–It’s going to rain,†she thinks as she gazes at the dark, heavy clouds hanging above her head.
She is lying on the forest floor, surrounded by simple things, and for the time being, she is in content. She is surrounded by so many smells; the dirt, the flowers, the trees, the decaying leaves, the pine… the smell of the earth. It rejuvenates her and calms her senses, restoring her mind to a quiet, calm content that she enjoys. She knows it won’t last long, because there are much more important things to be thinking about besides the weather, like if he will ever come back.
She pushes that from her mind. She shouldn’t dwell on such things; to dwell on him will make her lose her courage and her will, and mostly, her hope. She is afraid that her last few remaining thin scraps of hope will be torn away from her, just as everything else was. She has to believe in something. So, that is what she picked.
And as she lies on the forest floor, and she pushes her thoughts around in her head, it begins to rain, the impregnated clouds relieving their burden upon the earth and misting her hair and her face and her clothes. But she doesn’t mind; she welcomes the change of thought. She focuses on the raindrop that just landed on her cheek, and then she wonders if Harry is looking for her. She wonders when he will start looking- because he’ll always look- and how long it will take him to find her, lying on the ground so far away from their tent. She’s well within the boundaries of her protective enchantments, so she has no fear of being discovered by some random stranger, but Harry always worries.
She sighs as she hears his footsteps and hears his voice calling her name, a slight twinge of panic and fear creeping into his voice. She lies there still, daring him to come find her, and content where she is. She doesn’t mind the fact that she is now soaked, as the rain has started to come down much heavier, trying to drown the earth and everything within it. She actually loves the smell of the rain and the damp earth around her. It reminds her of her mum’s garden and the times they danced in the rain together when she was a child. She smiles at the thought.
Feeling emboldened, she gets up and begins to dance. She doesn’t care what Harry will think when he chances upon her. She just dances, twirling in circles and feeling alive and not caring about anyone else in the world but herself, if only for a moment. She laughs; releasing the golden, musical sound into the air and making everything seem brighter. It is the freest thing she has done in a very long time, and she’s enjoying every second of it.
She picks up a handful of leaves from the ground and throws them into the air, laughing all the more. It is then that Harry chances upon her, looking confused and relieved all at once. She smiles at him, and beckons him to join her with the curling of her index finger. He timidly walks over, and she grabs his hands and begins to twirl him in circles until he relaxes.
Together they dance in the rain, soaked to the bone and liable to catch their deaths, but in that moment, there is nothing but themselves, the forest, and the rain, and they are not holding the responsibilities of their world upon their shoulders. For a moment, they are just Harry and Hermione, and they are not special, and they are just enjoying a dance in the rain for no reason at all.
And she can live with that.
________________________________________________
–Hermione.†A whisper, so light, like a caress, floats through the air.
She stirs, and finds herself standing. She is in the clearing where she just danced with Harry in the rain mere hours before, but instead of being alone or being with Harry, she sees a head of fiery red hair set over wide, round, bright blue eyes, and a smile that shatters her heart.
She cannot speak; she simply stands there, wishing for the moment to last an eternity.
–Hermione,†he says again.
She shivers with anticipation. There is something in the air; she can feel it in her bones, in her heart, in her very soul.
She takes a step forward. He smiles. She steps closer and closer still, until she is close enough to count his eyelashes. And then they embrace. His scent washes over her, and she breathes it in with delight. And then they kiss.
Their lips collide in a monumental force, and as they kiss, they dance. There is fire, and there is passion, and nothing can put out the flames… not even when it begins to rain.
When she opens her eyes, she is clutching her blankets for dear life. She unclenches her fist and throws her blanket down on her body, and sighs heavily. She reaches for her wand, and her heart jumps when she does not feel it underneath her pillow. But then she remembers that Harry was on the last watch last night, so he has her wand.
She gets dressed and washes her face, and wishes for a proper shower. She brushes through her messy, bushy hair and plaits it. And then the day begins.
They pack up the tent, and they remove the charms and enchantments. With one last look around the place, Harry takes her hand and she Apparates to another patch of forest in the southern part of the country this time. Harry begins to pitch the tent as she begins to weave her enchantments, the magic flowing through her as the ancient and powerful words pour from her lips seamlessly like water in a stream. With a few more words and a final flourish of her wand, it is done.
