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anythingbutgreyfic two today!
Title: There Hasn’t Been a Time That I Have Wished I Wasn’t Here With You
Pairing + Fandom: Harry/Hermione (Harry Potter)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Deathly Hallows
A/N: Title is from an Inara George song. Much love to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jacyevans for the beta and ruling my world and stuff. :)
Summary: In the war, she learns too many things.
In the war, she learns too many things. What real hunger is. What the smell of the dead tastes like. The sensation of the world stopping short when someone she loves dies.
Voldemort’s voice is typically chilling when he calls out, Harry Potter is dead and everything
stops.
-
She thinks about summer, her least favorite season. On weekends her mother would walk her to the library down the street, where they would sit with picnic blankets in the sunlight, passing through book after book. On weekdays, her nanny would take her, but that was never as fun.
Then, the Hogwarts letter came. After meeting Harry and Ron, her summers got even worse, knowing they were waiting for her in the fall. Waiting and waiting and waiting - every year, for the first two weeks, she thought she might shrivel and die.
Until Voldemort came back. Then, summer became planning time. She feared she would be in the dark about the Wizarding World until the Daily Prophet arrived through her window proclaiming, Harry Potter is Dead.
The summer before Fifth Year nearly killed her instead; hundreds of letters written, and none ever sent. It was almost freeing. Without the danger of anyone seeing, she felt free to scribble things she would never really say.
Dear Harry,
I miss you more than I could ever begin to explain. It hurts so much to be away from you, Harry.
Harry. Harry. You’re with me every second and I can’t shake you and I don’t want to shake you, but you’re not here and it hurts, Harry. Sometimes I think I’m going to start saying your name in my sleep. What would Ginny say to that, right?
Nights like this make me think the only reason I’m feeling this horrid must be that I love you, but that’s not possible, is it Harry. Is it? No. That’s not possible. The hero gets the girl, but the girl doesn’t always get the hero. It’s like what they used to tell us in grade school maths, a square is a rectangle, but a rectangle is not a square. You’ll get whatever you want and I’ll just get what I deserve.
I’m so sorry to bore you with my hyper-emotional ramblings. It’s raining outside. Makes me miss you. That’s all. That’s all.
- Hermione
And a hundred other variations of the same. She burned them on completion. She could feel Ron’s eyes burning into her back across the living room, didn’t want to know what he’d say.
-
She screams.
And screams.
And screams.
Ron pulls her to him, holds on tight, tries to keep her afloat.
-
She falls into winter.
Winter reminds her of common room fireplaces, the low rumbling in her stomach when Lavender and Ron were throwing themselves at each other on the couches, Ginny and Harry’s quiet looks she pretended to ignore.
She must have missed something, she thought. The entire world got paired off, and letters from Viktor stopped coming a long time ago.
She thought she could hear her mother’s sighs through her letters.
It’s secondary school, love. These things happen sometimes. Your boys will come back, don’t worry.
Hermione wanted to shake her head with a soft tear. It didn’t work that way here, mother. Here, secondary school romance turned into life.
When Ron woke up to see her, finally, she was almost happy enough to have one of them back to not miss the other.
Almost.
After all, things were always different between Harry and Ron, though, perhaps, not in the way they thought.
-
She screams.
This is when she realizes, her throat parched, that no sound is coming out. Nothing but dry, heaving sobs.
She closes her mouth, inhales through her nose, and then, finally, finds it in her.
Such a scream, she thinks, far away. She hadn’t known she had it in her.
Arms around her, Ron winces. His tears fall onto her collarbone.
-
Spring soothes her, the memory of owls flapping by her open window, April rain that made her hair expand and turned Harry blind with blurred glasses. The two of them, they loved the rain. Ron scowled.
(She doesn’t know how he would watch them with jealousy in his throat, doesn’t know the jealousy that still haunts him, no matter how many times Harry throws around words like “She’s like my sister.”)
Once, after one of those rainstorms, the best kind of storm, the kind that befalls after sticky heat and feels like a relief, they sat soaking wet just inside the school, sweet air floating around them. She yawned against his shoulder at the setting sun, and, almost subconsciously, his arm floated up and around her, their eyes fluttering shut.
