Her Worst Memory

babyeinstein12

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 01/01/2006
Last Updated: 06/01/2006
Status: completed

Harry looks back into Hermione's past and soon realizes that she deserves more than she gets.

Chapters

1. Prologue

2. Her Worst Memory

3. Epilogue

1. Prologue

Raindrops were tumbling down from the sodden clouds, whispering and drumming away ever so gently, as if singing a soft lullaby. They were all alone to reign on the night; no thunder or sun threatened to thrust themselves upon the dark landscape. Trees, drenched from the cloud‘s tears, swayed smoothly with the languid breeze, reveling in the rain’s onslaught. Tiny, glistening water droplets covered every grass stem, and they all bended to create a ripple among the entire lawn as each gust wended its way through the night air.

The rain continued to fall as the growing sound of footsteps was heard, pattering upon the wet ground and disturbing the peaceful night. It was only a single human after all, so the raindrops carried on in whispering their lullabies, and the trees persisted in dancing to the light wind.

The person whom the footsteps belonged to was a man, a young, handsome man. He had unmanageable yet charming black hair, vivid green eyes hidden by his drenched glasses, and a curious scar on his forehead. He was walking all alone, and it seemed like he was thinking hard about something. A sigh then escaped his lips, and he shoved his hands dejectedly into his pockets as he walked on.

Harry Potter was not happy. The Horcrux hunt was not going well; he could not find a way to destroy them, even though he already found two with his friends, Ron and Hermione. All three of them put themselves in grave danger, and it was extremely fortunate that none were killed, but the entire effort accounted for nothing now that nobody knew how to destroy them. Despair succeeded in slowly filling Harry up day by day, and his confidence was waning fast. As he walked, Harry suddenly felt anger and self-pity pulsing throughout his body, leaving him with an odd tingling sensation. Why did he have to get stuck with the job as famous Harry Potter, the only one who had a chance at defeating Voldemort? He resentfully kicked a small pebble out of his path and trudged along, grumbling.

Suddenly, a girl’s voice cut through the quiet, pattering air like a gunshot.

“Harry? Where are you?”

Harry resignedly turned around, just when Hermione Granger came bounding up to him. He couldn’t help noticing how pretty she looked, with her pink cheeks and shivering frame, but he was so wrapped up in his own self-pity that he didn’t really care right now.

“What do you want, Hermione?”

“Why don’t you come inside? It’s freezing cold out.”

Harry looked down at her anxious face and felt like smiling, despite his current feelings. She was willing to come out to the cold from their warm cottage, just to look for him.

“We’re about to have dinner,” Hermione continued. “Ron’s really hungry, so you’d better come now. Why are you out here anyway?”

“I was just thinking about things,” Harry said, just now noticing how cold he was.

Hermione seemed to have read his mind. “Here,” she said, taking off her cloak and handing it to him.

“No, I don’t really need--

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione said quietly, thrusting her cloak at him.

“Thanks,” Harry said dully, taking it and putting it on.

“So what were you thinking about?” Hermione inquired, pulling Harry’s hand and leading him back to the cottage.

“About the Horcruxes,” Harry replied in a low voice. “Did you find out how to destroy them yet?”

“No, Harry,” Hermione said, a little sadly. “I’ve been trying, but I can’t find out about it anywhere.”

Already in a sullen mood, Harry just scoffed and marched onward, his hands back inside his pockets. He hated this, he hated how the fate of the wizarding world depended on him, he hated all the worry and nightmares and the whole deal about the stupid Horcruxes…

“Harry, are you all right?” Hermione sped up to reach him. “Everything will go okay. Trust me on this.”

She received no answer.

“Harry…” She grabbed his hand, but Harry wrenched it away, and he finally spun around to face her. Despair and anger were churning inside of him; he couldn’t understand why Hermione was so relaxed about the whole thing. He was lightheaded and could feel himself shaking from the sheer magnitude of his self-pity. The rain and coldness were driven from his mind as he stood there, trembling with rage.

