![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anythingbutgreymy heart is holding onto you
harry potter. harry, harry/hermione (friendship), mentions of h/g and r/hr.
post-dh, pre-epilogue. 749 words. for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
perfectlystill at the hp non-canon ships ficathon.
Harry thinks of things in before and after photographs—before the war, the cupboard; after the war, the house.
It's after the war.
But, of course it is. It is always after the war. Harry thinks of things in before and after photographs—before the war, the cupboard; after the war, the house. Before the end of the war, the war; after the end of the war, the quiet. He has a whole list of them in his head, and it seems somehow foolish, like two years after the fact they should have moved on to somewhere, to that greener-grassed destination, but he doesn't know how to think of himself as something other than a soldier. Not anymore.
Hermione is in his kitchen. This is after he gets engaged to Ginny but before she gets engaged to Ron. They both know it's coming. It's been coming for a very long time. He's happy for them, they're happy for him, and he is trying not to think about what life will be like when they have their family and he has his, if that will change anything. If they'll only see each other for lunch once a month. Most of him knows that's preposterous, and that there are few things in the world more resilient than they are, but there's always that little nub. Which is, incidentally, the reason why Hermione is in his house, sipping jasmine tea in the middle of the night. There are certain things he can only speak to her about. Ron is about laughter and the light and stupid pranks and boyhood, that thing he never truly had but wishes he did. Hermione is something different. Hermione is the silences, the words he doesn't have to say, the quiet he has long since had engraved into his bones. Hermione is about the hushed, serious calm. The two of them—they're perfect halves of him, he thinks sometimes. But tonight he needs her.
"Ginny has been putting a lot of thought into tablecloths," Harry is saying, stirring some sugar into his tea and not looking at her. He doesn't have to. She's been watching him for the last ten minutes, waiting for him to say what he really wants to talk about. "Something about linens and some such."
"Yes," Hermione says, calmly. She won't press this. "I hear materials are quite crucial."
He sets his spoon down on the saucer. The light sound whispers through his kitchen. Hermione takes another sip of tea, and does not turn her eyes away from him.
"The Daily Prophet called it 'the most exciting nuptials of the year,'" Harry grumbles. He has a copy of the article in the living room, with his and Ginny's awkward pretend-smile faces at the lead.
Hermione laughs a little; it sounds like a faint puff of air with a smile more than anything else, but the smile is real. "The Boy Who Lived gets married. Of course there's going to be talk. You're you."
Harry shrugs, and stirs his tea for no reason. "I'm never going to lose that, am I," he says.
"Nope," Hermione says, smiling, but the smile turns sad at the edges. She knows he just wants to be normal, and that he can never be for reasons both outside and inside himself.
His mouth turns. "I just—" he starts, and then falters. She waits. "I just worry things will be different, now, after the war and with me and Ginny and you and Ron I don't want—us to fall to the wayside."
Her smile is crooked, far from here, and sad. He wonders if maybe she's been worrying about this too. He wonders if the us was about all three of them or if, suddenly, it's about the two of them, or if it has been about the two of them this entire time. Ron is something easy, something consistent, the kind of person he can shout at and not worry about if it will be over in the morning. Hermione is different. Hermione has always been different. Their relationship takes different form, the sort that Harry still has trouble naming. He worries that will change, with these new contracts and different homes across town and a Weasley scribbled after her name. Hermione reaches forward, and her hand hovers in the air for a moment before settling on his hand and entangling her fingers with his.
"Nothing could ever change us," she says, with something catching in the back of her throat.
He's not sure if he believes her, but, for now, it's the promise he needs.
harry potter. harry, harry/hermione (friendship), mentions of h/g and r/hr.
post-dh, pre-epilogue. 749 words. for
perfectlystill at the hp non-canon ships ficathon.Harry thinks of things in before and after photographs—before the war, the cupboard; after the war, the house.
It's after the war.
But, of course it is. It is always after the war. Harry thinks of things in before and after photographs—before the war, the cupboard; after the war, the house. Before the end of the war, the war; after the end of the war, the quiet. He has a whole list of them in his head, and it seems somehow foolish, like two years after the fact they should have moved on to somewhere, to that greener-grassed destination, but he doesn't know how to think of himself as something other than a soldier. Not anymore.
Hermione is in his kitchen. This is after he gets engaged to Ginny but before she gets engaged to Ron. They both know it's coming. It's been coming for a very long time. He's happy for them, they're happy for him, and he is trying not to think about what life will be like when they have their family and he has his, if that will change anything. If they'll only see each other for lunch once a month. Most of him knows that's preposterous, and that there are few things in the world more resilient than they are, but there's always that little nub. Which is, incidentally, the reason why Hermione is in his house, sipping jasmine tea in the middle of the night. There are certain things he can only speak to her about. Ron is about laughter and the light and stupid pranks and boyhood, that thing he never truly had but wishes he did. Hermione is something different. Hermione is the silences, the words he doesn't have to say, the quiet he has long since had engraved into his bones. Hermione is about the hushed, serious calm. The two of them—they're perfect halves of him, he thinks sometimes. But tonight he needs her.
"Ginny has been putting a lot of thought into tablecloths," Harry is saying, stirring some sugar into his tea and not looking at her. He doesn't have to. She's been watching him for the last ten minutes, waiting for him to say what he really wants to talk about. "Something about linens and some such."
"Yes," Hermione says, calmly. She won't press this. "I hear materials are quite crucial."
He sets his spoon down on the saucer. The light sound whispers through his kitchen. Hermione takes another sip of tea, and does not turn her eyes away from him.
"The Daily Prophet called it 'the most exciting nuptials of the year,'" Harry grumbles. He has a copy of the article in the living room, with his and Ginny's awkward pretend-smile faces at the lead.
Hermione laughs a little; it sounds like a faint puff of air with a smile more than anything else, but the smile is real. "The Boy Who Lived gets married. Of course there's going to be talk. You're you."
Harry shrugs, and stirs his tea for no reason. "I'm never going to lose that, am I," he says.
"Nope," Hermione says, smiling, but the smile turns sad at the edges. She knows he just wants to be normal, and that he can never be for reasons both outside and inside himself.
His mouth turns. "I just—" he starts, and then falters. She waits. "I just worry things will be different, now, after the war and with me and Ginny and you and Ron I don't want—us to fall to the wayside."
Her smile is crooked, far from here, and sad. He wonders if maybe she's been worrying about this too. He wonders if the us was about all three of them or if, suddenly, it's about the two of them, or if it has been about the two of them this entire time. Ron is something easy, something consistent, the kind of person he can shout at and not worry about if it will be over in the morning. Hermione is different. Hermione has always been different. Their relationship takes different form, the sort that Harry still has trouble naming. He worries that will change, with these new contracts and different homes across town and a Weasley scribbled after her name. Hermione reaches forward, and her hand hovers in the air for a moment before settling on his hand and entangling her fingers with his.
"Nothing could ever change us," she says, with something catching in the back of her throat.
He's not sure if he believes her, but, for now, it's the promise he needs.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-12-01 08:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-01 08:40 pm (UTC)I am rewatching HBP right now because later this afternoon I FINALLY get to see DH. FINALLY.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-01 08:41 pm (UTC)