Pink Moon

chic_geek

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 22/12/2005
Last Updated: 24/12/2005
Status: completed

"Later on, we hear footsteps. She immediately drops my hand. I restrain the urge to grab it again. My heart clenches but I go on. I go on because I have to go on. I go on because she has to go on. I go on because we have to go on. My heart clenches but I brave it."

Chapters

1. 1

2. 2

3. 3

4. 4

1. 1

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: It's me again! I'm sorry if I completely abandoned my last story, “Scoop”, but things became so busy that I didn't have time to update. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. It's not finished yet, so there's more to come. As always, please read and review.

*******

“The moon is pink tonight,” she whispers behind me as I look at the stars above us. They are all out tonight, glistening amidst the darkness like a million fireflies.

I feel her breath on the back of my neck. I restrain a shiver.

“What do you mean?” I finally ask. The moon isn't pink. I do a double take just to be sure. She notices this and she suppresses a giggle to no avail.

“Not literally, Harry, not literally.”

The palms of her hands rest on my shoulders.

“Kindly enlighten me then,” I reply, a little sarcastically and a tad sweetly.

“It means...” she starts. She takes a deep breath again. The hairs on my nape stand up. I hold unto the stone pillar for support.

I wait for her, but she doesn't continue. I feel her hands slide down. This time, it rests on the crevice where my shoulders meet.

“Anything and everything is possible,” she finally finishes.

We remain silent for the next hour. Her hands eventually leave my back and I feel cold. Her hand eventually holds mine and I feel warm.

We watch the stars.

And the pink moon.

Later on, we hear footsteps. She immediately drops my hand. I restrain the urge to grab it again. My heart clenches but I go on. I go on because I have to go on. I go on because she has to go on. I go on because we have to go on.

My heart clenches but I brave it.

It pains me.

But I smile a small smile.

She looks down. She sees through me. But she doesn't say anything. We don't say anything.

“I guess you have to go, Hermione,” I finally say.

She gives a small nod. But she doesn't leave.

I lightly touch her chin and she looks up to me. Her brown eyes are wide. I see my reflection. I see the same sadness in my eyes.

“I don't want to go,” she says softly.

My heart clenches even more.

“You have to go,” I reply, strongly with such conviction even though there is no conviction at all.

Immediately, she throws herself to me. I wrap my hands around her as she cries. We hear the footsteps again and she immediately steps back.

“I'll see you tomorrow?” She asks, a bit hesitantly. Her eyes betray her. She looks at me expectantly.

“Of course, I'm dropping by. I'll give Ron the assignment for next week,” I reply, knowing full well that she means something else.

“Oh, ok,” she answers, disappointment obvious in her tone, in her voice, in her eyes.

It pains me. A lot. But then her ring glistens and I stop myself.

“All right then,” she regains her businesslike tone. The tone that everyone associates with her: authoritative and a little bit bossy. It's not fooling me. Nor her. Immediately, she cracks again.

“Good bye, Harry,” she says. Her eyes are downcast, her hands fidgeting in all directions. One minute she's touching the wand in her pocket, the next she's straightening the collar of her shirt.

“Good bye, Hermione,” I reply.

She gives a nod again. I nod back. And then she kisses me on the cheek. For a brief second, everything stops. I inhale her scent, that cinnamon scent that reminds me of her and her alone. Immediately, she pulls back.

We don't trust ourselves.

There's an unspoken agreement there.

We don't trust ourselves.

This time, she gives a final nod, and with a crack, she's gone.

I stare at the ground before me.

She leaves a small piece of parchment on the floor.

I pick it up and read it.

Hermione Weasley.

I crumple the parchment into a ball and I begin to cry. Like I often do when she's gone.

She's not mine.

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2. 2

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Notes: Once again, thanks for the reviews. But please, please, please, I need your reviews to keep me going!

Oh, and try listening to Nick Drake's “Pink Moon”. That was the inspiration.

*******

“Harry, mate, this is bloody fantastic!” Ron asserts in between bites. We were at their place. Ron. Hermione. House. Mr. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley. House. After thousands upon thousands of visits, I still bite the bottom of my lip so hard that it bleeds. I immediately wipe of the blood, lest they notice.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” I mumble back. I play with the fork before me.