“How can you stand this?” he demanded. “Here we are, searching for dangerous objects just for the small chance of defeating Voldemort, with the entire wizarding world at war, and you’re talking about going to dinner!”

Hermione looked thoroughly confused. “Harry, what--

“I’m sick of all this Voldemort business,” Harry spat, as if his words were poison. “You don’t know what it’s like being me, do you?”

Hermione truly did look sorry for him as she stood in the steady downpour, her hair dripping wet and her hands hanging limply by her sides.

“Why did my parents die?” Harry railed at her. “Why did Sirius die? Why did Dumbledore die? Why do all the people I care about have to die?” He bellowed out the last part, driven on by his sadness and anger. He felt completely hopeless.

“Harry, you went through a lot, but you can’t pretend that the rest of us lived happy, perfect lives,” she murmured, looking straight back at him. “I’ve suffered as well--

“What do you know about suffering?” Harry interrupted coldly.

The both of them stood there in the rain, drenched and cold, glaring at each other. Harry was breathing in and out rapidly, and he noticed how fast his heart was beating in his chest. His hands were clenched, and he still felt the anger mingled with self-pity boiling within him. Hermione was simply looking at him, her brown eyes filled to the brim with sadness and…and something else. What was it?

“Harry,” she said, her voice wavering slightly, “I’ve suffered too. I thought you knew that.”

“When?” Harry asked in an aggressive voice.

Hermione didn’t answer. Instead, she reached out and placed her right hand tenderly on Harry’s soaked cheek. “Oh, Harry,” she whispered, pain etched upon every syllable she uttered, “Think about all the things you just said.” She lifted her hand off and started walking back towards the cottage, but Harry remained where he stood, with Hermione‘s words still ringing in his ears. An icy wind blew through him, and the wet clothes he wore stuck to his skin, but all Harry felt was hot, burning shame trickling throughout his body as he watched the dark figure of Hermione retreat into the distance.

2. Her Worst Memory

A/N: Here’s the next chapter. Oh, and please review when you’re done!!! Thanks!

The whispering rain was still tapping on the windowpanes when Harry climbed into his bed. As he lay there, he ignored Ron‘s light snores and stared up at the white ceiling, pensively pondering what had happened between himself and Hermione outside a few hours ago.

“Oh, Harry, think about what you just said.”

The burning shame started to worm its way across him yet again…

“Harry, I’ve suffered too. I thought you knew that.”

The anger and self-pity then very abruptly flared up inside him, suddenly driving all other emotions away. Before Harry knew it, he let out a loud, skeptical snort. She doesn’t know anything, he thought irritably, turning over onto his side. He allowed his mind to wander back to the years when he didn’t know about magic--when he lived with the Dursleys, and when his only refuge was the dusty, cramped cupboard under the stairs. His cupboard was the only place he felt safe, even if it was full of spiders. At least the spiders didn’t beat him up everyday like Dudley did. In there, he wouldn’t be Dudley’s punching bag. In there, he wouldn’t have to hear another one of Uncle Vernon’s foul verbal assailments. He wouldn’t have to cook and clean for Aunt Petunia. All he would do in there was wonder what his parents looked like and think of that dream he had about the flying motorcycle…

In his warm bed, Harry could feel his eyelids growing heavier and his thoughts getting duller. He just now noticed how tired he actually was. He buried his face into his soft pillow and closed his eyes, listening to the soft snores from the next bed and the gentle rhythm of raindrops against the window…

*****

Harry was walking on a playground. Even though he never saw this playground before, he felt like he was supposed to be here. Little children were running around, chasing and screaming at each other like they were supposed to. None of them paid him any mind; they just proceeded in playing their own games. Harry’s green eyes scanned the playground quickly. He knew he was looking for something, or someone, but he just didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for. Was it an object? Perhaps one of playground equipment? Or maybe one of the children?

Then he saw it, right there in front of him. He saw her.

