Symbiosis" (4/?)
By MmeFleiss
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN: The draft to this was actually finished while I was still vacationing in Asia, but I was having issues with the final scene. After reading a book on male emotional behavior (Yes, I really am that paranoid about getting it wrong), I think I've fixed what felt off about it, but further comments and criticisms are welcomed. Thanks to Jenn for the beta.
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As it turned out, Harry's resolve to stay out of Hermione's love life was tested the very next day. He had barely stepped out of the gilded lift when he ran into her current beau-strutting towards the emerging crowd in a snow-white robe covered with so many cords and medals that made it nearly impossible not to stare.
"You must be the new guy," the taller man said towards him in a thunderous voice, attracting further attention towards them. "I've been assigned as your welcoming committee. I'm Terry Boot: but you may just call me Captain, if you wish."
"Potter," Harry bit out as Terry caught his hand in a crushing grip, resisting the childish urge to squeeze back. Somehow, he didn't think Hermione would be too impressed with such a display of machismo between her significant other and her best friend.
"And I suppose you'll be comparing who has a bigger wand next," she would say while glaring at him over her copy of the Daily Prophet. "Why not just cut to the chase and admit that you're both complete prats?"
Only his continuing moral superiority kept Harry from planting Terry a facer as the other man smirked and began to lead him past office mates paying more attention than he was comfortable receiving. He toyed with the idea of coming into work in the future using his Invisibility Cloak, but discarded it as an option with too many pitfalls considering his line of work.
"We already have a number of Potters in the department. Perhaps it would be better if we all just called you using your first…"
No." Only the fear of a lecture from either Hermione-or worse-Mrs. Weasley, over his continuing rudeness made Harry add, "Lieutenant would also be fine."
For a moment, Terry's expression turned speculative as if trying to figure out the reason for the secrecy and why his companion deserved the special treatment afforded him. Harry held his breath as sky blue eyes lingered over his forehead, reminding him that the other man wasn't the department's golden boy for nothing. "Of course."
Finding nothing to support his hypothesis, however, Terry ended the close scrutiny and sped up the pace. Relief at his close escape made Harry want to burst out into hysterical laughter even as he answered the latest challenge-his decision to take the higher ground long forgotten. The feeling soon abated, however, leaving both men smiling at each other in that way two people might whilst waiting to stab the other in the back. It said something about the level of self-preservation cultivated into Aurors the way everyone gave them a wide berth as they stalked towards the department head's office at the end of the hall.
"You two are late. Sit down before you waste any more of my time," Moody said right after the two men barged into his office. His glass eye spun crazily as if looking for interlopers from the infinitesimal weakness in the room's defense caused by his subordinate's entrance, only stopping when it landed on the dark haired man. "Going for a new look, Potter?"
Old habit made Harry want to brush his fringe against his forehead in an effort to conceal a scar that no longer existed. Only Moody's expectant gaze halted him from going through the motions, not wanting to give the old man the satisfaction. "I prefer to think of it as an investment on my continuing peace of mind, sir," he replied, eyes trained warily on the blond sitting next to him.
Fortunately, Terry was too involved with checking his reflection on the table's polished surface to notice the exchange--a fact which didn't escape their sharp-eyed superior's notice, either, judging by his loud snort of disgust.
The rather jarring sound snapped the good captain out of his close inspection, and he looked up with a smile worthy of a toothpaste advert before saying, "I do hope you'll go and get that checked, sir. There's a nasty dragon flu going 'round."
Moody just rolled his good eye.
Moody dismissed Terry right after the formalities were taken care of, leaving Harry alone with him. "What exactly do you think you're doing, boy?" the older man demanded as he took a swig of the contents of his hip flask.
"Exactly what I said earlier, sir."
"Well I think that's damned selfish of you. A great waste of potential."
Harry held deep suspicions on where this was going and suddenly wished he had the foresight to bring a drink of his own. Preferably something with a high enough alcohol content to let him pass this whole afternoon off as an unwanted side-effect. "I think I've already sacrificed more than my share for the cause."
Certainly much more than he ever expected. Naively, he thought that everything would fall into place once the issue with Voldemort was put to rights. But then no sooner had Harry Apparated away from that cursed island-his forehead still throbbing and his wand shattered beyond repair-when countless Ministry officials in their pristine, black robes swarmed around him like vultures preparing to feast on the remains.
There was a lot of hand shaking and back slapping and murmurs of, "My God, you've done it. You've saved us all. Do you think, maybe, you could..."
