Disclaimer: No I don't own Harry Potter etc. J K Rowling does. Elianne is my own character though. And the poetry is definitely mine, and only mine.
Author's Note: this is the sequel to one of my other Harry Potter fanfics, 'fathers daughter', you are HIGHLY advised to read that before this, otherwise the following wont make one bit of sense.
Chapter 1
"The Proverbial Sense"
~
Feels unreal
To be here
Because;
You don't have a perception
Of how this is the way
It is
Because;
You can't remember what the picture looks of
Now it's only a fakened blur
Of how it should be
Because;
You aren't sure what to say anymore
No one has words for you to hear
And you, nothing to speak
Empty ears as much as thoughts
Because;
Everyone has sympathy, no one has time
Everyone has a phrase, to part with
No one has what you want
No one has any idea
Unless they've been you
Because;
Its over now
And this pitch is left right here
With you standing in the middle
Of all of this
Unreal
Because
You aren't dreaming
And this isn't nice
You aren't asleep
But you're afraid of what could be
You aren't beneath
Funny how that's not really comforting
You can only think of those who are
Of the life that's still and
Might cease to be
~~
Harry ran his hand over the smooth tight skin of the small book. Still in impeccable condition after all those years. It was the rather formal sixth year Christmas present he'd given Hermione, certainly far more reserved that the beautiful necklace from fifth year yet she'd cherished the book as much.
"The Conscientious Student-Witches Handbook" contained various helpful spells for the magical female in education. He often pondered that any male equivalent book would probably have to have been written by Gred and Forge or even better, the marauders themselves.
He remembered the first spell Hermione had used from it; it measured parchment length that had been used. Hermione had insisted on trying it out on Ron's transfiguration essay that he had fooled himself into believing was three feet long. Hermione had corrected him saying it was an inch and three quarters short. The look on Ron's face had been enough alone that Harry had only been able to watch the ensuing drama between his best friends whilst laughing violently to himself, restraining from making any severely loud noises. He'd nearly choked that day, it had been so funny.
It brought back with it jollier memories than he'd seen in days, what such a book could purvey was a wonder.
And holding it seemed to connect him to his deceased friend. That was why he knew he had to give it to Elianne. She loved books nearly as much as Hermione had, a trait he thought might have rubbed off from Hermione during Elainne's childhood. He knew Elianne would find some use for it. In the last two years of Hogwarts Hermione had never gone anywhere without it and with Elianne being of a more feminine persuasion than Hermione had been in school he suspected some spells in the book that he didn't like to think of might also come in handy in a few years time.
He slipped it under Elainne's door hoping she'd notice it there.
And though he felt sad to have to let it go, he padded the warm shape of the emerald
necklace on his chest. He'd at first left it at the grave but had found he could not be
without it. It had the feel of Hermione on it and he longed for every bit more of her that he could find in this desolate world. But the book was to be Elainne's now. He preferred to think of it as a gift Hermione would have given had she been there still.
~
Only you can ease my troubled dreams
With your soft touch
On my cheek gentle
But nothing comes
Your hand, subtle fingers and all;
Only a dream
An insanity
Telling me I am forsaken to be
As I am, forever more
Sad and untoward, lacking power
Because I know
I cannot change what has begun
The future rolling on
Gathering more and more pain
The underside explored,
That thing I love, adored, no longer mine
No longer any one's or any where that could ever be
I sit quietly
Wondering what that touch would feel like
Hoping I can remember, imagine something quite like it
As a replacement my heart soars
There is only my memory, with a little taste of hope
Something in me, cherishing what little's left
While silently wishing for more, more
Just a tiny particle more
Anything of what I used to, would still if I could still
Love beyond my capacity
~
##Ginny##
Ginny peered up to the clock on the wall, worrying rightly as she had, for the hand
pointed directly on 'Late'. She touched the bracelet and sensing that it was there she hurried out the house. Lately she never went anywhere not wearing the bracelet, almost as if it was her new lucky charm. Though it was hard to see how it could be. It had belonged to the late Ms. Granger. It had been a memoir of her infact, that Mrs.Granger had insisted she have.
She'd refused at first, the memory too fresh, yet now it was good to have a reminder.
Hermione had been the sister she'd never had and to Mrs. Granger, Ginny had been a second daughter.