There she was, looking to be only about six or seven years old, sitting at a green picnic table, all alone. Harry couldn’t mistake her for anybody else. He eyed her bushy brown hair and large front teeth and all the ridges and curves on her body that made her her.

“Hermione…” Harry said quietly, standing stock-still in the middle of the playground and staring at her small figure.

The girl called Hermione was slowly munching on a peanut butter sandwich, looking at all the other children. A book was the only thing keeping her company as it lay on the table, propped open. But instead of concentrating on her book, she appeared to be lost in thought, wistfully watching the other children play with each other. Then, a toothy smile started to light up on her face as she saw a certain group of children sitting by a large oak tree. There was clear desire in that smile, clear longing. It looked like she desperately wanted to be part of their group. Harry then realized with a jolt that Hermione had no friends of her own. She looked awfully lonely, sitting there by herself, with only a single book to talk to.

“What are you staring at, beaver?” a high-pitched, scathing voice called out suddenly. Harry spun around and saw a little boy by the oak tree looking over with disgust at Hermione.

“Sorry,” Hermione whispered back, immediately lowering her head down to her lap and keeping it there. Pain was written upon every inch of her face, Harry noticed.

Filled with love and compassion, Harry walked over to where she was sitting and grinned at her. But Hermione didn’t pay him any attention. She didn’t look at him once; she still had her eyes glued down to her lap.

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry said softly, plopping down on the other side of the picnic table.

He still didn’t get any answer. Now he was starting to get very slightly annoyed.

“Hermione?” He waved a hand across her downcast face, but she did not react. Then he reached over and tapped her on the shoulder, but took it back suddenly, as if scorched. His hand went right through her.

Harry then realized that he wasn’t at the playground at all, at least in person. The real, seven-year old Harry was probably right at this moment hiding from Dudley far away in another schoolyard. Disappointment filled him up, for he had no way to comfort Hermione now. He didn’t feel the least bit intrigued about his newly-found invisibility. Harry got up from the picnic bench and looked around, trying to get a better look at the boy who was just mean to her.

“Hey, beaver!” the boy by the oak tree yelled again, his voice dripping with malice, “Is that your hair, or is it a big electrified dustball?” The others with him laughed.

Harry felt his hands clench and his body shake with fury as he listened to the boy taunting her some more in the midst of ringing laughter. “Don’t you talk to Hermione that way,” he muttered, still in full mind that nobody could hear him.

Meanwhile, little Hermione was sitting at the green picnic table, resolutely keeping her head down, the peanut-butter sandwich laying forgotten beside her. “I-I brush my hair e-everyday,” she stuttered, still staring intently at her lap. “My m-mummy says it’s very pretty.”

“Well, I don’t,” a girl piped up bluntly. “It’s the ugliest thing I have ever seen.”

“Who cares what your mummy says anyways?” the boy said. “She’s obviously lying.”

“And her mummy probably has horrible hair too, where else do you think the beaver got it from?”

Without another word, Hermione wretchedly got up from her picnic table and began to collect her things. Harry barely noticed his hammering heart pounding within his chest as he stared over at her miserably, racking his brain for any idea to help her, but able to come up with none.

“Leaving so soon?” the mean boy called, running over to her. “Oh, and what’s this?” He snatched the book away from the table before Hermione could reach it. “The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. That sounds fascinating, beaver.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Hermione said defiantly, yet unable to cover the slight falter in her voice.

Harry couldn’t help admiring her courage, but despair still overtook him at seeing her all alone, with no one to help her. There didn’t seem to be a single person that had the intention to tell the boy off.

“Yeah?” the boy retorted. “Tell me what you like about this stupid book.”

“It takes me into another world,” Hermione breathed, her brown eyes overbright. “It’s really magical and fanciful and--

The boy didn’t let her finish. Before Hermione knew it, he started tearing the book up right in front of her eyes and hurled the ripped pieces and pages back at her face. With a whimper, she got down on the dusty ground where the book had fallen and started picking all the bits up. “That was from the library,” she whispered, her voice straining as if she was on the verge of tears.

