Author: Isobel Pranger
Title: Coming Home (2/3)
Prompt: Many years after school: Harry has gotten used to being alone, having pushed people away out of fear for their safety. Hermione works an internship at the Ministry. Ginny plays Quidditch for the Harpies. Ron works internationally. The loss of Mr. or Mrs. Weasley (due to natural causes) brings friendships back together. People have moved on and Harry realizes how much he missed them. Especially a certain brown-haired witch.
Summary: Sometimes when life claims the innocence of a young soul, all that soul has left is to hide away and heal. When Ron suffers the death of his mother, can Harry pull himself together enough to mend his friendships and his heart?
Other Ships: R/LL, G/N
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Must apologize to my beta, I got too antsy waiting for this chapter to be edited that I up and posted it anyway. All errors are mine, and I don't own Harry.
Part II
It was a fair while later when Harry found himself confronted for the second time that day. He'd long since parted his conversation with Hermione, who had been a whole world of nicer once she'd heard his confession of his fairness to the rights and dignity of house elves. She didn't ask if he'd treated Kreacher like a living thing because of her, and for that he was thankful. It would have been incredibly awkward to say that it was she inside his head that made him do it. Though, he could reason, she probably knew already anyway. Hermione always had an amazing aptitude towards him, and he never fully knew why.
George, once he'd approached, was more cordial towards Harry than either of his best friends had been. Another fact that Harry supposed shouldn't shock him after all this time, that even while mourning the Weasley twins managed to hold that certain air of jubilancy. Not to imply that George was bouncing up and down to meet with him, quite the contrary, he had matured enough to keep his feet on the ground. Nevertheless, his presence made Harry set down the biscuit he held and slowly back away from the snack table he was standing by for fear of injury.
George smiled for him, be it real or not, as he gathered together his own plate of food. "Hello there Harry," he said calmly as he scooped up a fistful of crackers. Harry noticed, despite himself, that George had barely changed at all. He was still tall, but shorter than Ron, with the same red hair and the same freckles. The more he stood amongst the Weasleys the more he started to think that time never touched them.
"Hello George," Harry said, paying close attention to what George picked up from the table and dubbing that officially safe to snack on. George nodded in his recognition. "I'm terribly sorry about your mum. I wish there was something I could have done…"
George's lower lip curled, "It's quite difficult to do anything you aren't here for," he said, taking a bite of a piece of celery, "Which would make most people question why you left in the first place."
Harry nodded, though why he did he wasn't sure. He looked about to the people that were present to get a feel of the atmosphere. Luna was chatting with Charlie, Neville and Ginny were holding hands and having what appeared to be an intimate conversation, and Mr. Weasley was sitting by himself in a chair watching over his children in much the same way Mrs. Wealsey used to. "I left because of moments like these."
George blinked a little in surprise. Apparently, this hadn't been the answer he was expecting. One of his eyebrows lifted and he tilted his head to the side as he carefully set his plate back onto the table, "Excuse me, Harry, but I don't think I follow."
"I can't stand watching people I care about die," Harry elaborated, "I hate the flowers, I hate the services, and I hate watching everyone pretending that the end of their life wasn't sad or depressing. The ironic bit is that funerals have practically been my whole life. From the day my parents died until this funeral right now, everyone I care about are dropping like flies around me."
George shook his head in disbelief, "Harry, listen to someone who's spent most of their life being blamed for every little thing that went wrong…" Harry's eyebrow quirked, "Okay, so MAYBE it wasn't my fault a handful of times, but that's not the point. There is no cure-all pill. You are a normal human being and not even The-Boy-Who-Lived can stop something like cancer. Nor could you have stopped any of the other deaths that have darkened your morale. Every one of those people knew there were risks, and they took them. They just weren't as lucky as some of the rest of us. It's no reason to block out people."
Harry nodded again, "I know. I'm starting to see it. It wasn't until I got here today that I realized how much I missed this place." He sighed and stuffed his hands on his trouser pockets, "But then again, I've recently been informed that not everything in this world is about me… who knew?"
