Escaping Unreality

Disclaimer: I made no money making this, nor am I in any way affiliated with JKR, the WB, the woman down the street, etc…

A/N: I wrote this a million years ago, the first fic I wrote after a year of nothing. So be kind. I was quite rusty back when I wrote this. I only decided to post it here because I'm going to take forever with the next chapter of The Draught of Living Death because I am currently immersed to the point of obsession with everything that has to do with Henry VIII due to a journal I have to write - in character - about a person during his reign. And no, I shan't be one of his wives, as I see that s too clichéd. I'll be completely unorthodox and decide to write from the perspective of his bastard son, Henry Fitzroy. Although I'm not quite sure…

Allright. I'll cease my school talk. I tend to get a bit Hermione-ish when it comes to school.

Enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*

Harry felt like crap. He had just spent the morning pulling the weeds out of the Dursley garden, and he felt as bruised and as sore as though he had just survived an encounter with a Manticore, only worse; the bruising and soreness weren't only limited to his physical self, the scarring ran internally.

The events of the past year left him jaded, almost cynical. If his uncle and aunt thought him quiet and sullen before, that was nothing compared to the shell of himself he was now. Of course his uncle thought he was penitent of the events of last summer, but his aunt seemed a slight more perceptive to his real plight. Perhaps Dumbledore had sent her another letter?

In any case, his aunt never let pity get the best of her, and although she did seem a tad more forgiving of her nephew this summer, she never let it show around her husband, if she let it show at all.

It was in fact a relief when his guardians gave him menial garden labor. This required no use of brain cells, and no contact with anyone else, save for the few scuffles with Cupid, the neighbor's new pug, whom would have been more fittingly named Satan.

But for the most part menial labor gave Harry time to contemplate and reflect, which he never did. Instead, he kept his head filled with a never-ending daydream. Everything was perfect in his daydream; his parents were still alive, Dumbledore had defeated Voldemort during the First War, Ron and Hermione were great friends who always agreed with each other, the Durselys were nothing more but distant relations he never saw, Remus had found a cure for his werewolfishness, and Sirius was still alive.

In fact, Sirius was the best damn godfather anyone could ever hope for! Anytime his parents would chastise him for any impish antics, he would fly his Firebolt off to Sirius' cool bachelor flat in London, and together they would laugh at how James, the one voted most likely to forever be a menace to society, had finally buckled down and become a family man with Lily at his side.

Yes indeed, life was oh so sweet…until Satan managed to run out of his house and make a mad dash in the direction of Harry's leg, where a quick CHOMP! threw Harry out his funk.

Harry spent so much of his time working in the garden and escaping reality that he completely forgot about everything else. For the better part of summer, he was oblivious to the fact that somewhere out there a group called the Order of the Phoenix was busy doing counter-intelligence against Lord Voldemort, Harry's token foe.

Harry also forgot that, somewhere out there, his two best friends were going mad with worry.

So naturally, as Harry trekked up the stairs to his room, feeling weary to the soul, all thoughts of reality gone from his head, it came as quite a shock when the reality he was trying oh so very hard to escape manifested itself in his bedroom, in the person of Hermione Granger.

She was sitting on his bed, feet crossed, looking around the room with a slight look of disapproval on her face. Of course she would disapprove; Harry's dirty clothes were strewn about the place, he hadn't emptied Hedwig's cage in weeks, and not one schoolbook was in sight, which meant Harry hadn't been keeping up with his homework. But the most disheartening sight of all was the stack of unopened letters neatly piled on the floor.

The second she set eyes on him, however, her eyes softened, and she flew across the room and threw herself on him. “I've been worried about you, you know.”

Harry closed his eyes and took a moment to savor the encounter. Sometimes, the emptiness inside you could only be filled by the presence of a beloved friend.

“You never answered any of our letters…we were sure the Dursleys were doing something to harm you, although Dumbledore assured us the Durselys were leaving you alone…”

Harry held onto her tighter, her words and very presence the only things keeping him from slipping back into his daydream.

“Ron wanted to come, so did Ginny and the Twins, but Molly wouldn't allow it. She believed Dumbledore was telling the truth, and that you needed time to deal with…whatever it is you need to deal with. Neville said the same thing; I wrote him a letter asking about you…”

Harry breathed in the scent of her hair; she smelled clean, clean and fresh and smart. Somehow, Harry managed to identify her smell with that of a newly printed book.

