Instead, everything dies except the roots and now they're strangling him.
The way this ends for Harry Potter, white knight of the wizarding world, is: Hermione figures it out first.
(This is not his reality anymore, ever.)
The way this ends for Harry Potter today is:
They're in a bar. It's a Gryffindor reunion, nine years and six months too soon.
There are empty chairs where their friends and loved ones should be. There are mugs of butterbeer and story-telling and, in the corners, sadness everyone is trying to ignore. Harry secretly embraces it. (At least it's not just him, at least he's not alone.)
Hermione is wearing a jumper and jeans and a day-old engagement ring. Ron's wearing a smile. Hermione's doesn't quite match.
When she goes outside to find a copy of the Prophet to settle an argument between Ginny and Ron, Harry follows.
If he could remember what the argument was about, maybe he'd open with that, but he can't, so he doesn't.
Instead, "Did you set a date yet?" He nods at her ring.
That this is something he has to ask, that he wasn't a part of the whole process, it's not how they operate. Not before.
"Ron had some suggestions. I think they came from his mother. I figure we owe it to her to at least consider them." Hermione spots a newspaper box across the street and sets off toward it.
Harry would never, ever, (ever) admit to begrudging Molly Weasley anything, especially now, but even before the tragedies of the war, she was so involved. He wouldn't be surprised if those dates are years old, selected during second year as part of a master plan.
It's frustrating that so many other things can change, but this hasn't. That someone else is still pulling the strings, while Harry follows limply along.
He falls into stride with Hermione. "Aren't you tired of owing?"
It's a loaded question for what is supposed to be a happy night (in this happy world), but he's hoping that if anyone would understand, it would be her.
She reaches the sidewalk before he does and steps up the curb, turning to face him. She's exactly eye level with him now.
"I don't know what you mean." But she does. She glances down at her feet and back up at him and he can see it in her face, the way it changes, just for a second, in the street lamps. This is ordered, organized Hermione -- this is how she is when she didn't set the terms.
"We're always owing somebody something. Whether it's a fair burden or not. Don't you want to just -- fuck it all? Follow your gut?"
She smiles and shakes her head, like she's skating around the bait, "Harry, where are you going with this?" She's not hearing him, it's not her gut in control yet, it's that compartmentalized, huge brain.
(When he hops on his broom and just flies, the conclusion he always reaches is that she picked Ron because Ron needed her more. It was rational to not let down the one that will have a harder time without you. It was rational, all other things being equal, to go for the one who would fall apart if you weren't there. What he didn't realize was that was him, too. And if he didn't know -- how could Hermione?)
"I'm going -- I don't know. I know what makes sense, I know what's expected, I know that Ron needs you and this is it, this is our smooth sailing til the end, but, come on, we've never lasted long with smooth sailing."
It's such a jumbled sentence, such a jumbled sentiment, that he's not sure if she really gets it. He steps in a little closer, until his toes are stopped against the curb and he can feel how she's warm and alive just centimeters from him.
Harry/Hermione - fill in the holes you've made. (pg-13) Part 2
The way this ends for Harry Potter, white knight of the wizarding world, is: Hermione figures it out first.
(This is not his reality anymore, ever.)
The way this ends for Harry Potter today is:
They're in a bar. It's a Gryffindor reunion, nine years and six months too soon.
There are empty chairs where their friends and loved ones should be. There are mugs of butterbeer and story-telling and, in the corners, sadness everyone is trying to ignore. Harry secretly embraces it. (At least it's not just him, at least he's not alone.)
Hermione is wearing a jumper and jeans and a day-old engagement ring. Ron's wearing a smile. Hermione's doesn't quite match.
When she goes outside to find a copy of the Prophet to settle an argument between Ginny and Ron, Harry follows.
If he could remember what the argument was about, maybe he'd open with that, but he can't, so he doesn't.
Instead, "Did you set a date yet?" He nods at her ring.
That this is something he has to ask, that he wasn't a part of the whole process, it's not how they operate. Not before.
"Ron had some suggestions. I think they came from his mother. I figure we owe it to her to at least consider them." Hermione spots a newspaper box across the street and sets off toward it.
Harry would never, ever, (ever) admit to begrudging Molly Weasley anything, especially now, but even before the tragedies of the war, she was so involved. He wouldn't be surprised if those dates are years old, selected during second year as part of a master plan.
It's frustrating that so many other things can change, but this hasn't. That someone else is still pulling the strings, while Harry follows limply along.
He falls into stride with Hermione. "Aren't you tired of owing?"
It's a loaded question for what is supposed to be a happy night (in this happy world), but he's hoping that if anyone would understand, it would be her.
She reaches the sidewalk before he does and steps up the curb, turning to face him. She's exactly eye level with him now.
"I don't know what you mean." But she does. She glances down at her feet and back up at him and he can see it in her face, the way it changes, just for a second, in the street lamps. This is ordered, organized Hermione -- this is how she is when she didn't set the terms.
"We're always owing somebody something. Whether it's a fair burden or not. Don't you want to just -- fuck it all? Follow your gut?"
She smiles and shakes her head, like she's skating around the bait, "Harry, where are you going with this?" She's not hearing him, it's not her gut in control yet, it's that compartmentalized, huge brain.
(When he hops on his broom and just flies, the conclusion he always reaches is that she picked Ron because Ron needed her more. It was rational to not let down the one that will have a harder time without you. It was rational, all other things being equal, to go for the one who would fall apart if you weren't there. What he didn't realize was that was him, too. And if he didn't know -- how could Hermione?)
"I'm going -- I don't know. I know what makes sense, I know what's expected, I know that Ron needs you and this is it, this is our smooth sailing til the end, but, come on, we've never lasted long with smooth sailing."
It's such a jumbled sentence, such a jumbled sentiment, that he's not sure if she really gets it. He steps in a little closer, until his toes are stopped against the curb and he can feel how she's warm and alive just centimeters from him.