say we won't loose touch over the year?"

"I'll be home every summer, Harry," she insisted, drinking some of her own. "It's not like I'm leaving forever."

"That's what it feels like."

"Why?" she asked confused, turning to face him. "It's only ten months."

"Ten months of every year. You'll be gone from August until June. I hate it."

"Why do you hate it? One would think you would be dying to get rid of me by now. After all, I've been looming over your shoulder, correcting your every move for the last who-knows-how-many years."

"15," he clarified. "That's what I love about you though," he confessed.

Three hours later, when the both of them were far past reasonably drunk, Hermione stumbled over to him and leaned over to whisper something in his ear.

Harry laughed and kissed her drunkenly. "You're lucky I love you," he said against her lips.

"No," she replied. "I'm lucky I have you."

End Flash Back

Perhaps that was the reason she and Harry lost touch. Alcohol and sex usually lead to children, and she was afraid. So much happened that year, she almost lost the job she'd barely received. Luckily for her, McGonagall understood enough to let her stay and gave her extreme leniency. She even took over lessons while Hermione was in the hospital wing.

She was so scared. Being a pregnant professor wasn't the easiest thing in the world, especially when she tried hiding it for so long.

Shleft her room, deciding that now was as good a time as any to get started on her paperwork.

I have to tell him, she thought opening her office door. She pulled another small picture from the desk drawer and decided that was how she would tell him. The person in the photograph had his green eyes, his black hair, and (thankfully) his teeth. The person also had her intelligence, her eyesight, and her freckles. Ayden would be a Gryffindor with a Ravenclaw's intelligence; there was no doubt about that.

Harry would see the photograph and he would know. When, she didn't know. She didn't know if she would ever be ready to tell him, but she knew she had to. She couldn't let this secret go unsaid forever. Especially when Harry could still be teaching when the boy begins his schooling.

There was a knock on the door and Myrna Waters, the new arithmancy professor, walked in.

"Hello, Hermione," she said sitting in the chair directly across from her.

"Hello, Myrna," Hermione responded with a smile. She placed the picture back in her desk, but not before Myrna saw the subject.

"When are you going to tell him?" she asked.

"I don't know that I can," Hermione responded truthfully, "but I have to. It's just so hard. He's not the same person he was nine years ago. So much has changed." She sighed and sat back in her chair. "When we were at Hogwarts, there was nothing we didn't know about each other, nothing we couldn't say, but now...now there are so many secrets, it's like I don't know him anymore."

"You know him," Myrna assured her. "He hasn't changed that much."

"Nine years ago, he would never have quit the Auror business. Now he does. It's like he's an entirely different person. Not to mention his secrets."

"He had secrets before. So did you, you know. You can't use the fact that he has secrets to keep from telling him yours. He needs to know, he deserves to know."

"Not like this. He told me those secrets. He told me everything. He used to always confide in me. Now he won't. He's changed."

"Everyone does, but he hasn't changed as much as you think he has."

"But he has changed more than you realize."

"You have to tell him. If he's still teaching in two years, he'll know. The kid does have his name, his looks, and his personality after all. You really don't have a choice. He'll come crashing down on you if he doesn't find out until the Sorting ceremony."

"I can already hear him yelling," she confessed softly. "I can hear exactly what he's going to say, what he's going to do, how his arms are going to tense and his hands will be balled into fists and how he's going to hit something as soon as I run out in tears."

"Then tell him."

"How?"

"I don't know, it's not my secret to tell."

"How would you tell Benjamin about Charlie?"

"I don't know," Myrna replied with a sigh. "I just don't know."

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. "Why does this have to be so hard?" she asked to no one in particular. "Why can't I just say it?"

"If it were that easy, my child's father would know as well."

"I never had a problem telling Ron," Hermione said shaking her head. "Not once in nine years have I had a problem telling anything to Ron. When he makes a promise, he keeps it. Harry doesn't know that we've been talking, and he doesn't know about Ayden."

