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