Shoot The Moon

A/N: Don’t hate me for this—honestly, it’s my first H/Hr fic.

Disclaimer: Stop badgering me. You know I don’t own anything. Go away and waste someone else’s time. “Shoot The Moon” belongs to Norah Jones and whomever involved in the writing/producing of that song.

Shoot The Moon

The summer days are gone too soon

You shoot the moon

And miss completely

And now you're left to face the gloom

The empty room that once smelled sweetly

Of all the flowers you plucked if only

You knew the reason

Why you had to each be lonely

Was it just the season?

Now the fall is here again

You can't begin to give in

It's all over

A single leaf floated down in front of his feet—brilliant and striking in its crimson color. How funny it should land in front of his feet, he mused. A small smile crept up his tired face as the memories rushed in through his mind. It had only been a year ago…

It was a rather pretty autumn day. Brisk, but not too cold—one of those days when a light sweater would do. It was another one of their picnics, if that’s what you liked to call them. Adventures into the woods. They trekked out to the woods often during this time of year—spontaneously, she would get up and suggest going on their little picnic, and he found that he could never refuse.

But this time, things had felt a little different. He felt…urgency, as if there simply wasn’t enough time—time to spend with her, time to be happy…It wasn’t really surprising, then again, what with their wizarding world being on the brink of war…And because of this, he felt compelled to make every second worthwhile—perhaps that was a good thing.

So, here they were. It looked as if they had stepped in the midst of a painting—surrounded by tall trees and foliage of every color; brandy, crimson, chocolate, gold. Places like these you found in oil paintings hanging in museums. Maybe that was why it was so beautiful; the way all the colors blended in perfectly; it was refreshing.

Autumn trees were always beautiful, in a bittersweet way. The soft wind that blew through the trees seemed to be saying goodbye to all that had been rich and good in the summer before winter came and everything withered and died away.

That was how she had explained it. It was the way she explained things a lot of times—a little poetic, confusing…sometimes corny. Looking at her, he saw her smiling softly as she usually did, swinging the basket rhythmically as she walked--even humming a small tune. Maybe she couldn’t sense the feeling of sadness that tugged at his own heart—maybe it was just him…maybe it was just the autumn season, and the melancholy mood it always brought.

She fit in perfectly with her surroundings—soft brown hair, intense brown eyes and creamy skin that was always caressed with a rosy blush.

She was an odd one, no doubt. Odd in the sense that he had known her for years and she still surprised him with her antics. Odd in the sense that he didn’t quite understand her ways.

The way that she was so brilliant, often times too brilliant, and how she talked on and on about something she had read in a book, when he didn’t really care. How it could be annoying. Or the way she laughed when there was silence, and cried when there was laughter. But then again, she would seem to be stubborn and unnecessarily strong when there was everything to cry about.

And the way she could seem so bossy sometimes, making him want to escape from her sight, just so he could get her out of his head. How she looked so damn cute when she worried about him. It was the way she could be so awfully clumsy sometimes. And sometimes she would say things that would make Ron and him both roll their eyes; do things that were embarrassing or corny, or just lame, in their still boy-ish standards. It was all perspective, he supposed.

But suddenly, all of it seemed wonderful.

And it was this kind of imperfection about Hermione that made her seem beautiful and unique...

“Oh!” Snapping out of his idle thoughts, Harry looked towards her, giving her a questioning gaze. Bending down, she picked up a large crimson leaf.

“ Oh, it’s so beautiful…” She breathed, turning it round and round. That was Hermione Granger, finding the smallest of things significant—and Harry found himself looking at the girl intently, amused and perhaps…admiring her.

“ Yea…beautiful…” He murmured, noting the look of awe in her brown eyes. He noticed the way she held tight to the leaf she had found, twirling it around in her hand.

And later on, as they came to a small clearing, they stopped like they always did. Lying down on the soft grass, they talked and laughed like good friends would do, whiling the hours away until the sky began to tinge orange. She looked at her wristwatch and frowned, wondering where the time had gone. And after that, they would always eat, and she would always sit under the shade of one particular tree.

But today, she opened her book and taking out the leaf she had found, she gently placed it in one of the many pages. Then, instead of settling down to read, she looked around her surroundings, taking a moment to absorb everything, perhaps. Smiling, she took in a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment or two.

“Autumn is so breathtaking.” She murmured. Looking up from his own book, Harry stared at her through half hooded lids.

“ It emanates sadness that I can’t even begin to explain, because something wonderful is coming to an end— “ she continued with a sigh. “But then thereÕs the bit where you know that after autumn, comes winter, and then a new fresh beginning. Everyone needs a chance to start over.“ And maybe she didn’t realize it herself, but Harry found a bit of hope in what she said. That maybe, just maybe, even if these wonderful days came to an end—it wouldn’t be forever.

“ Sadness can be beautiful.” She said, looking at Harry, eyes shining. “ Autumn celebrates that sadness.” He smiled at her, somehow fascinated by her idle musings—or perhaps they weren’t as nonchalant as they seemed.

And as she continued to stare at the tall trees and the vermilion sky that barely peeked through, he saw one, two, and three tears rolling down her cheeks. It confused him and frustrated him so to see her cry—why was she crying?

“ Hermione…don’t cry…” He pleaded her exasperatedly, scooting closer to her and taking his own hand to hastily wipe them away. She did not move; only smiled at him softly as more tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked at him with large, innocent eyes—and he felt his breath catch at how full of tears they were—how beautiful they were when they sparkled like that. Was it wrong to think she was beautiful when she cried? So maybe she felt the unexplainable sadness too—something here was coming to an end. It had been an unspoken agreement—they never talked of things like war, or even Voldemort when they were in the woods. It was a peaceful place that seemed to be another world away from reality. But she didn’t have to tell him straight out for him to know the she was trying to tell him. The moment was intimate—romantic even. Him, being so close to her, close enough to feel her breath on his cheek. His whole body tingled with an odd sort of excitement.

And god, she looked perfect.

So he leaned down and sealed her lips with his. It was a slow kiss, innocent and yearning—and still passionate; it was their first kiss. His hands cupped her cheek, her hands gently running through his tangled mess of hair. He could feel himself blushing from the prospect of kissing Hermione, and could feel the heat radiating from him to her—or maybe it was from her to him. But it didn’t matter—because his heart was threatening to explode with joy, his lips threatening to melt under the softness of hers. He decided it had to be the happiest moment in his life—because during the moments that they shared the kiss, there was nothing else on his mind except her. She tasted like chocolate, smelled like soap, and he could feel her tears on his skin.

Even when the kiss ended, and they pulled apart, the tears were still there. He wondered how she could smile and cry at the same time.

And even when they walked back, away from the trees and the leaves, she still cried, smiling and squeezing his hand in a reassuring way.

Maybe it had been a silent goodbye…

Hermione Granger was a mystery.

It was funny how memories could make you hurt, even if they were just that—memories. Funny how those happy memories hurt more than being wounded in a battle. He missed the days of their picnics, he missed the season, he missed the trees, he missed the way things used to be, but most of all, he missed her. But he was powerless to his feelings, because things just wouldn’t go right, no matter what he did. All he could do was hold onto her words, remember the kiss that they had shared, and dream about seeing her again.

So, this was what the word bittersweet meant.

Looking at the crimson leaf still in his hand, a shaky breath escaped his throat. He took a moment to place it gently in his pocket—before beginning to walk away.

And anyone who looked at him could see traces of a hopeful smile—even though tears fell from his eyes.

And they wondered how he could smile through his tears.