“I'm sorry, Harry.”

He didn't turn around. Didn't acknowledge the voice in any way except a small shrug of the shoulders. He was bundled in the winter robes, knees tucked in as he stared without focus across the lake – the breeze cold even as winter gave way to spring.

“Not your fault,” he said at last. His voice caught, though he kept his face blank. He'd been doing that a lot lately – he certainly hadn't suffered from lack of practice. “Not like you could have known. Or done anything.”

He heard a soft rustle, then a soft thump of a body falling down next to him. He still didn't look though. The last thing he wanted was to be forced to look at someone's eyes. Or rather, that was the second to last thing, the worst would be whatever they saw in his own.

“I'm here if you need me, Harry. You know that, right? What happened before... I'm so sorry, but... I can help, I've been through something like this before. With... last year.”

“Really, and here I thought you'd be here to gloat.” He bit back mockingly. A pause. A sigh. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.” He laughed again – bitter, longing. “While we're on it, I suppose I owe you a few apologies of my own.”

For the first time, Harry turned his head away from the rippling waters towards his companion. There was a time, he mused, when he thought her the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, hands down. Not that he ever would have said that aloud, of course. Shyness, another normal quality that had been torn away from his psyche like a raw scab, leaving him open to the horrors of the world around him. There was no time for meekness, not anymore.

Still, she was very pretty. Slender legs curled around her side, starting to goosebump in the chilly air down by the water. Arms folded across her chest, a combination of trying to stave away the cold, and her uneasiness of being with him, here, now. Her figure was pretty, though it was her face that had always captivated him. Her eyes, the parting of her lips... he'd be among the first to admit it was an incredibly shallow thing to say, but the last year, with her seemingly constant crying – it had been the first thing that had made her seem less... beautiful – as terrible as that was to say.

Now though, there was an acceptance in her look – the clarity was back, even if the mournful expression had not disappeared. A sort of sad radiance. Was it wrong, then, that his shivering wasn't entirely due to the atmosphere around him?

“No... it's fine. Bygones be bygones and all that.” She looked away, as though the sudden intensity in his gaze was putting her further at unease. In an instant, their positions had swapped. He, staring directly at her, attempting to force her attention through sheer will and she, steadfastly looking across the water, at everything and nothing at the same time.

“Fine then, if that's how you want it.” He paused, the two sitting in tense silence for seconds that seemed to never end. “No. No. It's not alright. That's how all this started, isn't it? Everything is always just forgiven. No questions, no looking back and looking at what went wrong. Just over and done with, like it never happened. Like it didn't mean anything.”

He was bordering hysterical now, his pitch rising and she was looking at him, eyes betraying her nervousness as to what he might do. True, he was no longer the pariah of the entire world, but Harry had always been known as being a little... emotionally unstable. Ironic, considering how their relationship had worked out, but the fact was there nonetheless.

“Anyway,” he began again, clearly making an effort to calm himself. “You ought to know this anyway, whether you think I need to apologize or not.” For the first time, they looked at one another without the need to look away. “Marietta wasn't the sneak. So I'm sorry for what she had to go through, and for taking it out on you.” He shrugged. “Course, I didn't know that the jinx was there anyway, so I guess that part really wasn't my fault. But still. Cho – I'm sorry.”

Cho paused, clearly at a loss. “So... what happened? Because Marietta did go to Umbridge, Harry. I mean, I still understand why she did... but what do you mean she didn't do anything?”

“Was all a ruse. A very, very clever ruse that was part of a bigger ruse that has been buggering up my life for years now,” he ended with a growl. “It'll all be out in the open this time tomorrow anyway – Daily Prophet will have a field day. I bet Skeeter's already throwing a private party.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Guess who. Who could have ran circles around my back without me knowing or caring or doing diddles to stop it? Who could have known every sodding thing needed to pull off a trick like that? Hell, who came up with the whole thing anyway?”

A terrible, terrible pause. Then, a look of pure horror crept across his companion's face, before she whispered her response, as if fearing that saying so aloud would confirm the worst suspicions.

“Hermione?”

Harry nodded once. “My own. The closest girl to my heart... you saw that yourself. I would have done anything for her, so help me --” He paused, cutting himself off his own rant. “Course, it wasn't really her. Not that I know who Hermione really is, but it wasn't her. It was Malfoy.”

