The start of yet another new fic
Because it seems as if to compound the problem of not having much time to write, my muses have become ADD and refuse to stick to one fic at a time.
Be warned: this starts out with a touch of H/G-- or at least about as much H/G as I can stand to write (which, admittedly, isn't much.)
Someday
Part 1
Hermione sat down beside Harry, handing him a bottle of butterbeer which he accepted with a half-smile of thanks.
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, looking out over the backyard of the Burrow where the Weasleys were currently sitting and talking. They were just far enough away, sitting on this bench in the far corner of the yard that they couldn’t hear distinctly any of what the Weasleys were saying, could only hear the pleasant hum of voices and the occasional sound of laughter.
“I think Ginny’s wondering why you aren’t over there socializing,” Hermione finally said, half-idly.
“They’re probably all wondering that.”
“True enough. The birthday boy shouldn’t be sitting alone at his own party.”
“I’m not alone,” was his automatic response. “And anyway, I just… I don’t feel much like partying these days. You know that. I just… don’t…”
There was something almost painful in his voice, a sort of confused emptiness, and she almost winced to hear it. Harry had been at a loss, brooding, for weeks now, since the War had ended. She knew how he felt, this sudden loss of purpose. She felt the same, except with her, she knew, at least, something of what she wanted to do with her life, would be starting at the Healer Academy at St. Mungo’s in the next month. With Harry, though, she knew he’d never really thought of what he might do after the War, had half-expected he wouldn’t survive the War and so he hadn’t really planned for anything. And now, that the future Harry had never really expected to have was here, he was at a loss.
And at a more basic level, it wasn’t possible to go from the constant dangers and worries and fears of the past year and more to complete peace and comfort immediately. Harry was still tense, still worried, couldn’t stop acting as if he were, still, fighting a war. He didn’t know how to not be fighting a war.
But, of course, she said nothing of that. “I know, but Mrs. Weasley wanted to give you this little party.”
“I know and I appreciate it,” he said quietly.
Ron said something to Ginny, making Ginny laugh before she turned her smiling face to look at Harry and Hermione could see their eyes meet across the yard before Ginny blew a kiss at Harry.
Harry smiled slightly, his expression momentarily brightening, and lifted his bottle of butterbeer in a silent salute and Ginny beamed at him, all her emotions clear to be seen in her bright face and eyes.
And she was, Hermione thought with a pang, so beautiful right then. In her simple white sun-dress, smiling as she was, she was beautiful, so beautiful Hermione couldn’t imagine how Harry resisted the appeal in that look and that smile and remained sitting down. Surely Harry wanted to go to her, wanted to be with her-how could he not?
Hermione suddenly had the odd sense of being able to see the future, knew how it would happen. As she’d half expected it to happen, as everyone expected it to happen. Ginny was waiting for Harry, was waiting for him to fully recover, to be able to relax and to smile and to live a normal life again, and when he did, Ginny would be there for him. And they would be happy together, as they had been in their 6th year, Hermione thought. She could almost see it in her mind’s eye, picture Ginny and Harry in some future year, a little older but still a striking couple, perhaps with a few children by then…
And she was happy for Harry. Of course she was happy for Harry. All she’d ever really wanted since their first year was for Harry to be happy and safe and she wasn’t so selfish as to be upset that Harry would be happy, even if he wasn’t happy with her.
It was silly and stupid and irrational but Hermione suddenly understood, in one of those moments of clarity in which we learn more than all our previous years have taught us, the real reason she and Ron couldn’t be more than friends. It was because of Harry. Because she couldn’t possibly give enough of herself to anyone else, even to Ron, dear as he was, when she’d already given all of herself, all of her heart and her mind, to Harry. At some point in the past seven years of caring about him and worrying about him and fighting beside him, she’d given all of herself to him, so much and so completely that there was no way she could be with anyone else. Harry had become her life.
And Harry belonged to Ginny.