George chuckled, "Certainly not I."
* * * * * * * * *
Not far from the location of Harry's conversation with George, another pair sat in placid silence. Hermione sat comfortably on a swing with Ron, her head resting on his shoulder as he watched his brother and best friend discuss who knew what. He rubbed her arm absently, frowning to himself, "What do you reckon they're going on about?"
"How wonderful they think they are, I'm sure," Hermione said, a bit bitterly.
Ron laughed to himself, shaking his head in the process. Looking back on his life at times, he was positive that Harry must have had one hell of a time trying to be friends with both himself and Hermione, for all the mutual support they offered one another. Their relationship was theirs alone, and Harry would probably never understand it any better than he or Hermione did. This, to Ron, was incredibly ironic, because more often than not he understood Harry's relationship with Hermione more than they could ever hope to.
"You know, I'd always been a bit jealous of him when we were younger," Ron said quietly as he was capable.
"One must wonder why that is," Hermione said absently.
"But my opinion's been on the path to change for a fair while now, and I think that today was the nail in that coffin," Ron said, halting his caresses on her arm, his hand coming back around to rest on his lap, a position he found more comfortable anyway. Harry laughed and clamped George on the shoulder with his hand, before the older man grabbed hold of his plate and walked away.
"And why is that?" Hermione asked, still not paying quite enough mind to care.
"Look at him, Hermione," Ron asked, tilting his head downward to look at her. He caught just the end of her pronounced eye roll, before he frowned. "No, I mean it," his fingers grabbed a hold of her chin and forced her face in Harry's direction, "Really, really look at him. What's wrong with that picture?"
Hermione stared across the lawn to Harry, who stood by himself now close to the snack table. He was taller than he was when he was an adolescent, and a little scruffier. He looked more worn in than she remembered, and when he spoke he was a whole world more lost… but all of that, when she thought about what had happened in his life, was understandable. The part that was wrong was that in a way, that's how he'd always been. There had never been a moment when he wasn't alone or lost since she'd met him.
"When I was younger I always dreamed of having a different life. I wanted to be dealt another hand of cards. I wished for no nagging mum or annoying brothers. I wanted enough gold to do whatever I wanted, instead of constantly hearing we couldn't afford things. I didn't want to be in the shadows anymore, I wanted everyone to see me," Hermione heard Ron pause his confession to sigh a bit, "And then I met Harry, and I was jealous. He had all the gold I could have dreamed of, no parents to tell him what to do, no brothers or sisters to break his things, and everybody knew who he was. I didn't think it was fair."
Hermione turned her face back to Ron after watching Harry turn from the table and walk away someplace. Ron continued, "But I can see how wrong I was now. There's nothing desirable about his life. He was abused and put down for his first eleven years. And then, yeah, he didn't have a big obnoxious family-because a madman killed them… and I can't help but wonder how rough life must be without knowing there's at least one or two other people who ware going to love you no matter what you do. Yeah he had money, but it was at the expense of family. And everyone knew who he was… but I think at times he would have preferred getting no privacy from eight other people than getting no privacy from anyone at all… It's a wonder we ever got close enough to know him."
Hermione nodded shortly, "He's always been alone I think, even in a power-crazy crowd of people."
Ron chuckled to himself, "And that's what always choked me the most."
Hermione's nose crunched in confusion, "I don't follow…"
Ron simply shrugged his shoulders, "You and Harry… you've always been supportive and understanding of him and I both, but… I don't know. Something about the way you were the only person who could really save him made you guys special."
* * * * * * * * *
Harry found Mr. Weasley sitting alone at one of the tables. He was holding a mug in his hand, staring down into it as if he didn't know what to do with it next. Harry could see what looked like a half-finished Weasley sweater seated next to him, and he smiled a bit, taking a seat across from the man he, in many ways, thought of as his own father, "Guess I should add one of mine to my wall of memories, huh?"