“At first I thought you were only mad at me, you know, that somehow you blamed me for what happened, for being right about…you know…not going to the ministry, that I somehow should have tried harder to stop you…”

This final outburst was the last thing needed to pull Harry out of his escapist reality.

“Hermione, how dare you think such a thing?”

Harry pulled away from her embrace and sat on his bed, suddenly letting all the feelings he refused to deal with that whole summer wash over him, and they would have drowned him save for Hermione.

“Well…what was I supposed to think? You didn't write back, and you wouldn't tell me what was umm…what …”

Harry closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Ah yes…the prophecy…

Harry stood up and walked to the window. For the longest time, or what felt like the longest time, he just stood there, staring out at Privet Drive, watching people go about their daily lives. Husbands came home for lunch, wives greeted them with a kiss, babies cried as their mothers took them for a stroll in their pram, kids chased other kids in a game of tag.

Harry sighed heavily for the childhood he never had, and for the peace of mind that would eternally escape him.

Hermione closed the distance between them, and stood behind him as he looked out the window. The day was beautiful, and was what one would define as “perfect,” if not for the melancholy that surrounded her best friend.

“Hermione,” Harry began, keeping a stern concentration on the street below, “what if I told you I was going to die.”

Hermione gasped, raising both her hands to her cheeks, “No Harry, the prophecy…it didn't say…”

“Not in so many words,” Harry said, trying to calm an already panicked Hermione; he hated to see his words make her eyes water.

“What exactly did the prophecy say?”

Harry turned back toward the window. He didn't want to be having this conversation; he didn't want to think about anything that had to do with Voldemort, or Dumbledore or Sirius, or his parents, or the rest of the world…he felt his mind slipping back into his escape…yes…he could see himself, in deep conversation with Hermione, but instead of prophecies they were talking about the Yule Ball, and how happy they were to be going together…

“Harry?”

He snapped out of his reverie, and fell straight down into reality.

“Harry tell me what it was about!” Hermione grabbed Harry's shoulders and shook him. “You can't stay silent after telling me you're going to die, that is not the way this works!”

“Hermione, please, let me explain…” Harry pleaded, as he pulled away from her grasp. He turned back around to look out the window.

“Do you know how much I would like to wish this fate unto someone else? Not even will this fate unto someone else, but just wish it away; willing it would be asking too much.”

Hermione stood behind him and placed a hand on his arm.

“The prophecy…at first it had nothing to do with me. Trewlaney, yes, don't roll your eyes Hermione; Trewlaney was the one who gave it. Dumbledore was there, and at first it had nothing to do with me…”

Hermione grabbed his arm harder and stood completely against him, wanting to give him as much comfort as possible.

“It could have easily been about Neville. Don't look surprised, Hermione, you could be standing here right now having this conversation with Neville. Imagine that? Can you imagine that Hermione? Because I can't. I can't. God I would love to, I would love to just imagine it, but I can't. I can't imagine this fate on anyone else, I don't want to. I can't wish this fate on anyone, no one, not even Malfoy or his dad for that matter, no one. And at first it had nothing to do with me…”

Hermione wrapped her other arm around him, and squeezed him harder, urging him to continue.

“Apparently, Voldemort could choose from two people to mark as his equal, the one who could ultimately defeat him. And yup, you guessed it; Neville and I were those choices. The prophecy goes…the child born towards the end of the seventh month, mind you, this was right before I was born, so naturally it meant the seventh month that was to come, and you know I was born on July 31^st, was the one who would one day possess the powers that would vanquish Lord Voldemort.”

“But…”

“Yes, I know, Neville fits this criteria too. In fact, the other thing was that this child would be the offspring of wizards who thrice defied Lord Voldemort, which, both my parents and the Longbottoms apparently did, so Neville does indeed fit this as well.”

“So why…”

“So why am I the one with this lovely destiny?” Harry turned around, and kissed her forehead, something he had never done, but something that seemed highly appropriate at the moment. He never remembered Hermione being so short before, and then realized that this was probably due to the fact that he had grown this summer. Perhaps he'd even give Ron a run for his money.

