Summary: Harry is getting married, and it's to the woman he loves. Isn't it? Then why does he still look at Hermione and never want to turn away? Why does her presence leave him breathless and a mere touch send shivers of desire through him, leaving him wanting more? Surely this is just cold feet. Yet a single letter changes everything and Harry comes to discover that what his heart truly desires has been standing before his eyes all this time.
Categories: Harry/Hermione Characters: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 8
Completed: Yes
Word count: 21242
Read: 28379
Published: 02/08/05
Updated: 09/06/05
1. Go to Her by Beth Brown
2. Don't Forget by Beth Brown
3. Simply Divine by Beth Brown
4. Open Your Eyes by Beth Brown
5. Let Go by Beth Brown
6. Awakening by Beth Brown
7. Twilight by Beth Brown
8. First Day of My Life by Beth Brown
A/N : just a little clarification to those who might get a tad bit confused. This story revolves around a single letter. The timeline is a week and each chapter is dedicated to each day, but always goes back to the present time. Hopefully this bit cleared up some things. And I hope that this is too your liking. Enjoy and don't forget to review I practically live off em.
A Letter For My Love
The greatest thing you’ll ever learn
Is just to love and be loved in return
-Moulin Rouge
September 29, 2005- Present Time: 3:34am
A key turns in a lock. A door opens and a tall, young man steps tiredly into his dark flat. Running a hand through his hair, he sighs as he tosses his things onto the kitchen table and drapes his coat over the couch. With a flick of his wand, a bottle flies straight into an open hand.
He switches the lamplight on and rifles through the pile of letters in his hands. Bills, postcards, junk mail; there’s nothing new, and the man takes a swig from the bottle.
The last letter in his hand reveals familiar writing. He smiles, thinking of her. Wondering what she could have possibly wrote about.
Opening the letter he scans the first sheet, at the words written in the all too familiar loopy handwriting. The warm smile lighting his features dissolves, and his face takes on a solemn mask.
He straightens and a deep intake of breath echoes in the dimly lit room. A hint of sorrow fills his eyes as they drift across the page a second time; the drink long forgotten is clasped tightly in his hand.
“Bloody hell.”
He sets the drink down and sighs, shutting his eyes for a brief moment. Then places his head in his hands. The clock ticks. The muffled sound of a siren fades into the night, and he looks up.
He sits there, staring at the letter completely unlike anything she had ever sent him before. Sitting there gazing at it, he doesn’t really see it at all. Instead, his sees only her.
Remembering the other page, he glances warily at it, surprised to find someone else’s all too familiar writing gracing the sheet of parchment. It’s all but blank, save for two lines scrawled right in the middle. His eyebrows rise in a mixture of confusion and amusement at what his friend has written.
Suddenly, he blinks as if waking from a dream, and there is a sudden resolve in his eyes. The rain begins to beat heavily upon the window, and he stands up stuffing his wand in his pocket. The clock chimes the time, and he looks at it, startled.
Thunder rumbles in the night sky, and in a blink he is gone; apparated to the place where he would meet her. The letter lies on the table, forgotten.
Not a day goes by that my heart doesn’t ache for you. To hear your voice, your laugh would be sweet music to my ears. My eyes yearn to see you standing before me. Your piercing eyes staring deeply into mine.
My body longs for your touch. The shadow of your warm embrace shuts my eyes, and I sigh. A hand on my shoulder, comforting. An arm around mine, playful. A strong hand on my back, protective.
Even if we have never experienced the feel of our bodies joined together, one look in your eyes makes me feel as if we had done that sacred and forbidden act time and time again. A light brush of your fingers across my skin makes me want my dreams to become reality. But it’s not to be. It is never to be. I must love you from afar, and I will savour each moment we have together as if it’s our last.
I have never dreamed the day would come. The day you told me you loved me. But it was too late. You belonged to another, one more worthy than myself and I would never share you. The day of the wedding approaches. Then you will be lost to me forever.
You must marry her. I will not be the reason for another woman’s unhappiness. You are happy with her. I see the way your eyes shine when you talk to her, but do you look at her the way you look at me? When you’re with her, do you feel as if you’re the only two people in the world? Does a smile brighten your features at the mere sight of her? A thought of her?
I can’t keep going on like this; comparing my relationship to hers. I hate to place this on your shoulders but I just simply cannot take it any more. You will have to choose, and I hope it’s the right one.
I’ll be waiting for your answer. I don’t mean to pressure you. I don’t want to. I just have to know. If you decline, then I’ll have to be on my way, for as much as I love you and want to be there for you, I wouldn’t be able to stand watching you with her. Wishing it was me.
Don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t want your pity. I have your friendship, but I want your love as well. I want your answer. I need it because I just can’t bare living like this any longer. Not knowing. Always wanting. It’s slowly killing me inside.
It’s funny how much control I have in my life, and yet a single word or action can shatter all of that.
Whomever you choose let it be known that I will always love you. My heart and my friendship will always be yours. If you choose her, then I wish you both a lifetime of happiness. And I ask you to never forget me. I won’t forget you.
Goodbye my love.
The second sheet of parchment held but only two lines written in the hand of a friend.
You can thank me later. Go to her.
Don't Forget by Beth Brown
Never knew I could feel like this
Like I’ve never seen the sky before
Want to vanish inside your kiss…
Seasons my change winter to spring
But I love you until the end of time.
Come what may
Come what may
I will love you until my dying day.
- Moulin Rouge “Come What May"
September 23, 2005
Excited squeals ring in the halls amidst various “awws”; a jubilant show of appreciation and amazement at the scene unraveling before them. On bended knee he asks her. She assents with tears in her eyes, and slipping on the dazzling ring, he rises and thanks her with a kiss.
Hermione jerks her head to the side hoping to hide the anguish painted clearly on her features. Her hands tremble and her vision blurs, until she can no longer read the letter she can’t seem to throw away.
With a sniff and all of the dignity she can muster, she places his letter in the box along with all of the others. Slamming it shut, she pauses and takes a deep breath, taking a hold of her flailing emotions.
She could still hear them. Still see them holding each other and smiling with all of the others in the grand room. His long and detailed written explanation of this event makes sure that she never forgets this.
His words are paintings of the moment that tears at her heart with mocking laughter, and having the letter hidden away, unfinished, does nothing to settle her swirling thoughts.
She sits in a chair staring at her reflection. What is wrong with her? Why has he chosen another?
The tears she struggles to hold back cascade down her cheeks and she throws herself onto the dresser. Her shoulders shake. Loud muffled sobs of one with nothing left to lose wrenches from her already raw throat.
Moments later, having dispelled most of her sorrow, she glances up and catches sight of her disheveled appearance. She sighs and swallows, getting up and walking out and onto the balcony.
The setting sun casts the indigo sky into a spell of fire. The sounds of the city reach her ears but she doesn’t heed them. She only closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and revels in the beauty of the moment, attempting to slow her racing heart.
A cool breeze flows around her, gently pushing her hair back and around her face. Her hands, clinging to the rail in an iron grip, slowly relax as a sweet memory is relived once more.
Peals of laughter ring in her ears, and she could almost feel his arms wrap around her waist, holding her close. A similar sun sets in the distance igniting rippling waters.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it?”
His lips brush her ears lightly as he whispers to her.
“Breathtaking,” she remembers answering breathlessly, half of her thinking of the scenery and the other half caught up in the man that held her.
A car shrieks and her eyes open.
“Don’t forget,” she whispers to the wind, not sure if those words are meant for her or are a desperate call to him.
As if in answer to her call, the door suddenly opens and he’s there with a bag of groceries in one hand, a box of Ron’s things in the other and the mail clutched between his lips.
She dashes over to help him, not before he gives her an odd look at her appearance, but she shakes his look off with a wave of her hand. He kisses her cheek in greeting and her eyes shut briefly before he pulls away with a bright smile.
She walks into the kitchen and places the bag on the table.
“Where’s Ron?” she asks.
“Getting the rest of his things, he should be here in a moment.”
She walks back into the living room to find him standing with a slight smile and reading a letter.
It’s from her.
She batters away the raging jealousy racing through her being.
“Did they move in already?”
“They will be. Ron’s cleared everything out so Ginny and Nigel should be settled in about, oh tomorrow. Are you alright? ”
“I’m fine,” she says brightly and forces a smile.
He doesn’t look as if he believes her, but just as he’s about to inquire further, Ron walks in burdened with the last of his belongings.
Desperate to get away from his intoxicating presence lest she loses herself in him, she turns quickly, takes a box from Ron and carries what she can into his new room.
She purposely takes her time laying the boxes down and arranging what she can. Their voices reach her ears. A bust of laughter erupts and she smiles a sad smile, wishing he didn’t have to go.
They turn as she enters the room and he offers her his bottle without hesitation.
“So are you settled with Gwen, then?” Ron asks and she takes a long gulp of the alcohol.
“Just about. She wants to change just everything around adding curtains here, chairs there.”
“It looked just fine,” Ron protests.
With a shrug he replies, “It what she wants, and if she’s happy, so am I.”
Ron mocks a swoon.
“Piss off,” he replies though a grin clings to his features.
Her stomach churns and she feels as if she’s going to throw up. Laughing nervously she says something about their last dinner together and races into the kitchen.
Unbeknownst to her, a pair of green eyes follow her every move as it always has.
“So what do you think?”
He blinks, slightly dazed and turns to Ron with a questioning look.
“What?”
A strange, yet knowing glance is thrown in his direction, but Ron continues, “The assignment. I think I’ll take the case. Tonks was appointed my second so that takes away Ginny’s worry about me working alone.”
“Tonks?”
“Yeah, mate. Haven’t you been listening?”
“Er..yeah.”
A loud clang resounds from the kitchen soon followed by a sharp curse. Their heads jerk at the sound and he glances worriedly in her direction. He crosses to the kitchen, calling out if she needs any assistance.
“I’m sure she’s…” Ron trails off knowing that his attempts are futile and he quickly follows suit.
“What happened?’
Ron hears him ask.
“Nothing. I’m alright, really. Just nicked my finger, overreacted and knocked the bowl clear off the counter.”
Ron stops at the doorway and watches as he towers over her, holding her hand delicately in his as if she was liable to break at the slightest touch.
With a whispered word the cut disappears without a trace and so does almost every ounce of her self control. She dares not look up, knowing that do so would be to trap herself in his gaze.
Then she would never want be free.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
She could feel his eyes boring into her and he does not let go of her hand. The drip, drip of the water falling gracefully from the silver tap fades into the background when, giving into temptation, she looks up. He swallows hard and looks at her with a trace of confusion.
A silent watcher, Ron stands unnoticed, witnessing the sweet tableau present before him.
Gwen who?
Simply Divine by Beth Brown
Every time I look at you the world just melts away
All my troubles all my fears dissolve in your affection
You see me at my weakest but you take me as I am
And when I fall you offer me a softer place to land
You stay the course you hold the line
You’re the one true thing I know I can believe in
You’re all the things that I desire
You save me
You complete me.
- Sarah McLachlan “Push”
September 29, 2005- Present Day: 3:45am
He hopes he isn’t too late.
There’s muffled pop and a disgruntled looking man suddenly appears in the dark living room of the town home. He immediately rushes from dark room to dark room, finding each of them empty. “Hermione?” he calls out desperately needing to hear her answering voice. Not a sound reaches his ears.
He walks into her room, pauses and swallows. A part of him feels as if he is invading privacy. He is happy to just simply stand in the doorway and admire the room that she lives in, the bed that she sleeps in, the books that she reads, the window she looks out of, the pictures adorning her mirror, the pack of letters sitting on her dresser… The pack of letters sitting on her dresser?
Furrowing his brow in curiosity he makes his way to her dresser and picks up the package. Rifling through them, he finds that they are all the letters he has sent her through the years.
“I can’t believe she’s kept these.”
“You better believe it, mate.”
He whirls around at the intruding voice and with a muttered word the intruder is thrown up against the open door and held there.
“It’s good to see you too, Harry.”
“Ron?”
