The Red Box

happy_daze

Rating: G
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 07/02/2006
Last Updated: 07/02/2006
Status: completed

Post-HBP on the Horcrux hunt. Valentine's Day is different this year.

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

“Harry, are you sure that you– we– need to be here?”

Harry gulped and ground his teeth. “Yes.”

“And you’re sure that– that locket we saw will still be here?”

Harry turned around to look at his two best friends, who stared back at him with concern and a tint of fear in their eyes. He stared back at them, willing himself not to show his own uncertainty and fright, but knew that they couldn’t be fooled.

“No. I’m not.”

But they entered Grimmauld Place anyway, current Headquarters of the frantically reforming Order of the Phoenix, each leaning against each other. They did not know who supported whom anymore.

*

Harry was rummaging tirelessly through Sirius’ belongings. He had hesitated from entering the room at first, but he knew that it had to be done. Ron had offered to do it, or at least go in and help him, but Harry refused. Wary as he was about opening old wounds about his Godfather, Harry still felt that he needed to be the one to do this. Ron silently left him alone to go look around somewhere else.

Scrapes on the wooden floor remained from when Buckbeak occupied it, and the room looked no better than the rest of the house. In fact, it reminded Harry very much of the Shrieking Shack with its dilapidated floorboards and ominous creaking coming from every corner.

Pushing some decaying boxes and trunks out of the way, Harry approached the largest thing in the room. A large, black wardrobe towered over everything. In the dark it resembled a huge sleeping bat. Harry pulled open the doors, a loud squeak cracking his eardrums as he did so.

Inside were even more boxes, moth-eaten clothes (including a set of dress robes that could have rivaled Ron’s in fourth year) and other instruments that Harry did not dare touch or want to know the use of. It looked like the Blacks had turned Sirius’ old room into storage once he moved in with Harry’s father.

Harry scanned the contents of the boxes, not really finding anything of interest. It mostly contained old clothes, a ratty sleeve hanging out of one or two.

But one particular box caught his eye. It was grimy and red.

It was also labeled MWPP.

Harry wondered what it stood for, but decided that it didn’t look that harmless. He grasped the box tightly in his hands and wrenched it out of the closet. He carefully set it on the ground eyeing it critically. Cautiously opening it, crumpled papers overflowed from it, spilling onto his lap from where he sat on the floor.

Harry picked up the papers, analysing them in a very Hermione-like fashion. Papers that contained four different sets of handwriting met his eyes. Scribbles upon scribbles of notes, little comics, and even games of Hangman filled each page.

As he read some of the words here and there, he didn’t dare breathe. It seemed too good to be true. He rifled through more frayed pieces of parchment, his heart beating loudly.

Jokes that were scribbled hastily, a few journal entries of Sirius and– Harry’s heart seemed to burst as he saw it as his thoughts were confirmed– plans to be an Animagus and plans for a map.

Harry wanted to laugh and cry at finding this. It was like discovering a lost treasure. His fingers carefully traced each curve of his own father’s handwriting. It was a lot neater than his own. He laughed quietly to himself at the letters his dad and Sirius used to write to each other during detentions. They were rarely serious. Harry read each one carefully, urging himself to become part of a world where both his father and godfather were alive and well.

J, if I scrub this stupid trophy one more time, I’m going to vomit. I don’t think G. Hansen will be very happy. I guess it’s an improvement from cleaning the bedpans in the infirmary. Now THAT’s torture.

Oh wait, isn’t that where YOU are?

And wasn’t it YOU that broke our two-way mirror? Detention probably would go by much faster. Not only because we’d be able to talk to each other, but also I’d probably be doing what I’m supposed to. No. Instead, I’m writing to YOU. I wonder sometimes why we’re such good friends.

I wonder even MORE what Evans sees in you! I remember you two used to fight like cats and dogs (no pun intended). It was embarrassing actually. What changed anyway?

Hm. You probably just like snogging her because she’s so pretty. And I DON’T mean anything when I say that Evans is pretty! So don’t get all defensive like you did last time...

--S

Harry snickered. He was glad when he found his father’s response to Sirius’ letter right underneath. His eyes swept over it eagerly.

NO, Sirius, I don’t just go out with Lily because she’s pretty! Wow, she really is right when she says that you lack tact.