Hermione was only, as she’d always been, his best friend. Nothing more, nothing less. And so she would always be.
She suddenly, stupidly, felt like crying. A line she’d once read somewhere came back to her, stinging her with its truth and its poignancy. The saddest way to miss someone is to sit right next to them and know that they will never be yours.
For one insane moment, she wondered what Harry would do if he knew what she was thinking, what he would do if she turned to him and asked him, why not her? Why couldn’t he love her, look at her the way he looked at Ginny, after all these years of friendship? Was she so little to him?
But she didn’t say any such thing. Of course she didn’t. Because that wasn’t her and she already knew the answer. Love wasn’t something that could be forced; sometimes it was there and sometimes, it just wasn’t.
“You should go to her,” was all she said.
“No, not yet. I don’t… I don’t feel like talking to people right now.”
Hermione tensed a little, automatically. She didn’t think Harry was referring to her; it wouldn’t be like him to be so, well, impolite. “Was that your subtle way of telling me to leave you alone?”
He nudged her with his shoulder, giving her a side-ways half-smile. “No, it wasn’t, so don’t put words in my mouth. I just… don’t really feel like being with Ginny right now.”
Hermione returned his slight smile with one of her own and relaxed back into her seat. Maybe he didn’t love her but she was his best friend and she knew he cared about her. And for now, it was enough for her to know that, even when he didn’t feel like being with other people, he didn’t mind being with her. For now, it was enough just to sit next to him like this.
And maybe someday, she would find someone else. Maybe someday, the pain of loving him would go away. Someday...
~*~
Harry let himself sit back in the chair, feeling a little bit of the constant tension he felt leave him. Beside him, Hermione also sat in silence.
It was surprising, even odd, that just being with Hermione without saying anything could be so comfortable, even relaxing, but he’d found it was. He didn’t understand it but he did appreciate it. He didn’t mind, even liked, Hermione’s company, even now when he found he didn’t much care for anyone else’s company.
Hermione didn’t talk at him-not like just about everyone else did. He’d found that there were generally two types of people: those that wanted him to talk about the relief that the War was over and even the celebrations planned for later, when the Ministry had reorganized itself, and those people he tended to know better-the Weasleys being the main part of this group, along with the media-who wanted him to tell them more about his experiences in the War. He might not feel like celebrating, didn’t really feel like the War was really over yet, but he certainly didn’t want to talk about it. The greater part of him rather wished he could forget most of the events of the past few years had ever happened.
Hermione wasn’t like that. She didn’t expect him to be cheerful or even relieved and she certainly didn’t need to ask him about his experiences since she had, after all, been right there with him for almost all of it. She just… understood… somehow. She didn’t expect him to talk much but, oddly, he found that her very lack of expectation made it easier for him to talk, usually about inconsequential things but talk he did.
He felt comfortable with her right now, even when he didn’t feel particularly comfortable with anyone else.
On the other side of the Burrow’s lawn, he saw Ginny smile at him before she turned back to her conversation with Ron and George. And he was distracted from his rather melancholy thoughts in looking at her.
She was looking really, almost incredibly, pretty today. Today, when all the Weasleys seemed to have made a silent decision to put aside their mourning over Fred for a day and only be happy, enjoying simply being safe and alive and all together once again, she was beautiful. Her white dress made her hair seem even brighter in contrast until she looked even more vivid than usual.
He was accustomed to thinking of her as being bright; she had become, in his fanciful moments, like a star to him, his memories of her shining in the darkness that was his life. In those few times this past year when he’d even allowed himself to think about his wishes for after the War, when he’d allowed himself to hope for a different reality in the future, he’d always thought of her. And he’d always thought, someday…
He had replayed in his mind, relived the moment of seeing her blazing smile right before he kissed her the first time in the Common Room, at least a hundred times in the last year. He’d built it up in his mind until he was nearly convinced that there really had been music, a full orchestral accompaniment, and possibly a trumpet fanfare to their kiss, until he almost felt mild surprise whenever he opened his eyes from this remembered fantasy to find that the entire world hadn’t suddenly burst into springtime, with flowers and birds and universal peace.