She goes and sits. She takes out a book; she doesn’t even know which, and opens it to the first page. She pretends to read, staring at the words. They are meaningless. For the first time in her life, the words are meaningless to her. They hold no more secrets, no more wonder, and no more satisfaction; she sees nothing but black blurs and squiggles, like a child’s random drawings. She diligently flips the pages, maintaining the illusion that she is not a hollow version of the girl she used to be. She knows Harry is always worrying, and she simply does not want him to worry more than he has to.
So she pretends. She pretends that everything is as okay as it can be, and that she isn’t dying inside. She pretends that the fact that she may never be able to retrieve her parents stabs at her heart every time she thinks of their faces; she pretends that she doesn’t fear for the lives of the Weasley family and her friends within the walls of Hogwarts, who are being subjected to horrors she can’t even imagine; she pretends that every time she looks around and doesn’t see Ron, she doesn’t want to scream and cry and vomit. Yes, she pretends, and for what it’s worth, she thinks herself rather skilled at it.
She remembers that once, a very long time ago, she wanted to be an actress. She pranced around, telling all who would listen that one day, she would be a movie star. But that was when she was a child; before she knew she was a witch and everything she knew was turned upside-down. That was when she was still innocent, and didn’t know about the many evils of the world. Before she knew how cruel other human beings were to their own kind, and before she knew that in order to make it in the world, you had to make sacrifices and fight. Ever since she had learned that she was witch, she had to fight for everything; her right to be in school, her pride, her dignity… and now, her freedom.
She yearns for the simplicity of childhood, and wishes for a moment that things could be the way they were then. She doesn’t want to be at the center of a war; she is only eighteen, and although she’s an adult by magical standards, she knows that she is still a child in the eyes of many. She accepts that fact, and it makes her wish all the more that she were normal. Not for the first time, she’s wishing that she were a Muggle, oblivious to the world of magic. If she were, she would be in high school right now, in her sixth form, and she would be making good grades and worrying about things like her final exams and what university she wants to attend- not how to take down an immortal tyrant that is murdering and destroying the lives of thousands.
She closes the book. She can’t even pretend to concentrate anymore.
And then, she is restless. She is always restless these days; she can never do enough. She wants to run and jump, or do something, other than sitting here day after day, wondering when he will come back and being trapped inside her own head.
She fingers the cold locket hanging around her neck, and knows that it is responsible for her dark musings. She knows that this locket is the sole reason that she departed on this journey; this locket gave her hope that she could kill it and find its kin, and then kill them, as well. That all would be well and she could return to life as she knew it. But it is now telling her that she is wrong; that they can’t win. They will never win. It’s hopeless, really. There isn’t a point to the fight. She’s tired, in more ways than one, and all she wants to do is give it up, find her parents, and go home.
Harry comes and sits next to her, and they don’t speak; they just sit. She fiddles with her wand, and she fidgets and moves around. Harry notices this. He takes her hand, and they sit there like that, in silence, holding hands and looking at nothing.
And they stay that way for the rest of the day.
________________________________________________
When she wakes up a week later, she wants to cry.
She was dreaming of him again. It always hurts. It never fails; every time she thinks of him, she wants to scream. She wants to run into the world past her enchanted bubble, and scream his name, and scour the country for him, because she is afraid, and she is angry, and she just wants him back. She wants him to hold her and hug her and tell her that he’s sorry. She may not accept his apology the moment it’s delivered, but the fact that he would even apologize at all would be enough for her, she thinks.
She thinks of Harry, and how selfish she is, because Harry misses him just as much as she does. She knows it hurts him, but he still tries to play the tough man- ever the Gryffindor- and pretend like he isn’t in agony. But she knows better, because she feels the same. She knows that the shards of his broken heart stab him every time he breathes, too. Or is that just her?
________________________________________________
Days pass. She waits. She grows even more restless as the days pass by. She wonders when he’ll return, and when they’ll find another Horcrux. Always wondering. She seems to be stuck in the clouds, hardly ever cognizant of her surroundings, which is unlike her. After all, she is Hermione Granger, and she is always aware. That’s how she got by; by knowing what was going on around her.
The days turn into weeks, and before she knows it, she feels more alone than ever before. Yes, Harry is there with her, but it’s not the same. She needs both of her boys with her in order to feel better.
Her boys. Were they ever really hers? Or was she just telling herself that in order to make herself feel important? Is it wrong for her to claim them as hers? She’s not sure what is right or wrong anymore. All she knows is monotony; the same, never-ending pattern every day. Pack the tent, move, pitch the tent, weave the barrier, sit and do nothing, sleep, then do it all over again the next day. She is bored, and she is growing more and more restless as the days and hours and minutes drag on. She feels empty and devoid of spirit.