"Ayden isn't Ron's child. And besides, you didn't get drunk with Ron. Not to mention Ayden stays with Ron."

"Sometimes." she sighed. "Right now he's with my parents. I can't risk Ron slipping and bringing him to a Quidditch match."

"Is Harry a fan or something?"

Hermione burst out in laughter. "Merlin, is he ever. He's almost as big a fan as Ron. Hell, he could have gone and played for any team he wanted, had the war not been such a big part of his life. He could still play, if he wanted to."

"Why doesn't he coach?" she asked. "That way, he could still be involved."

"The Defense means so much more to him. And after having to fight the greatest evil of our time, he wants to prevent another one from rising. I don't blame him. No one should have to go through what he had to. Ever."

"I told you you still know him. Anyway," she said changing the subject, "the anniversary of the end of the war is coming up, any plans?"

"The anniversary is tomorrow and no, I'd rather not remember it."

"It's a celebration though!"

"Did you fight that war?" Hermione asked. "Did you have to see the horrors day after day?"

"No."

"No. You didn't. That is why you celebrate. In all of your years of working here, have you ever once seen Dumbledore, McGonagall, Neville, Luna, or any of the others who fought in that war celebrate? Tomorrow may be a holiday for you, but for us it is a bitter reminder of what we lost, of who we lost. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to."

Hermione stiffly rose from her chair and exited the room, leaving Myrna sitting in stunned silence.

*****

Hermione sat in her room sipping her tea thinking about the past. After she'd lost touch with Harry, she'd gotten her information about him second hand from Ron. There had been no warning about Harry quitting, but Ron had been the first to know. Ron had told her, and she had told McGonagall, knowing the DADA job was vacant again. Trusettes decided to quit last year when she'd decided she'd had enough of the rowdy children.

There was a knock on her door, startling her back into the present.

She rose from her spot on the sofa and answered the door.

"Harry!" she greeted brightly, though feeling herself crumble inside. Would tonight be the night to tell him? She opened the door wide enough for him to enter and followed him over to the sofa. "Would you like some tea?" she asked, heart racing.

She no longer marveled at how calm she appeared when he was around, but more that she still could keep her cool. Even after more than 20 years, she still half expected herself to act more like Ginny did when she was head-over-heals for Harry.

"Sure, that'd be great," Harry replied, sounding as though something was wrong, but when Hermione asked what was troubling him, he replied that nothing was amiss.

"Don't give me that, Harry," she ordered sharply. "I can tell something is the matter. Now, what is it?"

"Just nerves I guess," he replied. "The term starts next week and...oh, I don't know."

"Harry, you'll do fine. Remember Dumbledore's Army?"

Harry nodded. "I remember," he replied, still distant.

"You did fine then, you'll do just as well now. Better even, now you have professional training and know exactly what to do. Just remember how you did it."

"What if they ask about Voldemort?" he asked, finally looking at her as though she were more than a passing ornament in the room.

"Do what you did with the DA. Tell them when you're ready."

Harry sighed and leaned back against the back of the sofa. "And if I'm only ready to tell one person?" he asked with his eyes closed.

"Then tell that one person." Hermione replied.

"How much do you want to know?" Harry asked looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Hermione stared at that dark green color. Those eyes were still so bright, but they weren't as full of life as they once had been. Time changes people; she knew that. But how much does it take for one to loose the life they had held onto so dearly for so long?

"How much do you want to tell me?" she asked knowing that he was finally ready to tell her.

Harry started from the very beginning--the prophecy. Hermione had been right when she had assumed Harry knew more than he was telling. He knew the whole thing. He then talked about Voldemort's rebirth back in fourth year. After that, he told her what he couldn't tell her in fifth year--exactly what happened after she'd been cursed.

Then he told her about the Final Battle.

It had happened in Goldric's Hollow, the place where it had begun. He said they'd never touched the house, yet it was all Muggle. Wood and bricks were still where his house had once stood. The yard was overgrown with weeds and was impossible to walk through. Voldemort had chosen this place. He said so when they met up, said he'd wanted it to end where it had began.

