Crying in the Sun

padfoot_puppyeyes

Rating: G
Genres: Angst
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 13/06/2004
Last Updated: 13/06/2004
Status: completed

"Remember when you could cry over the smallest things? Like Ron and I making up after the first task, or just because exams were becoming too much? All of those kids, older and younger than me, they wont be able to cry over the small things when this war is through. Some of them will cry over lost loved ones, or betrayal, or friends, or insaity....and me? I was taught that crying was wrong, so I'll always have feelings of shame when I cry. That's why I do it in the rain. But they shouldn't have to. They should be able to cry in the sun."/ "You did it Harry. people are crying for you...in the sun. I'm crying for you in the sun." I'll heal one day...unfortunatly, after what I've lost, I'll never be able to cry over the small things anymore. But because of him, others will be able to cry over the easy things, without hiding their tears in the rain. They can trust the sun to dry their faces and heal whatever wounds made them tear..."

Chapters

1. Crying in the Sun

1. Crying in the Sun

AN- this is so random, I'm not sure I'll even have it posted. It's completely out there. But I had to get the idea out of my head it wouldn't leave me alone, so here it goes. Oh, and I'm aware of the different POV's, but I believe it's not that hard to figure them out. Please don't complain to me about how I didn't write out who was who, it really felt like it…ruined the effect somehow. If you don't like it, well… I didn't make you read it.

Crying in the Sun

“You know, you're really lucky you can cry like that about a boy that doesn't deserve you in the first place.” I told the teenager after class as she packed up, ready to leave. She brought back so many memories, this girl. She was so much like me.

“Like you would know.” She retorted. Maybe not completely like me. Had I ever been that rude to a teacher before? Thinking of me knocking Professor Snape out, sneaking into his privet storerooms for a potion, yelling at Dumbledore in sixth year when he had been the one to tell me that Harry wasn't alive. It answered my question well enough. Yes.

“I would know.” I muttered, but not quietly enough for them to miss it. Her and her friends looked angry.

“Yeah, well I bet you had your trouble with the boys, but that was in the time when you wore knee-length grey skirts.” The girl sneered. I didn't know Gryffindors could sneer. They had forgotten so quickly what it had cost for them to have the freedom to cry in the open, about something so simple, and I told them so.

“Well, go on. Who did you ever love that you lost?”

I snorted, it wasn't a story I liked to retell. But at the moment, she was bringing up so many memories. Memories of Harry, of Ron…of me. And of what we had become afterwards. Or what we hadn't become.

Ron was in Egypt at the moment. He traveled to keep running from it. But me, I had grown up in these halls, found and lost true love in these halls. It would hurt too much to leave them. And Harry…

The world had learned Harry's story, even from my point of view, because I thought he deserved the proper respect. But they had forgotten so quickly…maybe it was time for a refresher course, for them and myself.

I beckoned the girls, who were now curious, towards the desk and pulled the leather-bound book out, which looked so much like Riddles' had in second year. I had copied the idea from him. These girls would have to see to understand. I flipped to the last few pages, and ignored the girl's gasp as my body fell into my memories.

* * *

Did I ever mention to anyone that Ron is an insensitive, annoying, clueless prick? Doubt it. But it was an unavoidable fact, one that was only proved this morning. What happened this morning, you ask? I'd really like the answer to that myself.

He was just sitting there, in the rain. It wasn't storming, because he isn't that thick, just a misty, drizzling, depressing rain. I should have known, because of the gloom, that Harry would be out there, enjoying it. Isn't there a saying along the lines of, `loneliness enjoys company?' or is it, `misery enjoys company?'

Whatever the saying was, I know it fit Harry quite well. He's been upset lately, and it didn't take all those hours spent reading books to figure it out. Sirius's death must have hit him harder than any of us know. Of course, he was `fine' with it. But lord knows whenever Harry Potter says the word fine, it mean `I'm doing horrible, but I'm not going to talk to you about it.'