Immediately, the hold on Ron’s body slackens and he drops lightly to his feet. Green eyes that only moments ago burned with a fiery intensity now look apologetically at his best friend.
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t mention it. Shouldn’t have sneaked up on you like that.”
He places the pile of letters back on the dresser and Ron raises his eyebrows.
“I see you’ve found her stash.”
“Yeah.”
“She’s not here you know.”
“Really? I didn’t notice.”
They walk into the kitchen and he begins to pace as Ron takes a bottle out of the fridge, hands it to him then grabs one for himself.
“So you’re not going to tell me then?”
“Tell you what?” Ron answers with a wry grin before taking a swig.
He sighs at this answer and looks around as if suspecting her to be hiding behind the couch or under the table.
“I have specific orders not to tell you.”
“Lovely.”
“Oh, don’t feel too down. If you hurry, you probably might catch up.”
He looks sharply at Ron, but doesn’t get more out of him.
“You wrote the message, didn’t you?”
“Naturally.”
“I’ve got to hand it to you Ron, it was very tactful of you not to mention anything before the engagement.”
“The talent comes naturally, mate and as I said in the message, you’ll thank me later.”
“I hope so,” he sighs.
Then with a nod of farewell he disappears.
“Cheers, Harry,” Ron whispers with a smile.
September 24, 2005
“Oh isn’t it wonderful darling?” the woman in blue squeals and she grips her fiancée’s hand in excitement. He smiles back at her and looks at the dress in the window.
“Yeah, it is.”
“I must have it. It will look absolutely divine on me don’t you think?”
Her eyes dance and sparkle as she looks at him joyfully. He leans over and places a feather light kiss on her neck.
“Anything with look beautiful on you Gwen. Anything.”
Gwen frantically tries to still her racing heart and her smile widens. She places a hand on his cheek and touches her forehead with his.
“You’re so sweet,” Gwen whispers, teary eyed and she kisses him. “Come, let’s go inside. I want to try it on.”
The couple walk into the dress shop and are immediately greeted by a boisterous looking woman, who kindly and excitedly ushers them in.
In moments, Gwen all smiles once more and with now three dresses in hand, enters the change rooms. He waits patiently outside for her, sitting in an armchair positioned so that he can look out the store window.
It’s been years since he has been in here. The last time as far as he can remember is the day he and Ron accompanied a flustered Hermione. It was the week before graduation and she was, not surprisingly, valedictorian. So of course she was obliged to have the dress to accompany the title.
He remembers being just as bored then as he is bored now. At least Ron was here back then to keep his spirits up. He could still hear Ron’s and his own teasing laughter as they select the wildest dresses for their friend to try on. He smiles as her face, flushed with embarrassment and annoyance, appears before his mind’s eye.
“You two are the most childish, inconsiderate people I know,” she says with a huff, swiping the dresses from their arms and placing them back where they belong.
“And you mean that in the nicest possible way right?” Ron answers with a laugh.
Still chuckling, Harry gasps with mock exclamation and snags a little red number off an awaiting rack. He ignores the upraising look the storekeeper throws at him as Ron’s guffaws egg him on.
“Would you look at this?” he says in mock surprise. “Isn’t this simply divine?!”
“Harry Potter, you put that back this instant.”
“Not until you try it on.”
“I will not.”
Moments later, with much urging, encouragement and muffled laughter she has the dress on.
He turns as he hears the door opening, signaling her entrance. The laughter dies in his throat. He swallows.
She is stunning.
Looking nervously from one to the other she asks, “What do you think?”
He is at loss for words. Something stirs within the pit of his stomach and he battles the sudden, carnal urge away; quite startled at this initial reaction.
“It’s smashing,” Ron announces, killing the awkward silences hanging around them. She smiles.
“Harry?”
He blinks and the memories fall away. Gwen’s image swims before his eyes. She looks lovely.
“Wow,” he admires.
“You like it?”
“Of course I do.”
“I can’t seem to decide.”
“Take them all.”
Her eyes widen at his comment.
“You’re serious?”
“I am.”
She squeals, throws herself on him and kisses him senseless.
“You’re welcome?” he says amusingly and slightly out of breath and she smiles in answer and rushes back into the room to change.
Once paid for, the couple walks through the crowded streets arm in arm. She is looking in all the windows admiring the objects held there. Someone catches his eye.
“What is it, darling?” Gwen asks, brushing a lock of blonde hair out of her eyes.
“I thought I saw someone I know.”
“Who?”
“Hermione.”
“Oh.”
“I wonder what she’s doing here.”
“Shopping most likely. Look, darling, it’s almost time for our meeting with the wedding planner. Shouldn’t we get going?”
“In a minute, Gwen,” he says distractedly and strolls into a flower boutique.
She is standing right before him and he brightens. She’s too busy looking at the flowers to notice him towering over her. For the first time, he becomes aware of the fact that she doesn’t even come up to his shoulders, unlike Gwen who can easily stare at him eye to eye.
He watches as she picks up a red rose and brings it to her nose, shutting her eyes for mere moments, inhaling, and suddenly he remembers her chatting with their fellow Gryffindors right after the ceremony.
Her dark hair falls over her shoulders in waves. A single chain is the only piece of jewelry that adorns her creamy skin. The dress is perfect; fitting to her every curve like a second skin.
The afternoon sun gently kisses her features and he remembers her turning at the sound of her name. She smiles at him brightly and he hands her a rose.
Neville, with a queer smile on his face, says his goodbyes and moves on to Seamus.
"Harry, you shouldn't have."
She buries her nose in its deep red petals.
"I wanted to." he answers with a grin, not able to take his eyes off her.
She reaches up and places a chaste kiss on his cheek.
"Well, thank you," she looks back down at the delicate flower, smiling warmly, "It's very beautiful."
His eyes never leave her.
Indeed it is. He thinks to himself.
As the memory fades, he continues to stand there for a moment, her scent overwhelming him before he leans down and whispers, “Choose the red. They’re much prettier.”
She jumps and whirls around.
“Harry! You, git, don’t do that!”
He chuckles as she stands on her toes and throws her arms around him in greeting.
“What are you doing here?”
“Grandmother needs fresh flowers by her bed and this is the best place to get them.”
“How is she?”
“Oh, she’s alright. It’s only a sprain. She’ll recover in no time. So, what are you doing here.”
“Shopping.”
“For what exactly?”
“Gwen and I are here to meet with the planner, but we bought some gowns along the way.”
Her smile freezes on her face.
“Oh, that’s nice.”
She glances behind him, looking puzzled.
“Um, you said you were with Gwen?”
“Yeah.”
“I think you’ve seem to have lost her.”
“What?”
He turns to look behind him, expecting to see his fiancée patiently waiting. Rows of flowers greet his inspecting gaze.
“Gwen?” he calls out.
“I think she’s out there.”
She points outside to the tall, stunning woman chatting with the florist. He flushes.
“You didn’t forget her, did you, Harry?”
He scoffs in answer to this, “Of course not! How can I forget my own wife?”
“Yes, of course. Well, I should be going. I need to run a few errands before I’m off to the hospital,” she answers vaguely and brushes past him with a grin.
“You don’t need any help with anything?”
She waves him off, “Oh, no. I’ll be fine. You don’t want to be late for meeting now do you?” And with that she bids him a farewell and disappears deeper into the store.
He stands there for a few moments finding himself incapable of any movement.
“Harry, there you are! This store is rather big don’t you think. It would take ages to find what we wanted. Did you find her?”
“Yeah, she had to buy some flowers for her grandmother.”
Her eyes fill with concern, “Oh how is the poor woman doing?”
He explains that it’s only a sprain and once finished she looks at her watch.
“Oh, gosh we can’t be late, come on.”
She takes his hand, leading him out of the store.
Open Your Eyes by Beth Brown
Still a little bit of your song in my ear
There’s still a little bit of your words I long to hear
You step a little closer to me so close that I can’t see what’s going on.
-Damien Rice “Cannonball”
September 25, 2005.
He wants to kill him.
He wants to inflict all sorts of bodily harm and tear him into bloody ribbons. The bastard does not deserve her. He wants him to feel the way she is feeling right now. He wants him to cry out in complete and utter agony until he crawls to her and begs her forgiveness. No. The wanker does not even deserve that.
He wants to walk right into the safety of his home, wrap his hands around his neck and watch the life drain out of him. He wants to do all of this with every fiber of his being, but first he must disentangle himself from her anguished form, clinging onto him.
Her whole body shakes as she continues to purge herself of her grief. Her heart wrenching sobs echo in the dimly lit room.
“I-I hate him, H-Harry. I a-absolutely hate him,” she manages to stutter amidst her sobs. He kisses her forehead gently and soothingly strokes her back.
The two of them sit on his bed. She is curled up against him, her head in his arms. He clenches his teeth in anger to see her this way, but his soft voice, devoid of anything but concern and comfort, masks the raging fire screaming to be let free.
“I know, Hermione. And I’ll kill him for this. Believe me, I will.”
She lifts her head and meets his gaze with her teary eyed one. He smoothes the hair away from her face and softly brushes the tears away, cursing his callused hands on her soft skin. She laughs at his comment then sniffs and swipes at her eyes.
“Not if I get to him first.”
He smiles in answer.
“And woe to the wicked when faced with your wrath.”
She smiles and thankfully accepts the tissue he hands her.
He watches as her eyes grow distant, probably reliving those pain filled moments. Unseen to her eye, his hand clenches the bed sheets and he begins to come up with scenarios befitting his revenge.
She bites her lip, attempting to hold back a new wave of tears.
“Harry?”
“What is it, love?”
He brushes a strand of her hair behind her ear. She is looking down now, fiddling with the tissue.
“What’s wrong with me?”
“What? Nothing’s wrong-”
“There must be…There must be a reason why every man I become involved with…every relationship I get myself tangled up in, ends like this. Why doesn’t anyone want me? Am I not smart enough? Brave enough? Is it my looks?"
She pauses and swallows, not daring to meet his eyes.
"When he…when he broke up with me, when he told me it was over, he just looked at me with…such disgust in his eyes. As if I was awful to look at. Dirty, or…or ugly.”
She bites her trembling lip once more.
“Is that it, then? Am I positively hideous?”
He clenches his jaw, almost shaking with anger, barely realizing his own eyes welling up with unshed tears for her.
“Harry,” She looks up at him finally and he feels his heart shatter into a million pieces, “what’s wrong with me?”
He sighs in despair and immediately gathers her into his arms whispering fervently, “There is nothing wrong with you, Hermione. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect. You’re perfect, love. Do you hear me? You’re perfect.”
She rests her head on his shoulder, his words touching her soul.
His lips brush against her ear as he murmurs, “You’re beautiful to me, Hermione. And that’s all that matters.”
“Is it?”
He lets go of her only to look into her eyes and she finally realizes why she could not manage to lose herself in any other man.
She is scared of this newfound discovery and thrilled at the same time. He utters two words and with them, she knows that her heart is his, as it always has been and always will be.
“It is.”
His eyes jerk open and he sits up in bed. Gwen moans in her sleep and rubs her eyes. She sits up on her elbows looking bleary eyed at her fiancée.
“What’s wrong, darling?”
He heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his dark hair.
“Nothing. Just a dream.”
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
He kisses her briefly and gets out of bed. Gwen settles back onto the pillows and is already fast asleep.
He trudges over to the washroom, switches a light on and puts on his glasses. Goosebumps trail across finely toned arms and broad shoulders. Placing both hands on the counter he shakes his head and switches the tap on. He splashes his face, the cool water jolting his senses.
Already the dream begins to wash away leaving him in absolute confusion as his mind attempts to grab onto the last drifting strands. He wonders why out of all the memories his subconscious could have dredged up from the dark pools of his mind, it chose that one.