I can feel her gaze. I know she's looking at me. Not blatantly, but secretly. In between sipping her margaritas, in between biting the Gruyere cheese, in between sucking the olives.

Sucking the olives.

That's why I'm playing with the fork. I cannot look at her. I know she doesn't do it on purpose - she's too innocent and unaware for that. She's still the Yule Ball girl. Beautiful but unaware, sexy but innocent. But it still breaks me.

So I don't look. I play with the fork instead.

“Anyway, so how long is the trip? Can I get a bloody extension? This is Spain for Merlin's sake, bloody Barcelona, Granada, Cerveza, you get my point. I'm going to get tanned and pissed while I work. Isn't that bloody brilliant?”

I give a small laugh.

“Ron, you're going there to work. The Ministry will kill you if you don't finish that report.” Hermione, finally, cuts in.

“I have to agree with your wife there,” I reply back to keep the normalcy. She winces a little. Ron does not notice.

I wonder why I do this. I wonder why I make her realize over and over again that she's his wife. That she's not mine. That she's never mine.

I wonder why I push her away in between selfishly grabbing her, only to let her go again.

I wonder but I know the answer.

I'm a bitter fool.

But in spite of the pain, in spite of all the regrets, I strive to keep a normal face.

“I will, I will. You bloody people don't trust me. I'm going to blast all those bloody Death Eater remnants and then I'm going to get pissed and then blast those bloody remnants again, then get pissed. Now, everyone's happy.”

“Yes, so long as you make it back next week, with that report, then it's all good. I don't care if you're bloody pissed to the face or if you're burnt down to your bloody balls, as long as you have that report.”

“I don't think you can burn on your balls, but anyway, can I take Hermione?” He asks, fully unaware of the effect of that simple question. Immediately, she gulps down her margaritas while I stuff my mouth with cheese. He looks at us, questioningly.

“I know it's official business, but Hermione and I haven't really spent time with each other,” he continues.

I smell guilt. I'm just not so sure of the source.

I wait a few seconds. I take a few more breaths. I feel the heat coming from her.

“Well, I can work it out,” I finally answer.

But before he can reply back, she immediately stands up. She mumbles something like, “washroom”, and makes her way out.

Ron stares after her retreating figure. I stare at my reflection on the glass instead.

We stay silent for a few minutes. He knows I know. And he's trying to gain the courage to say something.

Finally, he says,

“I don't know what happened, mate.”

“What do you mean?” I play dumb. He's not buying it.

“You bloody well know what I mean.”

“Well, maybe you just need to talk things out.”

“We tried talking things out but it didn't work. We always end up arguing and fighting. It used to be fine before, we always made up, but now it's just draining us.”

“It's only the second year of your marriage. Give it a chance.”

“I'm giving it a chance, but nothing seems to work.”

“Well, maybe this trip might help. I'll try to work it out.” My heart is clenching even more. Clenching so much that I can't help but emit some sort of sarcasm in my tone. He doesn't seem to notice though.

“Bloody hell, Harry. You've been helping us so much, I don't know how I'll even repay you for all these things.”

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. I start to shake. I start to fidget.

Home wrecker.

“You don't have to, we're friends. That's what friends do,” I finally reply.

We stay quiet again. Then we hear footsteps. She's coming back.

She avoids both our eyes and takes her seat. She drinks a glass of water.

“Better,” she finally says. She tries to sound normal, but she doesn't. Like the rest of us. Everyone's striving to be normal but we're all consumed by conflicting emotions in the end.

“Anyway, mate. Thanks for this again,” Ron finally says after a more than awkward pause.

I simply nod my head. I then look at my watch. Quarter past. I don't have to go. But I want to. This is too much, all too much. We're just playing hypocrites, trying to be civil, but we're all breaking apart.

I think about our past and it pains me to think about our present.

“I have to go,” I finally say.

“Sure, mate. Thanks again for this. I'll walk you to the door,” Ron replies as he stands up.

I briefly touch Hermione's shoulder. She nods her head but she doesn't look at me.

“Good bye,” I tell her.

“Good bye,” she replied back.

