MAGNOLIAS
There is a hate that burns within
The most desperate place I have ever been
Try to get back to where I'm from
The closer I get the worse it becomes
The closer I get the worse it becomes
Nine Inch Nails, the big come down
CHAPTER ONE: And To The Shadows I Fall
Alone in the silent darkness of his room, Harry Potter found himself enchanted by the seductive dance if the shadows on his wall. There was something beautifully twisted about them. As each faded stream of light escaped from underneath his door, the shadows began a quiet and passionate rhythm. Sometimes he found himself on the edge of his bed, reaching out to touch the shadows instead creating his own. Other times he drew back with fear gripping him painfully and entwining with a bitter acceptance of his fate. He was becoming a shadow of himself it seemed. Within the grief, the loneliness, and the loss, he found unquestionable acceptance. But he didn't want to be a shadow. Being accepted by the shadows lacked an intimacy he desperately craved and he was beginning to think that these were feelings he could never have.
Maybe this was why he was sitting quietly and alone on the edge of his bed, watching the shadows and actually wishing that Voldemort would finally do him in. Or perhaps he was meant to only understand the hollow shell of a man. Understand the demon in the darkness. Assume his secrets. Use them against him. To understand the wizard that had been trying to kill him all these years was to share-
Their connection through the prophecy was already warranting a hollow coexistence. Coexistence between the two of them was impossible. There needed to be a balance, but one of them had to die.
To be come victim or murderer, that was the eternal question.
A quiet knock at his door startled him out of his thoughts and he scrambled to his feet. Must be Mrs. Weasley checking up on him. "Coming," he called, stumbling to the door. His hand closed around the knob and he pulled with a numbing ease.
"Hermione," he murmured. For a moment, his eyes could see nothing but a blurred figure standing before him. He blinked. Standing before him was an eleven-year-old Hermione Granger, who had come to befriend him because of a stupid mountain troll and believed in him with an unwavering belief of spirit and trust.
He blinked again.
He had been in the darkness too long because the fifteen-year-old Hermione was standing before him now, still with that unwavering spirit and faith reflected in her eyes. He swallowed suddenly. Why was he getting the feeling he had missed something?
"Why are you sitting in the dark?" She asked softly.
He found himself stepping back to allow her in, unable to respond. His mind was frantically obsessed with the sudden notion of something being different with his best friend.
"I thought you weren't arriving until Thursday evening," he finally replied, still gripping the ends of his thoughts.
She had yet to step across the doorway into his room, the soft glow of the candlelit hallway illuminating the intensity of her eyes. She was too pale for July, he mused even in his frozen state.
"I can only take an empty house for so long," came the vague response as she stepped through the doorway and into the darkness of his room.
He stored this response in the back of his mind as a possible contribution to his awareness of her allure. Somewhere in his mind, perhaps the food to his mystifying fascination, he came to a conclusion that his thought had never been occupied with anything but selfish sorrow.
He knew his parents solely on the memories of others, good and bad, and the few photographs that he had collected over the years. Remus remained a close mystery to him, never truly making a complete effort to connect to him. Sirius he knew through fragments and memories that lacked a true emotional significance. He did not know Sirius outside of what was their shared grief. And when finally faced with the severe truth just barely a month later after Sirius' death, his grief for his godfather was now driven solely on the moments he could have had in that short time with him.
Maybe this was why he was overly attached to his friendship with Ron. It was inevitable that the two of them would drift apart. Even in his desperate hold on their slowly fading friendship, he still acknowledged the fact that Ron would one day become a complete stranger to him. Perhaps the true reason he held on to what was left of the innocent and sometimes completely ignorant relationship they had was Ron's connection to family.
While Ron had his episodes of jealousy that simply immerged from someone even slightly mentioning the "heroics" of Harry Potter, his bout with jealousy came in during much more quieter moments. There was a pang in his heart every time Ron received a letter from his father or when Ginny was surprised with an extra box of chocolate frogs because Mrs. Weasley was getting concerned. He couldn't begin to understand how Ron could even be remotely jealous of him when he was nothing but a name.
But the Ron could not fathom Harry's jealousy, often hidden by a dark shadow, of his family. Ron simply did not know how to appreciate his family. There were times where Harry found himself shamefully wishingthat something might happen so that Ron might actually experience life through his eyes. He was bitterly ashamed of these feelings, but he knew his place with Ron.
