This is the place
you'll end up when
you lose the chase
where you're dragged against your will
from a basement on the hill
and all anybody knows is
you're not like them
and they kick you in the head
and send you back to bed
isolation pulled you pass a tunnel to a
bright world where you can make a place to stay
but everybody's scared of this place
they're staying away
your little house on memory lane
the mayor's name is fear
his voice patrols the pier
from a mountain of cliché
that advances everyday
the doctor spoke a cloud
he rained out loud
you'll keep your doors and windows shut
and swear you'll
never show a soul again
but isolation pushes you `til every muscle aches
down the only road it ever takes
but everybody's scared of this place
they're staying away
your little house on memory lane
if it's your decision
to be open about yourself
be careful or else
be careful or else
uncomfortable apart
it's all written on my chart
and I take what's given to me
most cooperatively
I do what people say
and lie in bed all day
absolutely horrified
I hope you're satisfied
isolation pushes past self hatred, guilt and shame
to a place where suffering is just a game
but everybody's scared of this place
they're staying away
your little house on memory lane
your little house on memory lane
Elliott Smith, Memory Lane
CHAPTER NINE: And So I Built My House of Cards
He had no idea where to start.
All he knew was that he couldn't think; the sensation of her hand in his made it impossible to be anywhere near coherent. They desperately need to talk. He desperately needed to tell her the truth, but all he wanted to do was to kiss her. He sighed, brushing another kiss against her hand.
"I-tell me where to start," he pleaded, hoping selfishly that she'd be rational enough for the both of them and help him.
Hermione squeezed his hand gently, slowly, and somewhat reluctantly. She folded her hands in her lap and gave him a tentative and encouraging half-smile.
"I can't tell you where start, Harry," she murmured softly. "I can only listen. Take your time…I'm not going anywhere."
Harry stood up, a bitter laugh escaping from his lips. He buried his hands deep into his pockets and made his way over to the window by Hermione's bed, losing himself in the comfort of the fading light.
"It seems like I don't have much time anymore," he whispered, pressing his head against the cold glass. "Everything's moving so fast and I'm trying- Merlin, I'm trying to keep up. And in the process, I'm losing myself…I don't think I was anyone to begin with. Just a name…"
His hearing perked up at the rustle of bed sheets and soon he found himself in Hermione's warm embrace, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist and her head lying against his back. He couldn't help but bring one hand to caress her arm.
"I don't want you to feel sorry for me," he swallowed, turning so that they faced each other. "I couldn't bear it if you did."
Her hands cupped his faces, her thumbs running soothing circles against his skin. He swallowed, fighting the urge to kiss her right then. She was beautiful like this, he decided. Her coffee-colored eyes were wide and full of intense compassion. Her hair fell in unruly curls brushing against her shoulders as she craned her neck upwards so that they were eye to eye. His eyes lingered on the pale expanse of her slender neck, his tongue darting out and licking his lips. They needed to talk, he reminded himself firmly. He tore his eyes away. They needed to talk.
Hermione swallowed. She seemed to be struggling just as much as he was. "I don't feel sorry for you," she confessed slowly. "I just wish I could do something. I feel like I've failed you in some way. Listen to you is the only thing that I feel like I can do for you."
"What?" He half-exclaimed and half-whispered. "How could you think that, Hermione? You've done more for me than anyone. You've believed in me when no one did. I want to- I need to talk to you, but it's hard. If anything else, I've failed you-"
Her lips were pressed against his before he could finish.
If he thought that merely holding her hand was distracting, everything burst into chaotic pieces when she kissed him. She offered and he took without any remorse, greedily drinking from her lips as if he were a dying man. His hands slipped under her crumpled school shirt, her bare skin beckoning to him like an alluring drug.
"I can't-we need to-" He struggled to speak as she tugged his bottom lip between her teeth. He moaned as she tugged him closer, his body pressing into the softness of her own.
They were both losing control of their rationality.
If it were any other time, any other place- life, thoughts, moments that were completely different- he might consider rationality. But he wasn't a normal teenager, no matter how desperately he wished to be. And Hermione, Hermione was far beyond the average teenage girl. There was a frightening intensity of emotions building up between them and it seemed as though they could not fight it any longer.
But now, he forced himself to ease away from Hermione. He brushed his fingertips against her lips. Now, they need to talk.
"Hey, I-"
Hermione shook her head, still gripping his shirt in her hands. "I-I don't…You're right, we should talk first."
"And snog later?" He quipped, trying to lighten the mood. His eyes fell on her bare shoulder, her scar achingly visible. He swallowed. "Maybe you should get back into bed…"
A tentative smile crossed her lips. "I'm fine. I promise."
He found himself selfishly pleased that she would stay right where she was, pressed against him with her h- Talk, he continued his silent mantra. Talk.
"So," he awkwardly began. "I saw the Headmaster on my way up here…"
He watched with surprised as her eyes darkened. Her gaze lowered and he wondered with a bit of indignant curiosity if Dumbledore had something to her.
"He was here," she murmured. She met his gaze. "I don't know why, but I-I felt like he was trying to force something out of me. It was as if he wanted me to admit something. I just can't help but-"
He frowned. "But what?"
She turned away from him to face the window and his hands settled around her waist. The softness of her shirt brushed quietly against him.
"Hermione," he tried to push again.
"I-as a child," she murmured finally, her hands against the window ledge. "As a child, we usually gravitate towards symbols, not people, of what we recognize or believe to be truth. Dumbledore-"
He reached for her. "Go on."
"You'll think it's rather silly," she responded with an endearing blush on her cheeks.
A ghost of a smile slipped onto his lips, somewhat painfully and foreign. He grasped her waist tighter, allowing Hermione to cocoon herself into his embrace.
"I'm listening."