I don’t know why it interests you so much, but the reason I go out with Lily is because, well, her being pretty does help... but it’s more than that. I can really depend on her. She’s smart. She keeps me in line (I can hear you snickering from here! Shut up!).

She reminds me of what’s important. And that, my friend, is what you should look for in ANY woman.

Anyway, Padfoot, I hope that satisfies your curiosity. Just remember that the only reason I bother answering this is because detention with Vector and Madame Pomfrey combined is sheer TORTURE! And don’t think I don’t know who left me a special “surprise” in one of these bedpans.

--J

Harry laughed again. It was at that time that he strongly wished that he could talk to Sirius and his father. He did not know how long he spent in Sirius’ room, rifling through the Marauders’ old things. Time just flew by as he took a glimpse into the past. This was far more valuable to him than any old Horcrux.

*

Later that evening, while sitting pensively in one of the Blacks’ many sitting rooms, a light tapping sounded at the window causing Harry to swivel around in his chair and search for the noise. The large tawny owl tapped feverishly at the window again. Harry let it in and it swooped in dramatically, dropping a piece of parchment in Harry’s hands. It ruffled its feathers before swooping out just as spectacularly. Harry shook his head as he began to tear open the letter addressed to him.

Dear Harry,

I really debated with myself on whether I should write you or not. While you guys are out there, in danger, planning on visiting places that I can only imagine, I’m here at Hogwarts with the scarce few that returned. It’s really not the same without you.

Valentine’s Day is coming.

I know you’re not exactly the type that enjoys this particular holiday, Harry. But I just wanted you to know that I’m thinking about you. I miss you.

Love,

Ginny

Harry stared at the piece of parchment in his hands. He didn’t know how to respond. A part of him felt like cherishing it for always, taking it out at times when he felt down so he could savour the flowery scent of Ginny that still clung to the parchment and reminded him of sunlit days. Yet another part of him wished to throw it in the fireplace before him as the fierce wind rattled the shutters and windows of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

He glanced down at the letter again.

P.S. His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad...

If you haven’t figured out who sent you that by now, I wonder why we label you “The Chosen One”.

With a loud crumple, he threw it in the fire.

She meant to be cute. He knew it. Perhaps once he would have enjoyed the little anecdote she had written, but as he now glanced at the grim, dark walls of the once-honourable

House of Black, he felt no amusement at all.

Harry shrank down into a mouldy, old chair by the fire, absentmindedly staring at the eerie shadows the fire cast upon the walls and hanging tapestries.

“Knock, knock.”

Harry feebly looked up only to see Hermione amble over with two steaming mugs in her hands.

“Hey,” Harry answered her, trying to force his face into a small smile. Sure, Ginny complained of staying at Hogwarts, but here was Hermione, staying with him and Ron and the remaining members of the Order at depressing headquarters while they plotted out their next move in search for the Horcruxes.

“I brought some hot chocolate,” she said, taking a seat at the footstool to Harry’s chair. Harry took the mug, the warmth comforting as the wind sent another howl through the old mansion. “Were you able to find anything?” she asked, sipping gravely from her cup.

“No,” Harry answered, lying because he wanted to keep the box of MWPP to himself for the moment, but telling the truth because he hadn’t found anything of concern with the locket.

“Did you talk to Ron? Has he found anything?”

“No,” Harry repeated. “We talked before he went up to bed.” He took a sip of the drink, scalding the roof of his mouth in the process. His answer brought upon a gloom. Every day they asked each other the same questions and so far there had always been the same answers. A bleak silence settled itself over Harry and Hermione as the two mulled over their problems in their heads. Hope was rapidly dwindling. Harry watched the steam rise from his mug, the swirling patterns fascinating to him.

“Do you know what day is coming up?” Hermione asked, trying to sound bright.

“Er, no,” Harry lied, his mind drifting over to Ginny’s now burnt letter.

“Valentine’s Day!” Hermione exclaimed. He wondered how she was able to keep her morale considerably high. He grunted in reply. “Remember when Lockhart taught at Hogwarts?” she said, a reminiscent gleam coming into her eyes.

“Remember how hung up you were on him?” Harry remarked, his lips finally quirking upwards.