For a moment he thinks to apparate to her flat and check on her. Minutes later, he chuckles at this notion, thinking of the look on her face were she to see him in such a state. Granted, the sight of him naked from the waste up is not foreign to her eyes, but looking in the mirror at his eyes burning with an unexplainable intensity he decides that in his state of dress or lack thereof, and with that look sparking from those brilliant green orbs, which most likely will not take its leave until sunrise, he thinks that it will probably be a better idea to stay at home. Besides, what would he say to her, turning up at such an hour? Good morning, sorry to wake you but I just had the strangest dream. More of a memory really, and I just wanted to see if you were okay. He tosses an amused grin at his reflection. Yeah, that will go over well.
He turns off the light and steps back into his room. He stops at the bed, looking at his bride to be. She appears peaceful in sleep. Child like, even. He finds that he cannot go back to bed so he walks out of the room and heads downstairs. With a glass of cold milk in hand, he munches on a cookie and heads for the living room.
Pictures of friends beam back at him. Ron grins. Hermione winks. Seamus and Dean give him a thumbs up while Neville throws him a salute. He glances at another picture, one of the many that include Gwen and himself. His photographic twin grins sheepishly while Gwen poses extravagantly, every now and then giggling behind her hand or placing a kiss on photo Harry’s cheek. Oddly enough, he doesn’t return her the favor, but only continues to plaster that sheepish grin on his face. He pays little mind to this detail and moves on and out to the balcony.
The clouds that adorn the early morning sky are lined with purple signaling the sun’s arrival. He places his now empty glass on the table. A cool breeze sends chills through him, but he pays this annoyance no mind and picks up his sketch book sitting atop the ledge. He could now see the sun just peaking over the horizon and he thinks of drawing her a picture.
She loves his artwork.
He begins to draw the city scenery unknowingly furrowing his brow. Almost halfway through he sighs and looks at what he has accomplished so far. He sighs once again, not liking the image before his eyes and begins to erase the entire thing. He rifles through his already finished sketches, every now and then quirking his lips in amusement as each picture produces a fond memory. Then he stops, his fingers pause in the act of turning the page. His throat goes dry.
This is it.
She is immortalized on the parchment, sitting under an autumn tree, reading a book. The tall tree at her back casts shadows around her and the leaves bright with colour are frozen the act of drifting around her still form. They were in their seventh year.
He tears off the sheet and walking back inside, he rolls it up and searches for a ribbon. Once tied, he is in the act of writing a quick note when Gwen, stifling a yawn strolls into the room.
“Morning, lover.” She kisses him soundly and hands him a cup of coffee. “What are you up to?”
“Just a quick note.”
“Oh?”
He continues to write and she sits on the arm of his chair watching him and playing with his hair. He stops and looks at her.
“Gwen?”
“Hmm?”
“Sorry, but do you mind? I just want to finish this.”
“Oh. Uh, yes of course. I’ll make breakfast.”
She leaves the room and he finishes the note. He watches as Hedwig disappears off into the distance with the drawing and the letter strapped to her leg. The smell of bacon wafts onto the room and he walks into the kitchen. Gwen is at the stove.
“Smells wonderful.”
She smiles at him saying, “Lets go for a walk.”
“Now?”
“A picnic then.”
“Now?”
She slaps him playfully.
“Yes, now.”
He places a kiss on her cheek and says, “I know a place, just let me get dressed and we’ll go.”
Gwen beams.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
They are having a picnic. She has made sandwiches, Ron has tried his hand at making a cake, and Harry has provided the drinks. This is but a small celebration for the first weekend of spring. They walk across the grass glittering with the early morning dew. She is looking for the perfect spot.
“How much farther, Hermione?” Ron groans. His arms are laden with various things.
“It’s not that far off now. Oh, do be patient, Ron.”
She leads them to a small glen. At the edge, stands a pretty fountain spewing forth, clear cascading water. He whistles.
“Where did you find this place?”
“Neville told me. He was looking for lady’s-slipper and mandrake root for Professor Sprout and he happened to stumble upon this place. It’s lovely isn’t it.”
“Sure is.”
They spread out the blanket and lay their things upon it.
“I sometimes come here to think. It’s very peaceful.”
“I can see that,” he responds.
Ron has already started feasting on the first sandwich and the other two soon help themselves to some as well. Soon, their laughter is quick to echo in the confines of their solitude. Ron, standing and wind milling his arms tells them a joke. She is clutching her stomach in a fit of mirth and he is tossing his head back, shouting his laughter to the skies.
A drop of rain stops Ron short. The three of them glance up and without warning the skies rip open showering them with its tears. They race to gather up their things. They laugh as they dash out of the glen, through the woods and into the streets of Hogsmead. They take shelter under the roof protecting the entrance of the Three Broomsticks.
“In the mood for a Butterbeer?”
“Yes, please.”
He holds the door open for her and she strides in, followed by Ron. The door closes behind them.
September 25, 2005.
He holds the basket in his hand and tells her to open her eyes. Gwen breaths a sigh of wonder.
“Harry, how did you know about this place?”
“Pretty isn’t it?”
“It’s absolutely breathtaking,” Gwen says with a smile. “Oh, look! A fountain!”
She runs up to the stonework and trails her fingers in the water.
“Hermione showed me this. We often came here when we were younger.”
He wonders if it is only the trick of the eye, but he swears that for a minute he notices Gwen pausing, and biting her lip. Then she plunges her hand into the cold water and brings it back up again. The water pours through her fingers.
“That’s nice,” she says.
September 29, 2005- Present Day: 4:02am
A shaft of pale moonlight falls upon the lone fountain with its ever flowing waters. A dark figure stands by it, trailing his fingers through the clear, streaming liquid. He remembers the slight pause at the mention of her name. The masked regret that has failed to leave her eyes.
I should have known then.
But, no, on that day, he chose to ignore one of the many signs that have come his way many times in the past.
If only I knew. I’ve only I’d looked. If only I’d listened.
Would he be there now, searching for her? Would he be reliving cherished moments and cursing himself for being so blind? He has loved her all along and only now his mind chooses to acknowledge what has always been in his heart.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispers to the wind.
And he disappears, continuing his search for her, hoping that she will forgive him for being so blind as to not notice what has been standing before his eyes all this time.
I’ll find you.
I want to hear what you have to say about me
Hear if you’re going to live without me
I want to hear what you want
What the hell do you want?
- Damien Rice “I remember”
September 26, 2005.
He could hear her voice filled with bursting excitement.
I just can’t believe they appointed me, Harry. Well I know that dad and mum have been expecting this for years now, but I never would have dreamed…
A proud smile clings to his chiseled features and his eyes sparkle with amusement. There is a voice echoing softly in the background.
“The planner said that we should be thinking of flowers now darling. I want them to be colourful but I can’t seem to decide on the conventional or…”
There is going to a ceremony as well. It will all be very exciting. I believe that I’m expected to give a speech and the thought of this is just making me tremble. You know how awful I am at public speaking…
“Then again I do want them to match the dresses. Oh! You absolutely have to see them. They’re the most gorgeous things…”
Ron says that it’s about time they appointed me, what with all the hard work and hours I put in. Though I don’t think I work too hard “Harry scoffs at this- I’m just happy that I’ve been recognized. The letter went on about diligence and dedication and all that rubbish. Oh, who am I kidding? Enough with the modesty. I’m completely ecstatic!
“I’ve completed the guest list and the number comes up to a total of 105. Is that too many?”
I just hope you can come to the ceremony, Harry. Ginny is throwing an after party at her flat. It’s supposed to be the bit without all the pompous, stiff necked formalities. Please say yes…
“Harry? Is it too many? Harry, dear, are you listening?”
“Hmm? What?”
He looks up from the sheet of parchment in his hands. Gwen is standing before him with her hands on her hips.
“What have you got there?”
“What, this? Oh, it’s just a letter from Hermione. She’s been appointed chief of medi-care at St Mungo’s.”
Gwen bites her lip, and he is surprised to see a hurt look on her face. Alarmed, he bolts up from the couch and tries to take her in his arms.
“What’s wrong?”
She pulls away from him.
“What wrong? What’s wrong?!” Her cheeks are aflame and her velvet eyes well up with tears. “You haven’t been listening to a single word I’ve been saying, have you Harry?”
“What? No, that’s not true. I’ve been listening.”
“Oh really? Then tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
There is a heart beat of silence in which she looks at him incredulously. Her mouth opens then closes and a single tear rolls down her cheek.
“Gwen-”
“No! I don’t want to hear it!” she bursts out and he stays silent. “I’ve been patient with you, Harry. God knows how patient I’ve been, but I don’t think I can take much of this any longer.”
His voice is quiet and filled with confusion. “Take much of what?”
“Us.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I have been planning, Harry. Planning for our wedding with everyone’s help but yours. You’re always here, but you’re mind is somewhere else. Your heart isn’t in it and I am sodding tired of pretending not to notice.”
“Notice what, Gwen? Stop beating around the bloody bush and tell me what’s wrong!”
“You don’t love me anymore!”
A shocked silence hangs between them.
“That’s bull and you know it.”
“Open your eyes, Harry. For god sakes just open your bleeding eyes and look at what’s happening! I’m here going out of my way to make things absolutely easy for you and you haven’t said a word on a single plan I’ve made. You haven’t given a single suggestion to anything at all, and I’ve been left to decide everything. Now I thought in the beginning that you were being a gentleman. I thought you were being the most wonderful, considerate husband, tolerating my every wish. But I understand now. You’re not being kind or considerate. You just don’t care.”
“Don’t care? Hell, Gwen, I proposed to you. I’ve given you my bed, my time, m-my bloody heart! What else do you want from me?!”
Gwen looks at him incredulously, her graceful features heating with anger. “I want an action, Harry! I don’t care about the dresses, or the money or-or the damn wedding! I…I want you, Harry. I want you to give me a sign; some indication that you care about our future. That you care about us!”
He clenches his jaw in anger and confusion as to what she wants him to do or say. He turns away briefly and runs a shaking, agitated hand through his hair. The tears streaming down her face make him want to crush her to him, but his fingers itch to smash an object against the wall and watch the broken shards litter the ground.
They are faintly aware of a voice continually shouting his name, but by now he is far into the argument to care, and she is far into him to notice.
He steps closer to her, his voice cold and growing in volume as he says, “What do you want from me, Gwen? If you will do me the favour of gracing me with a straight answer I’ll die a happy man. I’ve given you everything. I’ve done all I could. What more do want? A letter? A song? Words painted in the sky? Do you want a bloody fanfare?! If I could, Gwen, I would lay the world at your feet, but at the moment I’m finding the task a bit hard to accomplish! ”
“Don’t you dare give me sarcasm, Harry because I won’t have it!”
His mind registers the voice calling out his name.
“What?!” he shouts and wheels towards the fireplace and for a fleeting second his eyes flare in mild surprise. Seamus’ head sits in the middle looking rather flustered at having interrupted them.
“What is it, Seamus?” he asks. His voice sounds tired as he swallows his irritation.
In the background, Gwen turns, furiously dashing what is left of her tears away, feeling embarrassed to have displayed herself in such a way before his friend. Seamus’ face looks pallid as he swallows.
“It’s Ron.”
Flashback
The doors to the infirmary burst open and a tall young man, his robes billowing behind him, dashes toward the bed occupied by a pale figure. His flaming hair frames his ashen features.
“Oh, Merlin. Ron,” Harry groans.
A rather bushy haired young woman throws herself into his arms, her body still trembling from a mixture of both shock and relief.
“He’s going to be okay, Harry. Madam Pomfrey says that all he needs is rest and he’ll be alright,” a weary looking Ginny states with a hint of relief in her voice. She sits at Ron’s side, holding his hand tightly in her own.
“I should have been there,” he whispers in a voice writhing with anguish. “I should have known.”
“It’s not your fault, Harry,” Hermione murmurs into his chest.
“Yes it is. Ron would be fine if it wasn’t for me. He would be safe in the common room with Seamus and Dean playing a game or even starting Snape’s essay. It’s my fault he’s here. If he wasn’t my friend, MacNott wouldn’t have attacked him. He-”
She pulls away from his arms drawing his head down to look at her. He could still see traces of tears streaking her cheeks, but her eyes look determined.