She was a dream and a fantasy and a hope.
And he always thought, someday…
Someday, when the War was over, he would go back to her and he would kiss her again and that time, there would be no danger, no threat from Voldemort, that would ever separate them again. Someday, they would be together again. Someday, he would be with Ginny and all would be right in the world and he would never feel fear or sadness or worry again.
He just knew it. After all, how could it not be so when Ginny herself was so bright, so… safe and so confident in her attractions and in her future? It was something he remembered about her and treasured in his memory, that she had always smiled at him, that it really seemed as if in her mind, Voldemort and the War were just seen as minor and fleeting inconveniences, getting in the way of the perfect life she was quite sure they would have. That very confidence appealed to him since he himself had never felt it, had never believed anyone could really care about him, had never believed that he could really be happy-until Ginny.
When Ginny smiled at him so brightly and when she kissed him, he felt like he was finally someone people-girls-would like. He felt like he was finally happy.
And then Voldemort and the War had ruined that happy halcyon time but he’d thought, someday…
And now, with Voldemort gone and the War over, it should have been that someday was finally here.
Only he didn’t really feel that.
Ginny was still the dream but he wasn’t ready for it yet. Wasn’t ready for her.
Not when the War would not release its grip on him so easily. Not when he still found himself reliving it every night in his dreams. Not when he still started and tensed at every unexpected sound.
No, he would wait until he was healed, until he was normal-or at least as normal as he’d ever been, the way he’d been before this last year of the War, the way he’d been when he’d been with her before.
His fears and his troubles seemed so far removed from the brightness he associated with her and he didn’t want any part of his darkness to taint her. And, more importantly in some ways, he didn’t want her to know about his weaknesses.
He would wait until he was better, stronger. And then he would go back to her.
Someday…
~To be continued...~
Be warned: this starts out with a touch of H/G-- or at least about as much H/G as I can stand to write (which, admittedly, isn't much.)
Someday
Part 1
Hermione sat down beside Harry, handing him a bottle of butterbeer which he accepted with a half-smile of thanks.
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, looking out over the backyard of the Burrow where the Weasleys were currently sitting and talking. They were just far enough away, sitting on this bench in the far corner of the yard that they couldn’t hear distinctly any of what the Weasleys were saying, could only hear the pleasant hum of voices and the occasional sound of laughter.
“I think Ginny’s wondering why you aren’t over there socializing,” Hermione finally said, half-idly.
“They’re probably all wondering that.”
“True enough. The birthday boy shouldn’t be sitting alone at his own party.”
“I’m not alone,” was his automatic response. “And anyway, I just… I don’t feel much like partying these days. You know that. I just… don’t…”
There was something almost painful in his voice, a sort of confused emptiness, and she almost winced to hear it. Harry had been at a loss, brooding, for weeks now, since the War had ended. She knew how he felt, this sudden loss of purpose. She felt the same, except with her, she knew, at least, something of what she wanted to do with her life, would be starting at the Healer Academy at St. Mungo’s in the next month. With Harry, though, she knew he’d never really thought of what he might do after the War, had half-expected he wouldn’t survive the War and so he hadn’t really planned for anything. And now, that the future Harry had never really expected to have was here, he was at a loss.
And at a more basic level, it wasn’t possible to go from the constant dangers and worries and fears of the past year and more to complete peace and comfort immediately. Harry was still tense, still worried, couldn’t stop acting as if he were, still, fighting a war. He didn’t know how to not be fighting a war.
But, of course, she said nothing of that. “I know, but Mrs. Weasley wanted to give you this little party.”
“I know and I appreciate it,” he said quietly.
