Three Reasons Why Brevity Should Be Against the Law and One Reason Why Hermione Granger Overcomes It
Warnings: zOMGz - FLUFF! There's a good chance this will make you physically ill. I would equate
reading it with drinking a gallon of pure maple syrup. Proceed at your own risk. 541 words. Written for
Calmacil20's 21st birthday…
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1. 1 b: an assurance of love 2 a: warm attachment, enthusiasm, or devotion <~of the sea> 3 a: unselfish concern that freely accept another in loyalty and seeks his good…6: a score of zero in tennis… She's paging idly through the Muggle dictionary her parents sent her the Christmas before last. The words rattle around inside her head and the text swims before her eyes. Too much to say and no idea how to say it. She keeps looking for the magic words that will both turn the world on its end and right it at the same time, only to find that the English language comes up appallingly short.
For the first time in her life, she's at a loss for words.
2. It's ironic, she thinks. She carries on a good conversation - many good conversations, actually. Over the years, she's learned how to lambaste those who would stubbornly stand in the way of house elf rights; she's brokered deals with crooked reporters and carried on correspondences with faraway allies; she's talked them out of a million corners and even lied through her teeth to ensure Harry Potter's safety. It's an impressive track record, no doubt, yet she's not used to wearing her heart on her sleeve.
It's a dangerous habit to get into in these dangerous times, she tells herself. It gives the other person the upper hand, you see?
3. Most of all, she's afraid to admit how much she needs him. Granger family lore - preserved in the pages of dusty scrapbooks - tells how she could look after herself from the age of two. To need someone now - when she's all grown up - is to restructure her world entirely, to throw out the time-tested model of self-reliance that has served her so well these many years.
She wants to start from scratch.
4. Her hands lay fingers-flat against the glass, her eyes hungrily taking in the breathtaking beauty of early autumn, the golden leaves drifting lazily earthward, the sky above a blue so bright that it is near painful to behold. Even as she watches, the wind picks up, sending the fallen leaves tumbling across the grounds in a frenzy. She can just make out Harry's silhouette against the backdrop of the Lake, a lanky figure buffeted by the wind. Winter will be upon them all too soon, this she knows and every one of nature's signs affirms it. This is, of course, not an excuse for inaction at all and the thought that Harry may go on to face far greater battles in the days and months to come without ever knowing what is in her heart cuts her to the quick. She slams the dictionary shut and sets off across the grounds, a girl on a mission.
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They're a work in progress, an essay stretching out a thousand scrolls long and they're only just beginning to puzzle out how they got here. No one's bothered to write the ending yet. If anyone asks, they're working on it. And when he says he loves her, she responds in kind: I love you. And she does, because sometimes she doesn't need to find all the words, when just a few well-chosen ones can say it best.
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