(This is terrible Karen. IDEK. I WILL DO BETTER NEXT TIME.)
-
After the war ends, Harry just stops. He just stays still. The new world grows outside, rebuilding itself from the inside out and Harry waits. He has spent half his life learning to be cautious, prepared for the trap, for the snare, for the scheme that will take everything to pieces and so he cannot trust that this will last. If he does, then he has everything to lose. Again. Months pass and he still starts at a loud noise and wakes up shaking, his hands feeling sticky from the blood he can never wash off. He dreams of everyone they lost, the names blurring into one another, faces indeterminable from one to the next. The nightmares keep coming, night after night whilst he spends his days wondering whether he could have chosen differently.
Ginny says he can't dwell. She says 'it's over' like that actually means anything, like he can shake this war off his bones if he tries hard enough. Harry wants to scream at her, sick of her moralising and her childish attempts to sweep this war under the rug; sick of the way she talks about time and healing; sick of the reverence in her voice when she says his name. Everything seems harder now; he's barely nineteen but he feels like he's fought for centuries. Half his life has been about this war and without it, he cannot find his place. This is what Ginny doesn't understand.
Ron understands. Hermione understands. But that's just the problem. They should never have had to understand. They made their choices when they were too young to have any idea of what those choices would entail. Ron talks about it with a heavy heart, as if it was inevitable, as if they had never had any other option. Hermione doesn't say much, just touches her arm and drinks her tea and shuts away her books. Harry's scar throbs and he avoids her eyes.
-
When he sees Hermione, he sees a tent and a boy who has no-one and the girl who stayed. He sees the weight of everything he's done. In Hermione now, he cannot sense that ten year old with her wide open heart and her bookish defences. She is the greatest casualty of them all and for that, Harry cannot forgive himself.
He looks at her and sometimes he feels that they are no longer friends, only comrades that fought alongside one another. No games, no jokes, only remembrances they would rather forget and scars they will never compare.
-
Harry asks her once if she still has the time turner. Hermione shakes her head, her eyes sad as she leans forward to touch her forehead with his. "I wouldn't change anything Harry," she whispers, her heads cupping his jaw, fingers interlacing at the nape of his neck. He breathes, for what feels like the first time, the air shockingly cold against his throat. She reaches up to trace his scar, her touch light and gentle. "Not a thing."
harry/hermione, there are no good choices
-
After the war ends, Harry just stops. He just stays still. The new world grows outside, rebuilding itself from the inside out and Harry waits. He has spent half his life learning to be cautious, prepared for the trap, for the snare, for the scheme that will take everything to pieces and so he cannot trust that this will last. If he does, then he has everything to lose. Again. Months pass and he still starts at a loud noise and wakes up shaking, his hands feeling sticky from the blood he can never wash off. He dreams of everyone they lost, the names blurring into one another, faces indeterminable from one to the next. The nightmares keep coming, night after night whilst he spends his days wondering whether he could have chosen differently.
Ginny says he can't dwell. She says 'it's over' like that actually means anything, like he can shake this war off his bones if he tries hard enough. Harry wants to scream at her, sick of her moralising and her childish attempts to sweep this war under the rug; sick of the way she talks about time and healing; sick of the reverence in her voice when she says his name. Everything seems harder now; he's barely nineteen but he feels like he's fought for centuries. Half his life has been about this war and without it, he cannot find his place. This is what Ginny doesn't understand.
Ron understands. Hermione understands. But that's just the problem. They should never have had to understand. They made their choices when they were too young to have any idea of what those choices would entail. Ron talks about it with a heavy heart, as if it was inevitable, as if they had never had any other option. Hermione doesn't say much, just touches her arm and drinks her tea and shuts away her books. Harry's scar throbs and he avoids her eyes.
-
When he sees Hermione, he sees a tent and a boy who has no-one and the girl who stayed. He sees the weight of everything he's done. In Hermione now, he cannot sense that ten year old with her wide open heart and her bookish defences. She is the greatest casualty of them all and for that, Harry cannot forgive himself.
He looks at her and sometimes he feels that they are no longer friends, only comrades that fought alongside one another. No games, no jokes, only remembrances they would rather forget and scars they will never compare.
-
Harry asks her once if she still has the time turner. Hermione shakes her head, her eyes sad as she leans forward to touch her forehead with his. "I wouldn't change anything Harry," she whispers, her heads cupping his jaw, fingers interlacing at the nape of his neck. He breathes, for what feels like the first time, the air shockingly cold against his throat. She reaches up to trace his scar, her touch light and gentle. "Not a thing."
He can't help but feel differently.