AN ~ Hello! Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated - although i am very sorry to have been away for so long. I shall not bore you with the details, but suffice to say that RL rather got in the way.

I was prompted to publish this little story (it had been sitting unfinished on my heard drive for several months) by the song that gives it its new title - Only Love Can Hurt Like This, by Paloma Faith.

There is a second chapter to this story, and for anyone still following my WiP (anyone?) I have an update that should be ready this week.

'Only Love Can Hurt Like This'

by Witherwings

19th September, 1998

Truth be known, Hermione Granger didn't much care for surprises – hated them really. A creature of habit, the very notion of anything unexpected was more than a little unnerving.

During the war, both Harry and Ron had repeatedly voiced their opinions that they would have been nowhere without her, and, although not so falsely modest to doubt that their assertions were true, at least in part, she also knew that the statement was equally true in reverse. What Harry and Ron lacked in organisational or academic prowess, they more than made up for in other areas; skills she did not – could not – possess. Releasing a dragon intent on killing anyone that got in its way and riding it to freedom Madness! Following a disembodied voice issuing from a device of unknown origin? Hopelessly romantic.

It was these traits, she noted as she walked the familiar path towards home on the evening of what was her nineteenth birthday, that marked the differences between herself and her two closest friends. Traits that, when coupled with Harry's impulsive nature and her boyfriend's occasional lack of empathy must have made throwing her a surprise birthday party (for that, she was sure, was what they had planned) seem like a very good idea indeed.

Her destination appeared as she rounded a bend in the road – Hogsmeade – the little wizarding village bathed in a dappled light turned golden by the rapidly yellowing leaves. Anxiety forgotten, a least for a moment, a sigh of contentment slipped past her lips. She loved this time of year.

Her eye was drawn toward the settlement's only bookstore in the distance, Tomes and Scrolls. Not only was it her favourite spot in the picturesque village, but it had also been her home of the last three weeks.

It was a somewhat unorthodox arrangement but, as Professor McGonagall had agreed with her assessment that to attempt to return to school as just an ordinary student would be all but impossible, the newly installed Headmistress had proposed that Hermione should return to Hogwarts as a day student. All the joy of learning without giving up any of the freedoms she had grown accustomed to; it was the perfect compromise.

Or so she had thought. When neither Ron nor Harry showed up at her rented room before classes that morning the sinking feeling in her gut informed her that they were planning to surprise her. It was the only logical explanation. Ron had probably gotten the idea from one of those dreadful soap operas his mother was so fond of listening to on the Wizarding Wireless Network – pretend to forget and then burst in during double charms. Mortifying! Sometimes she wondered if he knew her at all.

That being said, while the very notion of her boyfriend of three months surprising her in front of the entire student body left her feeling physically sick, now that the school day had passed without incident, Hermione could not deny that the tight knot of anxiety that had clutched at her stomach since breakfast was slowly being replaced with a flutter of anticipation. She recognised that nineteen was hardly the most momentous of birthdays – in either of the worlds to which she could claim to belong – but, having barely noticed her own passage into adulthood a year earlier, the idea of a gathering of her closest friends and family in her new home was a rather appealing one.

True enough, several of her friends had returned to school with her, Ginny and Luna amongst them, but the opportunity to catch up with those who had moved onto pastures new would be one she would gladly accept, as would she the chance to reconnect with her parents who had only recently returned, minus their implanted memories, from Australia. Perhaps there would even be a chance to play a little matchmaker. Ginny and Harry's nascent romance had not survived the war, but she sensed that their were still feelings being concealed.

"Hello dear."

Hermione stopped walking and twisted her head toward the greeting. "Oh! Hello Madame Rosmerta," she said. "I didn't see you there." Lost in thought her feet had carried her right into the very heart of the village.

"A little bird tells me that today is a special day."

Hermione could not keep the broad smile from her face. "Mmmhmm," she hummed happily. "It's my birthday."

Madame Rosmerta leant against the broomstick she had been using to sweep the front porch. "Many happy returns," she said. "Will we be seeing you in the Broomsticks this evening?" she added before Hermione had even a chance to thank her for her best wishes. "It's on the house."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so," she said. "I'm busy tonight."

"That handsome young fella of yours got something big planned, has he?" If it were possible, Hermione's smile grew even brighter. "Well, don't let me keep you from him then," and she bade Hermione farewell with a cheerful wave.

Hermione had only taken a couple of steps when Madame Rosmerta's voice called out again."Enjoy yourselves!" she shouted before adding, in a far quieter voice that Hermione was clearly not supposed to hear: "I know I would ... I always did have a thing for red heads … ."

By now Hermione smile had grown so wide it made her jaw ache: Ron's head might explode if he were to hear that.

She watched the landlady disappear inside and, with a slight skip to her step, she quickly found herself outside the weather-beaten door of Tomes and Scrolls. A bell sounded out somewhere in the store's depths as she pushed it aside, but otherwise the shop was completely deserted. Not even Mr. Ulma, the portly clerk, was anywhere in sight.

