Disclaimer: See Ficlet 1.
Author's Note: Some very old ficlets (written before HBP) that I'd forgotten to post. Angst ahead! (Followed by some fluff.)
I Know…
She didn't cry when she heard the news.
She didn't feel grief when she heard that he was gone.
She didn't feel pain.
One doesn't when one receives a bullet to the heart.
All she knew was numbness, emptiness, filling her, consuming her…
And in all the emptiness, one thought that grew until it filled all her mind, heart and soul: she hadn't told him she loved him.
She hadn't told him she loved him-but she did. She always had. Loved him with all there was in her to love, loved him with all the passion in her being-and she'd never told him. She'd wanted to wait. Wait until he told her he loved her, wait until he wasn't in danger anymore, wait until- until the time felt right.
And now she never could tell him.
Because he was gone.
He had left this world not knowing that she loved him!
She crumpled to the ground, that one thought somehow slashing at her heart more cruelly than even the knowledge that he was gone. That she'd never see him again, never hear his voice or his laugh, never see his smile, never see that look in his eyes reserved only for her.
He'd never known she loved him!
And oh God, how she regretted it now! How she wished she had told him when she had the chance! She should have told him from the moment she realized it, should have told him every time since then so that she was sure he knew.
Oh she should have told him so he'd known! She shouldn't have let him leave her without making sure he knew just what he meant to her!
But it was too late now. Too late…
And the thought tore her apart.
She was curled up on her side, dry-eyed and agonized, when he approached her, quietly.
Ron's face was ravaged with his own grief and in his eyes was the knowledge that he had lost his best friend-she had lost her love and her soul. "He-" His voice cracked and he finished in a hoarse whisper. "He gave this to me to give you- in case- in case anything happened."
She stared at the folded parchment he dropped in front of her, beginning to tremble all over.
It was a letter.
A letter he'd written before he left. A letter to her…
She caught it up in trembling hands, pressing it to her lips before opening it. He had touched this; he'd written it for her eyes alone. And no matter what it said, it was precious just for having been meant for her, by him.
The note was short, in the familiar, slightly lopsided, scrawled handwriting she knew so well that brought a sound, half-choked laugh and half-cry from her lips, at knowing she'd never see it again.
Hermione,
I'm writing this before I leave even though I know I'll be seeing you soon- to say goodbye. But I wanted to write this too, to tell you what I don't think I'll be able to say.
You know I've never been good with words, especially not about emotions but it's easier at this moment.
I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know if I'm ready, or if I'm strong enough to do what I have to do. All I know is that I have to do this, not because a Prophecy said so, but because it's just something I have to do. I have to face him- and Merlin willing, defeat him- for you, for Ron, for everyone who's helped me and for everyone he's already taken away from me. But especially for you. I have to face him- for you, so you can never be hurt or in danger because of him again.
I have to go.
But Hermione, know that I love you. I think I've always loved you, though I was too stupid to know it at first. I love you; you're my strength, my hope, my reason. I don't know what I would have done without you, so thank you.
I don't want to think like this but it has to be said. I'd want to tell you this looking into your eyes, when we're alone somewhere and maybe I will, someday. But just in case-in case I don't come back-I need you to know. I love you. If I don't come back- just know that I'll always love you, no matter what happens to me. And I want to thank you- for being there for me, for believing in me, but more than that, thank you for loving me-because, right now, at this moment, I can't doubt that you do. I know you do…
And that's all I really needed to say: I love you, and I know…
Harry
The numbness vanished, leaving only pain.
He was gone-and her life was over.
But in all her grief, she was aware, too, of an odd kind of relief. The poison that had accompanied the news that he was gone had been cleansed with his letter.
And she finally cried- cried for him, cried for herself, cried for the love they would never get to share.
And the words she'd never said escaped her throat in an agonized whisper, "Harry, I love you…"
And somehow, from somewhere, she could have sworn she heard his voice-and there was a smile in it… I know…
~*~*~*~*~
A Mother's Heart
She's gotten used to saying goodbye.
She's gotten used to smiling when she feels like crying, gotten used to swallowing back all the torrent of words of worry and fear and only saying the most basic ones of "Be careful, take care of yourself and don't forget to write." She's gotten used to knowing she'll see her girl only for a few weeks at a time, if that, in an entire year.