“You listen to me, Harry. What happened to Ron is no fault of yours. Now don’t you dare go on blaming yourself and saying that if you hadn’t met us we would be far safer than we are now because all that is a load of rubbish. Voldemort is alive, Harry,” she ignores Ginny’s wince at the mention of the name and continues, “and that means that people will get hurt. Ron just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he fought bravely and won. Would he have known what to do in that situation if he had not been acquainted with you? Would he still be alive right now, if he had not gone through all the troubles you have and fought along side you in the past?”
He shifts his head out of her grip, and turns to look at his best friend. Ron looks like an empty shell. His chest slowly rises and falls in a steady rhythm reminding Harry that he is still clinging onto whatever strands of life he has. Harry’s face crumples. He reaches out to the helpless figure on the bed, now seeming to be only a shadow of the lively being lying dormant within. She quickly takes his outstretched hand and holds it tightly within her own, simultaneously turning him back to face her. Their eyes meet and hold. A torrent of fear sweeps through her as she notices the far away look in his eyes and the hint of a scowl shadowing his features.
Oh, Merlin, not you too. Don’t leave me, Harry. Not now when Ron needs you most. When I need you most.
“Harry?” She watches as a series of emotions flash through his eyes only causing her fear to heighten. “Harry look at me,” she pleads desperately. “Look at me, Harry! Don’t you dare blame yourself for any of this because it was our choice- not yours- to befriend you. Do you hear me? It was our choice. None of this is your fault because it was our decision! Oh, Merlin, Harry please look at me!”
“I am,” he answers in a voice unlike his own.
She shivers uncontrollably, her hand strokes his cheek.
“No you are not. If you are even thinking of doing something stupid, which I know you are, you had better stop this instant!”
She inwardly breaths a sigh of relief as she notices his eyes finally focus on her own.
“What do you want me to do, Hermione? Let him get away with what he’s done?” he hisses, eyes blazing.
She shakes her head.
“No.”
“I have to face him!”
“And you will, with me and Ron at your side.”
His voice softens and his eyes mirror the sorrow and regret he knows that he cannot hide from her.
“No, love. I have to do this alone.”
“But not now. What you have to do is stay here with Ron. With me. Please, Harry. Don’t o.”
Flashback Ends
“I am sorry Mr. Potter, but I simply cannot allow you to see our patient at the present time,” a plump and freckled nurse says gently yet firmly as she looks him in the eye with much trepidation. Her only consolation is the desk separating her from the very angry, very famous Harry Potter who looks as if he can at any moment throttle her or any innocent doctor that so happens to pass by.
He takes a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm himself and looks at the name tag adorning her immaculate uniform. In perfectly bold letters, the gold rectangle screams MARTHA. Seeing the absolutely fearful look in her eyes completely betraying the calm composure she manages to accomplish, he softens his voice with some strain.
“Martha, I just need to know if he’s okay.”
At this, Martha opens her mouth and shakes her head to once again tell the infamous man before her that she simply cannot allow him in the patient’s room, but she is cut off from the sudden look of utter fear that masks his features, for he takes her negative response in the wrong way and automatically assumes that a fate so horrific has befallen his best friend.
“Tell me he’s okay!” he bursts in a rage filled with desperation. At this sudden exclamation, the entrance hall of SPELL DAMAGE grows completely silent. Both patients and doctors alike stop and stare at the alarming sight of an extremely angered wizard towering over the quiet Martha who in turn, from this sudden and unexpected outburst is completely taken aback.
He ignores the hand at his arm and the voice in his ear pleading for him to calm down. The woman standing at his side lets go of him and smiles somewhat fleetingly at the spectators pleased with the exciting spectacle playing before their eyes. Gwen flushes and looks at the poor nurse with an apologetic smile.
Martha manages to find her voice in a matter of minutes and stutters, “I-I’m sure Mr. Weasley is alright. He is in the finest of care and Dr. Granger is seeing to him as we speak, so if you will please have a seat and-”
“Boss?”
He whirls around at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Tonks!” he exclaims in relief and hurries toward the woman, hoping for information. A nurse passes behind them, holding the hand of a man looking quite affronted at the shocking blue that is Tonk’s hair. Harry ignores the insulted patient and in concern goes on to ask, “What happened?”
“We were ambushed during surveillance. We never saw it coming. If it wasn’t for Weasley we’d all be dead.”
A gasp of surprise is heard from the stunning woman standing behind him, but she is regarded with not so much as a look in her direction.
“Is he alright?” he asks stepping forward and not daring to take his eyes of her features in fear of missing a single reaction betraying an answer. There is a painful silence between them as Tonks struggles to figure out how to tell him the news. His throat goes dry as he waits anxiously. A part of him wants to throw caution to the wind and dash into the room to see for himself instead of helplessly standing outside expecting an answer from someone’s lips.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Harry. He looks like hell.”
The world around him falls away and all that he is aware of is room 412 and the words ‘he looks like hell’ a steady chant in his ear.
Not again.
“Granger is in there with him right now. Finnegan is assisting her.” Tonks adds placing a comforting hand on his arm.
Oh god, Hermione.
“She’s the finest doctor in the wizarding world, Harry. Ron’s going to be fine,” she assures. Finding himself unable to say a word, he merely nods in answer to this.
Completely silent, he trudges to the chairs by the wall and sinks into one of them, placing his head in his hands. The women leave him to his thoughts.
Moments later he becomes faintly aware of a woman desperately demanding something of Martha. Her voice sounds as if she is on the verge of tears and increases in volume with every question and demand. He lifts his head and speaks a single broken word.
“Ginny.”
A streak of red shoots into his open arms and he holds her tightly to him.
“He’s going to be alright. Don’t worry. Hermione and Seamus are with him. He’s going to fine,” he whispers his mantra to her and holds her hand, all the while a part of him frantically struggles to believe his own words.
Minutes pass and one by one the rest of the Weasley clan appear in twos and threes. Tonks and Gwen excuse themselves from the mourning party, and they go off in hopes of finding tea for all.
A door opens and a woman dressed in a white coat steps shakily outside and closes the door softly behind her. She stands for a few moments, her back to the door and shuts her eyes in relief. He is the first to spot her. He jumps up. Ginny sits on the edge of her seat, her hand clinging to her husband’s. Nigel, in turn, squeezes her hand reassuringly.
“Is he…” Harry breaths, daring to hope.
“The worst is over. He’s going to be alright,” she assures them all.
A jubilant cry is sounded. He folds her into his arms as waves of pure relief crash through him.
“Can we-”
“Yes, Ginny. You can see him now,” she interrupts with a weak smile.
The Weasleys pour into room 412.
“Don’t you ever scare us like that again.”
He hears Ginny reprimand her brother. Before the door shuts behind them all, the sound of Ron’s voice reaches his ears.
“Oh sure, Gin. I’ll be sure to tell the nice mercenary to next time place a comfortable cushion on the ground before he decides to check if blood really is red and tosses me off a building.”
The bustling room becomes clear to his senses once again and he sighs. “How close was he?”
“Very.”
He expels a long breath, clenches his jaw and swallows.
“We almost lost him, Harry. Again.”
“But we didn’t,” he whispers, burying his face in her hair, inhaling her scent and promptly losing himself in her. “Thanks to you,” he continues.
“And Seamus. If not for him, I would not have gotten to Ron in time.”
“Remind me to buy that man a keg when all this is over.”
She smiles at this and says, “Why not a pub while you’re at it?”
He chuckles. “A pub will do nicely.”
He becomes faintly aware that he is still holding onto her, but he makes no move to let go. She is content to simply close her eyes and listen to the steady beating of his heart.
This is how Gwen found them.
She watches as he whispers to her and tenderly smoothes her hair away and places a kiss on her forehead. Gwen watches her murmur in turn, making him chuckle as he looks at her. He doesn’t look at me like that. Gwen thinks mournfully to herself and is just about to step forward, steaming cups trailing behind her, when the door opens and a stream of cheerful Weasleys exit the room. They admit the once embracing couple into the room, and the door closes behind them, barring her from him.
“Gwen! Did you hear? Ron’s going to be fine. You can see him now if you like.” Fred declares merrily and thankfully accepting one of the steaming cups.
Gwen puts on a smile torn between her feelings of happiness and sorrow. “That’s wonderful, Fred. I think I’ll let the three of them alone first.”
There is a sudden cheer at the sight of Tonks and Butterbeers. Gwen gratefully accepts one and swallows, smiling and laughing with the rest. George quickly excuses himself to head off the nurse now curiously and disapprovingly looking at the bottles gripped in the relieved family’s hands. All the while, Gwen forces herself to keep the smile and not shed a single tear fighting to pour and cascade down her elegant features with abandon. For she knew, as she continues to glance at the closed door, that the man she is willing to spend every waking moment of her life with, the man that she desperately loves with all her being, is and never will truly belong to her.
I can’t let you go, Harry. I can’t loose you.
An image of the two of them embracing, lost to their surroundings save for each other suddenly springs forth before her mind’s eye. And in that very moment, she knew that she was already far too late.
A/N: Wow it's been a while hasn't it? I'm sorry for the long wait but now that school is over the chapters should be coming up sooner. I've only got two more to go and if I'm feeeling up to it, maybe an epilogue looking on the couple. Hope you enjoy the chapter and feedback would be awsome.
I couldn’t tell
If it would
Bring my heart
The way I wanted
When I started
Writing this letter to you
But if I could
You know I would
Just hold your hand
And you’d understand
I’m the man who loves you
-Wilco “I’m the Man Who Loves You”
September 27, 2005
“…Your heart isn’t in it and I am sodding tired of pretending not to notice.”
“Notice what, Gwen? Stop beating around the bloody bush and tell me what’s wrong!”
“You don’t love me anymore!”
“That’s bull and you know it.”
“Open your eyes, Harry. For god's sake, just open your bleeding eyes and look at what’s happening!”
The argument runs in circles through his mind again and again and he stares at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts. A horn blares out in the streets. A screech. Shouting. He sighs, trying but not succeeding to lose himself in the sounds of the city. A screech of wheels and the ordeal is over; people go back to whatever it was they were doing. They allow the past argument to vanish into wisps of memory. Wish this was as easy as that.
He turns on his side. The sleeping figure of a woman fills his vision. She looks peaceful, content; without a care in the world. Oh how wrong you are. He reaches out a hand to brush away a fallen lock of hair. Unbeknownst to her, she unconsciously pulls away from his touch, turning over. He pauses and his hand falls back to his side. Wonderful. Even in her sleep, she’s cross with me.
He sighs once more and gets out of bed, unable to sleep. Stepping out onto the balcony he takes a deep breath, hands grasping the railing. City lights wink back at him. He wonders if he should voice the feelings that have been boiling inside him ever since the moment he had stepped out of Ron’s room with Hermione and faced Gwen. The hurt look that lit her eyes was past bearing. He couldn’t seem to get the image out of his head.
Is it wrong to long for the company of another; the touch of another; the love of another? Yes. Yes it is, but she is wrong. He doesn't love anyone but her, and yet something inside him is telling him to open his eyes.
This is insane. He loves Gwen, hell he proposed to her. He is offering his heart to her.
“But is she the right one?” his voice sounds in a bare whisper.
They are to be married soon and now is not the time to be holding any second thoughts; especially if this second thought took the shape of- A horn blares, shaking him out of his treacherous thoughts.
“Are you blind?! Red means stop!” an angry voice shouts
amongst more bursts of screeching horns.
He steps back into the room and puts on a shirt. Then with one last glance at the sleeping woman in his bed, he disappears.
He isn’t alone. Ron’s eyes snap open, not knowing why he is suddenly awakened. The window is open. The curtains ruffle in the early morning breeze. With a whispered word, the window closes and Ron’s eyes droop as he drifts back to sleep.
A hand grips his shoulder and in a flash, Ron pulls the intruder towards him by the scruff of his collar. A glint of steel presses up against pale flesh. A sea of green fills Ron’s vision and he curses.
“Language Weasley. These are virgin ears here,” Harry says, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He seems unfazed that his best friend who just minutes ago seemed to be drowsy with sleep is now clearly wide awake and holding a dagger to his throat.
