Unrequited
By Excalibos
Rating: PG for the story/PG-13 for language in the song
Summary: Harry's thoughts following book 7 and dealing with his feelings. Ron/Hermione, implied Harry/Hermione.
Author's Note: The story just demanded writing as I listened to this song. I am a confirmed Harmonian/Pumpkin Pie-er, but the idea just wouldn't go away. This might be in violation of rule 2; I wasn't sure how far the line can be pushed. If it's not cool, I'll pull the story. Hopefully you will enjoy it, even if it is a bit of a downer.
Disclaimer: JKR owns the characters, James Blunt owns the song. But no one can own my words or my mind but me. Love it, hate it. Review if you want. Flames will be laughed at and discarded. Constructive criticism is most welcome. Peace all.
You're Beautiful
by James Blunt
My life is brilliant.
My life is brilliant.
My love is pure.
I saw an angel.
Of that I'm sure.
She smiled at me on the subway.
She was with another man.
But I won't lose no sleep on that,
'Cause I've got a plan.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.
Yeah, she caught my eye,
As we walked on by.
She could see from my face that I was,
Fucking high,
And I don't think that I'll see her again,
But we shared a moment that will last till the end.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
There must be an angel with a smile on her face,
When she thought up that I should be with you.
But it's time to face the truth,
I will never be with you.
***********************
Harry stood at the rampart of the Astronomy Tower, his gaze holding steady on two distant specks that occupied the space beneath a long-familiar tree. He could just make out the mane of chestnut brown against the black robe of the larger, red-headed figure, who was running his hand up and down her back. Harry watched for a long moment, his heart seeming to tear itself from within, before he spun around and slumped to the floor. He pulled his knees against his chest as his eyes began to water as the thoughts he had forbidden himself to feel began to pour over him.
When had this happened? When had he fallen for the bossy, bushy-haired, book-loving girl that always insisted that he be more careful? How could he have fallen for the one girl that his best friend in the world wanted to be with? He thought back over his life with her, and realized that his first true experience with magic had been because of Hermione, on the train to Hogwarts. She had never, save that first meeting, ever looked at him as anything other than Harry, not the Boy-Who-Lived, not the Chosen One, just Harry. She knew him well, knew when he was being reckless, when he was troubled, when he should share his problems even though he often didn't want to. It was as if someone had created Hermione to fill in the missing parts of himself.
His reverie broke when he noted with some distaste that he was sitting in almost the same place he had lain frozen the night Dumbledore had died. Across the tower, embedded in the stone battlements, resided a plaque with a simple inscription.
It is on this spot that Albus Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards ever to live, was struck down.
"It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."
Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore
1840-1997
Harry let his head drop with a thud against the wall behind him as tears tried to force themselves past his self-control. His eyes stole heavenwards as he let his mind drift to days long past, when his heart hadn't belonged to Hermione. An overwhelming sense of loss filled him as his mind drifted to those moments following the death of Voldemort.
The darkening skies betrayed nothing of what had happened at the house near Godric's Hollow. Harry knelt on the damp ground of his parent's backyard, exhausted beyond belief as he stared at the body of Tom Riddle. The sound of newly fallen rain reached his ears mere moments before he felt the drops of cleansing rain pour from the sky. He lifted his face to heaven as he felt the years of tension and anxiety wash from him and collect around the body of the once-Dark Lord Voldemort. The body rested, splayed indignantly at the bottom of a small crater that had formed when Tom's magic had suddenly exploded, the energy from the blast having knocked Harry reeling.
Harry sat on his heels, his face uplifted, when he suddenly began laughing. He began laughing, truly laughing, carefree for the first time that he could remember. "I'm FREE! I'm free," Harry shouted before his attention was drawn to a pair of headstones, chipped in the battle. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm finally free. You can rest now, Mum…Dad. No one's after me now. I can finally just be Harry. I…I'll never forget what you gave up for me, I swear." Tears flowed freely as he stood, as uncaring of his image as he had been for most of his life. He slowly began limping back to his parent's house, when he saw something that cut him deeply. Ron was kissing Hermione. This wasn't very odd, as they had started seeing each other not three months before, although that had, for some unknown reason, unnerved him. What had caused Harry to stagger backwards was…
Hermione was kissing him back.
