Authors Note: Well, here goes my first fic on portkey. This being the third revision of this story, I guess all I can do is send it out into the wide, wide world and hope it does not incur any flames. *Pats fic on head* Off you go!
Disclaimer: I own nothing; it all belongs to the marvelous J.K. Rowling.
Forget
Hermione spent many of her days reading her favorite book of poetry. There was one in particular that she loved, called "Forget". It talked about how things in the past couldn't be changed, an aspect of life which Hermione had come face to face with so many times during the course of her twenty-three years. That poem had always brought tears to her eyes, and she knew as well as anyone that a good long cry was often the best thing for letting out one's feelings. Cheery sunlight filtered into the room, past the blood red curtains, casting shapes upon the floor. A young woman with long, curly brown hair sat in a patched and faded armchair, staring wistfully out the window. She was curled up, rather like a small, frightened child, with her feet tucked underneath her, a tattered book of poetry on her lap, and her head resting on her arms. There was a lump in Hermione's throat, a stinging in her eyes, and an ache in her heart. The tears threatened to come, but she fought the oncoming sobs. Hermione wished she could let herself cry, let herself grieve for her old friend.... Harry had been wounded in battle against the dark lord, and had died later that same night. Memories flooded into her mind at the thought of her old friend's name.
Hermione remembered their time at Hogwarts vividly. She had been a brainy little witch who no one would have suspected of anything even remotely interesting or adventurous. Harry had chosen the life of a mischievous, famous Quidditch player with an unnerving tendency for getting into life-or-death situations. Of course, there had been Ron as well. He never changed, never seemed to grow up at all. In some ways, this was cute and endearing. In others, it was just annoying. But, they were always together, and the other students found it odd if one was ever seen without the other two.
To pin-point a time frame for the disintegration of the "dream team", as Professor Snape had so condescendingly referred to the three friends, would be impossible. They had just...drifted. There had been no quarrel, no huge argument culminating in a fist-fight to justify it. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had simply grown apart over the years. By their seventh year, the only conversation between them was restricted to strained "hello"s in the hallway between classes.
Ron started to follow his older brothers around, eventually resulting in membership in their crowd, which consisted of the "class clowns" of Hogwarts. Harry had started hanging around with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan more than ever, while Hermione drafted Ginny as her new best friend. The two girls got along fairly well, but Ginny's continuous gushing over Harry was enough to annoy anyone. The three old friends hadn't even signed each other's yearbooks come graduation, hadnt even said goodbye to each other as they stepped off the Hogwarts Express for the last time. Ron enlisted in the army straight out of school, as did a lot of the other. Harry, of course, was made commander of his own platoon. Hermione had heard a rumor that Ron was actually serving with Harry as his commanding officer. She remembered thinking that they were probably either best friends again or at each other's throats day and night. The latter brought with it a very funny mental image of Harry hitting Ron over the head with a frying pan. She tried not to think about her old friends too much....
Now, Hermione was a very successful author. She wrote mostly instructional textbooks that were used in some of the best magic schools in the world, including the Salem Institute of Witchcraft, and even her old school, Hogwarts. She had a nice house, a cute little calico cat (Crookshanks had been hit by a car in the summer between her fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts), and she was engaged to a wonderful wizard. His name was James Silverton, and every time Hermione spoke his name aloud she had to work to keep her voice from trembling. Harry's father's name. It was eerie. James was tall, with sandy hair and clear gray eyes. He did have a rather large nose, but she overlooked that minor detail. He was a quiet, smart over-acheiver, rather like Hermione herself. He loved to read, and kept their little house stocked with books. On the surface, Hermione appeared to have everything a woman could want, but her life was consumed with guilt and sadness.
The night of Harry's death was the night that Hermione had met her fiance.
She had gone to a popular London dance club with Ginny, hoping to lose herself in the loud music and forget her problems, if only for a few hours. The place was dark, since the only lighting came from flashing strobe lights and the huge, glittering disco ball suspended from the ceiling. It was also packed, which was to be expected on a Friday night. People of every race and origin were all dancing together, people wearing everything from the chic styles of Paris and Rome to people wearing almost nothing at all. One man's ensemble looked suspiciously as if it were painted on. Upon entering the club, Hermione had felt she had made a mistake in coming. She had chosen to leave her safe, comfortable little house for this? She slipped through the surging crowds with difficulty, leaving Ginny near the entrance to fend for herself. Within ten minutes, the pulsing techno music became Hermione's new enemy, causing a painful pounding in the space between her ears. She set off in the direction of the bar, trying hard to ignore certain lude comments made to her as she jostled her way through the crowd; all she wanted was to find someone normal in this freak show- either that or a very stiff drink, whichever she came across first. >
After sipping her martini for a few moments, Hermione came to the conclusion that there weren't any normal people in the whole club. The girl sitting next to her was a perfect example. She had at least six holes in each of her ears, blue hair that stuck out in all directions, and a large tattoo of a unicorn on her left upper thigh. She was wearing a shiny silver baby-doll dress that showed as much skin as the average bathing suit and silver ankle boots. She had also apparently tried to save time by applying two or three weeks' worth of blue eye liner. When sitting next to Hermione (who was wearing a black knee-length skirt printed with tiny flowers, a white blouse, black sandals, and no makeup whatsoever), this girl could have been labeled a hooker- a cheap hooker.
Suddenly, a tall, blonde man sat down on Hermione's other side. He was wearing a neatly pressed suit, minus the tie, and he looked like an angel sent down from heaven to snatch her out of the clutches of these weirdos. He ordered a beer, and then turned as if to introduce himself .
"Hi. Having fun?" he asked Hermione. She didn't hear him, due to the loud music and chatter of the other people.
