Circle's Close

Now that we're here, it's so far away,
All the struggle we thought was in vain,
And all the mistakes, one life contained,
They all finally start to go away,
And now that we're here, it's so far away,
And I feel like I can face the day,
And I can forgive,
And I'm not ashamed to be
The Person that I am today
'So Far Away' ~Staind

*
Chapter Two: Ghost of a Nightmare

All Harry could see was green light. Not that of an electric lamp, or of a gentle glow, but only of darkness and evil. It made his blood run cold. Harry hadn't had this nightmare in a long time, at least not since he and Hermione had discovered their growing feelings for each other, and had acted on them.

He was witnessing the death of his parents again. The Killing Curse was always relentless, the screams of his parents deafening to his ears, so terrible in fact, that Harry felt he--himself--was dying. He could never see his parents in these dreams. But he could sense them, as though they were apart of his spiritual being. After being blinded by the bright, green light he only heard a high pitched, icy laughter. Voldemort.

Harry instantly woke up with a start. Knowing it was only a dream while he was dreaming was the only benefit to these nightmares, so he could pull himself out before the face of Voldemort loomed before him, as it had years ago. He could somewhat control these nightmares, another benefit from having them for so long, and for so often. Usually, he could pull himself out well before he could see his parents dying, sacrificing themselves for Harry. Maybe the reason he couldn't pull himself out this time was because he hadn't had the nightmare in a very long time.

Whatever the cause may be, it still didn't stop him from shaking with fear and paranoia. The fact was, it wasn't so much that he had just watched his parents die once again that bothered him so much. The real problem was: the star of the dream was none other than the Dark Lord himself. And that could only mean one thing.

"But it's impossible," Harry told himself firmly, and reached a shaky hand to find his glasses on the nightstand beside him.

Adjusting the glasses to his face, he realized upon looking at the digital clock that sat on the nightstand, that it was indeed morning, and he found the sun beaming happily through the curtains. Ignoring the stab of fear and doubt which was the aftermath of the nightmare, Harry sat up in bed, swinging his legs over the side as he concentrated on the sweet aroma of breakfast wafting through the bottom crack of the bedroom door. Pancakes and bacon. His stomach wailed in protest and Harry decided that the dream could wait. After all, there was no pain in his scar. Which meant that he really was paranoid.

He brushed his hair, desperately trying to tame it, all efforts proving futile. He imagined the mirror making some witty remark towards his appearance. Heading downstairs, finally deciding that the Grangers would have to take him as they saw him, he came to the conclusion that he would not disturb Hermione with the dream. Deep down he knew she would want to know, but he personally thought that they were on vacation, and he wasn't going to let anything interupt or ruin their holiday.

It's nothing, he told himself firmly, ignoring the rebuttal his logic shot back.

*

The things that brightened Harry's morning was being able to sit at breakfast with his girlfriend, and the other was knowing that Mr Granger had accepted him wholeheartedly. The older man didn't say it with words, but Harry could sense it. Perhaps it had a lot to do with the conversation he had had with him the night before, or perhaps Mr Granger had always felt that way, and Harry had been too stubborn and afraid to believe otherwise. The latter was more likely.

Hermione observed her father and Harry from beneath her lashes, hiding the desire to burst with happiness. The moment Harry had walked into the kitchen, she could feel that a weight had been lifted. Harry had finally accepted her father. She knew in her heart that Harry would never feel anything but respect for her father, but he had shown a great fear. That fear seemed to have vanished now.

Hermione felt her heart rise as she heard her father and Harry eased into a conversation about Quidditch. Harry listed off full details of the three types of balls, the positions of the players, what the uniforms looked like, how the points worked, and how to win the Quidditch Cup. Harry explained his job as the Captain and how he had become Seeker. Hermione remembered that day clearly, and in her mind's eye she saw eleven-year-old Hermione Granger, insisting that Harry could be expelled if he mounted that broom for the first time.

"You seem awfully quiet, dear," Mrs Granger said softly, peering at her daughter with curiosity in her eyes.

"Oh," Hermione said and swallowed down some orange juice. "I was just thinking. Memories have a way of...casting a spell on me...so to speak," she replied, smiling back at her mother.

Mrs Granger smiled and patted her daughter's hand gently.

"Would you like me to drop you and Harry off at the shopping center?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject.

At this point Harry and Mr Granger turned their attention to the women of their lives.

"Yes, I actually have some shopping I need to do myself. We could all go, separate, and meet up after an hour or two," Mr Granger suggested.

Hermione nodded and smiled in agreement, Harry doing the same. He hadn't shopped in a while. Though he detested shopping for clothes, he knew Hermione would help out in that department. He knew he and Hermione still had to make a trip to Diagon Alley, but that could wait.

"Well I think I'll hop into the shower. We should head out in an hour if we're going to beat the lunchtime traffic," Hermione suggested, and excused herself from the table.

"She's always been the take-charge type," Mr Granger warned Harry after Hermione was out of earshot. Harry grinned.