–We could just give up and let them win,†she whispers one evening as they sit outside the tent. –We could give up and do nothing, and hide. Pretend we never knew what a Horcrux was and let everyone else save themselves.†It is an incredibly selfish and horrid thing to say, but all she wants to do is hide and forget everyone else. She is tired of worrying about everyone else; she wants to think of herself for once.
He looks at her, and she looks at him, and they both know they can’t give up and run. They both want to; he says so, and she says so, and she can see it in his eyes how badly he yearns to get away from it all and hide in the woods forever. They kiss. It is brief and sweet, but it feels wrong. His lips are full and soft and warm, but they are not the lips she wants. They pull away, embarrassed, but satisfied. They never speak of it again.
________________________________________________
She still prays.
She still prays, just as she always has. Her family is Catholic, and she has always spent her Sundays praying in the church, going to Mass and listening to the sermons given by Father John, and she has always kept a set of prayer beads and a rosary with her, as well as a small picture of Jesus and The Mother Mary. They are things she has not touched in a very long time, and in a sudden spur of inspiration and spiritual need, she goes into the tent, gets these things out, and spreads them on the bed before her.
She clutches the rosary and prayer beads in her hands, and kneels before the bed, where her pictures are set before her. She wishes she had her mother’s votive candle that has Mary on it; that would make the set-up more complete.
Instead of lingering on what she does not have, however, she closes her eyes, folds her hands over her beads, and prays. She prays for everything; for Ron’s safe return, for Harry to survive through the coming months, for her survival, for the survival of her parents, and everyone else she loves. She prays for the end of this war, and she prays for the light to come through and squash the darkness that surrounds her world. She prays that Voldemort may be vanquished, and that he receives the punishment that he is due.
When she opens her eyes, a half an hour later, Harry is beside her, his eyes closed and his hands folded, kneeling on his knees in front of her little make-shift altar. She smiles, and she leans over and kisses him on his cheek. He stirs, opening his brilliant emerald eyes, and smiles at her.
They pray together every night from then on.
________________________________________________
The day he comes back, she is caught unaware.
She was asleep. She fell asleep in one of the armchairs, curled under a blanket and listening to the old wireless that he was so fond of. The very wireless that drove Harry crazy, but that both of them now listen to for comfort and to break the silence between them.
She blinks her eyes and stretches, trying to judge how late it is. It’s dark outside; night has fallen, so she won’t be going to bed for a while. She looks around, trying to find Harry, but he’s nowhere in sight. She decides he’s pacing or on watch or doing something else to occupy himself, so she does not worry. She curls back up in her chair and sighs, listening to the sounds of the latest Muggle pop hit playing through the speakers of the wireless.
A long time after, she hears running. She shoots up, and reaches for her wand, and then realizes that Harry has it. She uncharacteristically swears, and peeks through the flap of the tent. When she sees the familiar mop of jet-black hair that belongs to Harry, she relaxes, and releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
She steps out, and smiles. Her smile falters when she sees that he is soaked to the bone and dripping wet, his hair in his eyes and his clothes clinging to his wet skin. Before she can say anything, Harry tells her to look to her right, and then she sees it. Her eyes behold him; the very person she has been agonizing over for several terrifying, terrible weeks.
–Hey,†he says with a sheepish grin.
And before she can even think, she is consumed by a blind rage. She sees red, and she is livid; angrier than she has ever been in her life. She runs towards him, and in her blind rage, she screams things at him, although she’s not sure what she is saying. She only knows that she’s speaking, and she’s hitting him and clawing at him and battering him with her hands and nails. He stands there and takes it, frozen. She keeps at it, until an invisible shield comes between them.
She growls her warning to Harry to drop the Shield Charm, but he does not listen. She shakes her head, blinded by fury and tears, and she sinks to the ground. There she sobs, until she feels someone touching her. She looks into his eyes; Ron’s eyes, and her world is right, even if she doesn’t want to see his face.
Her world is right, and she has her boys back.
Suddenly, she doesn’t seem quite so restless anymore.
Restless by Envy_I_May_Be
Story Notes:
Nothing belongs to me! if it did, the books would not be half as amazing as they are. Trust me.
Chapter Notes: The only reason this is AU is because a few tiny things that didn't actually happen in the book, but it's very, very slight, and nothing too dramatic.
Chapter Endnotes: Let me know what you think!