Hermione’s mouth opened and closed once or twice in indignation. “Well, I thought he was a very respectable Wizard! I mean, we all believed that those great accomplishments were his and—”

“Oh, you just fancied him because of his good looks.” Harry laughed. Hermione joined him. It was nice to remember the old days, Harry thought serenely, the sweet smell of hot cocoa wafting up to his nostrils. It seemed so long ago that they were so innocent and carefree.

“You know, I always heard Parvati and Lavender go on about a... Madam Puddifoot’s?” Hermione stumbled over the name while Harry choked. “It’s supposed to be a really good place to visit this time of year with...” She blushed. “With your... someone.”

Harry grunted again. “No, it really isn’t,” he said. He took a sip of his hot chocolate in serious thought.

Hermione cocked her head to the side. “Oh, you’ve been?” she asked interestedly. Harry shifted underneath her curious gaze. “Was it with Cho?”

Harry hastily nodded, not liking the subject they were on. He wished they would change topic, but he didn’t really know how to do that himself.

“How are you and Ginny?” Hermione asked quietly, the question startling Harry entirely.

“W-what?” he stammered, a bit of hot chocolate spilling over the top of his mug.

“You and Ginny,” Hermione continued seriously. “With Valentine’s Day coming up... were you planning on—?”

“Planning on what exactly, Hermione?” Harry butt in irritably. “Take her out on a nice date in Hogsmeade? A romantic stargaze up in the Astronomy Tower? Oh wait, I can’t... we’re here.” He stiffly set down his mug on the nearest table. The wind seemed to howl even louder through the house. “Besides. Me and Ginny aren’t together anymore.”

It was Hermione’s turn to choke. “What?” she asked.

Harry looked up to face her. “Me and Ginny,” he repeated. “We’re not together anymore.” He sighed. “I—I broke up with her at the end of sixth year. We—we weren’t right together.”

“But you two seemed so happy together,” Hermione said, her eyes round and staring at him over the rim of her cup.

“Yeah... we were!” Harry agreed, standing up to pace in front of the fire. He didn’t know what made him want to tell Hermione all these things. He did know that it felt good to get it off his chest. “But... none of it felt real.” He flopped down in his seat again, leaning towards Hermione eagerly. “It was like... it was like living another life. Ignorance is bliss and all that. What I had with Ginny... it’d never work now. Look where we are!” He gestured to the dark sitting room they were in, the shadows dancing creepily to the music of the crying wind. “I had to come back to reality sometime.”

Harry turned to stare at the fire, the flickering flames oddly comforting with the way they licked the wood hungrily. Suddenly, he felt something warm settle itself atop his hand. He looked down to see Hermione’s hand over his, rubbing it soothingly. It, too, was an odd comfort.

“I know it’s hard, Harry,” she said, her voice soft. “But...” she sighed. “I know I can... never...” She seemed to struggle strongly with herself. “I can never match up to Ginny... at this time.” She leaned forward. “Welcome to reality,” she whispered into his ear. She then placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “It’s not all bad.” Harry stared at her, transfixed, as she peered up at him shyly.

“G’night, Harry,” she said, getting up and departing in silence. As she departed, Harry noticed that she left a piece of paper in his hands.

His hand coming up to touch his cheek where she had kissed it, Harry quickly unfurled the piece of paper Hermione left. It was a red heart, very simple and not gaudy-looking, with Hermione’s neat script in the centre.

Happy Valentine’s, Harry.

Sometimes you just have to remember what you’re fighting for.

Love,

Hermione

“Hermione, wait!” Harry called out. Hermione’s figure stopped walking and slowly turned to look at him expectantly. Harry gaped for a few seconds, his throat working hard and the words he wanted to say struggling to not come falling out in a complete mess.

“What is it, Harry?”

Harry stared at her. She was in her pajamas, wisps of hair escaping from her ponytail, framed by the rickety wood of the doorframe to the sitting room. The house was practically falling apart around them, but here she was, the fire shining on her radiant face and illuminating what looked like hope in her eyes. Harry felt a deep swell of affection pool inside of him as he looked at Hermione.

“Th-thank you,” he finally said. Hermione’s face broke out into a bright smile that Harry felt lit up the darkness in the room. He smiled back. “Thank you... for reminding me of what’s important.”