We walk silently to the door. Once we're outside, he looks at me. He looks at me and I realize something.

Guilt.

He's guilty too.

“I'm coming clean, Harry. I have to come clean,” he tells me. His voice is shaking. But he perseveres. He says,

“I had an affair. She found out.”

I remain quiet. I look at him, conflicting emotions pounding through my veins. I want to hit him, I want to hurt him, but I can't and I won't. I can't and I won't because that's hypocritical of me.

That's why I don't do anything.

I just nod my head.

“I'm a bastard, Harry. I'm sorry. I let her down. I let you down. That's why I'm trying everything. I've hurt her and it hurts me.”

I still don't say anything.

“Say something,” he begs.

“I don't have anything to say,” I reply.

He understands. He gives a final wave and goes back to the house.

I stand outside for a while.

I wonder why she never told me about this.

I give a sigh. I decide to walk home.

I look back at the house one final time.

And she looks back at me. I see her in the window, a sad expression on her face. I hold her gaze and we just stare at each other.

I raise my hand to wave. She doesn't raise hers back. Instead, she opens the window and she tells me,

“Don't go.”

So I don't.

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3. 3

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Thanks again for the reviews! Anyway, I know, I know, two updates in day. But I'm in such a mood that I might as well post it. Enjoy!

“He told me,” I tell her as we walk along the narrow stretch of street. Everything's dark and quiet, except for the buzz of invisible wasps. Above us, the moon continues to glow, softly. A hint of pink surrounds its curved edges. I wonder if I'm seeing things.

She doesn't say anything. In fact, she doesn't do anything but walk. Her hands are in her pockets. She doesn't even try to touch me.

“You never told me about that part, you know,” I continue. I want to get to the bottom of this.

She stops and she takes a deep breath. She looks at the moon and she gives a little shiver. I continue with my slow pace but she remains firmly in place.

“Hermione?” I call out to her. The moon's light reflects on her face. She stands there a vision of luminosity.

“Does that give us a reason?” She asks back. This time, she hides her face as I try to comprehend that simple question.

And then it dawns on me. Slowly, I make my way back to her. The moon glistens on the soft curves of her face again. I inhale a wisp of cinnamon.

“It doesn't,” I answer. I close my eyes and she closes her eyes.

“That's why,” she replies as she slowly opens her eyes again.

We stare at each other and then she places a hand on my cheek, cupping it.

“Don't,” I tell her.

But she doesn't remove her hand. She just touches me and I hear her heart pounding. I beg with her again.

“Hermione, don't. It doesn't give us any reason.”

This time, with such resoluteness, she places her other hand on my other cheek so that she cups my face with both hands.

“It doesn't give us a reason, but another things does,” she states, matter-of-factly. She's still nervous and she's still shaking but she strives.

“Don't say it,” I beg with her. I know what she's trying to say. I know because I know. I know because I feel the same way too. And it's going to break me apart. Because once she says it, I can never go back. I will never go back.

So I grab her hands. I grab her hands and remove it from my face. Not because I don't want her touching me, but because I want it too much. Too much that it's going to consume us and destroy us.

She begins to cry.

And it pains me. Every time we're together she ends up crying, and when she's gone, I end up crying. It's pathetic and yet it's the only thing we can do.

Deliver us from temptation, the phrase repeats itself over and over again, in and out of my head.

“I'm sorry,” she apologizes between sobs. She doesn't throw her arms around me nor do I try to hold her this time. We avoid any contact because it will only undo us.

“Don't be,” I plead.

She just continues to sob, softly. Finally, she looks up at me, her eyes red, her cheeks flushed. She tells me,

“It's hard, it's too hard. And I've ruined it.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask. I try to resist the all too consuming urge of touching her, even a strand of her hair. To comfort her, to hold her and tell her over and over again that it's all right. But I can't.

“This. Our friendship. We can never go back.”

“You didn't ruin it, Hermione. Yes, we've gone a little too far, but it's not your fault. Besides, we can still go back.”

“We're not kidding anyone, Harry,” she states, painfully.

“You told me yourself that nothing's impossible,” I reply, thinking about the pink moon. Immediately, she gazes up to the sky.