Perhaps he's upstairs too, she thought.

Her nostrils full of the comforting smell of old books, a scent she always associated with endless possibilities, Hermione moved carefully between the closely packed shelves to the small, unassuming door at the rear of the shop that led to her private rooms upstairs.

Her heart beating uncomfortably somewhere in her throat, Hermione tapped her wand to the lock, threw open the door and bounded up the narrow stairs two at a time.

But there was no cry of 'Surprise!' No room full of smiling friends and family. Her apartment was just as she had left it – empty. Her heart reversed course and ended up in the pit of her stomach.They forgot? There really was no other explanation. Suddenly, despite the many items she had brought from home to brighten the space, the room felt colder and very much smaller than it was.

"They f-forgot?" The simple act of putting voice to that belief made her feel even worse and her voice trembled slightly as she repeated the words aloud. After all they had been through, all they had sacrificed for one another ... how could they forget her birthday? She couldn't even summon the energy to feel angry; she just felt ... empty.

Unbidden her feet carried her across the space and she dropped her satchel on the couch. It doesn't matter, she told herself firmly. It's not important. It's just a birthday. But, no matter how often she repeated the lie to herself she could not make even the smallest part of her believe it.

With wooden limbs she moved to the kitchen. She wasn't thirsty but just to have something to do with her hands she filled the kettle and set it on to boil by hand. Soon enough thin fingers of steam were curling into the air. She shut of the heat, summoned a mug as opposed to her usual cup and saucer and poured the boiling water directly over the leaves she had already placed at the bottom. She did not care that she had not used the strainer; she had no intention of drinking the blend.

Though she hadn't worn gloves when brewing for longer than she could remember – seven years of stirring boiling cauldrons had made her hands as tough as the dragon hide from which her gloves were crafted – the heat of the mug as she wrapped her hands around the it was all but unbearable. Nevertheless, she did not put it down. Instead she raised it to her nose and inhaled deeply, her eyes sliding shut involuntarily as the aroma worked its way into her very soul.

How long she stood like that, gazing with unseeing eyes through the small window that overlooked the street below, she could not say. Long enough, she noted, that her tea had long gone cold when the sound of footsteps on the stairs behind her finally roused her.

Cursing herself for failing to reactivate the protective enchantments she had placed around the flat – there were still Death Eaters at large after all – she twisted on her heel and levelled her wand towards the intruder.

Harry? The unmistakable sound of shattering crockery rendered her question mute, the remnants of her mug and its contents littering the floor at her feet.

Harry froze, his wide eyes staring straight down the barrel of her wand. "I - I just wanted to drop your birthday present round," he explained giving a little box in his hand a shake.

Feeling elated, foolish and heartbroken simultaneously, Hermione lowered her wand. She wanted to sing: he remembered!

But Ron didn't, added another part of her.

The initial shock of finding himself at wandpoint already fading, Harry's features drew into a look of concern. "Are you all right?"

Hermione tried to force her own face into a cheerful smile. "I – "

"You've been crying." He covered the space between them in a few long strides and pressed his free palm against her cheek; there she could feel the evidence of her tears on his skin – she hadn't realised.

"It's – it's nothing."

Harry fixed her with a look that even Molly Weasley would have been proud of. "It's not nothing," he told her firmly without being unkind. "What's wrong?"

"It's Ron." There really was no point in pretending otherwise. "He's – " she paused to draw down a slightly faltering breath. "I think he's forgotten my birthday."

For the first time since it had been just the two of them, alone in the tent, an awkward silence stretched between them. Harry didn't seem to be able to look at her, his eyes settling on the broken crockery at her feet.

"Accio." He summoned a dustpan and brush and knelt to clear away the ruined shards.

"You don't need to do that, Harry."

"It's okay," he told her without shifting his focus from his task. "I want to."

"I'm serious. I can do it." Hermione could not say why but she was becoming seriously irked that Harry would not look at her.

"I've got it."

Now thoroughly annoyed, Hermione kicked the contents of the pan out onto the floor in a fit of pique. "Why won't you stop?"

"Because it helps!"

Most definitely not the answer she was expecting, Hermione's ire deflated like a punctured tyre. "Helps?" she repeated. "What helps? Helps with what? Talk to me, Harry, please."

Harry allowed the brush to clatter to the ground and got to his feet; his knuckles were white from where he had been gripping the handle so hard.

"It helps if I have something else to think about," he said.

Now Hermione was completely lost. "Something other than what?"

For a long moment Harry was silent, his downcast gaze riveted on his wringing hands. "He's an idiot you know?" he said at length.

"Ron?" asked Hermione, just barely following his non-sequitur.

Harry nodded, a single slow inclination of his chin. "He's never going to stop hurting you like this.

"I'm sure he doesn't do it on purpose," he continued, turning away from her and tapping his clenched hand atop the kitchen worktop. Hermione had the distinct impression he would have liked to put his fist straight through it. She did not, however, interrupt. Now that he was talking the words seemed to be coming more easily. "In fact I know he doesn't," he continued. "Last time I spoke with him he was planning on taking you out to dinner tonight."

