Boys Don't Cry
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters, just the plot. The title is from the song `Boys Don't Cry' by The Cure.
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`Boys Don't Cry' is my favorite song from The Cure, and although the song is quite dance-y and energetic, I'm afraid that this fic will be quite the opposite. It's.. well, gut-wrenching, in a way, and sad. It's a bit dark; nothing really like Lovesong. But, nonetheless, I hope that you guys still like it, and review!!
I'd love to know what you guys thought about it.
I got the idea of this by listening to the song, and technically, Harry is already a man here, eighteen years old. But he tries to hold in his tears each time that sharp hint of tears comes. Maybe because he knew there had to be a strong one, and that he had to be the one, for Hermione.
This is not really a one shot fic, but a short one. It will have only a few (very few) chapters. It's like a one-shot extended.
**to CB. I wish you were here. We miss you.**
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He could still remember that night. He could still remember feeling her hot, smooth skin underneath his blistering fingertips. He could still remember the way she had whimpered and whispered his name, clutching him so tightly that her fingers were digging into his back. He could still remember the way he had held her, never wanting to let go, afraid that she was going to leave him all alone once freed her. He was afraid that she was going to vanish, disappear and leave him all alone, just as his mother, father and Sirius had. He knew that he could not bear it if she left him, if she had faded away into thin air. He loved her too much to ever let that happen, to let her slip from his fingertips. He would not let her withdraw from his embrace, and she didn't try. She held on, as tightly as she could, crying onto his chest.
She knew what had been at risk. Except she wasn't thinking of her life, that she could possibly be killed. She was thinking of him. Of never seeing him ever again.
She did not even stop to think of herself, and he just felt like shaking her and trying to make her understand that her life was just as much at risk as his was. But he just held her, holding her firmly and tight. He told her that it would never happen. She would see him, walking back, Voldemort dead and the Wizarding World safe once again. But she just cried harder, and for once in his life, he felt like crying too. He had not felt this way since Sirius had died, and he feared for her so much that he was having difficulty keeping down his tears and sobs. But he did, no matter how painful it was.
"Why does it always have to be you?" she cried. "Why? Why are you always the one to face him? Why does it always have to be you?" He could feel her tears soaking through his shirt, the moisture attaching itself to his skin. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes tightly.
"I don't know, Hermione," he whispered, his voice strained and slightly breaking. "I don't know."
"I'm coming with you, Harry," she said, and he felt everything inside him turn cold and freeze over. His blood ran cold, icy and numbing, his heartbeats ceasing. "I'm coming with you. I'm coming with you." Harry pulled away immediately, framing her face with his hands. Tears were still pouring down her cheeks, her lips trembling and her eyes brimming with the downpour of bittersweet drops. He took in a sharp, ragged breath, as he looked into her eyes. He was shaking.
"You can't come with me, Hermione," he whispered, his voice severing so much from the strong hint of tears. "You can't-"
"Harry," she said, "you-"
"No!" he yelled, shaking her. "You can't come with me! You can't, Hermione! You're going to get killed!"
"What about you, Harry?" she shouted. "What about you? What if you-" she paused, taking in a ragged breath. More tears slid down her face as she looked up at him. "What am I going to do? What am I going to do without you?"
"You're not going to do anything without me," he said, "because I'm going to be here. I'm not going to go anywhere. I'm going to be right here, with you. I'm not going to leave you." She sobbed, sinking to the floor, on her knees.
"You don't know that," she said, shaking her head. "You can't know that. You don't know if you're going to come back. You don't know if you're going to be here with me," he voice faded into a whisper. He swallowed hard, blinking hard to keep the tears from falling. The pit of his stomach seemed to be searing in deeper, pushing and slicing to drop further. His lungs were aching, throbbing with toxic heat. He kneeled down in front of her and pulled her close. He could smell her hair, fragrant and sweet. He could feel the glowing warmth fill him when he held her in his arms. He could feel her tears on his skin, his hands tightening around her.
"I'm going to come back," he said to her softly. "I'm going to come back for you. I'm not going to go without saying goodbye." His throat tightened, almost suffocating him. She cried harder into his chest, and he felt he could not speak anymore. His mouth was dry, sour and bile. All he wanted to do was hold her, spend these last few moments with her. He did not know if he was ever going to see her again, though he tried his best to reassure her that he did. He was terrified. He was so scared of not seeing her again.