The same, redundant question came from Ron this time when we found Harry sitting in the rain under a tree. I hadn't known, up until then, that sitting, just sitting, could look so alone and depressing. “Are you okay?”

The answer was obvious, but like I said, Ron's oblivious so he asked it anyways.

“Yeah, I'm fine. I just need to sort a few things out with myself.”

“And you must do this in the rain?” I felt my lips moving, but at the same time didn't know what I was saying, if that makes any sense. It was like someone else was speaking for me, because for the life of me, I couldn't have spoken myself at the moment.

“Yeah. It helps clear my head, the cold water.” He was lying so easily it frightened me, but it was the look on his face that told me the truth. The rain dripping down his face wasn't rain at all.

Harry was crying. Never, in all the time I've known Harry, have I ever seen him cry. And it didn't make much difference, because like I said, we were out in the rain. People could pass him, and he'd immediately brighten, looking confident and happy. He only let the façade slip slightly around us, and even then he was guarded lately. I was determined to know why.

I waited till Ron couldn't take the cold anymore. I had numbed, but as long as Harry sat here, so did I. One of us would have to break the silence. “You're crying.” I stated it like a fact. His smile was answer enough, but he retorted anyway with,

“You noticed.”

“What made you think I wouldn't?” The words were spilling from my numb lips quicker than they were forming in my head. But Harry took his time to answer.

“No one else does.” He shifted, and offered his scarf, which I promptly refused. If I was cold, he had frostbite.

He didn't see to mind though. “Harry, what happened?” I asked. We had always had that respected silence. The silent understanding. But it was time to break that quiet to hear what needed to be heard, and to say what needed to be said. “What made you so…closed off?” I had only been thinking the words, but before I knew it I had said them. Harry's face was emotionally blank, but his eyes were swimming with tears.

“There's so many things wrong with what happened, Hermione.” We both knew he was talking about the night in the Department of Mysteries. “Isn't the hero always supposed to live?”

“Sirius died fighting, it's what he would've wanted. And we've talked about this Harry. But it's November now, and you were done mourning in September, when we started the knew year, remember?” I reminded him gently. “So, Harry, why are you sitting in the rain?”

“You know that pensive I got from Remus this year for my birthday?” I sat up straighter, intrigued. Who didn't wonder what was inside the basin he'd kept hidden? Better yet, who was stupid enough to ask with his constantly going and changing temper?

“Yes, the stone basin. What about it?”

“It had a memory in it of Sirius, sitting under this tree, staring into space. You see, it wasn't Remus's pensive, or a pensive for myself like everyone thought. It was a pensive Sirius was using.”

“Oh.” It really did explain a lot.

“Yeah. Only he sat under this tree crying, Hermione, and no one knew the difference. Dad was too caught up in his new relationship with Mum, Remus was in the hospital wing after his transformation, and Peter was… well, Sirius had no idea where Peter was, but since it was Seventh year, and the rat was a traitor, we can guess where he had slunk off to. So anyways, Sirius was sitting here, and crying, but nobody noticed because of the rain.” Harry withdrew a shaky breath. “So how could you tell the difference?”

“The rain doesn't show so much hurt. Your eyes do.” I replied softly. “Plus they're rimmed red.” He smirked, but settled for my answer, and I scooted up next to him until he had to put his arm around me. He didn't need to hide the pain of his godfather's passing from me, and he knew it. As long as the rain was there, we were okay.

* * *

She was leaning against me, her hair just barely tamed by the mist surrounding us, and her eyes were as red as mine. So she was crying too. I wondered if she knew why she was crying, because tears with no point were wasted. There would be a need for tears later.

“Hermione, we both always knew that some day I would have to do something more than defend the castle against the Voldemort. I have a connection to him, but it's… it's complicated…”

Her brown eyes were lit in concern as she asked, “Harry, why do you look so hopeless?” Her face pleaded with me to explain.

