All That Mattered

All That Mattered

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, though I wish I did.

A/N: Written: July 31^st. (because I was too much of a sissy to apply for authorship until now.) Note: I like to pretend that Harry never went out with Ginny. Um, I read this over and OVER again, searching for mistakes, so if there are any, I’m so sorry!

           

            She honestly didn’t know what to tell her parents. What would she say? What could she say?

            “Mum? Dad? I’m leaving. I don’t know when or if I’ll be back. I’m leaving to help save the world with only six years of wizarding education. I’m giving up my dream of becoming Head Girl, passing my N.E.W.T.s, and having S.P.E.W. considered successful. You remember Ron and Harry. Well, I’m tagging along with them. Remember what I said about Harry? I have to help him destroy Voldemort. I know you’ll try to stop me, but trust me, believe me. I have to do this.”

            She couldn’t very well say that. Her mother would faint on the spot. Her father (being protective of his only baby girl) would strap her down in a chair to prevent her from going. She could picture her father saying something among the lines of, “Those two awful boys are corrupting my innocent daughter.” Despite the dark and desperate situation, she still had to laugh. Hermione quickly reprimanded herself. There was no time for laughter. Humor shouldn’t come at times like these. She was leaving her parents, her home. No, that was her second home. Her real home was Hogwarts, but she wasn’t going there either.

            Hermione wondered if Harry had a plan to find all those Horcruxes. She wondered if he knew what he was doing, or if they were going to blindly search for the unknown items. Were Ron and Harry going to need her like always? Would all three of them make it out alive? Or would they all die one by one? Hermione was certain that if she were to die, she would want to die first just so she couldn’t see the pain and agony on Ron and Harry’s face. She was positive that if Harry and Ron were to die first, she would soon be joining them.

            Not only did she constantly worry over Ron and Harry, but she secretly worried over Hagrid and Lupin; Harry’s remaining father figures. First it was Sirius, now it was Dumbledore, their beloved Hogwarts headmaster. It was only a matter of time before one of them died by the evils of Voldemort, right? Could Harry handle another death? Would Hermione be able to comfort a pained Boy-Who-Lived? What if Harry failed? Would the world be doomed?

            For once in her life, the insufferable know-it-all Hermione Granger did not know the answers. She felt useless, she felt vulnerable. What if Harry didn’t need her? That’s what Hermione was known for, depended on- for knowing everything. Would Harry ask her to stay behind just because she was uncertain? Hermione wanted to feel needed. She had to feel needed.

            That was her duty, right? Everyone was made for something. Coincidently, Harry was “destined” to defeat Voldemort once and for all.  Not only was she there to give Harry moral support like a best friend should, but she will be there to fight alongside him. She will always be.

            When the time came for her to break the news to her parents, she deliberately vaguely told them what she was doing. Hermione magically packed her bag (she was told to pack lightly) and gave her mum and dad a hug to her fullest. With a final embrace and one last kiss from each of her parents, Hermione was gone. She had not forgotten to say, “I love you.”

            In her head, Hermione replayed the words of advice her father gave her, the questions he asked. Is this what she wanted? What she needed? Could she-would she- risk her life for just one teenage boy? More importantly: Was it worth it? Was HE worth it?

            Yes. YES, YES, YES, and YES. Hermione felt that her parents would not understand. But somehow…Hermione knew. Even if her parents didn’t get it, Hermione was still leaving. End of the subject.

HHr

            It had been ten days since Dumbledore’s death. No Hogwarts, no quidditch, and no homework. Six years ago, even a year ago, Hermione would have never imagined of “dropping out” of Hogwarts. Now it was necessary.

            Godric’s Hollow seemed nothing of the extraordinary. Were they supposed to find something there? It seemed like a dead end to her.  But Harry said that this place was calling him. The air around here was a little too uncomfortable for Hermione. Lily and James Potter died here. This is where Harry’s tale began. She glanced at the boy to her left. His expressionless face concerned her. Hermione and Ron exchanged looks, both wondering what the brunette wizard was thinking.

            She liked to imagine that things were never going to change. Voldemort would die, and then everything would be alright. They would go and live their happy lives, pretending that a war had never erupted in their childhood. They would all have kids, and when they would ask what their lives were like, Hermione would tell them a gracious fairy tale...or a white lie.