“Blimey, Harry! Don’t do that! I could have ripped your bleeding throat!”
“Believe me, Ron. If I was here to kill you, you wouldn’t have had time to grip that sharp stick of yours.”
“For your information, this sharp stick is one of the best in the business. Should be anyway. Cost me a fortune.”
He unhands his best friend, and with a wince he sits up.
“How are you?”
“Well, other than the fact that I was thrown off a building and violently awoken by a friend who decides to pay me a visit at such an ungodly hour, I’m doing alright,” Ron answers.
Harry pulls up a chair.
“So what are you doing here? I mean it’s great to have you here and all, but let’s face it mate, I think visiting hours ended ages ago.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“You couldn’t sleep. So you came all the way here, broke dozens of wards and not to mention a few laws, and scared the bleeding hell out of me to tell me that you couldn’t sleep? Harry, if you couldn’t sleep you didn’t have to come all the way here. You could be at home doing other things. You’re wife for instance.”
“She’s not my wife yet,” he replies, ignoring the amusement glinting in Ron’s eyes.
“Oh, I see. You’ve had a fight with the Mrs. haven’t you? Well, I’m flattered, Harry that you’d think of me being the first to turn to for advice, but we both know that Hermione is more adept in that position.”
Only silence is met with this statement and the air is filled yet again with a slew of curses.
“You said you were over her, mate.”
“I know.”
“You said that it was just an infatuation.”
“Hell, that was a long time ago, Ron.”
“So what are you saying? That after all these years you finally decide that you want her now?”
“You’re making it sound as if I’m a dick.”
“Well you sure as hell are acting like one. You can’t have both of them, mate.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“Then just choose, Harry!”
“I can’t. I choose Gwen, and for the rest of my life something will keep eating away at me. I choose Hermione and I lose Gwen, possibly forever.”
“You can’t go on like this.”
“Do you think I want this to happen? Do you think I want to hurt Gwen? God, I don’t even know if Hermione holds the same feelings, Ron! But I can’t help it. I didn’t ask for this, it just happened. I can’t live without her. I can’t stop thinking about her. Part of me loves Gwen. It wants to be with her, and be there for her.” Harry looks at his hands, fingering the spot where the ring will be.
“And the other half?” Ron asks.
“Honestly?”
“No, I want you to come up with the most fantastic unbelievable lie. Don’t be daft, of course I want the bleeding truth. I think we’ve both waited long enough to hear it.”
Harry looks up at him, his eyes tinged with sadness. He swallows and says, “The other half wants her. It lives and breaths for her. It wakes up in the morning with no thought of the woman at his side, but only of her. It aches for her touch, her laugh, her smile. And in those few moments spent with her, when it finally finds itself lost in her, it feels complete. It feels happy.”
There is a moment of silence which leaves the two young men to their thoughts. Their eyes meet.
“I think you have your answer.”
“What?”
“Oh don’t be thick, Harry. Just think of what you just told me. Then think of you future. Think years and years ahead. Who do you see at your side, mate? Who do you see yourself having loads children with? Growing old with? Whose name lies sweeter on your lips? Gwen or Hermione?”
“That’s very poetic, Ron. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Sod off, I’m trying to help, you ungrateful bastard.”
Harry chuckles, but Ron continues, “Just think of what I said alright? Think about it. Understand it. Know it, and you’ll have your answer.”
Pale moonlight streams through an open window, falling across a sleeping form. She sighs as she turns over in her sleep. The door opens and a tall figure stands in the doorway unbeknownst to the sleeping woman. His eyes devour her small form; the moonlight kissing her features; dark hair spilling across the pillow; her chest slowly rising and falling.
Pictures of friends and family adorn her mirror each smiling and waving merrily. One picture stands out amongst all the rest and he recognizes it to be from their graduation. She is wearing that same dazzling dress, arm in arm with two boys that tower over her; one dark haired, the other freckled. Plaques and certificates and volumes of books adorn her shelves. Her wand lies on her bedside table.
He steps into the room.
She shifts in her sleep as if feeling his presence surrounding her, enveloping her. He kneels by the bed. Dark hair falls over his eyes, but he makes no move to brush it away. He reaches for her but stops short and instead places his hands on the bed, not taking his eyes off her.
He shouldn’t be here.
He makes to get up but she turns toward him as if telling him to
stay.
He doesn’t move.
“I should have known,” he whispers to her. “Forgive me?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead he moves towards her and places a soft kiss on her forehead. And before her eyes flutter open; before she sits up in confusion, and before she whispers his name; he is gone.
DISCLAIMER: I am not J.K. Rowling nor am I making any money from writing this fic, though that would be nice wouldn't it?
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, it's almost over. Just one more chapter and we can all move on. I just want to warn you all that there might be some minor grammar mistakes since the only beta I have seems to be myself. Thanks to all who've been here from the beginning, who have read and reviewed, cried and laughed and yes even back spaced in disgust thinking "eww, Harry and Hermione?" Well enough of this, onto the story.
When you try your best but you don’t succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can’t sleep
Stuck in reverse
And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can’t replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?
-Coldplay “Fix you”
****
September 28, 2005
She could feel his presence in the doorway. She glances over her shoulder to find him watching her with his hands in his pockets and his shoulder propped against the doorframe. She turns back to the stove.
“You came back.”
“I always do,” he answers quietly.
A lock of golden hair falls into her eyes and she pushes it behind her ear.
“Where did you go?”
“Out.”
Her hand trembles and her grip on the spatula tightens.
“Really? Where?”
She could hear him approaching him and she tenses.
“I saw Ron.”
She feels him wrap his arms around her waist, and struggles not to tremble. He buries his face in her hair and inhales. Her eyes shut involuntarily as her will power begins to crumble at his touch, but something else tugs at her, not letting go.
“Only Ron?” she asks.
The bacon sizzles and pops.
He squeezes his eyes shut and sighs heavily, and she already knows his answer before she feels his lips brush against her ear as he murmurs, “No.”
Gwen fights back tears, untangles herself from him and moves away. She busies herself with the plates as she tries to control her flailing emotions.
“Gwen,” Harry pleads as she brushes past him a second time on her way to the drawers.
Gwen raises a hand.
“Please, Harry. Don’t.”
They eat in silence. She can feel his eyes on her, but she dares not look up. In the midst of the meal, for a split second, their eyes meet, but she tears hers away before the tears could fall.
She takes her dishes to the sink and begins to wash them. He makes to help her, but with a shake of her head she says dully, “Don’t bother.” She could feel his anger and annoyance flaring before he silently dries his hands and leaves the room. Moments later she hears his heavy footfalls approaching the door.
“I’m going to work,” he says roughly.
Then he is gone.
Clear water cascades onto the soapy dishes. Her lip trembles. The pressure within her builds until it becomes too unbearable to batter away. Her lovely features crumble as her gaze falls upon a sparkling object anointing her finger. Her vision blurs. She leans on the ledge with one hand and brings the other up to her face in despair, while her shoulders shake with grief as she purges the sorrow within. Gwen knows what she must do.
****
The sun sets, painting the sky with strokes of rose. He works at his desk, only half listening to the details of past assignments that Miles Regent is listing. Miles hands Harry yet again another sheet of parchment, which Harry briefly scans and signs.
He is tired and wants to go home, but the image of Gwen’s saddened eyes looking into his own stops him from dropping everything and walking out the door.
“Dr. Finnegan has reported that Weasley has completely recovered with no complications and is now being transported to his flat as we speak,” Miles says while shuffling through his reports.
Harry nods, feeling slightly relieved at hearing one piece of good news. Miles pauses to clear his throat, making his transition. Harry drums his fingers against his desk in agitation.
“Moving onto the Levington case-”
“So, er, how’s the married life, Regent?”
Miles looks up from the parchment, clearly startled at Harry’s interruption.
“Er, it’s…it’s, er, fine, Mr. Potter. Now about the case-”
“And you’ve been married for, how many years now? Two? Three?”
“Er, four, Mr. Potter.”
“Four years. That’s not bad for a man as young as yourself.”
Miles thinks this comment strange coming from a man only five years older than his own twenty five years.
“Why, er, thank you, sir.”
Miles’ eyes dart from his sheets to the man sitting at the desk, clearly befuddled on why Harry would take such a sudden interest in his personal life.
Gathering his wits about him, Miles opens his mouth, about to carry on with the report when Harry suddenly pushes his chair back and stands. Miles watches the clearly troubled wizard pace back and forth. His features darken and his brow furrows as he unconsciously mutters to himself. Miles clears his throat, and at the intruding sound Harry lifts his gaze from the floor and to the man standing before him. He appears startled; as if he has just realized that he is not alone.
“Sir, if this is a bad time I could-”
“No, no, please continue, Regent. I’m sorry if my mind appears to be somewhere else.”
“Right, well, regarding the Levington case, Tonks has been able to gather some information that-”
“Regent, you’ve known me for five yea-”
“Six, sir.”
“Ah, even better. So you wouldn’t mind if I happened to, er, inquire as to, er, if you are capable of granting me with a bit of advice?”
“Is there anything troubling you, sir?”
“Me? No. It’s, er, a friend… of mine. He’s having a bit of trouble with his…fiancé, and he’s not quite sure what to do.”
“Cold feet?”
Harry laughs softly as he says, “No. No, it’s much more complicated than that, I’m afraid.”
The two stand in silence as Harry sets his eye upon the setting sun. Miles looks around the room for a lack of anything better to do and scratches the back of his neck.
“How did you know?” Harry asks, not taking his gaze from the slowly darkening sky.
“Know what, sir?”
“That she was the one.”
This is probably by far the strangest thing Harry has ever asked him and not to mention the most intriguing.
Miles takes a moment to think it over but with a shrug he merely says, “I just did.”
Harry turns to face him, a wry grin on his face.
“What, no bolts of lighting? No neon signs screaming her name?”
“No.”
“You just knew?” he asks incredulously.
“I just knew.”
“How? How did you know that from all of the witches in this world that you could have chosen, from all of the witches that you are close to, how did you know that she was the only one you wanted?”
Silence hangs over the both of them and Harry, turning back to the window, begins to think that all of this is just a load of foolishness until, “I think it was her smile,” Miles says quietly. His voice, breaking the ongoing silence stretching between them, booms in Harry’s ears and he jerks his head to look behind him.
“What?”
“It was the way she laughed.”
Harry noticed Miles’ eyes take on a far away look and his lips forming a faint smile as he continues, “It was the way her eyebrows furrow when she’s annoyed with me. The way she chews her bottom lip while she’s reading a good book. The sparkle in her eyes whenever she talks about her students’ wild antics.”
Miles blinks and looks flustered to have uttered such rubbish before the infamous Harry Potter standing before him. However, the expression on this said wizard’s face surprises Miles, for Harry doesn’t look as if he were to burst out laughing from the unbelievably sappy sentiments that tumbled from Mile’s mouth just moments ago. Instead he looks thoughtful. Harry stuffs his hands in his pockets and turns to the window once more, propping himself up against the window frame.
“Erm, Have I- Have I been of any help, sir?”
“Loads, Regent. Thank you.”
Still puzzled by Harry’s strange behaviour, Miles looks down at his report and back up at Harry, unsure of whether to continue or not. Without warning, there is a knock and the door opens. At the intruding sound Harry turns and all rational thought promptly takes its leave.
Hermione.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Am I interrupting anything?” Hermione asks, peeking from the doorway.
Harry glances at Regent then back at Hermione.
Say yes. Tell her you’re busy. Tell her to go.
“No, not at all. Regent, we can continue this tomorrow.”
“Sir.”
The man gathers his things and takes his leave while Harry mentally kicks himself.
He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes in annoyance. Sighing, he places his glasses back on and immediately wishes he had thrown them away. Hermione stares at him with a worried look plastered on her features, but Harry pays no mind to this. He is mildly aware of his eyes roaming across her elegantly dressed figure. She has on a strapless black evening gown. Her hair falls softly over her shoulders.
