I'm With You

"Three years," murmured Hermione softly in the dark. Three years. Three years since the accident. Three years since Harry had promised to show up. And never did. She remembered it so well, as if it were yesterday. She lived that moment every single day since then. It was as if it was recorded onto a broken record player. It played over and over inside her head. Never stopping. Never moving on. Just the same thing every day. Every second.

I'm standing on the bridge
I'm waiting in the dark
I thought that you'd be here by now

"Damn, Harry, you promised." Hermione began to cry. The bridge she stood on brought memories to her. So many memories. She, Ron, and Harry had been on this bridge so many times. To throw rocks into the river below, or to run across to get back to Ron's house. And it was here that Harry told her he loved her. Both times. The first time Harry confessed, she told him she never wanted to feel the same. It would only ruin the perfect friendship they had then. But the second time, Harry's persistence had finally gotten to her and she told him she loved him back. There would have been a third time, but . . .

There's nothing but the rain
No footsteps on the ground
I'm listening but there's no sound

It hurt to think about it. For the first few days, it had felt like it never happened. Her mind had kept on telling her it was going to be all right. Harry was just at another foreign Aurors meeting, and he'd be back. He promised her. But when she finally saw his pale, and lifeless face at the funeral, his eyes shut, she finally had to "throw in the towel." His death had become a reality for her. More real than the last few days had ever been altogether. Hermione grew quieter and quieter as the days, weeks, and eventually months had passed. She refused solace from anyone but Ron and Ginny, but even they couldn't help much. In fact, it was Ron who first told her as he gathered her into his arms before he had even said anything. It was Ron who told her Harry was attacked by a group of Death Eaters on his way home. "Harry," Hermione called out softly, tears streaming down her face. "I'm so lost. I - I don't know what to do."

Isn't anyone tryin' to find me
Won't somebody come take me home
It's a damn cold night
Trying to figure out this life

"But Hermione, you always know what to do." Hermione turned around. A tall dark figure stood on the end of the bridge, looking at her. "Don't fret love, things get better as time passes." Hermione wiped the tears from her face, but they still kept coming, only slower. Harry always told her that. Don't fret love. . . Hermione only stared unbelievably at the shadow of the figure in the dark. He began to walk towards her, but she backed away.

"Get away from me," she said quietly. But he didn't pay attention to her. He continued to step lightly towards Hermione, holding out his hand.

"I'm here for you, dear," he said. "Always."

Won't you take me by the hand
Take me somewhere new
Don't know who you are
But I'm, I'm with you
I'm with you

"Just let go for a moment," he whispered, still holding out his hand. "Let go, and come here. Let go, and let me help." Hermione warily stepped towards the stranger. What am I doing? Hermione hesitated for a moment. "Don't fret, love." There it is again. . . Hermione couldn't ignore the feeling that was spreading through her. She hadn't felt this way in three years. The feeling that she was loved, that she was needed. She stepped towards the cloaked figure, and inserted her hand into his. He then pulled Hermione into his arms and hugged her tightly. Hermione couldn't help it. She began to sob uncontrollably. "There, there dear," he said. "Just let it all out. Release everything." Hermione had never really let her feelings out. Being a proud woman, she didn't want people to think she was weak, and couldn't handle Harry's death.

I'm looking for place
I'm searching for a face
Is there anyone here
That I know
Cause nothing is going right
And everything's a mess
And no one likes to be alone

Harry. Was this. . . no, it couldn't be. Pull yourself together girl, Harry's dead. He will never come back. Never. But all the same, it made Hermione feel better. To know that there was someone else who probably knew how it felt to be left all alone and shut up within yourself. In this stranger's arms she felt unusually secure and away from the chaos and pandemonium of her life. For the first time, in a long time, she didn't feel so alone.

"Don't worry," the stranger said. "I'm with you." Hermione's sobs grew quieter, and softer. Soon enough, it was just tears streaming slowly down her face. She detached herself from the stranger and tried to look at his face, but he turned away, pretending to look at the moon. She too turned her face towards the moon. Its rays reflected off the tears on her face.

Isn't anyone trying to find me
Won't somebody come take me home
Its a damn cold night
Trying to figure out this life
Wont you take me by the hand
Take me somewhere new
Don't know who you are
But I'm, I'm with you
I'm with you, yeah

Oh why is everything so confusing
Maybe I'm just out of my mind
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

"Feeling better, Mione?" Mione. . . Harry's nickname for her. She turned towards the stranger, and this time, he didn't turn away. However, his navy blue cloak was fastened tightly to him and his hood hid his face.

"Who -" Hermione began, but the stranger interrupted her.

"I'd better go." He turned around, and walked off the bridge. Hermione was left alone on the bridge again. She stood there, bathed in moonlight, staring off after the stranger, who had disappeared into the small thicket of trees and bushes. It began to rain.

It's a damn cold night
Trying to figure out this life
Won't you take me by the hand
Take me somewhere new
Don't know who you are
But I'm, I'm with you
I'm with you

Hermione, after three minutes of standing in the rain, headed towards the Weasleys' house. She was visiting them as she did every summer. And by now, they had all known better to leave her alone when she wished to go out. When she had reached the edge of the woods near the end of the Weasleys' lot, she looked up at the towering, rickety-looking house. The one thing beautiful about it though was the windows. Each was lit with lights, with a welcoming kind of pleasure. She had always loved it here. She walked up to the house and opened the door. Ron, who was sitting in the living room, looked at Hermione and immediately got up.

"You're sopping wet, Mione," he said as he removed her cloak and placed it next to his lightly damp navy blue one on the cloak hanger.

"Thanks," she replied.

He looked at her. "You alright?" asked Ron.

"Yeah," she muttered. "I'm fine."

He continued to look at her, and then pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead tenderly. "I'm here for you, dear," he said. "Always."