He was so scared of leaving her.
But slowly, he pulled back. There was one more thing he had to ask of her. He cupped her face, wiping away her tears.
"Promise me," he whispered, "promise me that you'll stay here. Promise me that you won't follow me." Hermione's eyes filled with tears.
"Harry-" she objected, her voice trembling, but he cut her off.
"Promise me, Hermione," he said to her. "Promise me that you won't come after me. Just promise me." Hermione nodded, crying silently. He looked at her, his eyes tracing her features. She still managed to take his breath away. He stifled the urge to let the tears pour, the sobs to escape. Instead, he pulled her in his tight embrace, holding her firm and strongly. He did not know if he was going to able to let go.
But he loved her too much to let her stay with him. He loved her too much to let her risk her life, when just being with him already put her life in danger. He loved her too much to let her follow him into the final battle.
He loved her so much it was strangling him. It was making his lungs crumble away, weakening from the lack of air. His mouth was dry, a stone lodged in his throat. His hands felt as if they had been bathed with fire, his skin stinging with raw heat. Suddenly, he heard her murmur something onto his chest. He pulled back slowly, and she was looking at him sadly. Her once bright, happy eyes were now dark, solemn and pained. Her spirit had been broken. She now had a burden set upon her shoulders.
Him. He was her burden. She was not willing to let him go.
He looked at her, staring into her eyes intently.
"What is it?" he asked, his arms still around her.
"I can't let you go, Harry," she whispered shakily. "I love you." Harry felt his heart stop, frozen still. Silence surrounded him as he stared into her eyes.
She loved him. She loved him.
She loved him as much as he loved her.
A tear slid down her cheek. Harry could feel the chilly air sting his blistering hands. He wanted to speak, but he did not know what to say.
He wanted to tell her that he loved her. He wanted to tell her that he loved her so much that he was not willing to let her go, but knew he had to.
But he knew that if he told her now it would make things harder. It would be harder for him to leave her behind; it would be harder for her to let him go. He could not risk it.
He loved her too much to tell her.
Instead, hoping that actions did speak louder than words, he crashed his lips into hers, wrapping his arms around her. She stiffened at first, but answered, kissing him back as passionately. She entangled her fingers in his untamed midnight hair as he deepened the kiss. He could taste the sweetness and warmth of her mouth, salty and bittersweet from her tears.
He knew, that one moment that he had laid his lips on hers, that she was the one. She was the one. She was the one he could not live without; she was the one he could not bear to be without. The moment she had kissed him back.. He was complete.
He was finally complete. Whole, and free.
For years he had been looking for that one person. Searching through everyone, looking for the person he would love and live with for the rest of his life. He knew he still had years to go, that people who also looked did not find them so early in their life.
But he did. And he knew it, right away. She was it. Hermione was the one.
All he wanted was to be with her, to spend the rest of his life beside her. He wanted to love her without any boundaries; he wanted her to know that he would do anything for her.
And he would tell her. He swore to himself that he would kill Voldemort. He was going to tell her, he was going to confess his love for her that had been locked in and bottled up for so long. He was going to come back.
He was going to let her know how much she meant to him.
Before he knew it, she was laid back on the bed, her back molding into the cushion beneath her. He was working to free her from her blouse, unbuttoning her shirt, one by one. He trailed his kisses down her neck, tasting her skin and marking her invisibly with his kisses and burning touch. He could feel her breathing hard, her hot breaths sticking to his skin, as he arched her body up. She caught his mouth for another avid kiss.
She slid her hands into his shirt and rolled it up for him to take off. He threw it behind him, returning to her as her hands explored him. He placed kisses on her neck, her navel and stomach, her collarbone; stripping off every article of clothing she wore. She held him close, the heat between them fighting to dominate over the cold air that prickled and pierced.
She did not hesitate or object. She did not pull or turn away. He joined with her, skin to skin, and she welcomed him. This was either the end, or the beginning. But she did not think to analyze, as all she could think of was him, and the fact that they were sharing something that she only vowed to do with someone she loved.
She did not push him away. It was too real, too passionate and intense. He was showing her, for telling her, uttering the words he meant would make things too difficult.