“What are you doing?” Ron asked sharply.
She shook herself awake, her clothes sticking to her and making her shiver. After pushing herself to her feet, she turned around and tugged on Harry’s wrist, helping him stand. He yawned and mumbled something about wanting to change, and they stumbled back to the common room with drooping eyelids and laughter that started for no reason, but continued without fail.
Spring calms her.
-
By the time she sees Harry again, she’s lost all strength for screaming.
But there he is, corporeal and alive, and she almost starts screaming all over again. Her nails dig into Ron’s arm for balance and a shaky “Harry?” sits on her lips amongst the heavy cheers that surround them. A grin paints Ron’s face but her mouth is still slack.
She was too immobile to cry before, but now the tears come out like thunderstorms and she can’t breathe, losing him now just a memory, a false vision that she already feels turning to a nightmare. She wants to rush forward, grab him by the wrist and cling to him with the rest of the world falling to pieces around them and not care because life before him was nothing; something tells her that if Voldemort had been right, if Harry had been left stilled on the ground, life would then go back to its previous state of somber suspension.
Professions of I thought we lost you, I thought we lost you with harried hugs must come later, though. Survive the war and they’ll have all the time in the world.
Until then, there’s fighting to be done.
*
feedback?
Title: There Hasn’t Been a Time That I Have Wished I Wasn’t Here With You
Pairing + Fandom: Harry/Hermione (Harry Potter)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Deathly Hallows
A/N: Title is from an Inara George song. Much love to
jacyevans for the beta and ruling my world and stuff. :)Summary: In the war, she learns too many things.
In the war, she learns too many things. What real hunger is. What the smell of the dead tastes like. The sensation of the world stopping short when someone she loves dies.
Voldemort’s voice is typically chilling when he calls out, Harry Potter is dead and everything
stops.
-
She thinks about summer, her least favorite season. On weekends her mother would walk her to the library down the street, where they would sit with picnic blankets in the sunlight, passing through book after book. On weekdays, her nanny would take her, but that was never as fun.
Then, the Hogwarts letter came. After meeting Harry and Ron, her summers got even worse, knowing they were waiting for her in the fall. Waiting and waiting and waiting - every year, for the first two weeks, she thought she might shrivel and die.
Until Voldemort came back. Then, summer became planning time. She feared she would be in the dark about the Wizarding World until the Daily Prophet arrived through her window proclaiming, Harry Potter is Dead.
The summer before Fifth Year nearly killed her instead; hundreds of letters written, and none ever sent. It was almost freeing. Without the danger of anyone seeing, she felt free to scribble things she would never really say.
Dear Harry,
I miss you more than I could ever begin to explain. It hurts so much to be away from you, Harry.
Harry. Harry. You’re with me every second and I can’t shake you and I don’t want to shake you, but you’re not here and it hurts, Harry. Sometimes I think I’m going to start saying your name in my sleep. What would Ginny say to that, right?
Nights like this make me think the only reason I’m feeling this horrid must be that I love you, but that’s not possible, is it Harry. Is it? No. That’s not possible. The hero gets the girl, but the girl doesn’t always get the hero. It’s like what they used to tell us in grade school maths, a square is a rectangle, but a rectangle is not a square. You’ll get whatever you want and I’ll just get what I deserve.
I’m so sorry to bore you with my hyper-emotional ramblings. It’s raining outside. Makes me miss you. That’s all. That’s all.
- Hermione
And a hundred other variations of the same. She burned them on completion. She could feel Ron’s eyes burning into her back across the living room, didn’t want to know what he’d say.
-
She screams.
And screams.
And screams.
Ron pulls her to him, holds on tight, tries to keep her afloat.
-
She falls into winter.
Winter reminds her of common room fireplaces, the low rumbling in her stomach when Lavender and Ron were throwing themselves at each other on the couches, Ginny and Harry’s quiet looks she pretended to ignore.
She must have missed something, she thought. The entire world got paired off, and letters from Viktor stopped coming a long time ago.