They seemed greatly unconcerned of the fact that Harry's limbs shook so badly that Ron and Hermione went to stand on either side of him at some point to prop him up. Nor did they seem to care that their chosen hero displayed all the lucidity of someone on the wrong end of an Obliviate.
"Leave," Hermione said when the glares proved to be of little effect, finally bringing attention to the other two-thirds of the trio who didn't look the least bit fazed despite having spent the past two days helping the Order keep the Death Eaters from unfairly giving their master the advantage. The officials fortunately possessed enough sense to know when to quit, and so the large gathering shrunk one-by-one thanks to a flurry of conveniently remembered appointments.
Only after those that actually fought were left behind did the seemingly indestructible pillars of strength collapse onto a nearby set of chairs, with Harry soon following in their wake.
"Thank God," Ron murmured, his shaking fingers-until then concealed by Harry's own--covering his face and further smearing the dirt on his cheeks.
Hermione, as usual, was busier taking inventory of their injuries rather than worrying about her own: her forehead creased as her eyes roved over the alarming amount of injuries her best friends possessed. "Perhaps you two should find a healer and get checked out."
Ron merely rolled his eyes at the Mother Hen act, but Harry had enough presence of mind to smile wanly in her direction. "And how about you?"
"I'm fine," she replied, a statement belied by the fact that she winced and unconsciously clutched her ribs whenever she moved too quickly.
"Why don't you all just go together and save the healers the effort of having to hunt you down one-by-one," Neville said as he strode in, his wand hand already held immobile by a sling while he waited for the bones to regrow.
After performing a mock salute, the trio stood up together once again: to the eyes of the world a hero flanked by his two sidekicks. But Harry knew better than anybody that it had never been about him leading them into victory as much as Ron and Hermione supporting him every step of the way.
He despised himself for this weakness even as he continued to lean on them; however, the connection strengthened by the War and its aftermath proved too hard to sever. Once his fever broke and the healers announced him well enough to recuperate outside of St. Mungo's, Harry ended up spending most of what days remained of that summer with his two best friends. Only the acceptance letter from the Ministry hidden at the bottom of his trunk allowed him to fully enjoy those moments without further self-recrimination.
The problem with such closeness was that it didn't leave much room for anyone else. So when Harry surprised everybody during Hermione's birthday dinner at The Burrow by announcing his plans of entering the Auror program-an idea that both his best friends grudgingly conceded to be a strategic retreat from all the attention he continued to receive at home-Ginny saw it as the final straw.
Not that Harry had a clue about any of this at the time, of course. When he found himself trapped alone with her in one of the bedrooms after dinner, his whole attention remained riveted towards the door and the possible arrival of outraged brothers hexing him into a eunuch for having been caught in such a compromising location. "Do you really think this is..."
"Shut up, Harry."
His jaw dropped. This wasn't quite how the congratulatory snogging session he'd been picturing in his head was supposed to go. In fact, far from the rapturous look he'd been expecting, the look in Ginny's eye gave off the distinct impression that a loss of manhood was the least of his concerns.
"Why is it that I'm never good enough?" she murmured, her fists clenched so tightly that the bones stood out in stark relief.
"Er…" Harry answered, somehow feeling as if he'd just entered a battlefield without a wand. "What?"
"I've done everything I could to be the kind of girl you'd want. All those months practicing on the pitch just so you'd notice me as something other than Ron's forgettable baby sister."
"Ginny…"
"All those hours learning beauty charms so that you would look at me the way I used to see you look at Cho.
"And all those times when I knew I should've bit my tongue but didn't just for the chance to hear you laugh…." She suddenly clutched the lapels of his shirt: her earlier expression replaced by moist eyes and trembling lips. "So why am I still second best?"
It was a question he'd spent many sleepless nights afterwards torturously replaying in his mind; each time with an answer more eloquent than the last. What remained the same in each retelling was how he would soften the blow by revealing to her how carefully he read each of her letters from Hogwarts, trying to picture himself standing beside her during those Quidditch games and classes-like they were just any other normal teenaged couple fumbling their way together from attraction into something more enduring.
But the truth of the matter was that circumstances made their relationship anything but normal. Harry was forced to grow up quickly in the front lines, whilst his insistence that Ginny stay in school forced her into an artificially suspended adolescence. In the end, it was the normality that he tried so hard to preserve that barricaded any chances for future happiness together.
With such inspiring words forming long after it really mattered, however, what actually happened that night was that he held her for the final time: his thoughts and feelings too muddled to say anything more than "I'm sorry," over and over again.
Her grip on his shirt tightened.
End (4/?)
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