She gives a small smile.

“I guess you're right,” she finally says.

“I know how painful this is, Hermione,” I state, quietly. She looks at me straight in the eye and she understands.

“I just wish things were easier,” she replies back, her gaze unflinching, daring. Daring me to continue with this line of thought. Daring me to tell her the truth. Daring me to voice out the truth we both know. Daring me to break myself free.

“Things are never easy,” I finally say.

She nods her head. We continue walking again, not really sure where we're heading. I hear her take a deep breath. And then she asks,

“How come you never made a move, Harry?”

Try as we may to move on, try as we may to forget everything, we just can't. We just can't because it will forever haunt us.

“Because I can never take you away from him,” I finally answer.

“Why?”

“I'm Harry Potter.”

She nods her head in understanding.

“Didn't you ever think about what I feel?” She asks, after a lengthy pause.

“I did. Trust me, I did. But I couldn't hurt him. And I couldn't hurt you.”

“You hurt me by doing that.”

She stops again and she forces me to look at her.

“I'm a bloody fool, Hermione. Don't listen to me.”

She takes a step towards me. And another. And another, until she's so close that I can feel her breath on my neck. She closes the little distance between us with a hug. And I hug her back. And I realize just how perfect this is.

I realize just how perfect this is if she's not married. I realize just how perfect this is if she's mine and mine alone. I realize how perfect this is if it's just me and her and no one else.

But life is not perfect.

So I savor having her in my arms, her scent possessing me until I can't think of anything else but her. And so we stand there, like two lovers, holding unto each other like nothing else in the world matters.

But we're not two lovers.

We're two people tempting fate, tempting temptation. We're two people striving, fighting, and clawing our way to stop and resist the urges.

So when we break apart, there's no kiss. There's no vocal declaration of our love. There's nothing except the silent betrayal of our eyes.

Because when I look at her and she looks at me, it only means one thing.

I love her. She loves me.

We stare at each other, for the hundredth time. But we say more that way. And then she averts her eyes from mine and looks up. She looks at the moon again.

It's pink.

Really pink.

And when she stares back at me again, her eyes, unlike before, are unreadable. I strive to understand what she's trying to express, but I can't. I try to ask her, but then I stop myself.

I look at the pink moon again, and I realize.

I realize that everything is possible. Really possible.

So I let go. I break free. I forget about everything and anything. It's just me and her and no one else.

So I grab her, and she's a bit startled. I envelope her in my arms and she clings to me.

“Just tonight,” I say.

She doesn't reply but she buries her face on my chest.

“Nothing is impossible,” I repeat over and over again.

And with a crack, we're both gone.

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4. 4

Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Once again, thank you, thank you, thank you for the reviews. Here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it. And again, please read and review as I really do take your criticisms and suggestions to heart.

“London. Muggle London.” She states matter-of-factly as she looks around us. Everything is illuminated, and people are hustling and bustling, back and forth, against us, pressing us even closer together.

We're in the middle of a giant commotion. Drag queens play the sidewalks. Avant-garde clubbers stalk the streets. Ecstasy ridden partygoers scream in laughter and jest as they bounce around the lines. Homeless men sit in every intersection. Rolls Royce cars carrying middle-aged businessmen in Savile Row suits screech in every street corner. The occasional naked groom-to-be confidently struts his stuff amidst the drunken laughter of his stag party.

And then there's us.

Amidst the chaos - 10:00, Friday night - we hold unto each other, like two teenagers enjoying their first big night together. We're high on adrenaline, and it shows. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are glistening, and I feel her heart beating loudly against mine.

And for the first time in quite a while, she's beaming. Really beaming. Her skin is glowing even without the moon. Her smile reaches the corner of her ears and she's alive, really alive.

“What are we doing?” She asks me, a little too giddy. Her excitement is infectious and I feel myself breaking away from all inhibitions. Immediately, I scan the environment around me. There are multitudes upon multitudes of choices and I am at lost. She notices this and she grabs my hand.

She drags me through the streets, bumping and grinding our way, amidst sounds of laughter and anger and electronic music buzzing in and out of our ears like tiny wasps entering our ears, until we reach our final destination.

A karaoke bar.