Ron said something to Ginny, making Ginny laugh before she turned her smiling face to look at Harry and Hermione could see their eyes meet across the yard before Ginny blew a kiss at Harry.
Harry smiled slightly, his expression momentarily brightening, and lifted his bottle of butterbeer in a silent salute and Ginny beamed at him, all her emotions clear to be seen in her bright face and eyes.
And she was, Hermione thought with a pang, so beautiful right then. In her simple white sun-dress, smiling as she was, she was beautiful, so beautiful Hermione couldn’t imagine how Harry resisted the appeal in that look and that smile and remained sitting down. Surely Harry wanted to go to her, wanted to be with her-how could he not?
Hermione suddenly had the odd sense of being able to see the future, knew how it would happen. As she’d half expected it to happen, as everyone expected it to happen. Ginny was waiting for Harry, was waiting for him to fully recover, to be able to relax and to smile and to live a normal life again, and when he did, Ginny would be there for him. And they would be happy together, as they had been in their 6th year, Hermione thought. She could almost see it in her mind’s eye, picture Ginny and Harry in some future year, a little older but still a striking couple, perhaps with a few children by then…
And she was happy for Harry. Of course she was happy for Harry. All she’d ever really wanted since their first year was for Harry to be happy and safe and she wasn’t so selfish as to be upset that Harry would be happy, even if he wasn’t happy with her.
It was silly and stupid and irrational but Hermione suddenly understood, in one of those moments of clarity in which we learn more than all our previous years have taught us, the real reason she and Ron couldn’t be more than friends. It was because of Harry. Because she couldn’t possibly give enough of herself to anyone else, even to Ron, dear as he was, when she’d already given all of herself, all of her heart and her mind, to Harry. At some point in the past seven years of caring about him and worrying about him and fighting beside him, she’d given all of herself to him, so much and so completely that there was no way she could be with anyone else. Harry had become her life.
And Harry belonged to Ginny.
Hermione was only, as she’d always been, his best friend. Nothing more, nothing less. And so she would always be.
She suddenly, stupidly, felt like crying. A line she’d once read somewhere came back to her, stinging her with its truth and its poignancy. The saddest way to miss someone is to sit right next to them and know that they will never be yours.
For one insane moment, she wondered what Harry would do if he knew what she was thinking, what he would do if she turned to him and asked him, why not her? Why couldn’t he love her, look at her the way he looked at Ginny, after all these years of friendship? Was she so little to him?
But she didn’t say any such thing. Of course she didn’t. Because that wasn’t her and she already knew the answer. Love wasn’t something that could be forced; sometimes it was there and sometimes, it just wasn’t.
“You should go to her,” was all she said.
“No, not yet. I don’t… I don’t feel like talking to people right now.”
Hermione tensed a little, automatically. She didn’t think Harry was referring to her; it wouldn’t be like him to be so, well, impolite. “Was that your subtle way of telling me to leave you alone?”
He nudged her with his shoulder, giving her a side-ways half-smile. “No, it wasn’t, so don’t put words in my mouth. I just… don’t really feel like being with Ginny right now.”
Hermione returned his slight smile with one of her own and relaxed back into her seat. Maybe he didn’t love her but she was his best friend and she knew he cared about her. And for now, it was enough for her to know that, even when he didn’t feel like being with other people, he didn’t mind being with her. For now, it was enough just to sit next to him like this.
And maybe someday, she would find someone else. Maybe someday, the pain of loving him would go away. Someday...
~*~
Harry let himself sit back in the chair, feeling a little bit of the constant tension he felt leave him. Beside him, Hermione also sat in silence.
It was surprising, even odd, that just being with Hermione without saying anything could be so comfortable, even relaxing, but he’d found it was. He didn’t understand it but he did appreciate it. He didn’t mind, even liked, Hermione’s company, even now when he found he didn’t much care for anyone else’s company.