"Yes, but she wouldn't be Hermione if she wasn't the take-charge type," he answered, getting a nod of approval from Mrs Granger as she stood up to clear the table.

"I'll help clean. It's the least I can do," Harry quickly offered.

"Nonsense, Harry. You're our guest and we want you to be as comfortable as possible. Don't you dare lift a finger!" Mrs Granger snapped, slapping Harry's hand away from the empty plate at Hermione's seat. She gave him a warm smile and sent him to the family room with Mr Granger.

"Now you know where Hermione gets it from," said the older man.

"I heard that!" called out Mrs Granger from the kitchen as Mr Granger cringed.

Harry laughed.

*

The shopping centre on a Saturday was quite busy, even before lunchtime. Immediately the Grangers separated from the young couple and Harry and Hermione found the first and best store in the whole mall that supplied men's shirts.

"This is perfect," gushed Hermione, lifting a dark blue dress shirt from the rack. Harry observed it, running a hand across the material, and decided that he quite approved of the long sleeved shirt.

"It matches perfectly with your black pants. You are going to look so handsome," Hermione said dreamily.

Harry frowned, and gave what he hoped looked like a pout.

"Hey. What are you trying to say?" Harry replied defensively.

Hermione giggled and linked an arm through his, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"That I love you. And you always look gorgeous. In fact, maybe you shouldn't wear this. You'll have all the girls' attention at Gusto's," Hermione said dejectedly.

Harry rubbed a hand up and down her back and kissed her softly on the lips.

"I only want your attention, love," he told her. Hermione beamed.

It was at this point that a short, balding man approached them, speaking in a nasal voice. "Can I help you two?"

"Yes, thanks. He'd like to try this on," Hermione told the salesman and handed him the blue shirt.

"Excellent choice. Right this way. I'll get you a change room," said the salesman.

"Thank you," Harry murmured, following the man to the back of the store.

*

For the second time that day Harry found himself standing in front of his mirror, arguing with his reflection. He almost wished that this mirror could talk back to him. At least he'd know what he was doing wrong.

He admitted he really liked the shirt. Hermione had also chosen a dark yellow tie to match, and he was quite impressed with her ability to create perfect outfits for the slightest of occasions.

"Are you ready?" Hermione asked from the other side of his bedroom door. Like always, she was quick and to the point, very concise in every situation, and had already finished getting ready for their dinner reservation at Gusto's.

Harry opened his bedroom door and felt his mouth hanging slightly, his heart doing leaps.

Hermione had always been beautiful in his eyes, and he was a very firm believer that appearance did not matter whatsoever. Hermione had a beautiful soul, and that's what attracted Harry in the first place. However, tonight, he could make an exception.

A blue skirt hung to her knees, hugging her hips and then flaring outwards. The skirt held an intricate flowered pattern, beautiful and what he would describe as very 'feminine.' Her v-neck pewter shirt was snug, though not too tight, the sleeves cut off just past the shoulders. A silver necklace hung around her neck, dangling diamond earrings to match. No make up for her, though her lips were slightly glossed and Harry could smell the distinct scent of vanilla. Her hair was left down, though pulled back by two large camouflaged barrettes. She looked heavenly in Harry's eyes. He had said it before, and would say it again: she was an angel.

"Would you stop gawking at me and come here," Hermione giggled, pulling Harry into an embrace.

To say the least, Harry looked divine. She couldn't believe after nearly a year, (more so since she had liked him well before that time), he could still have this effect on her. The 'weak in the knees' effect. The one that sent her heart pounding and her love for him soaring.

She pulled back and looked up at him, immediately sensing something was wrong. She couldn't really explain where the feeling of doubt crept in, but it was there nonetheless and she said the only thing that logical Hermione could say.

"What's wrong, Harry?" she asked, and before he could mask his doubts and fears, she pressed on, now knowing something was wrong.

"Tell me, Harry. You always do this," she hissed impatiently, keeping her voice low so as not to startle her parents.

Harry sighed and rested his hands on her shoulders, pulling her close again.

"It's nothing. I swear. Let's not dwell on matters that can be discussed later," he said quietly. His voice was soothing, and somehow wiped most of her frustration away. He had that effect on her as well.

"Harry, there's something wrong. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me," she said in her most stubborn voice.

"There's nothing wrong," Harry insisted but heaved a weary sigh in spite of himself. He held her at elbows length and met her steady, stubborn gaze, her chin lifted defiantly.

"Alright. I'll tell you," he caved, and Hermione's face softened with relief. Then Harry added, "After dinner. I promise, honey. Let's just enjoy a delicious dinner, I'll even take you dancing. Just...please let's not worry about it. There really is nothing to concern yourself about," Harry protested once Hermione's face turned into a scowl. A few moments passed, and Harry knew that Hermione was thinking it over.

"You'll take me dancing?" she finally asked, a hesitant grin teasing her lips.

He raised his right hand and placed his left hand on his heart. "I solemnly swear," he intoned.

She laughed then and nodded before placing a soft kiss on his lips.