Harry sat down on his bed, with the air of an old man through with life, and pulled Hermione down next to him.

Hermione wanted, with all her might, to force Harry to tell her everything straight away; the suspense was killing her! But she knew that this was Harry's first time recounting the information that has so changed his life, and that he needed time to do this.

“The second part of this prophecy, says that Voldemort would mark this child his equal, and endow him with powers, and that this child would one day possess powers Voldemort knows not of…”

Harry sighed, and traced his scar with his fingers. Hermione nodded, moved his hand away, and kissed his scar. Harry seemed to relax a bit more then, as opposed to Hermione, who grabbed Harry's thigh even harder in suspense.

Harry gulped before he continued. “Then the prophecy continues with the sentence that I will never in my life forget: Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives.”

Hermione buried her face in Harry's shoulder. Of course, it was obvious all along that Harry would one-day face Voldmort, but this was always an abstract thought. This would happen some time in the future…far far in the future…and one needn't worry about it, there was always Dumbledore; he would protect Harry…

But this prophecy changed all that. It clearly marked Harry as the one to do this, so either he fails and Voldemort lives, or he succeeds and Voldemort is forever defeated, but what about that in between part? What if Harry succeeds, but ends up dying?

What would Hermione prefer? A life with no Voldemort? Or a life with no Harry…

Hermione wrapped her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder, sobbed as if she was the one that was given this fate. In a way, she recognized that she in fact was given this fate, for she would never let Harry face it alone. He needed her…badly.

Harry wanted to feel sorry for himself, but he couldn't. He was too busy soothing Hermione. Here comes step one of the consoling procedure, Clearing Away Pessimism.

“Hermione, its going to be ok…I promise…”

“No it won't!” Hermione got up and madly began to pace around the room. “This isn't about whether you defeat Voldemort or not…screw Voldemort! This is about you Harry! What if you die? What am I supposed to do then? Am I supposed to just live my life without you? I don't think I'd be capable of doing that.”

“Hermione, if it comes to that, then you'll just have…”

“I'll have to what? Forget you?” Hermione looked like a madwoman, all that famous Granger composure she was known to possess was gone; all that was left was the natural feminine inclination known as emotional irrationality.

“How am I supposed to forget you, huh? Harry, you are my very best friend! I've never had a friend like you in my life, ever! Before Hogwarts I had friends, but they were just superficial friends. And Ron, yes, he's my friend, but most of the time he never understands me! And you expect me to just forget about you? Nonsense!”

Harry put his head in his hands and sighed. Oh my word…

“And then you expect me to just continue living my life in the Wizarding World? How Harry? If you die, the Wizarding World would have destroyed the one pure, unselfish, friendship I've ever had! Harry, for the past few years, every second of my life has been devoted to you, your safety, your welfare. Worrying for you is my sanity, and I've spent the last few years being too sane to be considered normal. Yet, they have been the most fulfilling years of my life.”

Hermione was amazed at herself; she had finally managed to find the courage to say everything she's kept bottled up insider her the past five years. But then again, this newfound knowledge of Harry's destiny had changed her whole perspective of birth, life, and death, and everything that needed to be said should be said, before it was too late.

“Harry, I'd rather live a lifetime of Voldemort, than a life without you.”

Harry's head suddenly began to fill with a wonderful daydream, in which he packed his bags and along with Hermione and Ron, ran away and spent the rest of their lives as fugitives on the run - away from Voldemort and the Wizarding World - while Voldemort terrorized the rest of humankind…

“Hermione, if you're telling me to run from my destiny, you know I won't.”

Hermione smiled, and sat back down next to Harry. “Right…you do have that saving people thing…”

Harry grinned, but his grin was replaced with a sudden look of understanding.

“Hermione, remember when we were...uhh…in the Department of…”

“Yes?”

Harry got up, and took up Hermione's position as the Mad Pacer.

“For a split second, after that curse hit you…I thought you were dead.”

He resumed his spot in front of the window, and was surprised to see the day slowly darkening into night.

“I panicked, Hermione. I couldn't think straight. I think…I think I would have gone mad if you had indeed died. And I remember feeling so relieved when Neville found your pulse…and in the aftermath, after Sirius…I forgot that, things could've been a lot worse.”