"What?" she practically yelled.
"I was just wondering if you were having fun!" he yelled back. Even though the two were barely three feet apart, conversation was virtually impossible.
"No, I mean I can't hear you!" Hermione hollered. At that moment, the song had ended, letting everyone within a thirty-foot radius hear what she had said.
"Well, I'll just have to talk louder, won't I?" he asked with a small smile on his face. Then he asked her if she'd like to go for a walk with him. She accepted, desperate to get away from the noise and stifling heat of the club.
Just let me find my friend and tell her I'm leaving, okay?" asked Hermione, struggling to make herself heard. He nodded his agreement and then motioned with his hands that he would meet her at the club exit.
After a few minutes of frantic searching, she located Ginny. She was flirting with some guy with spiky blonde hair, wearing no shirt, but covered in tattoos; Mrs. Weasley would have gone into cardiac arrest had she known her daughter was even conversing with someone like that.
"Ginny! I'm gonna go for a walk, okay?" Hermione said.
"Alone?!" Ginny asked incredulously.
"Um...well, not exactly," she had replied, blushing.
"I knew you had it in you! Who's the guy? Is he cute?"
"Very. Listen, I should get going. Don't worry about me getting home, I'll probably just take a cab," said Hermione, sounding very rushed and anxious to leave.
"Well, okay...I guess. You have your cell phone, right?"
"Don't I always?" Hermione had replied with a grin. She was legendary for never going anywhere without her trusty phone. While it wasn't that usual that you saw a witch carrying the Muggle device, they could be extremely useful>
"Okay then. I'll call you when I'm leaving, and I can give you a lift home if you need one, okay?" said Ginny, with concern for her friend showing in her pretty face.
"Thanks, Ginny. I'll call you. Well, bye!" said Hermione. She walked away quickly, trying not to pay attention to Ginny's new friend's eyes on her ass as she left. She walked to the glowing red EXIT sign, where she met up with her mystery date. They introduced themselves as soon as they stepped out of the hot, noisy club into the crisp night air.
His name was James Silverton, and he was apparently a reporter for the Daily Prophet. If Hermione had not been so distracted by his eyes (light gray, almost silver) she would have remembered her encounters with one Rita Skeeter and headed right back into the club. But, fortunately for the young couple, childhood memories were the farthest thing from Hermione's mind right then.
As they strolled through the streets of London, they found themselves walking into a cozy little caf. James ordered a cup of coffee (black, no sugar) while Hermione calmly sipped a tall glass of sparkling water. They talked, though if pressed, Hermione could not have told what about. After about an hour of flirtatious chat and stolen glances into each other's eyes, Hermione's cell phone rang inside her black silk purse (no leather for her). She lifted the phone to her ear, gazing into James' face as she mouthed the words Its my friend, calling to check up on me. Imagine her surprise when the voice on the other end choked out the word "Hermione?" as if it were an extreme effort to utter those three syllables. The voice was definitely male, and definitely NOT Ginny. But it did sound familiar....
"Ron?" she asked incredulously.
"Yeah. Yeah, its me. Listen, there's been...an accident," came Ron's voice, soft and slow. It was as if he were gathering his courage for whatever it was he had to tell her. Hermione had wild thoughts running through her mind at that point, thoughts of injury, of the Dark Lord, of death....
"What happened Ron?" she asked shrilly, her concern mounting by the second.
"Its Harry. He's been...." Hermione's concern instantly mutated into panic. Her throat felt constricted and she could feel a wrenching in her middle, as if someone had ripped out her intestines. By then James had realized something was terribly wrong. Seeing Hermione's panic- stricken face growing paler by the second, he got up out of his seat, came around to her side of the booth, and sat down next to her. She held up one finger, motioning him to be quiet.
"Yes...?" she asked.
"Oh, Hermione. Harry's dead. Dead...dead and gone...." replied Ron. Hermione's world, her universe, was shattered into a million pieces in that split second that Ron spoke those condemning words. She never heard what Ron said next, missed his explanation of how Harry Potter had died. She didn't care how it happened. She didn't want to know. She didn't hear his instructions for the funeral, which would be next week. She didn't hear him when he said they had both been asked to speak at the service. All she heard was the buzzing between her own ears. She calmly bid him goodbye and dropped her phone into her bag, stood up, and walked out of the caf, with James following close behind. He was full of questions. "Why are you crying? Who was that on the phone? Are you okay? Do you need a ride home?" The last was the only inquiry she bothered to answer.
She accepted the ride, but didn't remember any of it. Indeed, Hermione felt so out of touch, it could have been someone else in that car with James. It could have been someone else who said goodnight to him, climbed the steps to her front door, turned the key, and stepped into the shadows of the dimly lit front hall. It could have been a total stranger who kicked off the black sandals (which were usually put away carefully in the hall closet, not kicked off in the middle of the floor), climbed the staircase to the second room on the left, locked the door behind her, and laid down on the bed without undressing. It could have been anyone on earth, except Hermione Granger. No, she was off in memory land, thinking herself into a figurative coma. Hermione had always thought that she thought too much....
Harry had been a child in so many ways, wiser than an adult in so many others. He had risked his life in the face of evil so many times. He had saved so many lives in his short lifetime. And he was gone. She had never even had the chance to say goodbye, to tell him she loved him-had always loved him. What she felt for him was not love that spans all boundaries, but love that burns its way into your body slowly, until you realize that if this person is gone, they will take a part of your heart with them. He had never known, and he never would.
James came home from work to find his fianc curled up in her favorite armchair, crying.
"Shhhhh," he said as he put his arms around her."Oh, honey. Please don't cry. He's gone. Just try and forget."