Harry felt something inside begin to wail in agony. It wasn't the strange beast he had felt rearing its head when he had watched Ginny and Dean together. This was different. Deeper somehow. All Harry knew was that he couldn't breathe, that he felt like when the gillyweed had worn off in fourth year. He was drowning, and he finally knew why.
He loved Hermione.
Ron and Hermione had become a much closer couple following the Battle of Godric's Hollow. They were seen to wander the grounds of the newly rebuilt and reopened Hogwarts, quite often hand-in-hand, no one existing except the other. Harry had managed so far to conceal his feelings; he had, after all, become quite skilled at that thanks to the Dursleys. The bombshell had burst though when Ron had spoken to him last night.
"Hey Harry. You asleep?"
"I was. What's up?"
"I just…well, I'm going to ask Hermione to marry me. I was just wondering if you had an idea on how I could do it." Harry felt his blood freeze at those words. His breathing hitched before he could regain control, and he could almost feel Ron's confused look. "You alright, mate?"
"Yeah. I'm alright," Harry whispered after a moment's pause to conceal his emotions. "Just…Just ask her. You know Hermione. She doesn't much like beating around the subject, does she."
"Yeah, you're right," Ron chuckled. "Hey Harry. If she says yes, you know you'll be best man. Right?" Harry didn't respond. He simply pretended to be asleep.
Harry watched a falcon wing its way around the castle, searching for prey, and allowed a sigh to escape. He thought of the plans he had come up with, ways of telling Hermione how he felt, ways of letting her know that she was loved by him. All of his plans had come crashing down around his ears. He could never do that to Ron, not after all they had been through. He felt a wetness sliding down his face, and wiped his face with his sleeve. He thought he had been crying; however, at that moment, the heavens burst forth in a torrential downpour. He didn't move, although he heard the cries and squeals of those down below. He could see them in his mind running hand in hand, Hermione's wand quickly casting water-repelling charms on the both of them. They would reach the entrance hall, share a quick kiss, and then head for the common room to talk to him. Except he wouldn't be there.
Harry patted the Marauder's Map, wrapped in waterproof bindings and hidden in his pocket. He had made sure he wouldn't be found in this spot, even bringing his invisibility cloak with him. He thought wearily that there would be no finding Harry Potter lest he wish to be found. The rain beat down upon him, soaking him quickly. The rain was cold for early May, but Harry couldn't help but feel that some angel somewhere had taken pity on him for a moment. He carefully withdrew a small picture from his robes, one that Ron had taken of Harry and Hermione on their hunt for Riddle's Horcruxes. Picture-Harry was looking at Picture-Hermione in amusement as she tried to hold onto a yowling Crookshanks, who was adamant about not getting in the washbasin next to which they were kneeling. Harry couldn't help but laugh as the photo images of the two of them were suddenly drenched by the irate half- kneazle.
He stood again and looked out over the expanse of the lake, remembering the hours he and Hermione had spent walking around the perimeter, sharing toast after his name had been pulled from the Goblet of Fire. As the wind lashed him with rain, he closed is eyes to more fully enjoy the memories of their times together. He watched in his mind's eye as Hermione Granger descended the staircase, dress of blue wafting around her, giving her an almost ethereal grace.
"How could I have been so blind? How could I not have seen what was right in front of me," he asked the heavens. Their only reply was to rumble and flash.
Harry rested his head on his folded arms as he leaned on the ancient battlements. There wasn't anything he could do, not this time. This wasn't a dark wizard that deserved to die, or a monster trying to hurt people. This was Ron… Ron and Hermione. And as a cold hand clenched his heart, he accepted a bitter truth.
"He makes her happy. She loves him." Harry stood, his back ramrod straight, and buried what he felt. He could no more hurt Ron and Hermione than he could have joined the Death Eaters; it just wasn't in him. He turned to head back into the castle, when he found himself staring into brown eyes that had haunted his dreams every night for the last few months.
"Harry, why in the world are you out in this weather? You'll catch your death," Hermione chastised. Harry allowed a self-deprecating smile as he put his hand on her shoulder. He patted it as he walked to the door, turning in the entrance to answer her, as she still had not moved. He tried to ignore the look in her eyes, the look she always gave him; that look of caring and worry and something more, something he could never accept now.
"It's nothing, Hermione. Just a saving-people thing."