Harry had been there to investigate a Dark Mark sighting near Goldric's Hollow.

They dueled for hours. Teasing each other. Waiting for the moment the other cracked and lost his temper. Voldemort had reached that point first, and Harry had been more than ready. He said their wands had joined, like they did in fourth year. He said he broke the connection, and shouted the killing curse before Voldemort could regain control of himself.

But the curse hadn't killed him. Voldemort still lived. He had too many spells around him, preventing his death. So they called in one of the few Dementors still loyal to the Ministry to suck out his soul. Whatever soul he had left anyway. Then they killed the body....

"It was horrible, Hermione," he finished. "Afterwards, I couldn't believe what I had done. I was actually in therapy for five months afterward.

"And that girl.... She could have been five, she could have been eight, I just don't know anymore. All I can remember is her eyes and the way her hair bounced as she ran out to investigate the commotion. She was so scared, so innocent. She didn't deserve to die..."

He had been distant through the entire telling of the tale. Even more so now that he had finished. It was like he was re-living the entire thing: the fighting, the losses of life, and the aftermath. Hermione put her arm around him, trying to calm him down.

That was when he broke down. He started crying. Not calm gentle tears. No. Heart wrenching sobs that broke Hermione's heart.

"Was it the same therapist?" she asked trying to lighten the situation. As much as Harry needed to cry, she couldn't stand to watch it.

He laughed slightly. "No," he answered. "A different one."

She hugged him then, and held on tightly as he began to cry on her shoulder. "It'll be alright," she whispered. "Everything will be just fine."

"When?" he sobbed. "I can't take this anymore."

"Soon, Harry," she promised. "Soon."

Finally Harry calmed down. Hermione knew him well enough to know that this was just the beginning. Harry had only just begun moving past this. This same exact thing had happened when Sirius died.

"It'll be okay, Harry," she said again and kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry sighed, wiping his eyes. "I don't mean to cry to you like this, I know you hate it, it's just that I feel like I have no one. There are times when Ron won't even speak to me and I don't know why. He always comes out with this story that is so outrageous that it can't be true, yet there is no evidence to prove otherwise. Do you know anything?"

Hermione sat still. She knew exactly why Ron would stop talking to Harry for a time. And even if Ron were around, Harry would never talk to him like he did her. In fact, Hermione well remembered that Harry would never show how badly he was hurting when Ron was around. Sometimes the very second Ron was gone, Harry would break down and cry to her. She couldn't count the number of times this had happened during their sixth year and the summer of Sirius' death.

"I know, Harry," she whispered. "I know exactly why. And I don't hate you crying. It hurts, Harry, I'll give you that, but you need to, and if I can help you by being the shoulder that you do cry on, I'm honored. And don't you dare think that I hate it--or you for it. I could never hate you."

"Why?" he asked. "Why does Ron do that?"

"I can't tell you that right now," she replied. "I don't know when, but you'll know eventually."

"What are you not telling me?"

"What are you not telling me?" she shot back. "You and Malfoy, what are you not telling me?"

"I can't tell you that right now," he replied, using her words. "I don't know when, but you'll know eventually."

"I see."

"No, I don't think you do."

"Maybe you're right," she spat. "Maybe I don't understand. How can I when I don't know what is going on and not a damn soul will tell me?" she yelled standing. "Merlin, Harry, I can see that something is eating you up inside, and it kills me because I love you! Why wont you tell me?"

Hermione had her own tears to cry now. She had a steady flow coming from her eyes and falling off her cheeks. Harry stood and wiped them away. "Don't cry, love," he whispered. "I swear to you that you will know when I am ready to tell you."

"Love?" she asked.

He nodded. "You know I do."

"I don't think it's the same."

"Things change in time," Harry replied. They'd had this conversation many times when they were at Hogwarts. Harry would say 'I love you,' Hermione would tell him it wasn't the same kind of love that she had for him. His answer was often the same: Things change in time. But how much time would it take for him to love her? A thousand days maybe?