Even under the circumstances, Harry had to smile at the adorable look of utter confusion and contempt that marred her face when he said the word 'Malfoy'.

“Oh, no – not him,” he laughed with contempt, before sobering instantly. “Malfoy the Elder. Do you remember, back in third year, when Malfoy got himself attacked by the Hippogriff?” At her nod, he continued, “Lucius was always sniffing around the school that year, coming on surprise 'inspections' on behalf of the governors to see the safety standards, meetings with the Headmaster as to the... legal situation. Very nasty stuff. Kept out of the way, but we saw him a few times – never thought anything of it except for the usual Malfoy flouncing around.”

He took a pained breath. “Course, we had a fight around Christmas. Over a broom of all things. Hermione had it confiscated to be checked for curses, and Ron went ballistic. I didn't do anything – and so sided with Ron by proxy. Hermione shut herself off after that, spending time alone in the library, working like mad to help out Hagrid. So of course, Malfoy sees an opportunity, and unbeknown to the rest of us, we're soon reconciling with an Imperiused Hermione, under direct orders of Voldemort's second in command to pass on every pissant thing I do. Icing on the cake, was she was reporting back on all of us from under our very noses.” Harry chuckled. “Man has an odd sense of humor – had her sending back information through a magical diary.” At Cho's look of confusion, he shrugged, “Story for another time...”

They sat in silence for a while, watching as the giant squid came to the surface, moving slowly across the surface of the lake. The silence was comfortable, though there was a tension – both knew that Harry was simply preparing to speak again, and that it was paradoxically something he did not want to do, yet needed to get off his chest.

“Really, it's no wonder so many things went up to hell these past few years. Turns out I was nothing but a pawn. Hermione's nattering on about homework was a deliberate attempt to dissuade me from trying to learn anything useful about the wizarding world. The DA, helping me during the tasks fourth year – all of it was at the order of Malfoy. He was clever too – didn't make her change who she was. They even let me look at the diary. There wasn't anything there that in itself was discriminating. Just normal, Hermioneish over bearing detail of every part of her day. And yeah – listing the DA in her diary would have been incredibly stupid if anyone had found out, but not necessarily something that would make alarm bells go off, is it? Just good old Hermione, letting herself know ten years from now that she spent a day talking about 'you-know-what' with Katie and Ernie. Or spent this afternoon with the Patil Twins. But I'd bet my last galleon that Malfoy was laughing the entire time, knowing exactly what was being said.”

“So what then? You-know-who's back now, but how would he have known back then when --” She blushed, looking down when Harry continued to stare.

“Well,” he said slowly, “glad that someone believes me now.”

If anything, she blushed harder, her face darkening in embarrassment and a slight tinge of sadness. “I didn't... I didn't not believe you. I just – you might be the boy-who-loved, and I'm not going to say that I've had to deal with more than you but... You never really had to live in the aftermath did you? Not really, as part of the world you-know-who destroyed. I did. For you, he was the everything that happened to you – but you didn't know that until you were eleven. You should have seen yourself back in first year – you might as well have been a muggleborn. You can't really blame those of us who spent our whole lives in the aftermath to – to want to hold out hope that he wasn't really coming back.”

Again, Harry's expression was unnaturally blank. “S'pose,” he finally remarked. “Doesn't really matter anyway. But yeah, Malfoy didn't know he was back – at least that's the impression I got back at the...” he paused, conflicting arguments clear on his face, before he decided that too much had been omitted to continue doing so now. “Back at the graveyard, when Cedric died.”

Cho flinched ever so slightly, and her face was clearly filled with a renewed sadness, but it was old hurt – she was not as breakable as she had been before. Perhaps none of them were.

Harry grinned tightly. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Load of bloody bollocks.

“Still, maybe he did, maybe he didn't. But we always made the mistake of assuming all of that lot were as incompetent as dear old Draco. Lucius held the minister's ear for a reason. He saw an opportunity, and he took it. Later, it gave him a way to come crawling back to Voldemort, but any weapon he could use against me was probably reason enough. Like I said – doesn't really matter what his intents were.”