She's gotten used to it.
But every time she says goodbye, she hurts just a little more, feels the chasm between her and her little girl growing just that little bit wider-cries just a little bit harder after it's over and her little girl is gone. Again.
She's gotten used to not saying everything she thinks, to hiding her worries and her dread.
But this time she can't.
She can't.
She knows she's making it harder but she can't. It would kill something in her to just stay silent again. She can't keep in her fears any longer.
And the wall she's been so careful to keep around her fears breaks at the sight of her daughter, her little girl, her Hermione, packing her trunk in her customary neat fashion.
"You're going again?"
Hermione looks up. "Yes, Mum, I'm going. I got the owl from the Order today; they'll be coming by to pick me up tonight."
And she breaks every careful resolution she's made over the years and says what she'd promised she never would say. "Hermione, can't you-not go? Can't you stay here, with your father and me?" She sees Hermione's mouth open, her head begin to move, and she rushes on, the words spilling out of her now that the wall's finally been breached. "We hardly ever see you anymore and you came back from school so pale and so tired. Do you have any idea how much we worry about you, going back to that school where we can't see you and don't know what's happening to you? Please, Hermione, can't you say, 'no' to this Order and tell them you'll stay at home for this summer?"
She stops, feeling a pang of guilt for the way she's deliberately trying to manipulate Hermione's love for her and her father but it's for Hermione's own good, her safety…
Hermione's shaking her head. Her expression is sad but determined. "No, Mum, I can't. I'm sorry but this is something I have to do. He- he needs me, Mum. He needs me and I- I can't leave him alone."
She doesn't need to ask who the 'he' is. She knows. That Harry Potter boy. Hermione's letters have been filled with him since she first went to Hogwarts and it's only gotten more so. At first they were light-hearted mentions of him, along with their other friend, Ron, but they've gotten more intense, more serious-and more exclusively centered around Harry. And she'd known that this boy, this Harry, was the reason Hermione is never home anymore. She tries, oh she's tried so hard, not to resent Harry for it (she remembers seeing him, a skinny little boy with messy black hair and glasses and the brightest green eyes she can ever remember seeing in a human face). Her mother's heart ached to hear Hermione tell of how he'd lost his parents and how he's treated by his aunt and uncle-but now she finds it hard to remember that. Now he's just become the thing tearing her away from her daughter-and she can't help but resent it. She can't help but resent the knowledge that he, a boy her daughter only just met five years ago, has become the most important person in her own daughter's life. She can't help but resent that again, he comes first-before her own parents, Hermione thinks of him.
Hermione throws her arms around her, giving her a fierce hug the way she hasn't done in so many years. And suddenly she's her little girl again.
Hermione draws back, her eyes serious, her face pleading, asking for understanding, for forgiveness. For permission to leave. "Please, Mum, try to understand. I can't leave him alone when he needs me." Hermione glances at a picture out on her bed, waiting to be packed into the trunk, and her gaze softens. "He needs me, Mum, and I can help him. I understand him and he- he understands me too. He cares about me-and sometimes when I'm talking to him or just sitting with him, I feel as if this is what I was made for." Her daughter looks up at her again. "I think-I really think, sometimes, irrational as it might sound, he's my destiny. And I can't- I won't let him be alone. Not when I know he needs me."
And she knows she's lost. She's lost.
She can only say goodbye again. She will not cry, will not make Hermione's choice harder. She's lost.
It was inevitable; she knew she would lose and yet she couldn't help but ask. But she knew.
She remembers the look in Hermione's eyes when she came home just a couple weeks ago, a new look of determination, of compassion, of concern… Of love…
And she realizes as she watches her daughter finish packing that this is it. Her daughter, her little girl, is no longer a little girl. Her daughter has become a woman.
She sees it in Hermione's eyes.
Her daughter has become a woman- a woman ready to live, to suffer, and to sacrifice. A woman-ready to give her all for the sake of the man she loves.
She has to let her daughter go… And all she can do is wait and pray and hope and fear…
~*~*~*~*~
Note: And now, the fluff, as promised.
This one is borrowing two lines from 'West Wing' because Aaron Sorkin is a genius. Enjoy!
Amazing
"Hi."