Mr. Weasley's head jerked up, a reaction that told Harry he hadn't been aware of his presence before he said something. He looked at the sweater next to him and grinned, "Ginny told me yesterday that she wanted to take all of her old sweaters out and wear them at once. The kids all hated those ridiculous things, but they wore them anyway… mostly because Molly made them do it."
"She certainly had them all tied down. But that's to be expected when there are quite so many," Harry said, feeling uncomfortable, "How are you doing though… you know, other than that?"
Mr. Weasley frowned, looking Harry directly in the eye, "It hurts, Harry."
Harry understood, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Mr. Weasley replied, smiling a tiny smile that Harry would have almost called grateful, "There are some things in life, Harry, that you can only appreciate through really living. Oh, and I don't mean the kind of living I know full well that you do. Getting up in the morning and going through the motions isn't any kind of life."
Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Mr. Weasley continued on before he could, "Really living is when you can find someone who makes everything worth it. Not having your every want, not being famous, it all really doesn't matter. Yes, I probably wouldn't be this way right now, and yes none of us would be hurting so bad. But she'll always be here, Harry. She's here in you and me and in all of our children. Just like your parents live in you, just like Sirius and Dumbledore do too."
Harry frowned, really feeling the weight of his own grief for the first time in a long time, "How are you supposed to just pick up and move on, though? It's never going to be the same…"
"No, you're right. It won't ever be the same," Mr. Weasley agreed, "and the memory how it once was will haunt me for the rest of my days. But I've had the opportunity to love someone with my whole heart in my lifetime. I may not be a particularly smart or wealthy man, Harry, but I think that makes me lucky."
"Yes, sir."
"Have you got someone like that for yourself, Harry?"
Harry nodded a bit bitterly, "I used to."
* * * * * * * * * * *
It was scarcely a half of an hour later that Harry found himself seated on a bench by the woods, directly next to Ron. They both sat as far away from each other as they possibly could on such a tiny resting place, so they were only about as far away as not to touch legs. Ron was bent forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Harry was sitting up, straight-backed, trying desperately to think of something worthwhile to say. "Sorry about your mum, Ron."
"It's all right, Harry. There's nothing about it you could have changed," though Harry swore he heard Ron add, 'for once' under his breath.
"How's Luna?"
"She's fine."
"How did you and Luna come together?" Harry asked, "How did you and Hermione break up, consequently?"
Ron smiled and sat back to face his friend better, "I met Luna one morning when the baker in 'Catchpole ran out of cookies and I nearly went mental. She found me by a fountain and invited me to her house for some cookies she baked… it was love at first bite." Harry smiled with his friend, "Seriously though, she's a great girl. I'm terribly upset with myself that I didn't see it sooner. I think it might have saved a lot of people a lot of heartache.
"As for Hermione," Ron shrugged to himself as if their relationship had never been something he'd considered important, though Harry knew that wasn't the case, "Her heart was never mine to have. It took me a while to see it, but once something like that finds you, you can't fight it."
Harry frowned, "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Ron."
Ron smirked to himself, knowingly, "You wouldn't have helped, trust me." He held a blade of grass between two of his fingers, and began to play with it absently as he spoke, "Seriously though, I've found that I can't be sour about it any more. Some loves are just unavoidable, so the least I could do for Hermione was be her friend when she needed it."
Harry nodded, "Were you planning on inviting me to your wedding, Ron?"
Ron's expression of reverence disappeared almost instantly, "I'm not sure."
"Why?"
"Well, my reasoning goes something as follows," Ron replied, "I may not be able to be sour with Hermione, Harry, but up until today I was sure I could have been sour with you for the rest of my life."
Harry's head spun. He was sure Ron would have been mad at him, just like Hermione had been. But for the rest of his life? Certainly leaving and letting your friends move on with what remained of their lives didn't warrant such a harsh punishment. He gave Ron a queer look that begged his former best friend to continue, because he was certain that he'd either missed a large chunk of his own life or something had gone on behind the scenes he wasn't aware of.