But what about Hermione? Where was her place in his life?
The click of his door shutting and the returning comfort of the bleak darkness roused him out of his thoughts. A rustle of clothing indicated sudden movement and he waited for Hermione to speak.
"Can I turn a light on?"
He patiently waited for his eyes to slightly readjust to the darkness. "Are you afraid the dark?" He asked.
"Sometimes," she answered quietly in a nervous, child-like fashion. "Harry, I can't see. Can we just open the curtains and let some light in?"
The obsession that had plagued him earlier returned to his mind and filled him with a frantic anxiety to be near her. In only associating his grief solely with his interactions with others, never looking beyond that grief had cost him dearly with Sirius. And he knew from the scraps of his heart that he could not go through that again with Hermione. The Department of Mysteries incident was testament to that.
"Where are you?" He asked, blindly reaching for some form of contact.
"Over here… I think."
"Hermione," he growled. "This isn't funny, I'm trying to help you here. Where are you?"
"I'm not laughing," she snapped, her voice growing louder. "You're the prat that didn't want to turn the damn lights on."
He shifted towards the sound of her voice. "You didn't have to come in."
"You let me in."
"Touché," he conceded finally. Frustrated, he stumbled back onto his original corner on his bed. He turned slightly to search for her, hoping that the faded light might draw her out.
"Hermione?"
The bed gently sagged down and he could make out her silhouette. The shadows that held his fascination seemed to shy away from her.
"Yeah?"
"You're too far away." He swallowed nervously at the seductive sensation of her fingers tangling with his.
"Is that better?" She asked huskily.
"Yeah."
They sat in silence for several moments, the need for words never plaguing either of them. This was what he liked about the state of his relationship with Hermione. There was no dire need of expectation, a comforting and frightening concept at the same time. And yet there were times, which grew more frequent as they became older, he was aware of his own desolate state of being. He had been stuck in this state of being for so long that whatever offer of awakening that he was beginning to realize she was unconsciously making, opened a door of terrifying emotions that were anxious to drown him.
"Why are you afraid of the dark?" He asked, breaking the silence.
"Confessions," she murmured, her hand tightening its grip on his.
"Confessions?"
What kind of answer was that?
"Confessions," she affirmed. "There's something about the dark and confessions. There's something about the dark and terrible secrets too."
"You're only-"
"Darkness, Harry is nearly the equivalent of going mad," she interrupted. "Dementors like the dark…"
He violently ripped his hand from hers and pushed himself of the bed, melting back into the consoling shadows. He suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling of betrayal. He had hoped she'd under-
He didn't know what he had hoped for.
"Then I must be mad," he responded angrily.
"Harry-," she began.
"No, Hermione. You're afraid of the dark and terrible secrets, remember? Isn't that what I am?"
"Harry, please-"
"Just go, Hermione," he snapped, pushing himself as far away as possible.
There was a creak from his bed as he heard her jump down and quietly make her way from what he assumed to be his door. His breath caught at the sound of her sighing softly in defeat.
"I just wish you would talk to me, Harry."
He moved forward with his anger fueling another bitter retort, but he was only greeted by the sound of his door gently shutting.
Maybe it was better this way.
TBC Author's Notes:
I am so unbelievably excited about this fic. Maybe because finals are over, which really wouldn't count since I am taking summer credits since I had the *brilliant* idea about finishing early. Maybe it's because I hate Philosophy 309 with such a fervent passion. Maybe it's because English 346 is all about the Romantic Period with all those lovely depressing poets. Or *maybe* it's because HP3 was just so awe-inspiring and brilliant. The point is I am excited.
It looks like this is going to be a very long fic. I can't honestly say that it'll be more than at least ten chapters, but I don't plan things very well. *shrugs* Or so my mother says.
I'm definitely going to focus more on the emotional relationships rather than an action-adventure filled 6th year. I just like torturing characters more. I'm a sadist apparently. But Voldemort will make his yearly appearance, I promise.
Oh and before I forget, thank you to Alexandra for being my beta reader and the fun emails. It's a scary task to pick my mind. It's beyond me why anyone would want to, but they both seem to like it.
So now business is done, it's time for me to tell to review. You know you want to.