All the years that Hermione and her mother had been distanced Ginny had written to her in the others place. Hermione had not known, it was an unspoken agreement that Ginny never say anything to her about it. And in return Ginny had been the second daughter, able to tell her new mother every detail she knew of Elianne. It had only in fact been the Granger women's stubbornness that had prevented Elianne from having a grandmother because Julie had loved that girl like her own in the distance she kept from the two.
Julie had explained about the bracelet, it had been a sweet sixteen present to Hermione that had lain in the loft boxed away for years. Only when she had cleared up Hermione belongings after her death had it been recovered, and she had hated to see it waste away.
It was thin silver band encrusted with small aquamarine jewels and a large turquoise gem set in the middle. Even in all that it looked simple and elegant, nothing too fussy, it was grand in an old fashioned style. Beautiful to sight.
Ginny felt a little guilty wearing it today, given that she was visiting Elianne, who by
right ought to have had the bracelet. Though the fact that Elianne did not know it was
Hermione's would save her the pain of membrance. She decided it was not worth mentioning.
##Elianne##
Elianne had picked up the book on her floor. The note inside was aged, showing it was an old present that had been Hermione's. From her father it seemed, whom she presumed had pushed it straight under the door to her.
He rarely interrupted her in her room now, where she spent large amounts of time.
Ginny was coming over soon. She relished the fresh company; she needed it for she had become stale and trapped in her room this summer. She didn't want to be too boring and crusty when she got back to school, even if it meant putting on a brave face. That fitted in with her Gryffindor status atleast. Courage hitting high on the list of qualities.
She opened the door, into the front room, hearing Harry moving towards the front door.
She walked further into the room, browsing at the desk as she heard her father fiddle with the bolt and chain locks. Her attention was caught by a letter sitting there ignored, addressed to her and her father both. It appeared to have lay there for a week or more, having gathered multiple tea stains and crumbs from his daily workings. He hadn't bothered in opening it atleast.
The script wasn't one she could clearly recognise but it pulled strings in her head,
feeling she ought to know whom it was from. She heard further sounds in the hall, the loud groan of the door opening, indicating someone, most probably Ginny, had arrived.
She took a chance and snaffled the letter, justifying that the other recipient had
appeared to have no indication of treating it with respect and reading it. Therefore she felt barely any guilt in taking it. She as the other addressee wanted to know what it
contained even if he didn't. Her curiosity after all had reined supreme in her youth;
usually it was curbed by logic, this time it was bent toward her favour with the use of intelligence.
Because she'd reasoned quite happily it was her right to it. And perhaps her duty to
indeed read it, incase not doing so could cause something bad to happen. Like perhaps triggering her mind to explode with inquisitiveness.
The only thing that gave her away was the slight creaking of the floorboards as she snuck back to her room ready to confront Ginny.
##Ginny##
She'd been met by a lurking Harry, who had taken off promptly, muttering something about Diagon Alley.
She presumed he'd gone to do his duty as a excellent father and gather together Elianne's last minute supplies, but she felt it was more his escape from the house and their lives. In short, from that constant reminder present here.
She glanced around after he'd left. Every possession still in its last place. Hermione's stuff more or less totally untouched. Only a few things were scattered round. A diary, letters and papers. Mostly articles Hermione had never had a chance to submit.
There had however been one with Hermione's name on it since her death. The Daily Prophet had mourned the 'mysterious' passing of the ex-Hogwarts student who had for along time been aligned with Harry Potter. Speculation was rife and Ginny wondered what it would do to help Elianne in her second year. The biggest unanswered question had been about who was now looking after Elianne. The ministry had kept quiet, not asking any questions so far. Yet the truth had to come out sometime soon. Jeff Mirage, an old friend of Percy's, could only keep it under wraps for so long.
She thought honestly to herself that atleast by then Elianne would be safely in Hogwarts, away from the inquiring eyes of the press. Only to be sent supplementarily into the more penetrating eyes of the student population.
##Harry##
He walked a short distance into the woods outside the house's limits before suddenly vanishing. Apparating to near the leaky cauldron, where he opened up his cloak and pulled his hood high up to enter.
The barman ignored him, merely eyeing him up as he went through.
Harry touched the old bricks, finding his way to the right one and gently tapped his wand.