"I just finished explaining this to her, so it figures I would have to explain it to you as well," Ron said, leaning forward once more so his elbows were back to his knees and the blade of grass was once again his favored plaything, "I know full well you don't think there's anything in your life worth having, Harry. And I, like Hermione, didn't agree with you-for completely different reasons. She always thought there was worth in every situation and I just saw all the material things you could have and I never would and got jealous," they shared a shadow of their boyhood smiles, "She was always much deeper than I. But now that we're older I can see that it's really the other way around. I've always had everything in life a man could really want, and you've had to suffer with the knowledge that every chance at it you've ever had has been taken from you… except in one thing-though you were always too stupid to see it."
"What's that?"
Ron simply looked at him and said, "It's always been you she really loved. You were just too high up for her, too busy and too important-too closed off is how I see it. I was going to be the man she settled for… the next best thing. I couldn't live with that, and in the end, neither could she."
Had Harry's heart ever been a balloon, the feeling Ron's words created was as close to a needle searing through it as anything else. Harry could hear the pop and feel himself deflate at the very thought, "Is it fair then, to ask how she's been?"
Ron's eyebrows rose, "She has spent all this time more lonesome than you could ever dream of being, Harry. And do you know why?" Harry shrugged his shoulders and shook his head no, as Ron nodded knowingly to himself, "You have always secluded yourself. Being away from people wasn't a life you had to adjust to… it was one I imagine you welcomed. But her… she lost the one thing she would have fought to the death for… and that created a sort of black hole nobody who's tried has been able to fill."
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, for what felt like the ten thousandth time that day.
Ron pushed himself to his feet and made to leave before he turned back to the one man he would always consider his best friend, even when this torture they'd all put themselves through was over, "You're invited to my wedding. You're still my best mate. I'm not sour on you anymore," he gave him a sympathetic look, "As I see it, mate… she needs you and you've always needed her. It's time you two fess up and at least be friends again. You're making my mum's funeral a real downer."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
It took Harry a while to find her. When he did, she was in the living room with Luna, talking about who-knows-what and it didn't really matter. He wouldn't be too proud to admit, later in life, that he'd walked up, greeted Luna, and then dragged Hermione away. Luna was eccentric, she wouldn't mind. And if she did, well, then she would never fit in with this crowd anyway.
Hermione, for herself, was downright pissed as Harry pulled her up the stairs. What right did he have? "Harry!" she called, in spite of his apparent deafness toward her cries, "Harry Potter what in the HELL do you think you're doing?!"
He didn't even have the decency to turn in her direction as he mumbled out that they really needed to talk. This wasn't the kind of answer that would sate her, though, "Obviously we need to talk, Harry. It's been ten bloody years. But you shouldn't pull me out of a perfectly interesting conversation with Lu-"
"Interesting, eh?" Harry asked, with a hint of his own sarcasm as they reached Ron's former bedroom door and he pushed it open, "And what, pray tell, was the conversation about?"
Hermione was silent for a minute before she scowled and stormed past him, into the room. She stopped in the middle and turned to him, raising an eyebrow expectantly, "So? Where's the fire? What's so important that you had to drag me up here and talk about it?"
Harry quietly shut the door behind them and then stuffed his hands into his pockets, "You were right, Hermione. It took me all day and a half dozen depressing conversations to see it, but you were right. Funny how you always are." She displayed her opinion that it wasn't humorous at all by crossing her arms, "This is a day of mourning… it's a day about death."
That did catch Hermione off guard. Her arms unfolded as fast as they'd come to be and her angry expression dropped entirely out of sight, "It's not a day about being sad that Mrs. Weasley died, Harry. It's a day to celebrate how she lived."
Harry gave a bit of a half-laugh, half-sigh as he waved a 'no-no,' finger out as if to scold her for doing something wrong, "See, that's where you're wrong, Hermione. It's never about celebrating a life for me. It might be for you, and for Mr. Weasley, and George, and Ron… but not for me. It's about how everyone I care about and everyone who tries to make a difference in me-hell, everyone whose presence has changed me for the better--dies. They leave me, and I've got to confess, Hermione, I'm not very good at handling that."
