Just Thinking

mysterium26

Rating: G
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 23/09/2006
Last Updated: 23/09/2006
Status: completed

A conversation between Harry and Hermione on a break from the hunt for horcruxes. Of course, because it's me, this takes place in front of a roaring fire. Aaaawwww. Short and sweet, but I'd love to know what you think!

Chapters

1. Just Thinking

1. Just Thinking

A/N: As with all of my fics, I'm not entirely sure where this came from. I think that I will be using this in the next chapter of Powers of Persuasion, but I thought it could stand on its own. Plus, a one-shot has been long overdue. Anyway, I don't proofread very well so any and all mistakes are mine!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of his world. There's also a quote from the book The Thirteenth Tale that I borrowed from too…

Just Thinking

It was late. Though the three of them—Hermione, Harry, and Ron—were exhausted from Apparating all over the countryside searching for a manor they hoped housed their most wanted Horcrux, only Ron had drifted off to one of the bedrooms for sleep. Hermione and Harry sat side by side on the hearthrug in silence, leaning their backs and shoulders against the lower part of the couch behind them.

The crackling fire and the trio's constant lack of success was making Hermione Granger lethargic and dull-witted. A sudden snap as the fire devoured a packet of air on the log didn't even make her jump; she doubted she could even raise her wand to defend herself if Voldemort's entire army barged into the inn's little three room cabin.

“We'll try in Sussex again tomorrow,” said Harry in the authoritative tone he had adopted since their quest began. She was glad for the injected optimism even if it was forced, for after months with little to guide them but Dumbledore's hunches, Hermione's mood had grown steadily gloomier.

But for Harry, she turned her head toward him and replied with a hearty confidence she did not feel, “All right, can't hurt to be thorough, as Ron would say.” Ron had been making up for her noticeable pessimism by putting a positive spin on everything, something none of the trio had anticipated.

Harry returned her smile, but Hermione detected the pain behind it. It brought back the images of the eleven-year-old boy, just discovering himself as a wizard and feeling lost along the way. She marveled at how the years had fallen away with just that one tragic look. She watched his profile as he stared into the flames, his arms crossed tightly over his chest protectively, though his right hand was ever flexed for quick retrieval of his wand should he need it. It was in moments like this when she saw his grief, not during the shouting matches that frequented her fifth year. He was still mourning Dumbledore, Sirius, Cedric, countless others that had yet to fall by Voldemort's hand, those that would surely fall if they failed to defeat him. The two people he so closely resembled but couldn't remember. The words were out of her mouth before she'd even had a chance to think.

“They would be proud of you, you know.”

He turned his emerald gaze to her and the confusion that expected to see, once she had gotten over her own shock at her bold words, wasn't there. He knew exactly who she meant.

She was braced to apologize, unsure if she had overstepped even their wide bound of friendship, but Harry waved her off. They settled into a tense silence.

“Do you really think so?” he asked, once more facing her. She felt the cold, hard weight of his doubt pressing into her. This was not the time for light teasing or jokes; Harry did not often invite discussion about his parents and a simple “Of course, don't be silly, Harry,” might close him off to her forever.

She placed a hand on his arm, absently adding the feel of the toned muscles under her slender fingers as further evidence of his emergence into manhood, and tried to find the words. Somehow she found herself echoing words she had once said to him long ago. “You're a great wizard, Harry.” He smiled, presumably remembering the first time she had said that to him just before he'd gone to face Quirrel. She smiled back, lost for a second in the way that just his grin brightened his entire face, then grew serious. “I never knew your parents, so I could not truthfully say how they would feel. But I do know that they gave me my best friend and that I, at least, am proud of him.”

They stared at one another for what felt like an eternity and Hermione thought to herself for the first time that if she had only one view to gaze at for the rest of her life, Harry's green eyes, sparkling with emotion that he did not often share with the world, would be it. Then another log popped, causing the pair to jump slightly apart. Had they been leaning toward each other? Her face blushed at the idea. The moment was gone.

They retreated into themselves once more, and Hermione wondered what her raised heartbeat and flushed cheeks meant for her friendship with Harry.

“Tell me about your parents.” Harry's words were spoken as more of a request than a demand, but Hermione suspected that she would have acquiesced either way, to keep the conversation flowing.