“Wow,” he breathes. “You look… incredible.”
“Thank you,” she says with a smile and Harry is glad for the desk separating the two of them. There is a moment of silence between them before she says, “You missed the ceremony.”
"Ceremony? What ceremo- oh bollocks, Hermione I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.”
“Is everything alright Harry?” she asks, stepping forward and peering up at his face.
Harry clings to the desk.
“Why do you ask?”
“I talked to Ron-”
Merlin, he didn’t-
“He told me you saw him this morning.”
“Yeah, well.”
“Harry, are you daft? Do you know how many laws you’ve broken by doing that?”
“Seven.”
“Do you know how much trouble you could have been in?”
“Loads. I know.”
Hermione sighs, exasperated and moves to him. He fights to not step back and away from her as her scent envelops him.
“Harry, we are not children anymore. We’re not in Hogwarts any longer. There are no points to be deducted from. You can’t just go running around breaking any rule and damned the consequences. What if you botched up one of the wards?”
“Hermione-”
“You could have gotten yourself killed! What was so important that you couldn’t wait until visiting hours? What was so important that you were willing to risk your life?”
“Hermione, why don’t we go somewhere else and talk about this?”
“Here is as good as any other place, Harry. Now answer my question.”
Harry rubs the back of his neck and looks out at the night sky as he mumbles, “I couldn’t sleep.”
“You couldn’t sleep? So you decide to cure your little case of insomnia by trying to kill yourself?”
“I wasn’t trying to ki-” Harry stops himself, not wanting to argue and instead continues in a steady voice, “I had to talk to Ron and it couldn’t wait till daylight.”
Hermione gives him a calculating look as she searches his eyes for something.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine.”
“Does it have anything to do with work?”
Harry chuckles to himself. “God I wish it did. No, it’s much more personal than that.”
There is a moment of silence and Hermione looks away, not able to meet his eyes for some unfathomable reason.
“Gwen?” she says in a small voice.
Harry does not utter a word.
Hermione fiddles with the purse in her hand and asks, “Would you like to go for a walk?”
*****
The moon hangs high overhead illuminating the lone couple. One has his hands in his pockets and the other firmly clasps her purse. They are silent. Every now and then a familiar face passes them along the path and they are forced to smile or nod in greeting. Then they continue onward, comfortable in each other’s presence, but anticipating the other’s next words.
It is Hermione that breaks the silence with the question that she has been burning with from the moment Ron had told her about the visit.
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“It’s…complicated, Hermione. You wouldn’t understand.”
A bit miffed at his answer she looks up at him, her eyes glinting dangerously.
“And how could you possibly know that?”
Harry sighs inwardly. “Trust me.”
Hermione suddenly stops, hands firmly on her hips.
“Has there ever been a time when my advice has never
helped?”
Harry smiles wryly as he says, “Well, there was this one time-”
Hermione cuts him off with a swat of her hand against his arm.
“Honestly, Harry, this is serious.”
Harry laughs as he says, “Alright, I’m sorry.”
Silence.
They begin walking again.
“Maybe I can help.”
“Believe me, Hermione. You’d do more harm than good.”
Harry’s eyes, directed at the ground and not at the woman at his side, miss the hurt look that flashes across her face.
Hermione pauses in her steps and places a hand on his arm. Her touch burns him and he does all he can to prevent himself from taking her in his arms.
“Do you trust me, Harry?”
“What? What kind of question is that? Of course I do.”
“Then why won’t you talk to me?”
“Am I not talking to you now?”
She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
A pained expression flickers in his eyes before he says quietly, “I can’t.”
“Why won’t you tell me, Harry?”
“I can’t, Hermione.”
“Tell me, Harry.”
“No.”
“Tell me what’s troubling you,” she demands, and her eyes
widen in surprise for a brief moment as he takes her shoulders in a firm grip.
“How can I?” he says with wild eyes and voice tinged with desperation. “How can I when the thing that troubles me most involves you?”
She is too stunned by his words that she cannot speak.
“I’m getting married, Hermione to the most beautiful woman. She’s sweet. She’s kind. She’s wonderful. She loves me. So why can’t I stop thinking of you?”
A burst of laughter from a couple passing by breaks the spell between them and Harry looks away, embarrassed. He rubs the back of his neck, smiles fleetingly at the couple and takes Hermione’s hands. He leads her off the path and into a circle of trees. She cannot take her eyes off their clasped hands and doesn’t say a word.
“I’ve been trying to forget. I’ve been trying to push these feelings away, but the harder I try the more stubborn the feelings become.”
His gaze travels from their clasped hands to Hermione’s thunderstruck features.
“Harry, what are you trying to say?” Hermione asks in a trembling voice.
Harry swallows.
Dare he look into her eyes?
Dare he allow himself to drown in them?
“I…I think I’m in love with you.”
Hermione blinks, but doesn’t say a word and Harry takes a deep breath and continues, “Today when I saw Ron I asked him for advice because well, I couldn’t go to you could I?”
He laughs nervously, but gaining no response from her he says, “Well I- I asked him what I should do, and he got me thinking. I do love Gwen and I am willing to spend the rest of my life with her, but then there’s you. Hermione, you’ve been a part of my life for the longest time and I just can’t imagine a moment when I didn’t think of you. When I didn’t know that you were always there. And the thing is, once I stand up at that altar, once I say ‘I do’, I’d be giving up my whole self to Gwen, but how can I do that when a part of me belongs to you?”
Before he could stop himself, he brings a hand to brush away an unruly strand of her hair. Mere seconds later, he blinks as he realizes what he has done, and in a flash darts his hand away.
“Why are you telling me this, Harry? After all this time, why are to telling me this now?”
He looks at her and almost smiles.
“Because it was just today I realized that I might be making the biggest mistake of my life by marrying a woman whose love I can’t return.” He moves towards her, closing the space between them. “And I think- I know this may sound ridiculous but, I think that there’ll always be a part of me that wants you.”
Completely unaware of his actions and his surroundings save her, Harry leans down towards her. He feels the slight pressure of her hands on his shoulders as she stands on her toes to meet him. The feeling of her lips brushing against his own sets off alarm bells in his head and his eyes fly open as he quickly steps away from her.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, I- I didn’t mean to- I-”
“Harry-” Hermione takes a step towards him, but Harry moves away wanting to put as much space between them as he can.
“No, don’t come any closer. If you do I- Just go, Hermione. Go before I do something we’ll both regret.”
She looks at him not saying a word, then nods and dissapperates. One moment he is looking at her and the next, she is gone.
*****
Downing another glass, Harry thanks the barman as he places the platter of food before him.
“Rough night?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
Harry pushes the now empty glass to join the three more on the other side of the table.
“Don’ yeh worry. I’ve got jus’ the stuff.”
Some time later, with the table cleared and only a bottle of firewhisky to keep him company, Harry tosses back another glass and fills it up once more. He winces as the liquid burns a path of fire down his throat. The clock chimes the twelfth hour.
*****
September 29, 2005- 12:40am
Now back in his office, Harry sits at his desk with his head in his hands. There is a knock and the door opens. He lifts his head, his eyes shadowed from fatigue. At the sight of the figure in the doorway all feeling of exhaustion evaporates and his throat goes dry.
“Hello, Harry.”
“Gwen,” Harry breathes.
“May I come in?”
He jumps to his feet.
“Yeah, yeah of course.”
Gwen closes the door behind her.
“When you didn’t come home I got worried. You never sent an owl so I thought… well, you’re fine then, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, just tired that’s all.”
“I came in earlier but Mr. Lupin told me that you had gone out.”
“Yeah, I…I did.”
They stand there staring at each other, wondering what to say next.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“Oh, no thank you. I already ate. You?”
“No, I picked something up at the pub.”
A dash of awkward silence swallows them once more.
“It’s a lovely night. Do you…do you want to go for a walk?”
“Yeah, sure.”
****
1:00am
They are sitting on a bench looking out at the river. There is silence around them save for the distant sounds of the night. Echoes of passing cars and buses making their rounds whisper in their ears. Every now and then a burst of a horn blares, quickly followed by a shout, then the travelers continue to go about their business.
The sound of the water lapping against the port, pulling in and out with graceful rhythmic motions, gives the couple the air of peace which they both are struggling to find. Peace however is far from their minds and their unconscious actions show it.
The man, his unruly hair as dark as the clothes he is wearing, shifts in his seat every few moments. He brings his right hand up to push his dark glasses up the bridge of his nose. Bright green eyes scan his surroundings as if by habit, darting to every dark corner or sudden movement; not nervously, but still seeming quite alert. A touch of sadness mars his face, coupled with an endless fatigue that would surely never leave his chiseled features.
The woman beside him is just as soft as he is hard. Her physical appearance looks to be a mockery of him, being the complete opposite. Golden silken hair, which his fingers are well acquainted with, is tamed into an elegant twist at the top of her head. Her flawless face is turned in the direction of the bridge.
Her eyes, the only thing that seems to not oppose the man’s features are blue and just as bright as his. A tinge of worry and a familiar hint of sadness now take residence in them. Her hands calmly folded in her lap don’t betray her emotions. Instead, her lip becomes the perpetrator as it allows itself to be continuously bitten with a furious intensity and determination that it begins to weep crimson.
Neither of them says a word to each other. They appear to be merely content in their present situation of being left to their own thoughts. The young man dares to steal a look at his companion from the corner of his eye and he manages to catcher her absentmindedly fingering the ring adorning her finger. His features darken and he focuses his gaze on the dark waters.
“Harry?”
The timid voice startles him out of his reverie and he turns to find that her head is still inclined toward the bridge, seemingly far more interested in the passing cars than her fiancée sitting beside her. No matter that she is the first to utter a word since the two of them had stepped outside. No matter that their once loving relationship is now at this very moment, crumbling in their fingertips, leaving the remains to be taken and caressed by the cool breeze.
He doesn’t answer her and only waits with baited breath for her to continue, to say the words that he could not.
“I’m sorry. For this morning, I mean.”
“No, it’s me who should be sorry. I should have waited until morning to see Ron and not leave you in the middle of the night.”
Gwen looks to her clasped hands. The diamond ring winks back at her and she swallows.
“Is that it then?” He looks to her once more as she continues, “Are we just going to go on with our lives pretending that nothing is the matter and that we are happy with each other?”
“Aren’t we?” he says, longing for her to look at him.
“Don’t be thick, Harry. Please. Not now,” she says and looks out at the rolling waters.
It is now Harry’s turn to look at his hands.
“What do you want me to say?” he says with a voice tinged with helplessness.
“Tell me you love me.”
“I do.”
She turns to finally look at him and he is startled at the look of intensity burning in her eyes.
“Do you, Harry? Only me?”
She searches his eyes as if her answer could be found there, and when he doesn’t say a word she only turns away and raises her gaze to the night sky, desperately fighting back tears.
“You can’t have both of us, Harry,” she says in a strangely calm voice.
“Don’t you think I know that?” he whispers in agony.
“Do you even know if she holds the same feelings for you? Well? Do you? But you’ll still go on loving her anyway won’t you?”
She turns to him, but he is now staring at his hands. His mouth opens as if to answer but not a sound comes forth. Gwen swallows and smiles ruefully.
“I won’t share you, Harry. And I know when I am beaten.”
“Beaten?”
“Oh, surely you’re not as daft as that. The girl is so far gone that even I cannot believe she’s managed to stay away from you for this long.”
“What are you talking about?”
He looks up to meet her and finds that Gwen has no longer bothered to hide her tears for they sparkle, unshed in her eyes.
“She loves you, Harry. She simply adores you. And she fights tooth and nail to hide it from me.”
Harry cannot believe his ears.
“This can’t go on. You do know that right, darling?”
“What?”
“Us.”
This conversation sounds familiar to his ear and he twists his body to fully face her. Taking her hands in his he says, “You don’t mean that.”
She only looks at their entwined hands. The diamond glints back at her.
“I do,” she swallows before says, “We have to end it.”
Harry breathes her name.
“I can’t go on like this, knowing that you belong to another. Knowing that you can be far happier with her than you are with me.”