I look at her with amusement and she laughs. She throws her hands around me and she places a wet kiss on my nose.

“You bring me here with no clear intentions,” she whispers to my ear. I'm amazed that I can hear her amidst the noise around us.

“Good point,” I reply as she pulls back and drags me towards the bar.

“Let's do anything and everything tonight. Things we don't do, things we can't do.” She tells me as we open the door.

I close my eyes for a brief second and take a deep breath. When I open my eyes, a whole new consciousness has enveloped me.

Yesterday did not exist. Today does not exist. Tomorrow will not exist.

There is no yesterday, no today, and no tomorrow.

I follow her into the karaoke bar with that liberating thought in mind.

*******

“At first I was afraid, I was petrified!” She sings in that off-key tone of hers with such emotion and such passion that I try to stop myself from cracking up - to no avail. I burst out laughing as she reaches the chorus, singing it even louder, complete with dangerous body actions. She flaps her arms around, prances around the room, and practices calisthenics on the sofa. And when she finishes, she gives a huge bow and hands me the microphone. I grab it from her and randomly select a song: Bizarre Love Triangle.

The first notes of the song plays, and immediately, I'm sucked into the music. I'm not drunk but I'm swaying along, tapping my foot, and dancing into the beat. She finds this hilarious and she dances along with me.

“Every time I see you falling, I get down on my knees and pray,” I sing. Immediately, I jump off the couch and kneel before her, while she collapses on the sofa, in hysterics.

I look back to the screen and sing the next lines and she's bouncing up and down behind me.

“Relax there, you don't want them chastising you for getting their sofa dirty,” I say in between lines. She gives another laugh and then jumps on my back. We both get off balance while I still strive to continue with the song.

Eventually, we collapse on the sofa that I'm lying down on her. I continue singing, amidst her sparkling laughter.

“I feel fine and I feel good, I'm feeling like I never should,” I sing. And then it hits me. Everything seems to be about us tonight. And she notices this too.

But she's not affected negatively. It doesn't ruin her mood. Instead, she wraps her arms around my shoulders and sings to my ear the next lines,

“I do admit to myself that if I hurt someone else, then I'll never see just what we're meant to be.”

I turn my face to her, forgetting the song.

She gives me a smile, a coquettish smile that I see for the first time. She untangles herself from me, and whispers,

“I'm waiting for the final moment, you'll say the words that I can't say.”

And with that, she pecks my ear, and then stands up.

She heads to the door, that same coquettish smile plastered on her face, and tells me,

“The night is still young, Harry.”

Immediately, I run after her. She gives a little giggle and she increases her pace.

“Catch me if you can,” she calls out as we make our way out to the streets. She bumps into people of all sizes, but she doesn't stop to apologize - like she normally does. She just continues laughing, teasing, giggling, like nothing else in the world exists and it's just me chasing after her.

I decide to use my seeker reflexes and in an instant, I'm next to her, grabbing her towards my chest.

“No fair, seeker,” she complains, playfully as I squeeze her tight into my arms.

“Hey, I'm not the one who wanted to play tag,” I retort. She gives a little giggle as she untangles herself from me and wraps her arms around my neck.

“Ok, then, I'm it. But I got you now Harry Potter,” she states in that bossy tone of hers. But I barely hear it. I barely hear it because she's so close to me and I can smell her hair again. And when she says, “I got you now', I come undone. I really come undone.

So I look at her again. And this time, she looks at me with such confusion. Gone is the coquettish girl, gone is the Yule Ball girl. It's just Hermione. All Hermione. Vulnerable, confused, hesitant, and expectant.

And I realize there and then that there is no turning back. Really no turning back. I love her and I can't lose her and all this, all this is just perfect. Finally, I tell her,

“You didn't win. You still don't have me.”

By the look on her face, I know that she's itching to retort, but I don't let her.

I don't let her because I immediately press my lips against hers before she can reply.

And we stand there like that.

Amidst all the chaos, the drag queens, the drunken bachelors, the pimps, the beggars, the junkies, the clubbers, the tourists, the hookers, everyone in this whole damned world, we stand there, kissing.

And this, I realize, is the reason why I can never go back.

This is perfection.

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