“Everyone, Dumbledore, myself, they all believe that when I face Voldemort, I'll come out the winner, and we can all run out and celebrate, and it will be the end of my seventh year, my grand finale, so to speak. Btu I don't control when he attacks, and I don't think he plays by the rules. I'm not even sure I'll graduate. And if I do, where will I go? What will happen? I have no way of knowing the outcome of the war, who will live, and who will become another casualty.”

“Harry…” She wasn't following me? Since when had I become deeper than Hermione? Wow, I must really be changing.

“Didn't you see their faces?” Earlier I had told the DA members about Sirius, about my loss, to make them understand. From the way they reacted, I understood their train of thought, and knew it needed to be fixed. I just didn't know how.

They hadn't understood until now that loved ones would be lost in this war, and some still didn't fully comprehend the danger they were throwing themselves and their loved ones into. That innocent people would die, that they would be called on to fight when they were old enough. And if worst came to worst, earlier than they would be ready.

But even Hermione was lost, and I couldn't see a way to make her understand. “I'm tired of being the hero, Hermione. I just want this war to end. But those kids, the ones younger and older than me, think of this as action, as adventure.”

“It's hard not to. You've inspired them to become a part of the war. You should be proud of how much you influence them. No one would want to learn defense from me, Harry, they want to learn it from you.”

“Hermione, I don't want any of that though. Any of the attention, any of the glory. I'm not fighting for any of that.”

“What are you fighting for then Harry? Revenge?” She seemed shocked at the thought, until I snorted and her face fell into a look of relief.

“That would make me as bad as him. I'm just fighting to end the war, both the personal and physical ones, before too many new ones can begin.”

“So you think by defeating him, you can cry without people looking down on you?” She asked, still trying to understand. I shook my head.

“Remember when you could cry over the smallest things? Like Ron and I making up at the end of the first task, or just because exams were becoming too much? All of those kids, the ones in the DA, they won't cry over small things anymore, when this war's through. Some of them will cry over lost loved ones, some over fallen friends, or betrayal, or insanity. And me, I was raised by the Dursleys. They taught me that crying was wrong, and it's a habit I'll always have, the feelings of shame when I cry. That's why I do it in the rain now. But other kids shouldn't have to. Tears should be fine for them…they should be able to cry in the sun.”

* * *

“So it is with a heavy heart that I leave you, confident in your abilities and proud of your accomplishments.” Harry finished the rather impressive speech and was greeted by silence. Hermione, next to me, whispered,

“Wow.” At the time, I think everyone in the room agreed with her on that. It summed up Harry's words rather nicely. It took a few minutes before people began to breathe normally again, and another minute before Draco Malfoy, member of the light, (and Harry's new bloody best friend,) stood up and said,

“Well. We'll all miss him too.” Harry, I realized had long since left.

“So you didn't help him with that?” I asked later, as we watched the stunned members of the DA leave. He had only been telling them yesterday how his godfather had died at the hands of a Death Eater. They needed defense lessons now more than ever, so we could help Harry. I would have to ask my best friend why he was leaving us so suddenly.

“No. I didn't even expect that anymore than the rest of you.” Her eyes were shadowed with worry, and I could understand the concern. When Harry was in one of his moods, he was difficult. Maybe he'd change his mind as the day progressed. Hermione, seeming to read my thoughts, said, “Ron, I don't think he's coming back.”

“Of course he will, Hermione. Harry would never abandon the DA like this. He cares too much.” But Hermione shook her head, sending her bushy brown hair flying.

“No. I think we need to talk to him. You saw him sitting out in the rain yesterday.” I sighed in defeat.

“But think of how often he sits in the rain. He said it helps him clear his head.” I argued feebly. She sent me one scathing look, and I followed her silently, knowing that whatever I was about to be told I wouldn't want to hear. It would change so much between the already breaking trio. But our friendship was one sacrifice the world would never appreciate, or worry about until it was too late.

Harry was sitting in the rain again. It was dark outside, and the rain was cold, coming down in sheets. It had been like this for days, an omen. A sign of things to come. Voldemort had fallen on mere threats to scare Dumbledore, not daring to attack Hogwarts. The rain had hovered only over the castle for so long, everyone had grown pale, despite the summer months.