Hermione didn’t talk at him-not like just about everyone else did. He’d found that there were generally two types of people: those that wanted him to talk about the relief that the War was over and even the celebrations planned for later, when the Ministry had reorganized itself, and those people he tended to know better-the Weasleys being the main part of this group, along with the media-who wanted him to tell them more about his experiences in the War. He might not feel like celebrating, didn’t really feel like the War was really over yet, but he certainly didn’t want to talk about it. The greater part of him rather wished he could forget most of the events of the past few years had ever happened.
Hermione wasn’t like that. She didn’t expect him to be cheerful or even relieved and she certainly didn’t need to ask him about his experiences since she had, after all, been right there with him for almost all of it. She just… understood… somehow. She didn’t expect him to talk much but, oddly, he found that her very lack of expectation made it easier for him to talk, usually about inconsequential things but talk he did.
He felt comfortable with her right now, even when he didn’t feel particularly comfortable with anyone else.
On the other side of the Burrow’s lawn, he saw Ginny smile at him before she turned back to her conversation with Ron and George. And he was distracted from his rather melancholy thoughts in looking at her.
She was looking really, almost incredibly, pretty today. Today, when all the Weasleys seemed to have made a silent decision to put aside their mourning over Fred for a day and only be happy, enjoying simply being safe and alive and all together once again, she was beautiful. Her white dress made her hair seem even brighter in contrast until she looked even more vivid than usual.
He was accustomed to thinking of her as being bright; she had become, in his fanciful moments, like a star to him, his memories of her shining in the darkness that was his life. In those few times this past year when he’d even allowed himself to think about his wishes for after the War, when he’d allowed himself to hope for a different reality in the future, he’d always thought of her. And he’d always thought, someday…
He had replayed in his mind, relived the moment of seeing her blazing smile right before he kissed her the first time in the Common Room, at least a hundred times in the last year. He’d built it up in his mind until he was nearly convinced that there really had been music, a full orchestral accompaniment, and possibly a trumpet fanfare to their kiss, until he almost felt mild surprise whenever he opened his eyes from this remembered fantasy to find that the entire world hadn’t suddenly burst into springtime, with flowers and birds and universal peace.
She was a dream and a fantasy and a hope.
And he always thought, someday…
Someday, when the War was over, he would go back to her and he would kiss her again and that time, there would be no danger, no threat from Voldemort, that would ever separate them again. Someday, they would be together again. Someday, he would be with Ginny and all would be right in the world and he would never feel fear or sadness or worry again.
He just knew it. After all, how could it not be so when Ginny herself was so bright, so… safe and so confident in her attractions and in her future? It was something he remembered about her and treasured in his memory, that she had always smiled at him, that it really seemed as if in her mind, Voldemort and the War were just seen as minor and fleeting inconveniences, getting in the way of the perfect life she was quite sure they would have. That very confidence appealed to him since he himself had never felt it, had never believed anyone could really care about him, had never believed that he could really be happy-until Ginny.
When Ginny smiled at him so brightly and when she kissed him, he felt like he was finally someone people-girls-would like. He felt like he was finally happy.
And then Voldemort and the War had ruined that happy halcyon time but he’d thought, someday…
And now, with Voldemort gone and the War over, it should have been that someday was finally here.
Only he didn’t really feel that.
Ginny was still the dream but he wasn’t ready for it yet. Wasn’t ready for her.
Not when the War would not release its grip on him so easily. Not when he still found himself reliving it every night in his dreams. Not when he still started and tensed at every unexpected sound.
No, he would wait until he was healed, until he was normal-or at least as normal as he’d ever been, the way he’d been before this last year of the War, the way he’d been when he’d been with her before.
His fears and his troubles seemed so far removed from the brightness he associated with her and he didn’t want any part of his darkness to taint her. And, more importantly in some ways, he didn’t want her to know about his weaknesses.
He would wait until he was better, stronger. And then he would go back to her.
Someday…
~To be continued...~