Disclaimer: Anything and anyone you recognize belongs to JK Rowling. Anything you don't recognize is mine.
A/N: This is for happy_daze88, whose ficlets never fail to make me smile. *glomps*
Complicated
Chapter 3: Coming to Conclusions
Rachel Taney was bored and having a decidedly slow day.
Which was why she noticed the man who strode in to the motel at that moment.
Of course, he was the type of man people would look twice at and not just for his looks. He was handsome enough, but what made Rachel and other people look twice at him were two things about him. He had the brightest green eyes Rachel had ever seen in a person's face and there was a uniquely shaped scar, like a lightning bolt, just off center on his forehead.
All in all, she was intrigued.
She put on a smile. "Hello, can I help you?"
He seemed distracted, didn't smile, in fact, barely glanced at her. "Yes. I want a room."
"Ok. One room coming up. Just need your name."
"My name… right-" he stopped and she looked curiously at him, saying, "It's not meant to be a trick question."
He forced a little laugh. "Sorry, just got distracted for a moment. My name's James… James Black."
Black… and getting blacker by the day, he thought half sadly, half amusedly, as he gave the name he'd been using ever since that day he'd left England so many months ago, of Sirius and his jokes about the Black family name. Sirius… The memory of him was no longer just painful; it had become bittersweet. And yet, and yet… it was still his fault and he couldn't forgive himself for that.
He blinked, coming out of his brief reverie to find the receptionist girl looking oddly at him, a key in her hand.
"Here you are, Mr. Black. Room number 22, just up the stairs on the first floor."
He forced another smile. "Thank you."
Once in the small room, Harry threw himself on the bed and closed his eyes wearily.
He was back in England now. He had come back home.
Home… Did he have a home anymore? Hogwarts had always been his home, but now it wasn't. Hogwarts was just another part of his past.
They said home is where the heart is. His heart… well, his heart had always been with Hermione, but was Hermione even his?
He doubted it, after seeing Ron and Hermione together that evening. They had looked so comfortable together, complete. He could still see Hermione hugging Ron and Ron's casually kissing her hair. It had been achingly, painfully clear that such gestures of affection were customary between them.
Ron and Hermione… Somehow he had never really considered the possibility of Ron and Hermione becoming anything more than just friends. They had always bickered and fought so much, although he knew, better than anyone, that when it came down to it, they would each have died to save the other. But that had always been the case between the three of them, had never meant anything more than the friendship and loyalty that had always existed between the trio. Right?
His leaving had probably helped their closeness. He let out a brief, almost bitter laugh. He had left to clear his mind, because he couldn't bear to be around Hermione without telling her how he felt and yet couldn't tell her how he felt. He was Harry Potter. He was the same as Voldemort, had that same power within him. He could feel it and it frightened him. How could he possibly be in any kind of relationship, tell Hermione how he felt knowing the truth about himself? And now his leaving had lost him the one thing that he had clung to, in nearly two years of exile.
She had looked well and happy, though. He felt a vague sense of guilt that he had barely spared Ron a glance, only noticing off-hand that he hadn't changed. All his attention in the minutes he'd watched them from outside Hermione's window had been focused entirely on her. The sight of her in real-life, flesh and blood, after so many months of dreams, had hit him like a well-aimed punch to the gut. None of his dreams had done her justice and suddenly he knew that no girl or woman he'd ever seen in his many months away could ever hope to equal Hermione in his eyes. But then that had always been the case.
He had first realized she was pretty when he was 14, could still remember every detail of how she had looked in her blue gown the night of the Yule Ball. He had had other moments of realizing afresh just how lovely she was and always would be, in his eyes. He remembered that moment towards the end of 6th year when she had just looked up at him and smiled at something he had said and he had been struck with the sudden thought, clichéd as it was, that Hermione's smile was his sunshine on a cloudy day. He remembered staring at her, until she had asked him whether he was ok, the smile on her face fading to a look of concern that had caused his second revelation of that otherwise ordinary day. He was in love with his best friend.
It had surprised him. Cho had been the first girl he'd ever really noticed as a girl and the fiasco that had been Cho, combined with all that had happened at the end of 5th year, had effectively taken over his thoughts. Until Hermione. Until that moment when he had really looked at her and seen the beauty in her, both inside and out. And he had known that he didn't deserve her.
He was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. The title was representative of his so-called heroism. He hadn't done anything spectacular; he had simply lived. He had only survived through a sacrifice on the part of his mother and a destiny that had granted him some powers he had never wished for and still didn't want. It wasn't really any of his doing.
Hermione had been the first, the only, person who understood that, who didn't see him as some sort of hero to be treated differently, who understood that he hated the fame that came along with his name and his scar.
Maybe it really had been from that first moment on the Hogwarts Express, nearly a decade ago, when Hermione had noticed him and then passed over his fame as if it were inconsequential. And since that moment, she had never treated him any differently.
It was only around her and Ron, to an extent, that he could be himself, just Harry.
He loved her for that, loved her for being able to scold him and tell him when she thought he was being a prat, appreciated the acceptance and friendship it represented. He loved her for caring, for her smile.
He loved her and he wanted to see her smile at him again, hear her voice again. It had been too long.
But before he did, he had one visit to make.