“Anyway – I don't really want to talk about this, but Dumbledore,” he spat the name, “thought I'd need to talk to someone. And frankly, there's nobody left. I never used to be like this you know. You can't imagine what my home life is like, but let's just say I grew up used to depending on myself. Then I came to Hogwarts, and suddenly, seeing all these kids my own age who didn't hate me – hell, who seemed to love me, I began to crave it. Hermione and Ron and Hagrid... I wouldn't have traded them for the world. And even now, when the overwhelming sense of it has wound down, I can never go back to what I was. Love,” he said as if the word was poison, “is supposed to be the power he knows not. If only I was so lucky.”

Cho looked away, towards the ground now, clearly uncomfortable with this semi-rant. She was at a loss, unsure of what exactly he was talking about... unsure if her mere presence was wanted or loathed or somewhere in between.

“So flash forward to now,” he continued, unaware to the internal battle taking place at his side. “Long story short, Voldemort needed something from the Department of Mysteries. There was a... a weapon. Something he could use, except that it was very well protected. He didn't want to risk going himself, and he certainly wasn't going to risk any of his inner circle, not when the whole world was hellbent on nailing me to a cross over his supposed return. So instead, he came up with a better idea. Send me. The scar you see, it connects us. He can send me images and stuff. At first, it was things he saw, things he did when he was angry, when he lost control. But then he figured it out, and then wham! I got hit by an image of someone I cared about being tortured in a place I'd seen before. It never occurred to me that it was a fake. So then, a whole line of seemingly lucky coincidences later, I'm heading over to raid the ministry, and of course, Hermione has convinced me to take her and a few friends along as well...”

It became clear that Harry would not – could not – continue. Unless she did something, this was the end of the road. The honest question was, did she care too?

“That's when you found out, isn't it? You already said the image was a lie – whoever you went to rescue wasn't there. And then, then it was checkmate.”

Harry nodded. “Checkmate is right. The second I grabbed the weapon, the Death Eaters showed up. For a second, we had a sort of a standoff. Malfoy demanded I hand over the weapon, I of course said no. Then, there was a flash of green light. From behind.”

Cho's eyes widened in horror, and Harry could not withhold the strangled sob that escaped his mouth with his next statement.

“Hermione cast an unforgivable from point blank range, straight at Luna. Yeah, I'd say even with the blinders on, I realized that something wasn't quite right.”

There was nothing left to say. True, there were events that had yet to be recounted. The overwhelming panic at Hermione's apparent betrayal. The panicked retreat of the remains of their number, leaving Luna's body behind to the mercy of those who had forced a young girl to kill her. To Dumbledore's arrival, and the subsequent ebb and flow of battle as the Order pushed forward. To Sirius' death. To Remus'. To Malfoy's, and with it, the collapse of the spell on Hermione's battered will. How she had screamed, and then fallen into shock, collapsing onto the floor, a crying wreck.

There was nothing left to say.

Cho, bless her brightness, understood. She had always seen things as they were, even when lost in her own grief. She hadn't been wrong when she had lost control on their disastrous attempt at a Valentine's date, even if her own emotional instability had made her handle the situation less than gracefully...

“How is Ron?”

Harry jumped at the sudden change of subject, wiping the side of his face once before turning back. “Don't know. I don't know what to say to him – don't know where we go from here, what on earth we can do.” He let out a tired sigh. “We'll do something of course – we always do. And it's clear to everyone that Voldemort's back – back in the spotlight I go, everyone's favorite chosen boy.” There was no anger now, no bitterness in this observation. Just tired acceptance.

“Harry, you'll never be alone. Never again.” For the first time since she had sat down, she made contact, placing her small hand over his, pressing it between her own and the cold ground beneath. “I promise, you'll never have to do this by yourself.”

Harry squeezed her hand, holding it a second longer before pulling back, raising it to her cheek. She didn't move – did not embrace his light caress nor pull away – simply met his eyes. They lingered, and then in the barest whisper, he responded.

“I know. Thank you.”

With that, Harry Potter stood up, brushing off his robes and without another word, turned around and walked back up to the castle, the wind picking at his hair and robes. Alone.

She watched him go. She did not smile – now was not the time or place. Instead, she turned back around, content to watch the giant squid.