The night was theirs, and their love was too strong to break it.
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Harry lay awake, watching the woman sleeping next to him. Her arms were wrapped around his waist, as if never wanting to let go. He remembered watching her fall asleep, her curls falling across her face only for him to sweep away with his fingers. He never wanted it to end. He never wanted the moon to fade, the stars to vanish, the sky to lighten. He wanted to stay that way.
He did not want to leave.
His arms were on her naked flesh, warmth invading, skin-to-skin, no barriers. He could hear her soft breaths filling the room, and it only made him choke on his tears. He held her closer, pressed against each other once again, wishing that things didn't have to be this way.
He wished that he could stay with her, until the sun lit up the sky and her eyes fluttered open. He wished that he could tell her how much he loved her. He didn't want to leave. He did not want to consider the possibility that this would be the last time he would see her. It broke his heart just thinking about it.
He had waited so long and now it was being delayed, or taken away coldly. But he would tell her. He would come back and hold her in his arms and tell her.
Then he would ask her to spend the rest of her life with him, just as he wanted to with her.
But as he lay there, his eyes roaming his features and memorizing her face, he knew that it was unnecessary. He was going to see her, fighting Voldemort. He was going to have her in his heart and mind, fighting to come back to her just as he had promised.
He was not going to break that promise. He was going to kill him. Whatever it took, Voldemort was going to lay dead on the floor, and he was going to return to her.
He raised his hand and laid it on her cheek, her warmth spreading through his fingers then coursing through his body to fill him. It made him breathless, just looking at how beautiful she was. It made his stomach fill with restless butterflies along with a flooding feeling of love and longing.
He adored her. Every single inch of her, every single drop of her soul, every single twinkle and flicker in her eyes.
But he knew what he had to do. It broke his heart inside, but he knew it was right. He knew it was the only way she wasn't going to follow after him.
He placed a soft kiss on her lips, then on her forehead, as he got up. He put on his clothes and dark robes, putting his glasses on. He ran a hand through his hair, his skin stinging, the icy air piercing him like needles. He missed the warmth she brought. His hands felt cold and empty. The frosty air was too bitter to face alone.
He walked over to the fireplace and threw in floo powder, and Remus's head appeared in the fire. Remus seemed deathly tired; pale, dark circles under his eyes with his hair sticking up as if he had just been electrified. He seemed concerned, as he spoke first.
"What is it, Harry? Did something happen?" Harry shook his head, looking over at Hermione.
"I'm going to apparate over to the Order," he said quietly. "I need to bring Hermione over there." Remus shook his head, exhausted.
"It's too dangerous. He, or one of his Death Eaters, could track you." Remus furrowed his eyebrows. "Didn't you want her to stay with you? You insisted that she stay there until you departed." Harry sighed inaudibly.
"I can't risk her following me," he said. "You know how she is. She's stubborn."
"Surely if you tell her, she'll stay."'
"No, Remus. She has to stay over there. I-" he paused, feeling that overwhelming feeling of fear and swell inside up him. "It's better off that way, Remus." His voice dropped lower. "I don't think I can ever bear to leave if she's still here."
Remus looked at him, before sighing.
"I can arrange someone to apparate over there and get her," he said. "But you have to have her ready by then. Say your goodbyes, and make sure there will be no delays."
"Actually, she's going to be asleep."
"What?"
"I.. if I wake her, she'll never go."
"But if she wakes up while they're apparating, everything will go wrong-"
"I know, Remus," he said. "But she won't wake up. I'll put a spell on her to make sure she doesn't wake until.. until I'm gone." Remus sighed.
"Alright then, Harry. Ger her ready. Someone will arrive shortly." Harry nodded.
"Thanks, Remus." Remus stared at him, worried.
"Just take care of yourself, Harry."
"I will." And with that, Remus disappeared. The fire flickered weakly, as it slowly vanished and the aroma of smoke filled the room. Harry sighed, as he grabbed his wand and headed over to Hermione. The snow-white blanket was covering her, her face seeming so serene and peaceful. He could feel his throat tighten, as he slowly got her clothes from the floor. He muttered a spell, and the clothes disappeared from his hand. They appeared on her body, now fully clothed as before. He watched her, his hand stroking her hair softly. He felt the pit of his stomach cave in deeper and deeper, painfully. His lungs felt too small, his throat clogged. His eyes brimmed with hot tears, but he did not let them escape. He kneeled down and held her hand. He kissed her forehead, and then pressed his lips against her hand. Her hand was warm, but limp. Memories rushed back to him, and he could feel himself being strangled by the flooding of reminiscence.