~*~
He moved slowly, though his steps were certain, through the graveyard, until he reached some graves set apart from the rest.
There were two tombstones, one for his parents and the other the one thing he had made certain to do once the war was finally over.
He looked down at them in silence, before kneeling to run his fingers over the names engraved into the stone.
Lily Evans Potter James Potter
1959-1981
Beloved Wife Beloved Husband
Beloved Mother Beloved Father
They died so that their son could live.
For their sacrifice, their memories will live forever.
And next to this, another lone tombstone for an empty grave.
Sirius Black
1959-1996
Devoted Friend and Godfather
He gave his all for his friends.
He will not be forgotten.
At the bottom, he had arranged for there to be a paw print, for the first time he had ever seen Sirius. He knew, too, that it had meant something to Remus to have the one subtle mention of Padfoot included.
He sighed, blinking back tears, as he pictured again Sirius falling through the veil, heard in his mind his own anguished scream at losing the closest thing to a parent he had ever known, felt again the grief and the guilt that had never left him since that day.
He bent, putting down the flowers he'd brought next to other fresh flowers that had been there. Who would leave flowers on his parents and Sirius' graves? Curiously, he reached for the slip of paper he could just see from underneath the flowers. It was just a small plain card, with two handwritten words on it that had his heart clenching, even as he smiled.
For Harry.
It was Hermione's handwriting.
Of course. Who else would think to do this, keep flowers on his parents and godfather's graves since he hadn't been there to do so himself? It was just like Hermione to think of this, like her to remember. He hadn't thought of it, hadn't expected it, but now that he knew, he found he wasn't much surprised.
"Thank you, Hermione. I love you," he whispered, fingering one of the flowers, saying the words for the first time aloud. He had never spoken them before, to anyone, still didn't know if he ever would, but somehow now, at this place, in light of this gesture of friendship that touched him to the heart, he could say them. She must have visited the day before. If he closed his eyes, he could picture her, placing the flowers on the grave, stopping to say a few words and to think and remember.
***
Hermione moved with quick steps through the graveyard in the gathering darkness, not stopping until she reached the two marble stones separated from the rest.
Quickly, she stooped, placing the flowers in front of the stones, before also sliding the plain small card under the bouquet, the card that said why she was doing this. Leaving flowers every week for 3 people not related to her, two of whom she had never met.
She supposed she was being quixotic, ridiculously sentimental, really. But she couldn't bring herself to stop. It was comforting, to know that she still had this one link to Harry, wherever he was, whatever he was doing. Comforting to know that she was doing what he would have done had he been around.
It had been an impulse at first, a random thought she had had just after Harry had gone leaving only that note behind. Maybe she had half hoped to find Harry there. Whatever the reason, she had come here that first week after Harry left, only to find a withered bunch of flowers. Flowers that she knew Harry must have put there before he left.
And somehow she kept coming back.
She did owe both Lily and James Potter and Sirius for saving Harry's life. It was a rather tenuous connection, perhaps, but it was there and she felt it and so she acted on it.
Not for the first time she wondered why she had never told anyone, including Ron, about this. Maybe she was afraid of being laughed at, thought overly emotional.
She laughed softly to herself. She thought she was being overly emotional at times!
But she still came back every week.
She looked down at Sirius' tombstone, before reaching out a hand and trailing her fingers across the top of it. "Hi, Sirius, it's Hermione again," she found herself saying aloud. "I don't really know what to say. I want you to know that I'm sure Harry is okay. I just know he is. And I want you to know that I'll always be there for Harry, that I'll do anything for him, just like you would have, like you did. We have that in common, I guess." She smiled a little to herself. "Well, goodbye for now, Sirius. I guess I'll see you next week."
She paused for a moment to picture a familiar smiling face, green eyes, round glasses, and murmured "Come home, Harry," before turning away.
***
Harry knelt down in front of the marble, uncaring that the grass was still a little damp from yesterday's rain.
"Hello mum, dad, and Sirius," he said softly. "It's me. I'm sorry I haven't been around. I needed to get away for a while. I don't know what to do now. I don't know where I belong. Do you think you could tell me? I miss you so much, you know, wish you could tell me where I belong, what I should do now. I've been gone for so long…" He let his voice die, ending his rambles, wondering idly whether his parents and Sirius were listening to him, from somewhere.
He stayed there in the graveyard for some time, not speaking again, just remembering, thinking about the people who had cared so much for him and had done so much for him… And when he left, he took with him in his coat pocket the small white card that told the story of months of silent friendship, a reminder of one other person, at least, who had never stopped thinking of him.
When there was a knock on her door that evening, Hermione expected it to be Ron. Ginny hardly ever visited without notice and no one else she knew ever did. Ron was the only one that stopped by entirely unannounced, whether it was only to grab a bottle of butterbeer from her fridge because the supply he kept in his flat had run out or just because he was bored.
She opened the door with a smile, saying, "Ron, I wasn't expec-" before stopping as if her sentence had been cut off.
For a moment, the world stopped, her thoughts spun, she stopped breathing, and all of existence narrowed down to just herself and the man standing right outside her door.
She was dreaming.
She was hallucinating.
She had to be.
She opened her mouth and found her voice, although it sounded unnatural. "Harry?" was all she could say, in a disbelieving squeak.
"Hello, Hermione."