Before Harry knew it, he took a furious swipe at the boy, but he only felt thin air as he saw his hand sail right through the boy’s head. A heavy groan of frustration escaped his lips as he tried again and again, but to no avail. He then swore loudly, hoping against hope that someone would hear him, yet nobody did, and the seven-year-old Hermione remained on the ground, picking up her beloved pieces of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe at the boy’s feet, looking pitiful and bewildered. “Oh, Hermione…” Harry murmured, overwhelmed with a sudden wave of affection toward that little bushy-haired girl scrabbling at the ground. “I never knew… God, I never knew, Hermione…”

He watched Hermione get up from the ground, her face streaming with open tears and her pretty school dress caked with dust and dirt.

“Do you think that book is beautiful now?” the boy asked maliciously. Some of the other children by the oak tree laughed.

Harry noticed that some of the schoolchildren, apart from the ones by the tree, were watching the scene hungrily, and he felt anger toward them for not trying to help Hermione. “What the hell are you waiting for?” he yelled at them, still holding the knowledge that there was no chance of catching a listening ear. “Do you see what he’s doing to her?” He thought he would positively burst from his worry and affection towards Hermione. He swore again, staring wildly around the playground, desperate.

“Go away, go away,” Hermione moaned, clutching the book pieces to her chest. She hastily wiped her eyes with her arm.

“No, I don’t think I will,” the boy answered, shuffling through Hermione’s other things and throwing them away carelessly on the ground.

Harry was looking on the scene anxiously. “Fight back, Hermione,” he muttered urgently. “Don’t let him treat you like this.” But he knew in his heart that Hermione’s security and confidence vanished a long time ago. With a jolt larger than the last, Harry suddenly realized that the horrible sights he was seeing now were a daily routine for Hermione. When I get back to my own time, Harry thought desperately, I’ll make it all worthwhile for Hermione. I’ll show her how valuable she really is.

Then the haunting words came back to him, the words of Hermione in the rain: “I’ve suffered too. I thought you knew that.” That seemed like years ago now. As Harry watched little Hermione at this moment, with her innocent face soaked with tears and her dress tainted by the dirt, he couldn’t help but feel his eyes prick at the extent of her suffering. A single, salty tear escaped his right eyelid and crawled slowly down his cheek.

“Let go of my things,” Hermione said in a trembling voice to the boy. “And leave me alone.” But her voice didn’t have any spirit; it already sounded defeated.

“Why should I?” the boy said, his face contorted by his hate. He grabbed Hermione by the front of her collar and pulled her up roughly. “You deserve it. People like you shouldn’t step foot into our school, you filthy little bookworm.” And then he struck her across the mouth hard. Hermione let out a cry of pain. The onlookers cheered. And Harry stood there, unnoticed by all, with more tears sliding down his face. His anger with the boy was laid aside; he had his eyes and mind only on Hermione. Righteous anger wouldn’t help Hermione out of this state. How much she was suffering… How much she was crying… How Harry longed to take her from the boy’s clutches and hold her forever, saying to her over and over again that she’d be all right, that she was with him now…

Hermione was openly sobbing now as she cowered under the boy, a fresh bruise disfiguring her tear-stained face. “Mummy… daddy… help me…” she murmured, as the crowd of bystanders continued to cheer.

“I’ll help you, Hermione,” Harry said in a choked whisper, barely holding down his own sobs in his throat.

“No one will help you now, beaver,” the boy panted, his eyes alight with excitement. And to Harry’s horror, he raised a hand and struck Hermione again.

“NO!” Harry bellowed, harsh sobs rising from his throat and running off from his lips. “Hermione, I love you. I love you, I love you so much. I’m sorry… God, Hermione, I’m sorry!” He never felt this helpless ever. It was torture for him to see all these terrible things happen to her and not being able to do anything about it.