So she talked about her family—their jobs, their quirks, their bafflement of her magical abilities though they loved her just the same, family trips to Brighton when she was younger, sitting on her dad's shoulders when they would visit street fairs or watch parades when she was little. She summarized her simple Muggle life for him, bringing as much vigor to her words as she was able, though she doubted he could ever take them for himself as the substitute of the real thing. She glanced at him and knew from his expression that despite the added vitality to her words, he had sensed the emptiness in them.

“Only child?” he asked simply, an understanding half-smile on his face.

She swallowed her reflexive defense of “I had them all to myself,” and nodded truthfully to both what he said and what it implied. “I should have liked to be a big sister,” she said, sharing one of her dearest secrets for the first time.

“You would have been a great big sister,” Harry replied at once, seeming to know that she had never spoken of her wish before.

She was taken aback by the promptness of his answer. “How do you know?” she asked.

He struggled and looked down at his hands clasped in his lap. “Because you're pretty good at bossing me and Ron around,” he joked and she cracked a smile at her own expense, muttering,” Ron and I.”

“Well, I think you'd make an excellent big brother,” she asserted, nudging him playfully with her shoulder. They lapsed into quiet again, but only briefly. Hermione felt herself inexplicably in the mood for sharing. “When I had first read about twins, I used to look for mine everywhere. I never told anyone, but I always felt like maybe she was near, just out of sight. Darting around the corner just as I'd entered the hallway, a reflection in a windowpane….Why else was I so lonely, if not because my twin couldn't find me? Ordinary people, untwins, seek their soul mate, take lovers, marry. Tormented by their incompleteness, they strive to be part of a pair. Maybe that's just what I was feeling.

“It's hard to be an only child, not just because there's no one to play with. There's no united sibling front when parents are strict, no one to share secrets with, no one to teach things to,” she said, her words coming out in quick bursts only to trail off in the end.

“It's not even loss is it?” said Harry when Hermione was finished. She shifted her gaze to regard him quizzically. “You can't lose something you never had,” he elaborated.

She frowned, having never considered this. “I wonder if that's better or worse. It's like the pang of loss but without the justification.”

Harry nodded. “Exactly,” he agreed.

“And it doesn't matter how much you want it, how many nights you spend wishing for it,” she said quietly.

“Some things are just out of your control,” Harry added cryptically. His brow furrowed and she got the feeling that he was talking about more than just family. She watched as a weight seemed to resettle on his shoulders and she supposed that he was thinking again of the prophecy that had so cruelly directed his life. Oh, that Snape had never heard it! her mind cried, wanting to reach out to her friend and knowing that her desire to comfort him concealed some ulterior motives that she wasn't sure she was ready to think about quite yet.

“We should have had this conversation a long time ago,” he said, bringing Hermione out of her musings.

She heaved an exaggerated sigh and replied in a blasé manner, “Oh, I think we've been quite occupied with our quest for bits of Dark Lord soul, wouldn't you agree?”

Harry laughed, the sound unfitting to the seriousness behind her words. “But even before then, we've had about six whole years now,” he insisted.

“There's always been something, Harry,” she pointed out with a hollow laugh. “Basilisks and imposter professors, werewolves and nosy reporters.”

“But there are more important things,” he said finally, after a lengthy silence punctuated by crackling flame. He didn't seem to realize that he had just quoted her twelve-year-old words once more.

She gave an involuntary yawn and leaned her head back against the seat of the couch. The conversation had buoyed her somehow, despite the heavy subject matter. She had spoken words aloud to Harry that she was sometimes afraid to even voice in her own head, but she knew that Harry wouldn't betray her confidence—even to Ron. And more importantly he understood what she felt and was able to put words to the feeling.

Hermione's thoughts returned to her body's reaction to his close proximity, to her instinctive will to protect him from all hurt, to her want of him to look at her again with that sparking understanding gaze. She set these aside in a safe little corner of her mind, advising herself “For now, keep them here.” She could bring them back out and admire them later—when Voldemort was gone and Harry was free of his burden.

“There's always something,” she repeated through a yawn, almost to herself. She didn't see Harry looking over at her in puzzlement as she peered through heavily lidded eyes at the dying fire. She was content to do so for now, just to sit and think about everything and nothing with the presence of her best friend at her shoulder. Just thinking.

A/N: I tend to do a lot of these scenes of conversation in front of the fire, don't I? I'd love to know what you think. And all that twin stuff was inspired by the book I mentioned before. If you can, read it! It's possibly the best book I've ever read. Ever.

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