            Except that it never was going to be like that. Even if Harry won and defeated the Dark Lord, everyone would be affected by the war. There was no stopping that. Not even Harry could do that. Hermione knew that Harry would desperately struggle to help everyone, and could possibly end up dying. Even if they won, what was the price of victory? A couple thousand people? A friend? A lover? Hermione shuddered at the thought.

             What was at Godric’s Hollow that was so important? After a day of diligent searching, Harry, Ron, and Hermione retreated to : Harry’s new and inherited home. They stayed there because that was the only place they could stay. If Harry had a choice, he definitely would not have picked his late godfather’s hated home. Technically, everything Sirius owned was now Harry’s. But it didn’t feel like it was his. Hermione understood. Harry could never willingly call Sirius’ possessions as his own. It was just not done.

            Hermione, Harry, and Ron each stayed in their own room, and didn’t feel like being with one another. Hermione needed to sort out her thoughts. She huddled up in a corner like she did when she was little, and hugged her knees. There were so many possibilities of the outcome of the war? Which one was the correct outcome?

            She didn’t hear when Harry walked into her room.

            “Hermione?” Harry called. “Are you alright?”

            He had heard her sniffling. Damn it. Harry wasn’t supposed to see her crying. In fact, no one was supposed to hear her crying. It was ‘Un-Hermione’ of her. She was the confident one. She was supposed to lead them, and Harry and Ron were supposed to follow her without question. If Hermione Granger couldn’t lead the Golden Trio, then who would?

            Hermione tried to hide her tears. “Fine,” she replied.

            Harry’s expression pasted on his face made Hermione believe that he was unconvinced. “You’re fine,” Harry repeated skeptically.

            Hermione sniffled, “Yes, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

             Harry came so close that he was kneeling beside her bent body. He sighed, “Hermione, you were never one to lie. Especially to me,” he added quietly.

            Tears silently poured down her face, and Hermione no longer bothered to wipe them away. Let the world see that Hermione Granger was a failure. Let everyone know that she gave up- that she didn’t care.

            “It’s just that,” Hermione sobbed, giving up on her denial, “everything is going wrong! Harry, how do you expect to destroy all those Horcruxes when we don’t know anything? Are we just going to apparate to wherever someone tells us there’s a Horcrux?”

            Hermione was met with silence, as Harry didn’t have an answer. The two teenagers just sat there, wondering which one was going to speak their mind first. Harry broke the silence,

            “What are you thinking about? You can tell me anything.”

            “Everything,” the bushy-haired girl admitted. “My parents, Ron, Lavender and Parvati, Voldemort, the Weasleys, and I’m especially worried about you.” She sniffed again, allowing Harry to take in the information.

            “Me?” Harry asked with surprise. “Of all people, why me? I can take care of myself, you know.”

            Hermione exhaled sharply, and let her eyes meet Harry’s emerald ones. “I know you can,” she retorted irritably, “I can’t help it. I automatically worry about you. It’s become a habit.”

            “Well, you’re just going to have to break it,” he told her shortly. Harry’s face softened when he saw her melancholy face. “Hermione, just…please… Don’t worry about me. Don’t get an ulcer. I don’t want to be the cause of my best friend’s death.”

            He attempted a smile to lighten the mood. It didn’t seem to work; Hermione cried even harder. She was sobbing something incoherent, and all Harry could do was hug her. Great. He turned his best friend into a human hosepipe as well. It wasn’t until a few moments later that Harry noticed his shoulder was damp.

            “So what’s this about you worrying over Lavender and Parvati?”  Harry handed her a transfigured handkerchief.

            Hermione gratefully accepted it, and blew her nose. “I wasn’t worried about them. It was more of what they did before…before…” She couldn’t bring herself to say, “Before Dumbledore died.”

            Harry knew what Hermione was attempting to say.

            “Anyway,” she continued, controlling herself, “during our sixth year, they set up a betting pool on whether Ron and I would begin dating. Can you believe it? We’re in the middle of a war, and they humor themselves by betting on my love life?