“Come on,” the bully barked to some others. “Let’s beat her up.” And he dragged her away by her hair, with a couple other people following him eagerly. Harry glimpsed at Hermione’s face, and what he saw broke his heart.

She looked completely defeated. She allowed the boy to continued dragging her by her hair and didn’t resist to him at all. It was as if she experienced this everyday. And she did, Harry realized. She suffered like this every single day.

With tears still streaming down his face, Harry ran to her. He ran faster than he ever did before, driven by the adrenaline coursing throughout his body and the pure desire to get to Hermione, to bring her somewhere safe. He didn’t care that he was invisible. He just wanted to be with her. He just wanted to comfort her. “Hermione!” he yelled desperately, feeling his heart wrench upwards as he saw the boy disappearing with her around a corner. All hope rapidly left him, and he dropped down on his knees, feeling unnaturally fatigued. He felt like he lost his Hermione forever. So he just knelt right there and cried.

And then he opened his eyes.

A/N: THERE’S ANOTHER CHAPTER COMING!!!!! PLEASE REVIEW!

3. Epilogue

With his eyes open wide and his face cold with sweat, Harry stared up at the ceiling, breathing fast and feeling his heart pound. His head was swimming, and he felt as if he ran for miles on end, even though he was only lying there in his warm bed. For a brief second, he wondered why he was feeling so tired and fatigued, but then it came back to him in a rush: the sound of a book tearing apart… the awful smack when hand met face… the cheers from the onlookers… then the pleading, trembling voice of that sweet little girl, suffering at the hands of those awful children…

Hermione…

Feeling the tears once again threatening to make their appearance, Harry whipped off the bed covers and bounded out of it, barely noticing how cold the carpet was against his bare feet. He knew that what he just saw was a dream, but he had a deep, gut feeling that all of it actually happened. He knew in his heart that Hermione actually did suffer horribly through all that.

“She’s a nightmare, honestly. It’s no wonder she doesn’t have any friends.”

Harry glanced over at Ron’s still-sleeping form. He still remembered those words Ron vehemently spit out six years ago, back in their first year. And no matter what, Harry still remembered and always would remember Hermione’s face, screwed up and stricken with tears, as she bumped into him and walked onwards, clearly having heard what Ron had just said. It all fit now…

Without another word, Harry rushed out his room and slammed on the hallway light switch, looking around wildly and trying to remember where Hermione was sleeping. He was so excited and agitated that he couldn’t think clearly. All he wanted to do was to find Hermione.

One closed door at the end of the hall looked familiar. Another flood of excitement seeped into Harry quickly as he leapt through the hallway, not caring if the loud thumping of his feet woke anybody up. “Hermione…” he involuntarily whispered, finally laying one quivering hand on the doorknob. Just saying her name made electric tingles prickle throughout his entire frame.

He wrenched open the door, and the stream of hallway light immediately illuminated the room. With a huge sigh of relief, Harry saw Hermione on her bed, sleeping. She looked even more beautiful now than she did in the rain.

Harry stumbled towards her and dropped himself down on one side of the bed, wrapping an arm around her and laying there, his green eyes only focused on Hermione‘s sleeping figure. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing in and out slowly, with the pattering of the rain filling the room. Without meaning to, Harry quietly slipped himself partway under her bed covers and tangled a pajama-clad leg with one of hers. “Why didn’t you tell me, Hermione?” Harry whispered painfully, staring straight at Hermione’s face, which was only a few inches from his own. With one hand he slowly reached up and touched Hermione’s left cheek, where the bruise happened to be just moments earlier, in his dream. It was empty of any disfiguration now, but Harry still saw it fresh in his mind. He caressed her cheek with his thumb and shifted even closer to her, and half his body was now on top of hers. He leaned in even more, so that his forehead touched hers. “Hermione,” he said softly, trying to wake her. He gently shook her. Hermione’s eyes snapped open, but she didn’t even react as her brown eyes landed on his green ones.

“Harry…” Hermione whispered very quietly. “What are you doing here?”