"I'm holding you to that, Potter," she told him. She turned to leave but abruptly turned back, her long curly hair flowing with her every movement.

"I almost forgot," she said, and this time there was the distinct glimmer of mischief in her eyes, "after dinner Mum and Dad are going to a late night movie," she finished.

Harry's mouth simply dropped. This was something he did not expect. Why in the world would the Grangers want to leave Harry and Hermione alone in the house?

"They felt that maybe they were crowding us, and wanted to give us time to ourselves, without them lurking around the corner. I know...weird. Dad must really like you," Hermione answered.

Harry was still speechless. He would actually be left alone with Hermione? For at least two hours? Was he hearing things? It seemed that his brain wasn't processing the information. He just stared blankly at Hermione, jaw hung low.

Hermione giggled and waved a hand in front of his face, she snapped her fingers repeatedly, clapped her hands, and finally Harry returned from his trance.

"The house to ourselves?" and he yawned dramatically, covering the teasing smile that crept up. "I don't know, Hermione. After our dinner and dancing, I think I might just want to go straight to sleep," he said.

Hermione gave him an appalled look, and then realized that he was teasing her.

She quirked a brow and poked a finger into his chest. "Be careful, Potter. Or you may just get that wish," she said and turned back to the doorway, and down the hall towards the stairs.

He refused to believe anything she had to say at that moment, knowing she was looking more forward to their time alone than he was. He followed her, keeping in mind that dinner would only take a couple of hours.

*

"Dinner was delicious," Hermione sighed two hours later as she leaned against Harry, his arm around her waist as he lead her up the steps to her house. Mr and Mrs Granger remained inside the car, waiting until the two teenagers were inside before pulling out of the driveway, and driving out of view.

Harry and Hermione kicked off their shoes and made their way to the family room.

"Now will you tell me?" Hermione asked, snuggling against Harry on the couch.

Harry sighed. He had secretly hoped Hermione would have forgotten about his promise. He should have known better. 'I do know better', he told himself and then searched for the proper words so as not to frighten or worry Hermione.

"I had another nightmare about my parents," he said simply. There. That sounded fair. After all, it wasn't that uncommon for him to have nightmares about his parents' death.

Hermione, however, looked alarmed.

"Do you mean...like the ones you had before? With Voldemort?" she asked.

Harry mentally kicked himself. Naturally she would remember the nightmares he had told her about, time after time. Hermione was hardly someone to forget such a thing.

He nodded slowly, not sure whether to tell her everything: all his worries, or rather, just his main concern.

But he loved her. And if it were she in his position, he would want her to tell him. She trusted him and he trusted her. That had been one of the gifts the Ring-Spirit had given to them. To trust each other. To be loyal to each other. To love each other. And he did not intend to take those three gifts for granted.

"Most of the time I was able to control my dreams, to the point where I could end the dream before it got too graphic," Harry began as Hermione listened with rapt attention. "This time I couldn't. It was like an invisible force chaining me. It was relentless," he said softly.

Hermione said nothing at this point, allowing the information to sink in. She knew it was difficult for Harry to confess such a painful dream. She knew that all he wanted to do was protect her, and she knew that he was trying to protect her from the dream's implications. If he was having nightmares about Voldemort, surely that could only mean one thing.

"Does your scar hurt? Did it hurt when you woke up?" she asked suddenly.

"No, that's the thing. Because it didn't hurt, I now have my doubts as to what the dream truly meant. If I don't have another nightmare, I doubt there will be anything to worry about. I've always had a keen intuition when it came to Voldemort," Harry told her.

Hermione placed a palm on his cheek, turning his face to hers so she could look straight into his emerald eyes. His gaze was faraway, and almost too painful to bear.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered. His pain was also hers, after all. She knew she didn't experience it first-hand. But there was a link from her sould to his that allowed them to share the same pain and the same happiness.

Harry couldn't decide what she was apologizing for. Was it for the dream? The fact that he would never shake off the Dark Lord? Well, whatever the reason, he was glad he could confide in her. Destiny certainly couldn't have provided a better soulmate. His hand reached up to hold hers, and he brought it down to kiss her palm.

"There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm sure the dream meant nothing," he said.

"Don't say that. Just because it may not mean that Voldemort is returning--which seems next to impossible--doesn't mean the nightmare doesn't mean any thing. They were your parents," she gently reminded him.

"I know," he replied defensively. "But I have the feeling that these dreams will always haunt me. Whether Voldemort is gone or not. It's like my subconscious refuses to let go," Harry said.

Hermione offered him a smile. "There will be times in your life, Harry, when you'll be glad your subconscious never forgot your parents' image," she said.

Harry smiled back and gave her a soft, gentle kiss on her cherry-flavored lips.

"I love you," he said, pulling back. He'd never get tired of saying it.

"Of course you do, silly," she said playfully and pulled him closer, kissing him back. He responded immediately, pressing a hand onto her back, also pulling her as close as possible. He could forget about the dream for now. He had more important things to do. Hermione pulled back and wiggled her eyebrows seductively at him.

"My bed? Or yours?"

To Be Continued...