"That's not true, Harry," Hermione urged, "Ron and I are still alive and well."
"Ahh, but not unscathed," Harry pointed out, "You almost died."
Hermione was silent, merely staring at him for what felt like forever. She wrapped her arms around herself as if to comfort herself in the knowledge that it was past as she nodded for him that she remembered, "But that wasn't your fault, Harry, that was my careless mistake."
"It was my fault on most counts, Hermione. I was too stupid to listen to you. I had to go charging in. I should never have let you come with me. I knew what being my friend would do to you, I knew that somehow they'd get to at least one of you… but I let you stay with me anyway. I would rather be dead than carry that memory with me," he said, taking a few steps closer to her and placing his hands on the sides of her face, "But you-you cared too much-you should never have cared that much for me. Ever. I let you. I reaped the benefits and all it's ever given you is pain," he let her go and stepped back, "and that will always be my fault."
Harry swore he could see her eyes mist over and she growled in frustration, "That's just it, isn't it Harry? That's your problem. You see all these people all around you who love you because of what you've done in your live and you think you don't deserve them… and maybe you don't. But then you see me, and you see Ron, and the Weasleys and everyone else who loves you just because you exist and nothing more, and you think you don't deserve us either. But you do, Harry. Everybody does. Just because you're the Boy-Who-Lived doesn't make you immune."
Harry laughed bitterly, "I've spent more than half my life thinking about death, Hermione. When I was young I knew my parents died; and there was a time when I hated them because they got to be dead and I was suck living with the Dursleys. You see, I thought it couldn't possibly be worse than them. But I was wrong. I was so wrong on so many different levels even I still can't conceive of all of them. How was I wrong? They died because someone else wanted them dead. They wanted them dead because they would do anything for me. But I was still too young to get it; I was too young to understand. The best part was yet to come.
"I watched Cedric die, and I was crushed. It hurt so bad I used to dream about it. He wasn't the end, either. I watched Sirius die, and I watched Dumdledore die, and so many more," his voice had begun to raise, like he was a teapot that had just started to boil over, "But it was that moment, Hermione, that ten seconds in the Department of Mysteries that I was the most…" he struggled to find a way to describe it, "insanely, out-of-my-mind, shredded by the thought of losing somebody."
Hermione's tears spilled over, as she stared silently at him. His hair was ruffled and his chest was heaving like he'd just finished running from one end of England to the next. "D-" her voice broke, "Did you dream about that too?"
"No," Harry said, at a normal volume but in a rusty voice, "But every other time I've been faced with that situation I've always been able to think. What to do next, how to survive, whether or not the person in question was dead. But that time, the only time, I was so incapacitated that I couldn't move or think straight until Neville assured me you were still alive."
Hermione looked down to her shoes.
"It has taken me years-years, Hermione-to figure it out. Somehow I'd grown to depend on you more than anyone else I'd ever known. I needed you more than Hagrid or Dumdledore or even Ron. I was in love with you. Even then, at fifteen years old… probably before that. I didn't think you were as lost as I was until I spoke with Ron today. He told me it was my fault you and him never worked out. And I have to apologize for putting you through this; from the second we met until now… I'm sorry," Harry said, once again approaching her slowly.
"Oh, Harry…"
Harry shook his head, and he, himself began to look as if he might break down into sobs, "And that's why I have to ask-no, I have to beg you to stop loving me, Hermione. You don't deserve this," his hands cupped her cheeks and she slid her own hands up to cover them, "If this were your funeral, Hermione, I don't know what I would do."
"It won't be… Harry… It's over, Voldemort's gone…"
Harry shook his head, "I'm sorry," he whispered before he leaned in an gave her a kiss on the cheek, "Please move on."
And with that, he turned and left the room.
TBC