Before he could stop it, a sudden wave of some sort of compression filled his head, and he immediately recognized it as threatening tears. Harry, not wanting to cry in front of Hermione but also not wanting to take his eyes off her, kept his eyes wide open. As if on cue, the tears then started to gather at the back of his eyelids. He wondered how long he could keep them there.

“Harry?”

Harry then saw the love and concern in those pools of hazel-brown, and he just couldn’t hold the tears any longer. The glossy drops trickled down his eyes, as the realization came to him that he didn’t want to waste any more time in his fantasy with Ginny. Hermione was there for him all along, even when nobody else was. She risked everything she cared about to come along with him and fight with him, because she cared about him more than anything. And while the tears continued to flow down his face, he felt warmth unlike anything he felt before fill him to the core.

Hermione reached out and wiped the tears off Harry’s face tenderly. “Harry, what’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare? I have some Draught of Peace left in my bag, do you--?

“Hermione,” Harry said, his voice cracking, “It’s nothing like that. Hermione… I-I saw you… And, Hermione… I want you to know that you’re the most beautiful girl I know.”

“Harry, don’t joke around,” Hermione whispered. “I’m not beautiful at all. Tell me what happened instead.”

“Hermione,” Harry said, more tears cascading down from his eyelids, “I saw you… in a playground. A Muggle playground.”

Hermione stayed silent, but Harry noticed that her face seemed to tauten slightly. “What, Harry?”

“You weren’t what you look like now. You looked younger. And you were sitting all alone, eating a peanut-butter sandwich.” Harry’s voice was quavering uncontrollably.

“How do you know this?” Hermione asked very softly.

“I saw it. I saw you. And…” Harry had to gulp down more tears before he said the next part. “I saw a little boy come up to you and tear your book up in front of you. He called you ugly.”

Even though Hermione didn’t say anything to this, Harry noticed that the memories were capturing her face, as if what she was hearing was not new to her. Her brown eyes were glistening slightly. Was she about to cry too?

“The boy hit you,” Harry gasped out, as if the pain was real and he was feeling it. The heart in his chest was beating faster than ever, and he felt tingly all over as the tears continued to fall and soak her bed sheets. His breathing was coming out as sobs now. “Oh, Hermione, I never knew…” He felt his love for her reach its breaking point, and he thought he would burst from it. The sensations of feelings rushing through him left him almost delirious with his love for her.

Harry then felt Hermione’s warm body slowly envelop him in a gentle embrace. Harry heard sharp intakes of breath coming from her, and he realized that those awful memories were still fresh within her mind. And in response, he just clung to her tighter.

“I need you,” Harry heard himself say. “I-I love you.”

Hermione sobbed all the more harder as she buried her face into his neck. Harry didn’t mind the wetness soaking down his neck and through his shirt, but he continued to hold her, realizing with a sharp pang that he was probably the first one that said that to her in a long time.

“Kiss me, Hermione,” Harry croaked out, desperately wanting to feel his lips on hers and desiring with all his heart to show Hermione that he truly thought her as valuable and beautiful. “I want you.”

Hermione slowly lifted her tear-glazed face upwards and smiled. Harry grinned back through his own tears. And Harry then felt his eyes close as he leaned forward, capturing Hermione’s warm lips in a chaste caress. Both Harry and Hermione laid there in that tear-soaked bed and kissed desperately, as if they wanted to feel each other’s love more than anything in the world.

As they let go, Hermione smiled again. “Harry?” she murmured, with the last of her tears trickling down her chin.

“Mmm?”

“I love you too.”

A jolt tingled through Harry as the realization hit him like a blow on the head. She was the first person ever that said that to him, and she said it with such conviction. Nobody else, including Ginny, ever said that they loved him. And he smiled back at her as he wrapped his hand around hers, before saying, “And I think you’re beautiful, Hermione. The most beautiful girl in the world.”

_____________________________________________________

A/N: The end! Hope you enjoyed it, and please review!