Guilt collided with her other jumbled feelings. "You don't think something's happen to him, do you?" What if she had jumped to conclusions and he was lying in a hospital bed somewhere?

Harry turned back to face her and shook his head. "I was just at the Burrow. Honestly, I don't know where he is, but wherever it is, he's not in mortal peril. Not until I get hold of him, anyway," he added sotto voce.

Hermione's heart sank. Molly's magical clock was never wrong.

Harry stepped closer, their bodies so close that Hermione had to tilt her head back to meet his intense gaze. "I love him like a brother, Hermione, you know I do," he said. "But he's no good for you. If you stay with him you'll always be playing second fiddle to something. You deserve better than that. You deserve someone who will always put you first, someone who loves every part of you just the way you are, someone like – "

Hermione's hands flew to her face. Though his voice had fallen silent, something in his eyes had finished his sentence for him. "Someone like you?"

Like the snorting engine of the Hogwarts Express, Harry exhaled noisily through his nostrils. "Surprise," he said, but his voice carried little mirth.

Hermione looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. "H-how long?" she managed.

Harry swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing several times before he could speak. "It's always been you, Hermione. Always." He took her hands in his. "Why do you think I broke it off with Ginny?"

It was almost too much to take in. Harry liked her. He liked her. Had done for a very long time by the sounds of it. How had she never noticed? How had she not seen it before? It was so obvious! Harry Potter, the most famous wizard alive, and he had only ever dated what, one girl? Two if one counted that whole disaster with Cho Chang. Hermione never had.

"B - b - but ... " Hermione took a steadying breath to calm herself. "Why did you never say anything before?"

Harry's lips quirked into a lop-sided smile. "For someone so smart, you sure are thick sometimes."

"Ron."

"Ron," agreed Harry. "I wanted to tell you, of course I did, but I saw the way he looked at you – the way you had started looking at him. If I couldn't be with you, I at least wanted you to be happy, but I was a fool to think he would ever change.

"I don't even know why I'm telling you any of this," he said after a beat. He released her hands and pushed his own roughly through his hair as he turned to face the window. "I want you to know that I don't expect anything from you. I don't want things to get weird between us."

"You just want to go back to the way things were?" demanded Hermione, her tone caught somewhere between incredulous and annoyance. "My best friend just told me that they have feelings for me and you want me to forget that any of this ever happened?"

His back still toward her, Harry spread his arms wide upon the counter and bowed his head low. "We have to," he said, his voiced muffled against his chest. "I can't lose you, Hermione. That month you were away in Australia was the worst of my life. Everyone wanted to congratulate me, to buy me a drink, to shake my hand, but none of it mattered because you weren't with me to share it."

Unsure of what she might say, but certain that she had to at least try to comfort him, Hermione touched a hand to his shoulder and he pushed himself upright and twisted to face her, apprehension and hope evident in equal measures on his face.

"Harry I – " she began but years of denial undid the last vestige of Harry's self control and he leant forward to claim her lips before she could finish. Stunned, Hermione's stiffened against him even as a flight of butterflies took to the skies within her chest.

Her hesitation was only momentary but evidently sufficient for Harry to recognise that he had overstepped the invisible line that had always stood between them and he made to pull away.

Hermione, however, was like a blind man given the gift of sight; she could not go back to the darkness now. Not to be denied she wound her fist into his shirt and pulled him forwards, her lips finding his for a second time and returning his passions in kind.

Frightened by the intensity of their tryst, by how much she wanted him, Hermione started to tremble, a situation only exacerbated as his hands moved to trace the curve of her back, her waist, his thumbs eventually finding her belt loops and using them to pull her closer.

Surrendering to the moment completely, Hermione tipped her head back inviting Harry to explore the sensitive skin of her neck. He quickly obliged and she gasped, her lips soundlessly mouthing his name as he worked his way down to her collarbone.

Her fists still wound into his shirt, she pulled it up and over his head, her fingers tracing the many scars that covered his body; the new skin felt exactly the same as the large scar that ran the length of her own torso from the brief yet bloody battle in the Department of Mysteries that she had survived along with Harry and Ron ...

Ron!

"Wait." With her last shred of restraint, Hermione pulled back. "This is wrong." The crushing disappointment etched onto Harry's face almost made her want to take her words back. Almost. She could not cheat on Ron. No matter what he had done – what he hadn't done? – she was not that girl. "I'm with Ron," she told him. "I - I can't do this. I'm sorry."

Offering Harry no chance to reply, to kiss her again – her resolve would not withstand that – Hermione gripped the handle of her wand and twisted away leaving Harry alone in her apartment with only the lengthening shadows for company.

TBC...

AN ~ I'm hoping to have the second and concluding chapter ready for next week. Keep an eye on my profile page for updates.

Thanks for reading.