“Gwen, you don’t-”
“I do. I do mean this, Harry.” She disentangles her hands from his. “And I want you to know that I’ll never regret a single moment.”
He is at a loss for words and something inside him clenches painfully as he sees her slowly taking off his ring from her finger and placing it into his hand.
“It was wonderful while it lasted, Harry. But we have to end it.”
He looks at the ring resting on his palm. The beauty mocks him and he feels hollow inside. He looks up to find that Gwen’s face is streaked with tears as she tries to control her trembling voice.
“You never loved me. At least, not the way I wanted you to.”
Finally finding his voice, he reaches to place a hand on her cheek, brushing away fresh tears cascading down her smooth skin.
“I never wanted to hurt you, Gwen.”
His hand falls back to his lap but he doesn’t turn away. Her eyes fail to meet his as her fingers twist in her lap; her left hand, now bear.
“I know,” she says.
Silence falls over them once more, broken only by the passing vehicles, rolling waves and the faint sounds of sadness from the woman on the bench. The man hands her a handkerchief and she thanks him silently and dashes her tears away. Moments later with faint goodbyes and a polite refusal to see her home, the woman makes to hand him his handkerchief, but he pushes her hand away gently with a shake of his head. She nods, looks at him one last time then walks away.
The man, now quite alone looks down at the object in his hand. His face twisting in grief, he throws the sparkling object into the river. For a moment, the diamond shines bright in the moonlight then it disappears with barely a splash and sinks into the dark waters. The man then leans forward as he rests his elbows on his knees and places his head in his hands.
Minutes go by and with a sigh he looks up. Taking off his glasses, he rubs his eyes in fatigue then stands. Shoving his hands in his pockets he walks off into the night.
First Day of My Life by Beth Brown
Disclaimer: The title for this chapter is borrowed from the great Connor Oberst from Bright Eyes. Great song. One that I believe goes hand in hand with this final chapter. Connor Oberst is my god. Him and Coldplay. Oh and we can throw in J.K Rowling for without her, this fiction wouldn’t exist and the story you’d all be reading now would probably be only a figment of your imagination…or my imagination…yeah. Harry Potter doesn’t belong to me. (Longest. Disclaimer. In the world)
Author's notes: Well it's been fun, hasn't it? It's finally over. You can all now go on with your lives, or check out my other sotry "Torn". Whatever works. Kudos must be given to two people: the ever elusive Marc and of course my good buddy Cillian. For without him, I would have had to steal someone else and make that someone forever immortal in my story. And that would be no fun. I hope all of you enjoy this final chapter and don't forget to review
*****
Chapter 8: First Day of My Life
This is the first day of my life
I swear I was born right in the doorway
I went out in the rain, suddenly everything changed
They’re spreading blankets on the beach
Yours was the first face that I saw
I think I was blind before I met you
And I don’t know where I am, don’t know where I’ve been
But I know where I want to go
So I thought I’d let you know
That these things take forever, I especially am slow
But I realized that I need you
And I wondered if I could come home
-Bright Eyes “First day of my Life”
*****
September 29, 2005
3:34 am- Harry’s flat
*****
A key turns in a lock. A door opens and a tall, young man steps tiredly into his dark flat. Running a hand through his hair, he sighs as he tosses his things onto the kitchen table and drapes his coat over the couch. With a flick of his wand, a bottle flies straight into an open hand.
He switches the lamplight on and rifles through the pile of letters in his hands in a futile attempt to chase nagging thoughts away. Bills, postcards, junk mail; there’s nothing new, and the man takes a swig from the bottle. The last letter in his hand reveals familiar writing. He smiles, thinking of her. Wondering what she could have possibly wrote about. Knowing his luck, or lack thereof at the moment, it may contain a bitter refusal of all he’s confessed and end with a very platonic, very awkward farewell.
Opening the letter he scans the first sheet, at the words written in the all too familiar loopy handwriting. The contents of the letter displayed before his eyes contain the complete opposite of his musings however. The warm smile lighting his features dissolves, and his face takes on a solemn mask.
He straightens and a deep intake of breath echoes in the dimly lit room. A hint of sorrow fills his eyes as they drift across the page a second time; the drink long forgotten is clasped tightly in his hand.
“Bloody hell.”
He sets the drink down and sighs, shutting his eyes for a brief moment then places his head in his hands. You leave one woman, then run to another, you bloody lecher. The clock ticks. The muffled sound of a siren fades into the night, and he looks up.
He sits there, staring at the letter completely unlike anything she has ever sent him before. Sitting there gazing at it, he doesn’t really see it at all. A woman with bushy hair and brown eyes gazes back at him.
Remembering the other page, he glances warily at it, surprised to find someone else’s all too familiar writing gracing the sheet of parchment. It’s all but blank, save for two lines scrawled right in the middle: Go to her. His eyebrows rise in a mixture of confusion and amusement at what his friend had written.
Suddenly, he blinks as if waking from a dream, and there is a sudden resolve in his eyes. The rain begins to beat heavily upon the window, and he stands up stuffing his wand in his pocket. The clock chimes the time, and he looks at it, startled.
Thunder rumbles in the night sky, and in a blink he is gone; apparated to the place where he will meet her. The letter lies on the table, forgotten.
*****
3:45 am- Ron and Hermione’s flat
*****
A muffled pop and the dark haired wizard disappears without a trace. A tired looking man lifts his bottle to the empty space before him, which was once occupied by his best friend and says, “Cheers, Harry.” Taking a long pull from the drink, he rubs the back of his neck and sighs. Maybe now those two can finally stop looking and start shagging.
He wanders over to the fridge. The cold light pools around him as he searches for something to eat. He had eaten hardly enough at Ginny’s place and the state the guest of honour was in didn’t encourage him to satisfy his roaring appetite.
Ron had arrived late at the party, with loud drunken cheers welcoming him with open arms. He had managed to come out alive from the excessive hand shaking, the back slapping and the mad attempts to pour copious amounts of alcohol down his throat, made mostly by a completely smashed Seamus, Dean and Neville.
“Wherf, Merny?” He had asked Lavendar who was chatting with the Patil twins.
Parvati had looked at him in confusion, Padme in amusement and Lavendar in disgust as Ron, looking as if he was trying to swallow the chicken whole, repeated his question once again.
“What?”
“He’s wondering where Hermione is,” Luna said coming up behind Ron. “You’ll probably fair better chewing, Ronald,” she pointed out and Ron swallowed hard, grinning sheepishly.
“I think I heard Ginny say that she went to get Harry,” Parvati commented, sipping her drink.
An hour later thunderous cheers rang out through the house as the guest of honour had stepped through the door. Ron had looked up, expecting to see his two best friends with big grins and was surprised to find Hermione alone and with a strained smile plastered on her face. The food turned to ash in his mouth.
Wonderful.
The rest of the night was spent with forced smiles, forced laughter and sharp looks between the two of them, until Ron, feigning exhaustion, allowed Hermione the chance to leave the raging party with much thanks to a worried Ginny.
It was in the peace and quiet of their flat that Hermione had told Ron everything and it was also in that flat that Ron had managed to convince Hermione to send Harry the letter, knowing full well that Harry couldn’t possibly resist.
Now he stands in the kitchen, dim light illuminating his freckled features. He wonders if Harry has found her yet. He wonders what he should eat. Deciding on a sandwich, Ron gathers the ingredients and with a lazy flick of his wand the sandwiches start making themselves, leaving Ron with nothing to do but sort through memories with a faint smile.
*****
Flashback
*****
Harry is losing. Horribly. Ron knows that Harry isn’t the best at chess but he simply was not this terrible. The pressure builds within Ron as he notes Harry’s eyes once again dart to look at a spot above his ear.
“It’s your move, Harry.”
“Yeah uh,” His eyes dart to the board, “Knight to E5.”
Hermione looks up from a book on her lap and looks at the two boys sprawled on the floor; the chess board lies between them. Ron’s back is to her but she is able to see Harry’s brief hopeless look as his knight is mercilessly cut down by Ron’s queen.
“You’re losing, Harry.”
Harry looks up.
“Yeah thanks for pointing that out, Hermione.”
They grin at each other and Ron grits his teeth.
“It’s your move, Harry,” he says a bit forcefully.
Without so much as a knock, Ginny comes into the room and glances at the boys on the floor. She is just in time to hear Harry curse as his bishop is smashed to pieces.
“You’re losing, Harry.”
“Why thank you, Gin. What would I do without your brilliant observation skills?”
“You would have moved your queen instead of your pond,” Ginny says and this comment is promptly followed by another muttered curse as Harry’s queen is taken down.
“Hermione, you’ve got to come downstairs. Mum’s left to pick something up and if I have to spend any more time alone with Phlegm I’ll hex her for sure.”
Sighing, Hermione leaves her book on Ron’s bed and follows Ginny out the door, completely unaware of a pair of eyes following her every move.
“Check.”
Harry looks at Ron, startled to find his blue eyes blazing with fury.
“What are you doing, Harry?”
Harry gives him a strange look. “Well you see, Ron, it’s called chess,” he says gesturing to the board.
Ron shoots to his feet, his ears matching the shade of his hair.
“Oh sod off! You know what I bloody well mean!” Ron says, his temper flaring.
“No, Ron. I don’t,” Harry says, standing to meet him.
“Why don’t you just ask her then, eh? If you want her so damn much. Just bloody ask her and be done with it!”
“Ask who, what, Ron? What are you going on about!”
“Hermione!” he shouts.
A startled look comes over Harry’s face but is wiped off in an instant.
“What?”
“I’m not blind, Harry! I see the way you look at her!”
“What the hell are you talking about!”
“I’m talking about how you want to snog her senseless!”
There is a moment of silence in which Harry looks at Ron incredulously, but Ron notices the look that flashes in his eyes for the barest of moments. He clenches his fists.
“Barking,” Harry mutters as he turns to walk out of the room, but Ron grabs a hold of his arm.
“Don’t deny it, Harry. Don’t you fucking deny it,” he says fiercely.
Harry wrenches his arm out of his friend’s grasp, green eyes spiting fire.
“Oh, piss off, Ron. Just piss off! What do you want me to say! I like her! Well then yes, I do like Hermione. I’d like to kiss her, touch her, hold her,” he pauses, the smirk looks foreign on his features as he continues scathingly, “But wait, you’d like to do a bit of that as well, don’t you?”
A red haze hinders Ron’s vision and not thinking of the consequences, he suddenly grabs Harry by the collar and pulls his fist back. He stares into emerald eyes sparking dangerously and they stand there frozen, one daring the other to do their worst.
“What are you going to do, Ron? Hit me?”
Ron grits his teeth and tenses, but Harry’s next words stop him from making any further movement.
“That’s not going to bring her to you and you know it.”
The taller boy growls, lowers his fist and thrusts the darker one away from him. He walks over to the window and braces his hands against the window frame. Snowflakes drift lazily in the afternoon sky. Down below he spots a familiar bushy haired girl bundled in a scarf and jacket. A red tipped figure accompanies her and together they charm the walkway clean.
“It’ll never work anyway. It’s too dangerous and I can’t have her closer to me than she already is. She deserves more than I could give.” Ron hears Harry speak up as he walks towards the window. The two of them watch Ginny charm a snowball to hit Hermione square in the face. Harry smiles in amusement as the two fling barrels of snow mercilessly at each other. He looks at Ron who is mirroring the same smile.
“You could-”
“No,” Ron interrupts, not looking at him. “She doesn’t look at me that way.”
A squeal of delight comes from the two down below.
“She’s not the only one for you,” Harry says.
Ron doesn’t answer.
There is a slight commotion outside as the miniature war is interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Weasley and two guests trailing behind her, suitcases in hand and presents floating after them.
“Luna!” Ginny exclaims in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello Ginny.”