            “Then I find Ron and tell him about it, and we fight again. Lavender and Parvati say we fight like an old married couple, and that’s why we’re liable to begin a romance. There was something about some ‘sexual tension.’ Do you know what a married couple does after they fight too often? ”

            “Um, they make up?” Harry guessed.

            “No,” Hermione exclaimed loudly. “They divorce!” She waved her hands frantically to gesture her feelings about the subject. “I can’t handle another argument with Ron. I feel like I’m going to explode. I’m so overwhelmed.”

            She drifted off into silence again, leaving Harry to ponder about Hermione’s confessions.

            “My father,” Hermione whispered softly, “said something that got me thinking.”

            Harry raised his head curiously. “And what’s that?”

            “He asked me,” the brown-eyed teen replied, “whether I knew what I was doing. I told him that I did and that I would do anything for my best friends.

            ‘Are you really best friends?’ he asked. ‘Do you know him well enough?’

            “I couldn’t answer him,” she confessed. Hermione’s chocolate brown eyes locked into Harry’s apple green.  “Are we best friends?”

            Harry thought it was an absurd question. They were best friends for about six years now. How could she question that? “Of course we’re best friends!” he answered angrily.

            “We say were are,” she agreed quietly, “but we don’t know each other; not really.”

            Harry let out a laugh. “Have you forgotten? I’m Harry James Potter! You’re Hermione Granger, my best friend besides Ron!”

            “We don’t know the little things about each other. And little things do matter,” she replied in a quick matter-of-fact tone.

            “I don’t give a fuck about-“

            “What’s my favorite color?” Hermione interrupted him.

            “What?”

            “What’s my favorite color?” she repeated, this time more slowly.

            “Um, pink?” he guessed.

            “What’s my favorite subject in Hogwarts?”

            “Transfiguration?” he tried, shrugging as well.

            “Do you know the title of the book I love rereading the most?”

            “Quidditch Through the Ages?” Harry blurted, thinking of the first book that came to mind. He knew immediately that it was incorrect.

            “Wrong!” Hermione cried out vehemently. “If you knew me, then you would have known that my favorite color is periwinkle. My favorite subject is Arithmancy, if you must know. You should have known that I reread Hogwarts, A History all the time. You really don’t know me.”

            “I DO know you,” Harry answered hotly. “How could I NOT know you?”

            “Then make me believe,” she spoke softly.

            “You’re Hermione Granger,” Harry began. “Your best friends are Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Your parents, dentists that they are, wished that you stuck with your braces. You’re the brightest witch of our age, and everyone knows it. You’re caring and loving and loyal to the end. You’re braver than I’ll ever be. You could have given up. I didn’t ask you to come. I just accepted it.

            “You worry and stress over everything, and I love that. You’re the founder of S.P.E.W. And you stuck to that even if your best friends didn’t take you seriously. You take your exams seriously, and will hex anyone who would get in the way of your ‘Outstanding.’

            “Your eyes are a chocolate brown, and I can’t help noticing that they’re even more beautiful when they’re full of tears. You love it when I call you ‘Sweetheart.’ You love to be loved. You love affection. Your heart flutters when someone kisses you here.”

            And he kissed her forehead.

            “And here.”

            He kissed her temple.

            “And here.”

            Harry planted his lips on her cheek.

            “And here,” Harry finished.

            He kissed her softly on the lips. There was nothing else he could say. He could only say it with kisses.

HHr

            Hermione knew Harry Potter. He was Harry James Potter, best friend of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. His favorite dessert was treacle tart, and he could live on tea and pumpkin juice. Everyone else thought his favorite color was green; he didn’t have a favorite color. His hair was untamable, and his sight was growing worse every year. His eyes were an attractive green. He loved Hogwarts, and Defense Against the Dark Arts was easily his best subject. Harry hated the press, and wished that Rita Skeeter would go to hell. He was loyal, and had a “people-saving thing.”

            Hermione knew that Ron would be angry about her and Harry; and that it could possibly start another fight. They could die any day now. They wouldn’t be the Golden Trio. Hermione couldn’t have cared less. She knew Harry Potter. It was worth the risk. She had her best friend back.

            And that was all that mattered.