Hermione stood up and took her place right next to Harry, “What are you saying?” she asked.

“I'm saying that,” Harry turned around and faced her “Yes, I'm torn up over Sirius' death, a large part of it has to do with guilt, that it was my fault.”

“Harry, it wasn't…”

“Yes, I know, it wasn't. But in my mind it was, just like Cedric's death was my fault. But what I'm saying is that Sirius death tore me up, but not as much as yours would.”

Hermione was quite shocked to hear this. She never really thought…

“I barely knew Sirius, Hermione. Sure, in the little time I spent with him he became a very important part of my life, but the two most important people in my life are you and Ron. And if it had been you, instead of Sirius that night, well…I don't think I would have survived the experience.”

Hermione tried her hardest not to start crying again, but it was a losing battle. Silly girl.

“But I didn't die Harry…and neither will you.”

Harry grinned: Clearing Away Pessimism. Excellent. Step two would be, Making Way for Optimism.

“You won't die Harry, because I won't let you die. I'll be beside you the whole time, helping you.”

Harry rested his head on hers. “Of course you'll be with me…unless of course I deem the situation to dangerous and send you off on your way.”

“In which case I'll ignore you completely and continue on.”

“Fair enough.”

Hermione smiled. “And then together, you, Ron, and I will defeat Lord Voldemort, and maybe then they'll change the names of the houses at Hogwarts and give them ours.”

“I don't know about that…as if it isn't enough that we all belong to the same house and it would be wrong to change the names of the other houses for our sake, I don't think the students would like to belong to a house called Potterdor.”

“As if that's any better than Grangerclaw.”

Harry stifled a laugh. “Then again, we both know our houses will be way cooler than Weasleypuff.”

At this, both Harry and Hermione couldn't maintain their composure, and laughed with such abandon that anyone unlucky enough to happen upon such a sight would have thought them both mad.

Their laughter was abruptly cut short with the arrival of an over-zealous owl roughly the size of a walnut.

“Pig!” Harry exclaimed. Pig had a package with him, obviously from Ron. Harry was puzzled as to why Ron would be sending him anything, seeing as he had acted like such a prat and not replied to his letters all summer.

Hermione walked over to where Harry had untied the package, and opened up the hastily scribbled card.

I hope you get this. Happy Birthday Harry! Miss you mate.

Love,

Ron

Harry smiled. Ron had sent him a copy of Playwizard.

“And I'll be confiscating this,” Hermione said, as she grabbed the naughty magazine and stashed it into a bag she had brought along. The scantily clad witch on the cover could be heard protesting from within. (Let me out, you prudish little witch! You slimey little hag, who wants to keep me from that gorgeous wizard with the green eyes. By George, is that Harry Potter? Give me back to him, wench! I want him! I want to do bad things with him…)

“Hermione…come on, let me keep it,” Harry pleaded, a wicked glint in his eye.

Hermione stifled a smile. “As it is, you'll be a lot busier from now on. I expect you to have it finished by the time school starts.” And with a flourish, Hermione handed him a copy of a book entitled: So You Want to Be an Auror? Then Read This! By Mad Eye-Moody.

“Moody wrote a book?” Harry asked, amusement written all over his face.

“Indeed. It's quite good, really. I have a copy of it myself.”

“I thought you said you didn't want to be an Auror?”

Hermione grinned. “I changed my mind. I figured, if you need me when we go off in one of our insane escapades, you'll sure as hell need me when you become an Auror.”

Harry smiled, and enveloped Hermione in a big hug. “Happy Birthday Harry,” Hermione whispered in his ear.

Harry gave her a big, over-exaggerated, sloppy kiss on her cheek. Hermione pretended to be disgusted, and stuck her tongue out at him. “You'll pay for this Potter!”

“Try me,” Harry challenged.

And with that, the two began a pillow fight-to-the-death, that was stopped only after Vernon Dursely got home from work, and demanded to know “Who that bushy-haired bitch of a girl is!”

At which point, Harry answered by petrifying him, packing his things, and running off with Hermione for the summer.

Hey…he was the chosen savior of the Wizarding World. They wouldn't expel him from Hogwarts now, would they?

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