"I love you," he whispered to her, still holding her hand. "I love you so much, Hermione."
He stiffened a sob, as he held her hand tighter, holding it closer to him. His chest felt heavy, too heavy that it felt as if it were to rip through him and fall out any moment now. He fought to keep the tears inside. He was not going to cry. He was not going to cry. He was going to see her again.
He was going to return to her.
"God, Hermione," he said, his voice strained. "I love you so much.. I love you.. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." And as he placed a last kiss on her hand, he finally pulled away and seized his wand. He pointed it at her sleeping face, his heart being torn apart internally. "Levisomnus Commoror," he whispered, as a faint and misty stream of light shot out of his wand. It covered her body, before seeping into her and disappearing. He let out a painful, ragged breath, as he put his wand back in his robe. But just as he was about to kneel down, he felt a sudden cold breeze sweep past him. He turned around swiftly, and saw a hooded, dark cloaked figure standing in the room. Harry felt a shiver trace up his spine, as he stood up cautiously.
"Who are you?" he asked, not willing to take any chances if one of the Death Eaters had intercepted and heard his conversation with Remus.
"I'm here for the girl," the hooded figure said, revealing a deep voice.
"Take off your hood," Harry said, "how I am to be sure you're one of the Order?"
"There is no time for this," the figure hissed. "Just give her to me so we can be off." Harry was beginning to get angry.
"How am I supposed to know that you're not a Death Eater?" Harry shouted. "Do you expect me to just hand her over to you without even knowing if you're-" Dumbledore suddenly appeared next to his side. Harry halted his words, as Dumbledore walked over to him and glanced at Hermione.
"Be calm, Harry," he said. "You're going to need your strength. There's no need to shout over this matter. This here is Matthew. He's new to the Order." Harry looked into his Headmaster's once twinkling blue eyes, which were now so much different, dark and cloudy. They were solemn and serious, and Harry nodded as he let out a breath. He ran a hand through his hair. He looked over to the figure, feeling sadness but relief washing over him.
"She's on the bed," he said, quietly. "She won't wake during your apparation. I put a spell on her that'll last for a couple of hours." The hooded figure walked past him, Harry watching cautiously, Dumbledore by his side. The dark cloaked man lifted her off the bed easily with both his hands holding her body from underneath her, as he nodded to Dumbledore. Dumbledore stepped back from Harry.
"It is time for us to leave. I'll see you within three hours, Harry." And with a slight nod from Harry, they disappeared. Harry could almost feel the air surrounding him become cold and icy as they had gone. The room was silent, and he could feel his hands throbbing, his veins stinging as if a bitter acid were coursing through him. He sighed, closing his eyes.
She was gone now. In three hours time, he would be waiting to face the man who had killed Sirius, his mother and father. He would be waiting to finally decide the fate of their cold-blooded murderer.
Or his fate. It all depended on it. Everything, his hopes, his dreams, his future.
He was going to finally avenge Sirius, and his mother's and father's deaths. He was going to fight for them. And for Hermione. He was going to fight for her.
He was going to fight for their future.
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They were not certain as to when Voldemort and his Death eaters might show, but they were sure he was going to appear. Voldemort, in his own words, said that any one of these days was going to be the Final Battle. They would've thought it was a trap, a trick set up to capture just Harry, but Harry could feel Voldemort's impatience and determination. They waited eagerly, tired, but determined and anxious. Each of them kept their eyes out for any sign of a sudden ambush, never getting any sleep for those few days. Their hearts were set on killing him, and each of his Death Eaters.
Each heart was set on seeing Voldemort dead.
It had been the second day when Harry approached Remus, his eyes still out for any odd movement.
"How is she?" Harry asked in a low voice, almost inaudible. Remus looked at him, weary but too strong-willed to rest. "How's Hermione?" Remus's eyes looked dark, so dark they seemed like bottomless pits. He pressed his lips into a thin line, his eyes gazing sharply at their surroundings.