But Harry didn't seem to mind. He had come to sit in the rain everyday after meals, after classes. Usually it was under the tree he sat under now, but sometimes it was in the open, or by the lake, or at the edge of the forest. Some people still thought him mad, but I to this day believe that had Harry was as cunning as Dumbledore. To him, sitting in the rain was answering Voldemort's challenge, daring him to do more, to fight more, to come to Harry.

So we did what best friends do. We not only put up with the madness and supported him… we sat down in the mud next to him. I felt the rain soak through me, and waited with baited breath for Harry to explain. I really almost wish he hadn't.

“I don't really have a choice, you know.”

“Of course you have a choice, Harry.” Hermione said in her comforting voice. “It's your life. It's not about what other people think of you. It's about what you think about yourself. No one would look down at you for refusing to face him with so little training.”

“I would look down on me. And if you're honest, Hermione, you'd look down on me too.”

But Hermione wasn't giving up that easily. “You could wait.”

“And let him build up his army? I don't think so, not again.”

“You don't have to face him at all.” I said, feeling like it was my turn to say something, anything, to change his mind. “I mean, haven't you done enough for the war? Maybe it's just like old man Moody. Give the war a rest.” Harry smirked, a rare show of humor from him nowadays.

“Are you implying that I'm old, Ron?” He asked in mock humor.

“Never. I'm just saying that facing him seems stupid, when Dumbledore himself can't defeat him.”

“That's because Dumbledore didn't try hard enough.” Despite whatever Hermione has told you about me, I should have you know I really can tell Harry's emotions. I mean, not as well as her, but he's pretty easy to read after all those years knowing him. Whatever he said next was it.

It would've been different if he'd eased us into it, but Harry wasn't known for being gentle. “The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the dark lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have powers the dark lord knows not… and one must die at the hand of the other…for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to defeat the dark lord is born as the seventh month dies. It was something similar to that, anyway.” Even I could piece the hints together.

“Who said that?”

“Can't say.” He was lying, but that wasn't important right now. “But it was a prophecy made a long time ago. Part of it was fulfilled when I was…well, when we thought he was dead. Now I have to finish it.” He shifted uncomfortably, but I knew it was from the looks Hermione and I were giving him, not from the rain.

“You can't leave because of some stupid prediction. Besides, if you really have to defeat him, wouldn't it be best to know that you can?”

“He's weak right now. I can feel it. And every day, my connection grows stronger to him.” He spat out the words, leaving no doubt in my mind that by him, he meant Voldemort. It explained why he never slept in the dorm anymore, why he ate so little, and obsessed with his training. Harry was right, and he knew it. He was ready to leave; I just wasn't ready to let him go.

* * *

Everyone but us was surprised when Harry disappeared that night. He didn't show up the next morning, or the morning after that. And the rain didn't stop, just continued as it had for what was now a week.

Ron and I had locked ourselves away, waiting, hoping. Studies were all but forgotten; Hogwarts was at a stand still, silently waiting for any word from Harry. Any at all.

I don't know what happened. One morning I woke up, and the rain was gone. People were standing outside celebrating. Voldemort was gone.

But Hogwarts was mourning the loss of one of it's finest. I was mourning his loss.

“You did it Harry. People are crying for you…in the sun. I'm crying for you in the sun.” I'll heal one day. We all will, carrying scars, but moving on, just as he would want us to do. And unfortunately, after what I've lost and seen, I'll never be able to cry over the same things anymore. But because of him, others will be able to cry over the easy things, without hiding their tears in the rain, and trust the sun and time to dry their faces, and heal whatever wounds made them tear. And Harry Potter will smile back at them from the sun.

I have no idea where this plot bunny came from. Is there even a plot in that? No, I guess not. But now that it's out of my head, I can finally go to sleep. Love it or hate it, I really don't care. I think that's it, but I'm not sure. Review if you want, but I'd rather you not flame me for my plotlessness. Not my fault. Blame the rain. It's all the rains' fault.