*****
Flashback ends
*****
Ron piles the sandwiches on a plate, grabs another bottle out of the fridge and sits at his desk. He switches on the light and pulls out his files with a sigh. Minutes later he glances up at the clock. He wonders how they’re doing. His mind wanders and he thinks of Gwen, feeling partly sorry for the woman, for Harry must have broken it off with her for him to go galloping off to Hermione in such a manner. He hopes the woman is alright and wonders if she has a place to go. Sighing, he rubs his eyes tiredly, continues with his work and takes a bite of a sandwich. The scratching of a quill on parchment soon fills the room.
****
4:02am- The Knight Bus- Somewhere in England
****
Gwen’s eyes flare open as she is jolted awake by the Knight Bus coming to a sudden stop. A wizened, flustered woman stands shakily to her feet. Stan gathers most of her luggage and walks off the bus. Gwen watches the woman as she struggles with one of her bags, pushing greying hair away from her face. Without a thought, she stands and goes to the woman’s aide.
“Here, let me,” she says, taking the bag and almost falling over from the sheer weight of it. What does this woman have in here?
“Bless you, love.”
Gwen winces as she struggles to the entrance of the bus. She bites her lip as she contemplates the safest way of descending the stairs without breaking her neck.
“That’s alright, dear. I can take it from here.”
The woman reaches to take her bag, but with a shake of her head Gwen assures her that it’s not a problem. Moments later the woman thanks Gwen and gives a clearly winded Stan a fleeting smile.
“Weighed a ton, didn’t they?” Stan says as he steps back for her to mount the steps before him.
Gwen smiles in answer and makes her way back to her bed. She brings her knees to her chest and stares out the window at the scenery flashing by. Absentmindedly she fingers the place where her ring used to be and chokes back a sob. Clearing her throat she sits up straighter, refusing to cry and tries to banish the haunting images taking shape in her mind. Dark unruly hair. A slow, easy smile. Shining green eyes.
“It’s for the best,” she whispers to herself as she leans her head against the window. “Just let him go.”
Against her will, tears cascade down her cheeks and Gwen angrily dashes them away.
Damn it all, you’re stronger than this.
She braces her hands on the bed as the knight bus comes to a sudden halt. A few passengers get to their feet, some swaying, others grumbling. Stan once again heaves heavy baggage off the bus and the recently empty beds become once again occupied by new passengers.
The bus starts off again and a few of the passengers are thrown to the floor. One man helps a young boy up and Gwen hears him mutter something good naturedly about a death trap as he hands the boy his bag. He catches her eye but she quickly averts her gaze back to the window. Gwen clings to her bed to prevent herself from flying off as the bus stops once more. She notices the man place a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder and something fall onto the floor. She stoops to pick it up as he takes his seat and she hands it to him. He gives her a smile.
“Thanks, darling,” he says. His smile disappears when he notices her tear stained features. “You alright?”
“I will be.”
“A bit of a rough night?”
“Not one of my best.”
He reaches into his pocket, produces a green handkerchief and fails to hear Gwen’s quiet bitter laughter.
“Here, dry your eyes, sweetheart. The name’s Cillian.”
“I’m Gwen,” she answers holding out her hand.
Stan makes his way to them and hands them their cups. They thank him and he nods and goes back to his post.
“So where’s your stop?”
“Oh, I’ve got an aunt in Kiltimagh I’m off to visit her there.”
“Really? Well isn’t that strange, I’m heading over there myself. My sister’s having a baby, and I fancy myself being an uncle.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Congratulations.”
Cillian nods his thanks.
Gwen takes a sip of her drink and her gaze travels to the window. A pair of green eyes stare back at her. Gwen blinks.
“So have you ever been to Kiltimagh?”
“S-Sorry?”
“Kiltimagh. Have you ever been?”
“Oh, um, yes but I was four and I hardly remember it.”
“Oh, well in that case, we’ve got time. Tell you what, when we get off I’ll buy you a drink and show you around.”
Gwen blinks in surprise. She looks at the man sitting before her, but all she could see is green
“Oh, I…I’m sorry Cillian, but I just got out of a relationship and I’m not sure if I’m ready to…”
She notices the faint hint of disappointment flash in his eyes as he runs a hand through his dark hair.
“Oh, yeah, yeah sure. I understand. I was just trying to be friendly and all, but, yeah.”
An awkward silence hangs over them and Cillian begins to busy himself with his things as Gwen buries herself in her drink and turns her gaze to the window. She wonders if she should just take up his offer. It wouldn’t hurt to spend just one day with the man, and it would be nice to have another friendly face in Kiltimagh. Gwen is suddenly shaken from her thoughts as the bus nearly throws her off the bed.
“Well, here’s where I get off,” Cillian says.
“Mine’s just down the road,” Gwen says as she watches him make to gather his things.
He pauses in the act and instead takes out a scrap of parchment. “Here,” he says, scribbling something down and hands the scrap to her. “That’s where I’m staying. When you’re ready, send me an owl and I’ll take you out for a drink then.”
Gwen laughs softly as she pockets the parchment. Cillian picks up his things and stands.
“Take care of yourself, Gwen.”
“I will.”
The doors close behind him.
Gwen grabs a hold of her luggage, leans against the window and shuts her eyes briefly. Dark unruly hair bubbles up from within a memory but she pushes it away. A faint smile lights her once solemn features.
****
4:05 am- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (school grounds)
****
I’m a fool. A complete and utter fool. Hermione berates herself as she continues to pace along the grass. The gentle motion of the lake lapping against the shore does nothing to still her nerves. She wrings her hands in worry, wondering if she would be fool enough to stay till dawn. “Well, on bright side I’d catch a glimpse of the sunrise,” she says to herself as she looks out over the lake at the sinking moon.
She looks around her once more; half of her thinking that Harry would appear any moment now, sweep her up in his arms and take her lips in a dramatic, long awaited kiss. “Yes, Hermione, then you can let your hair down, don a dress that leaves little to the imagination, get on a ship and spend the rest of your life staring wantonly into his eyes as you sail off into the sunset,” Hermione says, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she brushes her hair from her eyes.
A cold breeze sweeps through her and she adds a silent thanks to Ron for making her change. As soon as they had left the party, Ron wasted no time in asking what was the matter, and Hermione in turn had no problem in spilling everything. It took Hermione what seemed a lifetime to explain it all and another lifetime for her to compose the letter. Her cheeks burn as she remembers snippets that she had unthinkingly written on the parchment.
Foolish, idiot girl!
She forces herself to stop fidgeting and instead stands and stares at the water, glad that the rain has stopped. What few stars that hang in the clear night sky wink back at her and she sighs wondering if all of this is just a big mistake. After all he is engaged, and he does still love Gwen. Granted, he did tell her that he loves her too. He thinks he loves me. She corrects herself. Although this thought doesn’t do much in raising her spirits.
She wonders where she’ll possibly go after this because she knows that she simply cannot stay. Why is it taking him so long? Isn’t the answer simple enough? She is where it all began. Hermione swallows against the tears threatening to fall and takes a deep shuddering breath as something bursts within her. She had been so sure.
“I’m a fool,” she whispers.
And suddenly, without warning, she knows.
He’s here.
She doesn’t turn to look behind her in fear that her legs would give way.
He came. Oh, god. He’s here.
****
She’s here.
He stands there, frozen for a few moments and does nothing but look at her.
She’s here.
Hermione’s back is to him, but he knows that she is aware of his presence. For he saw her back tense and her body tremble ever so slightly the moment he laid eyes on her. Harry takes a step forward then pauses.
What if she’s changed her mind?
A small voice in his head, sounding strangely like Ron, answers him saying, If she’s changed her mind why would she still be here? Don’t be stupid. Just go to her. His legs feel like lead as he makes his way towards her.
Hermione is looking out at the water and he stands beside her.
“Hi.”
“Hello.”
She turns to look up at him. “It took you quite some time to get here.”
“Well you didn’t exactly leave me any clues.”
She looks at him sheepishly.
“What, didn’t you think I’d come?” Harry says with a wry smile on his lips, but when she doesn’t answer him, cheeks flaming, his smile fades. “Oh, Hermione…”
“Well, you are engaged, Harry. What was I supposed to think?”
“That I’d told you I loved you just a few hours ago?”
“You said you think, you love me.”
“Yeah well, I’m here aren’t I?”
“But what about- oh…” Hermione looks at her feet.
“It was her decision, but we both knew it was going to happen.”
“Did you want it to happen?” she asks in a quiet voice fearing his answer.
The sound of crickets fills her ears until Harry utters a quiet “Yes.” She looks at him startled and he continues, “At first I couldn’t believe what she was saying. Then I just couldn’t stop denying her, but now I…I guess I realize that she did the right thing. I know this sounds horrible, but a part of me feels relieved that she was the one to make the decision. Pretty cowardly of me, huh?”
“You’re not a coward.” Hermione answers automatically and with her gaze trained on the waters, she fails to see the hint of a smile light the corners of his mouth.
The two of them stand silently side by side, left to their thoughts.
“So,” Harry sounds, breaking the comfortable silence, “are we just going to ignore the fact that you told me you love me?”
Hermione shifts her feet as she gazes up at him. “Yes, well, I was hoping we’d skip that part.”
Harry turns and steps closer to her. “You really didn’t think I’d look for you?”
Hermione takes a step back and looks as if she’s going to walk away. “God, this was stupid of me. Forget I said anything.”
Harry swallows his laughter as he says, “Sure Hermione, just give me a minute and I’ll erase every bit from memory.”
Hermione sighs, exasperated. “Don’t be daft. You know what I mean.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
Hermione freezes.
“What?”
“What if I don’t want to forget?”
She turns and stares at him for a moment before turning away saying, “Don’t do this to me, Harry. I don’t want your pity.”
At this, Harry frowns and comes up behind her. He reaches a hand to her but stops in mid motion at seeing her shoulders tense, and his arm falls back to his side.
“You wanted an answer.”
Hermione shuts her eyes at the sound of his voice filling her senses. “Yes,” she whispers.
“Then I’m giving you one.”
Her breath catches in her throat as she turns to him. Dare she believe? “You’re joking,” she says incredulously.
This time Harry does laugh aloud and closes the distance between them.
“No, love.”
One moment Hermione is standing there, rooted to the spot, and the next she finds herself in his arms with his lips moving softly against hers. And suddenly it’s over and she stands there breathless, not believing that this moment has finally come. A smile lights his features and she brings a hand to his cheek as her eyes fill with tears.
“Harry,” she breathes, but he places a finger to her lips, the smile never leaving his.
“Forgive me?” he whispers.
”For what?” she asks, still taken aback by the unbelievable brightness of his eyes.
He gently pushes her hair away from her eyes and brushes his fingers along the curve of her cheek.
“For not saying anything. For not doing anything. For not seeing what’s right in front of my eyes.”
The rest of the world falls away and there is only his bright eyes and contagious grin. Hermione stands on her toes as she brushes her lips against his. Her fingers run through his dark hair as she whispers against his lips.
“What do you see?”
Harry pulls her closer to him and feels her lips shape into a smile as he utters a single word before all trace of coherent thought melts away.
“You.”
****
Three months later:
Dear Hermione,
You don’t know how hard this is for me, but I feel that some congratulations should be in order. I couldn’t keep him from you any longer. I couldn’t marry him knowing that his heart belongs to another. You might be wondering why I am even bothering to have any further correspondence with you. Believe me, that as I’m writing this, I cannot help but dwell on this same question.
I cannot say that I wish you two the best for my heart is not yet ready for such feelings, but I don’t wish the two of you ill, either. I guess I just want you to know that I don’t resent you. But I loved Harry and I want him to be happy. I can’t say that I am giving him to you because, well, he was never mine to give.
Take care of him, Hermione, and don’t let him out of your sight. For no man will ever make you happier.
Sincerely,
Gweneth Moiraine Dawson
Gwen shuts her umbrella and steps into the pub. She returns some patrons greetings with smiles and nods as she makes her way deeper into the room; eyes searching the tables. Suddenly her features light up at the sound of her name.
Blue eyes fill her vision.
She gives a woman with flaming red hair a warm hug and grins
at the three men seated at the table.
“You’re late,” Cillian greets her with a smile.
Fade Out
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.