"It's best you not know, Harry," he said. Harry looked at Remus, confused. But as Harry was about to object, Remus spoke again, looking at him harshly.
"She's already distracting you. I see you, thinking about her and dazing off. It's too dangerous. Keep your mind off of her; remember that this is what will decide everything. Everyone's fate. Her fate, yours. If you don't kill him, know that she's going to be the first one he's going to go after." That struck Harry hard, his body feeling stiff and frozen. He was right. He had to stop thinking of her.
One moment he could possibly be thinking about her could change everything.
Harry nodded, his emerald eyes dark but blazing. He turned and started to walk away, but halted as he heard Remus's voice again.
"Molly's keeping an eye on her, just so you know." Harry let out a breath, as he felt somewhat relieved, but continued walking.
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It was on their fourth day when it had started to rain. The air was cold, the droplets bitter and piercing to the bare skin. It was close to midnight, the night still and quiet besides the sound of the rain. Harry kept concentrated, taking a glance at the others who had put a barrier from the rain with their wands. The place was lit; a spell that Dumbledore enacted. The trees around were dark and seemed as if to reach any down any minute and grasp them. He heard the fluttering of the leaves, heard and felt the rhythm of the wind. The glowing moon was high in the sky, thin and almost barely there. The dark sky was cloudless, although the downpour was strong.
Harry could still feel the cold prickling his skin and making shivers travel up his spine, despite the shield he had, along with the others. It was transparent, but strong, as he could see the harsh wind and raindrops bounce off of the blockade. The lights around the forest did not dim or vanish from the wind or water, but instead glowed even brighter against the black night. In this forest, the light dominated even against the dark.
Harry wondered if that was somehow a sign. If that was also true for good and evil.
Everyone was silent, and had been for the past few days. Their mouths and lips were tightly shut, their ears and eyes sharp and fast. They knew Voldemort was to be expected, and they were not going to take any chances of being attacked unaware. Harry looked at their faces, observing the other members, as one of their hands was tightly clutched on their wand inside their robes. Their hands were deathly pale, their knuckles turning white. Their faces looked determine but almost vacant of any trace of happiness or joyous emotions. Their faces were cold, bitter, cruel. Full of hate. They almost looked scornful. But he understood why, and slowly, he felt the same happening to him.
Someday along the waiting, he felt his heart slowly turning cold and bitter, just as the rest of them had already succumbed to. He had wanted to kill Voldemort with his bare hands, rip him apart, tear his flesh and slice his heart to pieces. He wanted to make sure he was dead. He wanted to show him pain, just as he had caused so many people from his murders. He became angry. So angry that he had begun to go crazy.
His mother and father. Sirius. Hermione. All of those innocent people. Voldemort had tried to get his hands on Hermione in the past, and had succeeded on nearly killing her.
Voldemort had known who had dominated his heart, and used it against him. He had used Hermione as an advantage. He had tortured her, hurt her in a way he could not even imagine. And he had made sure Harry knew what was happening to her.
He had made sure that Harry had heard her screams and pleads. He had made sure the Harry saw her being tortured in his dreams.
And at that one moment, he had never felt so angry and hate-filled ever in his life. He had wanted to murder him. He had wanted to murder him for touching Hermione, for causing her such pain.
He remembered, those days he spent without Hermione, staying with the Order, he was filled with so much anger, scorn and bitterness. Each night, he could not sleep, knowing that she was alone and hurt. He could hear her cries.
He could hear her call for him.
It absolutely killed him that he could not reach her. He did not know where she was. He did not know how to reach her, and he almost broke down because of it. He had let those tears come so close to escaping, holding it in and feeling it mound and stack until he could not take it anymore. He wanted to find her. To kill Voldemort. He swore that he would see him dead, avenging Hermione and all the people that had been murdered in that bastard's hands and favor.
He had been so angry at the Order. They did not know where she was, or how to reach her either, although they had been doing all they could.
But it wasn't enough. It hadn't been good enough. Not for him. Not for Hermione.
They reassured him that she was alive, but he knew that to be too true already. She wasn't dead, no. She was just being tortured and being made to suffer. He knew that Voldemort wasn't a fool, and that he would keep her alive.
Until Harry came and found her. He would keep her alive until then.
