Magic

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, they belong to J.K. Rowling, who besides a little mix-up in the relationship department is brilliant. I also do not own the song, it is 'Magic' by Ben Folds.

A/N: I'm not sure how I feel about this story. I was in my head for quite some time, and I'm not sure that I've done it justice. The 1^st-person-present-tense was difficult to write, and I'm sure is difficult to read. I'm not sure it truly captures the emotion I hoped to convey, but I decided to leave it anyway for reasons unknown to myself. I could keep second-guessing, but… I suppose now I'll put it out there and let you all be the judge.

Title: Magic

Author: wolf33

It was only last week that I first realized she had stopped smiling, though I know I have missed it for so much longer.

The war is now at peak in our world. We are luckier than most, I suppose. The three of us have managed to stick together, while families everywhere are being ripped apart. As it is, Ron's family, Hermione's parents, and the remainder of the Order are lost to us; we have no way of knowing who is dead or alive, captured or safe. Maybe it's better that way. Maybe it would have been better if the three of us had ended that way as well. But I shouldn't speak of such things, as soon enough we may.

The memory of my relationship with Ginny seems distance now, ended almost nine months ago. I hardly think of her, to be truthful, but when I do I remembered how beautifully she laughed, and I plead with God, if such a being exists, to keep her safe, along with the rest of her family. I know Ron misses her terribly, for in many ways he was closer to her than the rest, and Hermione as well…

They finally began a relationship at the end of June, Ron and Hermione. Notably, the day was that of Bill and Fleur's wedding. I secretly resented it at the time, still sore from the loss of Ginny.

Soon after that, we were all forced into hiding together. It was quite awkward. Ron wasn't very reserved about showing affections in public, and it was obvious that this bothered Hermione, who was hardly laid-back, more than a little. Also, Ginny and I were still trying to pretend we had never been more than friends, so when the four of us were together and they started kissing…

It was about this, I think, that they finally came to blows, although the rest of their relationship wasn't ideal, either. It happened right after we were separated from Ron's family during a run-in with some death eaters while we were moving from one location to the next. I remember Ron was terribly upset when we couldn't locate them (we all were, of course,) and Hermione tried to comfort him. I don't know exactly what happened; when the arguing started I left the one-room abandoned cabin we had found for the night. I returned a two hours later to find Hermione crying, and Ron nowhere in sight. He showed up the next day, giving no explanation. They've avoided speaking and looking at each other as much as possible ever since.

You must be wondering how I can live like this, hiding out, constantly moving, with my only companions being at odds with one another. I must confess that I've kept my mind away from it as much as possible, instead focusing on staying alive from one day to the next, searching for the remaining horcruxes, and training as much as possible for the impending battle between myself and Voldemort. And then there was her.

Ron and Hermione have been dealing with current situations in very different ways. Ron is blatantly trying to hard to be his old self, as if nothing at all had happened. He complains about being hungry, plays chess, drools over his Chudley Cannon's poster, and tells loud jokes. Loud jokes that I force a laugh at, to try and convince him that I still find it funny. It's hard to find anything funny, anymore.

Hermione is completely changed, though anyone who had known her less thoroughly than I would fail to notice. She was always brilliant, and she still is. She was always bossy, and she still is. She always had her nose buried in a book, and she still does. I was the one who first noticed when she lost her enthusiasm for being right. It was I that noticed that now when she ordered you about, her voice sounded tired and pleading instead of hurried and commanding. It was I, too, and only I, who studied her as she read, hoping for any spark of old excitement, and was, along with her, defeated.

And last week it hit me that she hadn't smiled in a long, long while.

God, I miss her.

Hermione is dying inside, and I, Harry James Potter, the past hero and future hope of the wizarding world, can do nothing to stop it.

*****

From the back of your big brown eyes
I knew you'd be gone as soon as you could
And I hoped you would
We could see that you weren't yourself
And the lines on your face did tell
It's just as well
You'd never be yourself again

*****

I never wondered what a miracle truly was before I wanted one from Hermione, and I never truly recognized real magic until I missed it from her eyes.

It is the 24^th of December, and it is snowing hard. Today we found a small muggle house in which to spend Christmas. It was obviously only recently evacuated, probably due to holiday visits. It is quite lovely, better than we are used to of late, with a bedroom for each of us, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room with a lovely hearth.

At the moment, Ron is asleep upstairs, I am amusing myself with a computer I found, and Hermione is curled up across the room on a window seat near the fire, with a book she found.

I am stealing glances at her, of course, and am pleased to find that at the moment she appears, if not happy, at least content. I am at ease with this knowledge, and go back to my game, when suddenly I hear the cry of my name from her lips. I look up at her face, worried, and follow her gaze out the window.

She looks at me now, into my eyes. "It's snowing," she says.

"Yes, it has been," I reply, relieved, "all afternoon, and into this evening."

"I didn't notice. I was reading."

She stops at that, and, a bit puzzled, I return to my game as her focus turns back to the window. After a few moments, however, I hear the door open and close again.

"Hermione," I call. Rising to my feet, I follow.

The cold hits me like a sharp blow, then numbs. It must be below zero. And there she is, in faded jeans and a blue sweater (mine,) twirling around in the snow.

*
Saw you last night
Dance by the light of the moon
Stars in your eyes
Free from the life that you knew

*

"Hermione," I whisper to myself. Snowflakes glisten off her hair, and she takes me away. I'm no longer Harry Potter, the boy who lived, or Harry, the seeker, or Harry, the adolescent with the weight of the world on his shoulders. I'm simply a man, lost in the sight of the most beautiful thing he's ever been privileged to see, and afraid, more than anything, or being torn from it. A man who realizes, as clichéd as it may be, that he's been missing out on something that's been right in front of him all along.

*
You're the magic that holds the sky up from the ground
You're the breath the blows these cool winds 'round
Trading places with an angel now

*

I go to her, and catch her up in my arms, kissing her hair, her face, her mouth. Kissing the only thing I have left that matters. Kissing someone who died before I loved her, and now, it seems, has miraculously returned.

I carry her to one of the bedrooms. I touch the snowflakes starting to melt from her hair. I touch her warm skin, under her damp sweater. I touch her face, her body, her heart.

I touch her until I see her anew, and love her anew, and she is mine until morning when I wake, and she is… gone.

I climb from the bed, a bit worried. Was it to be our only night, a few stolen hours? Was she fated to be lost just as I had found her, at last.

Hurriedly, I dress, and run to the stairs. There, I stop, taking each step slowly, afraid she won't be there when I got to the bottom, and half afraid that she will.

Each stair seems a new thought, a new way to feel, a new conclusion. I hardly notice when I reach the bottom, and cautiously look up. She's not there; my heart sinks. And then…

"'arry, yawansum pancakes?"

Ron.

I move to the kitchen, and there he sits at the table, a plate piled high before him, though I'm certain not for long. And there she is, her back to me, hair tangled and loose, stiring something on the stove.

"Merry Christmas, Harry. How did you sleep?"

I stare at her, dumbfounded, until she turns around and

smiles.

It was magic, and I knew she was home.

*

Saw you last night
Dance by the light of the moon
Stars in your eyes
Free from the life that you knew
Saw you last night
Stars in the sky
Smiled in my room

*

A/N: Please review, if you are so inclined, and let me know what you think, good or bad.

-->