She thought she could hear her mother’s sighs through her letters.
It’s secondary school, love. These things happen sometimes. Your boys will come back, don’t worry.
Hermione wanted to shake her head with a soft tear. It didn’t work that way here, mother. Here, secondary school romance turned into life.
When Ron woke up to see her, finally, she was almost happy enough to have one of them back to not miss the other.
Almost.
After all, things were always different between Harry and Ron, though, perhaps, not in the way they thought.
-
She screams.
This is when she realizes, her throat parched, that no sound is coming out. Nothing but dry, heaving sobs.
She closes her mouth, inhales through her nose, and then, finally, finds it in her.
Such a scream, she thinks, far away. She hadn’t known she had it in her.
Arms around her, Ron winces. His tears fall onto her collarbone.
-
Spring soothes her, the memory of owls flapping by her open window, April rain that made her hair expand and turned Harry blind with blurred glasses. The two of them, they loved the rain. Ron scowled.
(She doesn’t know how he would watch them with jealousy in his throat, doesn’t know the jealousy that still haunts him, no matter how many times Harry throws around words like “She’s like my sister.”)
Once, after one of those rainstorms, the best kind of storm, the kind that befalls after sticky heat and feels like a relief, they sat soaking wet just inside the school, sweet air floating around them. She yawned against his shoulder at the setting sun, and, almost subconsciously, his arm floated up and around her, their eyes fluttering shut.
“What are you doing?” Ron asked sharply.
She shook herself awake, her clothes sticking to her and making her shiver. After pushing herself to her feet, she turned around and tugged on Harry’s wrist, helping him stand. He yawned and mumbled something about wanting to change, and they stumbled back to the common room with drooping eyelids and laughter that started for no reason, but continued without fail.
Spring calms her.
-
By the time she sees Harry again, she’s lost all strength for screaming.
But there he is, corporeal and alive, and she almost starts screaming all over again. Her nails dig into Ron’s arm for balance and a shaky “Harry?” sits on her lips amongst the heavy cheers that surround them. A grin paints Ron’s face but her mouth is still slack.
She was too immobile to cry before, but now the tears come out like thunderstorms and she can’t breathe, losing him now just a memory, a false vision that she already feels turning to a nightmare. She wants to rush forward, grab him by the wrist and cling to him with the rest of the world falling to pieces around them and not care because life before him was nothing; something tells her that if Voldemort had been right, if Harry had been left stilled on the ground, life would then go back to its previous state of somber suspension.
Professions of I thought we lost you, I thought we lost you with harried hugs must come later, though. Survive the war and they’ll have all the time in the world.
Until then, there’s fighting to be done.
*
feedback?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-04-17 04:58 am (UTC)ASDF;LKAJSDF;FLJKASDF
In the frozen motion of her breathing, her stomach growing cold and heavy, she steps outside herself and begins to float away.
You know that I'm in love with this line? Your poetry is totally showing here. With the 'stops' on a different line and the flow of the introduction — absolutely freaking gorgeous.
THIS FANDOM MISSED YOU SO MUCH.
Or just me. Embodying fandom as a whole.
The screaming, oh man, the way you repeat it just is breaking. Like, you hear that shattering on the floor? MY SOUL.
You kind of pwn Hermione's point of view. All of it. Every season, every wish she holds onto for one boy and not the other.
She wants to rush forward, grab him by the wrist and cling to him, the rest of the world falling to pieces around them and not care because life before him was nothing
YES YES YES. TRUE FREAKING FACTS, ROWLING. GET IT RIGHT.
I'm going to flail around now because you wrote H/Hr. Excuse me.
(ASDF;LKJKASDDF;LKKASDF)
no subject
Date: 2008-04-17 05:01 am (UTC):)
i love how you say this fandom missed me when i wrote one fic.
ever.
granted, it was freaking huge, but it was still only one. :D
no subject
Date: 2008-04-17 05:04 am (UTC)I'veit's been waiting for your comeback SINCE THE DAY AFTER YOU WROTE CULPA.Yeah. You do not disappoint. ♥