Harry looked up at Arthur Weasley at the quiet greeting and smiled slightly. "Hi," he answered, returning his gaze to the small, sleeping form of his ten-hour-old daughter.
His daughter! He had a daughter!
Even after ten hours, the thought still had the power to amaze him.
"She's beautiful," Arthur said after a bit.
"Yes, she is," he sighed a little, his heart filling with an emotion he couldn't identify and feeling the pricking of tears at the back of his eyes, as he had at random times during the past ten hours when he thought of his daughter.
"Well, you've been a father now for almost half a day. What do you know now that you didn't know a half-day ago?" Arthur asked, grinning sideways at Harry.
Harry smiled. "That babies are so tiny when they're born-and they come with little hats," he said, gesturing with a hand to the small pink cap covering little Emily Potter's head.
Arthur nodded. "She'll be all grown up before you know it. I'm going to head home now, Harry. Have a good night."
Harry glanced over at Arthur. "Thanks, you too."
Arthur clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder briefly and then left, leaving Harry alone once more to gaze at his daughter.
His daughter, his daughter, his daughter… He had a daughter!
"Emily," he breathed her name softly, reaching out a careful hand but stopping just short of touching her soft cheek, not wanting to wake her up or disturb her in any way.
"I'm your daddy, you know that, Emily? And I love you-so much. I will do anything for you, anything to protect you, anything to keep you safe and happy and healthy… Anything…" he promised in a whisper and blinked back the tears that were suddenly in his eyes.
He thought of what Arthur had asked him and his own light response.
What did he know now that he hadn't known before today, before Emily had been born, before he'd seen her for the first time, before he'd held her for the first time?
Love.
It was the first word, the first thing, that came to his mind. Real, perfect, absolutely unwavering, unflinching, blind love. Love that both made him feel stronger (he could and would do anything for her) and weaker (he didn't even want to think about how he'd feel if she even got so much as a paper-cut)… Father-love-an absolutely amazing, soul-deep feeling and he understood his own parents and what they'd done for him so much more now. He understood how his parents could have sacrificed their lives for him without a second's hesitation, how his mum had died to save him…
He'd loved before. Goodness knows, he loved Hermione with a depth and a passion that amazed him sometimes and he'd always known that he would protect her with his life.
But this- his love for Emily- was different, not stronger, not better, just-different.
And looking at Emily, he knew, deep inside himself, that all his fears about becoming a father, had been unfounded. As Hermione had assured him repeatedly, he thought, his lips quirking into a slight smile at the memory of some of his wife's words on the subject.
So what if the only real example of fatherhood which he'd grown up with was the less-than-exemplary one of Vernon Dursley? Fatherhood wasn't something you learned through watching, necessarily; a lot of it was simply instinct. Instinct and love.
He was going to be the best father he could be-because Emily deserved nothing less, because he loved her too much to be anything less… He was sure he'd make mistakes sometimes, but not major Dursley-like ones (he hoped) and he had Hermione-to say nothing of the Weasleys and Hermione's parents and Remus…
"I love you, Emily," he whispered softly, again.
"She loves you too," he heard his wife's voice say quietly, a smile in her tone.
Harry smiled, going over to Hermione's bed and dropping a kiss on her forehead. "How long have you been awake?"
"Not long." She paused and then stifled a yawn. "And I think I'll be going back to sleep in a minute."
He laced his fingers with hers as he smiled into her eyes. "Have I told you yet today that I love you?"
She nodded, returning his smile. "I love you too."
"And thank you for my daughter."
Her smile softened as her gaze shifted to focus on the crib and their sleeping daughter. "Our daughter… we have a daughter…"
He voiced what she was thinking. "Amazing, isn't it?"
"Yes," she said and then yawned again.
He laughed softly and kissed her again. "Go to sleep, Hermione, before you traumatize my ego by making me think I'm boring company."
"Mmm." She reached up, bringing his head down to hers for another, longer kiss, her lips lingering on his, before she smiled. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, love."
Hermione's eyes closed and soon her even breathing told Harry that she'd fallen asleep. He settled himself back more comfortably in the chair beside her bed, feeling a simple, quiet happiness well up inside him, as he watched his sleeping wife and daughter.
Now, he had everything…