The power of his statement hung in the air with a momentarily thick silence.
Her head dropped again and he did not attempt to move, but gently pushed her chin up. He quietly willed her to say something. He couldn't explain it, but awkwardness of their situation was fading and their fragile bond was growing stronger. There was a growing need inside of him that refused to lose it. His survival seemed to depend on it.
"It's a completely different rationale for me as a Muggle-born. It's almost like believing in the Easter Bunny and Father Christmas and such. You have a certain perception as a child of the world. And there's a sort of immortality and invincibility that we give to certain people in our lives, whether it be parents or leaders. This immortality is there to serve as a means to an end. It's dependable and comfortable."
She swallowed. "As a child and a Muggle-born, Albus Dumbledore was that immortal, benevolent champion that could do no wrong. Now, and I might be completely off, I'm inclined to believe that there's a frightening façade that he's putting up. We've always perceived Albus Dumbledore to have this generous and selfless greatness about him. But there was never anything beyond that and that… that's what scares me."
He sighed. The weight and truth of her words were almost too much to bear. He was caught somewhere between amazement and a mix of reproach. Her intuition was almost frightening, but he was angrier with himself for not being able to recognize what she seemed to know instinctively. Now he had even more reason to tell her everything.
"There's something that I need- need to tell you," he stumbled, reaching for her hand and gripping it as if it were his last line of hope. "I just don't- want- I'm afraid to-"
"Harry," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."
And suddenly their roles were reversed.
"Voldemort," he began slowly, trembling and surprised when she didn't flinch. "I-I can't-"
He felt like that scared little boy, lost in a world he was so desperately trying to understand and refused to understand. He struggled to force words to come out, but found himself terribly terrified of what she might say or think about him and his secrets.
"It's just a name," she coaxed gently. Her husky voice was laden with weariness. "Harry, you don't have to tell me everything right away…"
"It's not just a name," he half-protested. For a moment, he remembered the cold and wet Chamber of Secrets. He remembered being terrified and lost, staring at a dying Ginny Weasley and a bitterly triumphant ghastly image of a teenaged Tom Riddle. "It's not just a name."
She was quiet for a moment and then she turned around, her hands cradling his face once more. "I'm not trying to lessen the significance he's played in your life, Harry," she whispered. "His name was Tom Riddle and he too was just a boy. Tom Riddle is just a name… a name merely used to instill fear into lives of innocent people."
"But what about me? What about Dumbledore?"
Hermione gently placed one hand on his heart and the other still lingered against his cheek, gently stroking his skin as if to offer some sort of comfort.
She offered him a comforting, but small smile and her hand still rested warmly against his chest. "Your name, Dumbledore's name, Voldemort- all social instruments for control. I'm-I'm getting to the point where I can't honestly believe that this will get better before it gets worse. But that's the cycle of life."
"And your parents?"
The embrace of pain and shadows in her eyes was evidence that he had accidentally hit a nerve.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry," he nervously added.
"Things aren't good," she admitted quietly. She tore her eyes away from him. "I-I'm not quite ready to talk about them or to them right now."
A dejected sigh escaped his lips as he pulled away from their shared embrace. He shoved his hand in his pocket and began to kick the ground with the toe of his shoe. His dejection increased when he heard no indication of movement from her.
"We're not ready, are we?"
It was the antithesis of his direct and earnest his words before. It was painful, the somberness, and he felt as if they were going nowhere and everywhere at the same time.
"I don't think that that's it, Harry," Hermione's soft voice interrupted his desolate musings. "I think that we need to move slowly. I-"
"I don't have time," he interjected bitterly. "I told you."
Her hand wrapped around his wrist and caught him off guard, pulling him so that he would turn to face her.
"We can't wait for things to happen," she snapped. "That's not what I'm saying. However, you and I- this- I want it. Terribly. But for us to build something, we've got to take this slowly."
He watched as her hand loosened from his wrist and then fell to her side. A painful coldness fell over him as she wrapped her arm around herself, her fingers rubbing her scar in a gesture of comfort.
Harry made a decision.
"Would you think-would you think any less of me if I took a… a life?"
Her eyes widened in surprise. "What?"
His hands were trembling as he carefully grasped her by the shoulders. "Would you think any less of me if I took a life?" He said, his voice echoing in the empty Hospital Ward.
She was silent for a moment. "No," she slowly replied. "It wouldn't be fair, especially with the circumstances that we've only begun to face."
"Not even if it were intentional?"
Hermione shook her head. "I'm not going to lie and say that it wouldn't scare me. Honestly? No, you have a good heart. Sometimes, Harry, with the circumstances. It's completely unavoidable especially now."
He was silently, surprised that he could not find an ounce of disgust or dishonesty in her voice. He was almost afraid to recognize her honesty, a conviction he was not used to since he was a child.
"I don't deserve this," he whispered brokenly. "How-why are you still here?"
She smiled, her eyes were endless abysses of warmth and honestly. Harry swallowed, struggling with the little boy with him that was pleading to seek haven in her arms.
"Because I want to be."
He was even more desperate to believe.
**
*looks nervously at the sharp objects everyone seems to be sharpening*
I've been pretty good about updating so there's no need to resort to violence to get me to update faster… Please?
Anyhow, thank you for all the wonderful reviews. I really and truly can't thank you guys enough. The reviews make my day.
Er, anyhow. Crawlingwithidiot was one of the ones to find the hidden lyric. Her very depressing one-shot is posted on my livejournal if you care to read it. And when I say depressing, I do mean depressing. Estelle was the other person who got the hidden lyric, but has yet to give me here request. So look for that too.
As always, thanks to Chaosblade… He's really good for my ego.
I don't have much to say, except that next chapter is going to be a huge chapter… Other than that, please review!
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