He'd missed this. And for all the times he'd done it in the last year, it would never make up for the lost moments from the decade absent to him.
Under his own steam he made his way to a small tavern on the far side of Diagon alley, practically under Yawshank Lane, a lesser-visited area.
He entered the cosy room, darkly lit and full of musty air. Here and there regulars were huddled in corners, sipping their drinks.
He shuffled up to the front of the bar and asked for a butterbeer.
The bartend gave him an odd look as he proceeded to remove his hood.
Muffled whispers waved through the pub for a second. He'd been hoping he might have changed enough to not be recognised. His scar was covered, his hair messier than earlier in his life, face not so fresh anymore.
"Do I know you sir?" the man divulged to him, as if unsure.
Harry shuffled in his seat, trying to deny the fact innocently.
"Because you look like one of those quidditch players I'm sure. My son has a poster up on his wall, what were they called? Now let me think…"
He smiled and jeered in relief at the man's mistake. Easily replying to the question, that no, he wasn't anything to do with professional quidditch.
He picked up the mug of the warm drink and took a smooth swig of it. He cherished the soothing feature of the liquid, which removed the constricting numbness he often had to his throat. It spread inside him, leaving only a slight happiness in his stomach.
Harry looked back around the room, where most of the people had gone back to their drinks at the barman's hearty admittance to an inaccuracy in recollection of who he was.
He was caught by the view of a small boy beneath his stool, who was standing staring up at him with a fast interest.
He smiled optimistically to the lad, who too smiled at that yet quickly flitted off away outside.
Forgetting about the mystery of the child he took to finishing his drink. Taking his time before finally stepping out to start in the direction of Flourish and Blotts.
He blinked once in the daylight and fifty thousand lights blinked back at him as the shutters on the cameras responded to the many clicks of the control.
He stepped backwards wanting to escape into the shop, praying to be able to use the floo to get out of here. The doorway was similarly teeming with the many fascinated clients of the said Inn.
Cascades of reporters greeted him, speaking in smiley matey manners. All just about dying to get the first answer from him, the newly resurrected hero as one of them put it. They stumbled over words, each one endeavouring to ask a pertinent question.
He groped for words. Anything to get him out of this circus.
All around he was barraged by them. Whispers in the masses of people. He couldn't accurately hear enough of them really. His ears grabbed at some of the bits of what they said.
' Harry Potter back from the dead…..what can you tell us about your experience…..where have you been…..guardianship of your daughter Elianne… reports on your ex-wife in prison….the recent death of Hermione Granger….'
He tensed up visually at the mention of that last particular event. For a lingering instant the press tensed too in response, waiting eagerly for something. Then they pounced.
Men and women pushing forward, holding quills out infront of them. Literally fighting to acquire a closer position.
"Do you know what happened to her?"
"How do you feel about her death?"
"Tell us the truth, the public deserve to know."
They inadvertently taunted him with their questions. Insensitively not knowing how much it hurt to be asked these things.
One question caught him.
"You were very close, she brought up your daughter, were you a family? What was she to you?"
He hazarded an answer to it foolishly. Not thinking of the consequences, not thinking of what he was saying. The reply coming out too fast to be censored by his brain.
"….We were never anymore than friends…we were just….nothing ever happened like that…. I mean. No. She only….."
He stared back out at the silent audience, face no longer quite so blank. It was faced with a powerful blush, highlighted more by his poignant paleness and admittedly gaunt expression.
At that he fled through the swarm, moving them away to create a passage. Opposing them with twice the strength that their own self-seeking media competitors had had in skirmishing through to the front.
And Harry Potter walked out and away to somewhere that was anywhere but there.
Trying not to think anything as he did. In the scathing denial of what he'd just said, that had undone what he'd been building up inside himself for months.
The barrier holding the fort emotionally, collapsed.
~~
The word
We herd around
No thoughts can be allowed
To think what is on
The tip of the tongue
Is for every way
That way that you can't let
That would hurt much too much
To say today
The word
Followed by more
Followed by the torrent
Of thoughts
Can't tell a soul
That's the point
Already it is seeping
Into me, something
Anything
Please
Not me
Not in this day
Once
It could have been
Once
It would have been
Beyond words
Now
We only hear
That word
And what it means
For what isn't
~~