Harry knew he wanted to kill her in front of him. He knew that he wanted to see him in pain, to suffer. To plead for mercy for the life of the woman he loved.
And that was enough to drive him over the edge.
Of course, they had found Hermione. Harry had barely escaped from Voldemort, the Order making sure that each of the Death Eaters were caught.
They managed to escape.
And Harry hadn't killed Voldemort. He was too weak. He hadn't been ready.
He hadn't been, until now.
Hermione had been unconscious, her clothes soaked with blood, sweat and tears. The healers said that she had been too close to dying. And that she would've, if they had gotten her there a minute later. Harry remembered, waiting for the verdict of her health, closing his eyes and trying to swallow down that stone in his throat.
He had never been so scared. He had never felt so helpless and useless, that overwhelming feeling filling him until he was sure that he could not take it anymore. He had tried to barge into the room, demanding wanting to see her, but they pushed him out. The Order had been trying to support and comfort him but with no avail.
Those terrifying moments in his life changed him. Those were what made him realize that she meant everything to him. That she meant more to him that he could ever imagine, more than he had ever thought she did. That he could not live without her.
He remembered feeling panic, fear and restlessness fill him, thinking about if she had not managed to survive..
He had never told her that he loved her. He had never had the chance.
And it made him choke on his tears, digging his head into his hands, knowing that she would never know that he loved her. He wanted to yell, shout, scream. He was so angry, that feeling of helplessness was too much for him to take.
He did not know what he would do without her.
Just then, Harry saw something stir in the trees. He felt his body stiffen, his hand tightening around his wand. He felt that hate, determination, and bitterness build inside him. This was it. He was sure. Suddenly, he felt his scar burn, excruciating pain sparking through him. He almost doubled over from the intense ache, but he forced himself to stay upright. He clutched his wand, whipping it out.
"He's here! He's here!" he shouted, and a blinding light and a loud, splintering crack filled their ears. Each of the Order whipped out their wand, their eyes blazing and flashing. They were ready.
This was finally it.
Dark figures in cloaks strode into the light, as Harry blinked furiously from the ache of his scar. He fought to keep the pain from intruding his vision, his fingers digging into his flesh as he held his wand tighter and tighter. The members of the Order shouted spells, as their barrier against the piercing rain had broken. Sparks, streams of light and beams shot out of their wand, their aim precise and true to the Death Eaters. Harry felt his scar burning and stinging so intensely, as he tried to look for Voldemort. But just then, his vision darkened, and he felt the ruthless wind slice through him. He could not see a thing, the pain on his forehead almost numbing.
Just then, his vision flashed once again. The rain struck him hard, stinging his skin and the bitter cold numbing him. The wind was harsh, blowing hard and making the impact of the rain sharp. He felt that same sea of emotions and pure hatred swirl inside of him. He felt the blood in his veins run icy cold. His emerald eyes flashed, pointing his wand at the figure that stood in front of him.
Voldemort's eyes glittered menacingly. His dark lips were twisted into a sickening, cruel smile.
"We meet again, Harry Potter," he said. Harry's bones began to tremor slightly. He felt his hate and anger eat him whole, blanketing him with the need and want for murder. Voldemort's murder.
They were alone. He had transported them to a different place in the forest, dimly lit and the rain pounding harder than before. Harry felt his heart turn cold.
"This is the last time, Voldemort," he said lowly and dangerously. "You'll regret ever stepping into this place." Voldemort's smile widened.
"Be careful, Harry," he hissed. "You never know if I just might force you to eat your words. But you are right, this is the decisive battle." He looked at him. "And now, where is the one you have proved to hold your heart so strongly? It's a shame she managed to live. But, however, her managing to survive does have its perks, now, doesn't it? I've already put to my mind that she will be the second to die in my hands after you."
"You bastard," Harry said lowly and angrily. Harry shouted a spell at him, as a glowing beam of red light shot out of his wand. Voldemort managed to easily block it.
"In a hurry, are you? Well, I agree, we must get going. The earlier we start, the more time I have time to make you suffer." He pointed his wand at him, his fingers thin and pale.
"Let's make this worthwhile, boy," he hissed, his eyes glittering now only darkly.
"Oh, believe me," Harry said, darkly. "This will be."