1. All About Soul

All About Soul

A Harry/Hermione song fiction by Instantkarma

She waits for me night/she waits for me in silence/she gives me all her tenderness/and takes away my pain/ and so far she hasn’t run/though I swear she’s had her moments/ she still believes in miracles/while others cry in vain. (found in: I)

It’s all about soul/it’s all about faith in a deeper devotion/it’s all about soul/ because under her love there’s a stronger emotion/she’s gotta be strong/ ‘cause so many things are getting out of control/ you’ll drive her away/why does she stay?/ it’s all about soul.

She turns to me sometimes/and she asks me what I’m dreaming/and I realize I must have gone million miles away/and I ask her how she knew/to reach out for me at that moment/and she smiles because it’s understood/ there are no words to say. (found in: II)

It’s all about soul/it’s all about knowing what someone is feeling/the woman’s got soul/the power of love and the power of healing/this life isn’t fair/it’s gonna get dark/it’s gonna get cold/you gotta get tough/but that aint enough/it’s all about soul.

Na na na na it’s all about soul. (found in: IV)

There are people who have lost/every trace of human kindness/there are many who have fallen/there are some still survive/and she comes to me at night/and she tells me her desires/and she gives me all the love I need/to keep my faith alive.

It’s all about soul/it’s all about joy that comes out of sorrow/ it’s all about soul/ who’s standing now?/who’s standing tomorrow?/you’ve got to be hard/as hard as that rock in the old rock-n-roll/that’s only part/you know in your heart/ it’s all about soul. (found in III)

Hermione

It all started after graduation. After all, isn’t that when either stories end or begin? But that is beside the point. Harry and I decided to get an apartment by ourselves. It was in London, near Diagon Alley where many other wizarding families lived. I began my work with Mark Sumwind, whom I met during the summer at a Muggle library in France. We began work writing a series of textbooks for young school children being home schooled by their magical parents. It was rewarding in the fact that I traveled around the country to visit some of the home classrooms where our books were being used.

Harry…well he began his work being able to sleep through the night without waking up with cold seats and a racing heart. He was disturbed by Ron and Hagrid’s death, as well as the memory of his own life almost taken by the figure of ultimate evil. Who wouldn’t be? When I traveled, he came with me, everywhere. Ever since I can remember Harry has had disturbing images flashing across his sleep ridden mind. Sometimes they were so horrible and crippling for him he didn’t sleep for weeks strait. I kept begging him to take sleeping draughts that would produce a dreamless sleep, but once he had an idea in his head he was not going to budge, especially when it can to admitting he had any weaknesses.

Those where hard times, especially when Ron’s birthday rolled around…the first birthday with out him. They were so close, like brothers. Besides, he was Harry’s first real friend. Although Harry has many now, he was friends with Ron before he began saving the world. I was only friends with him through his bravery. He saved my life then, and many times before. Merlin knows I owe him everything for it. To tell you the truth, I wanted to be friends when I came bursting in their compartment, being a big, bossy, know-it-all. Both Harry and Ron slouched me out of that horrible groove totally by third year…and fourth was such an odd year. It was a year that changed us all…not only mentally, but physically as well. I spent some time with Krum in Romania, but at the end of the summer I went back to the Weasley’s…as always. When I came bursting into the house behind Mrs. Weasley, and I enveloped my two best friends into a patented Granger hug. When we parted I saw that Harry had almost caught up to Ron’s lanky height, both of their jaws squared off in a more sharp, manly way, and a little more than peach fuzz growing on their lips. I suppose that they noticed something different in me too, because that is when the real tension between my friends and I began.

Harry

Those were the worst times for me…personally anyways. When Voldemort was everywhere I turned, at least I could fight him, win and then prepare for the next battle. When he came in dreams, I was always defenseless, I never had my wand, I had no weapons, and every time I looked into his serpentine eyes I could see my mother and father dying. I could see Ron dying, and Hagrid. All innocents in his mission to get rid of me, withering in pain with a backdrop of the wrong kind of limelight. Hermione…she was the only sane one in those odd days after the war. It seemed we all had grown accustomed to the feeling of fear and waking up to bad news in the paper. When it was all over, when everything was said and done, and Voldemort dead for what we hope to be that last time, we struggled to find the normalcy of the pre-war days. They seemed to be a distant memory of all of us.

For me, normal was fighting Voldemort. Since I was eleven he had been like a evil storm could hanging over my life, tainting every laugh, every smile, every feeling of safety. After my fourth year, when I witnessed Voldemort’s rising and Cedric’s death I became focused of nothing else but ridding the world of him. What sticks out in my head as the worst time was seventh year. Everyone was happy. It was our last year; we could leave and begin our lives as…whatever. But for me, I wasn’t sure I was going to live past it. Ron was so excited to leave Hogwarts. He was offered a position in the administration of the Chudley Cannons. He was to travel everywhere with the team, making sure everything for the members was exactly the way they wanted, down to cotton or feather pillows in the hotel rooms. He would have been prefect for it; he would have clawed his way up the ladder. He wanted that life, but Voldemort took it away. The original shock was insane. It seemed to me that Ron couldn’t possibly be gone. It was like a vicious practical joke, but when Ron was buried, it wasn’t a joke in my mind anymore. I remember I would stay up nights in the common room and find Hermione tucked away in a corner, clutching one of Ron’s maroon sweaters, tears staining her face and her brown eyes wide and unfocused; she was lost in the old days where she and Ron fought over every little thing from the assignment in Potions, to Quidditch. She still has that sweater in her drawer. She brings it out on his birthday and on odd days when she just wants a piece of him with her. He was her best friend too; though all the fights and all the animosity and all her tears, she loved him like Ginny loved him. He protected her like his own sister, and she misses him. I miss him.

Hermione believed in me, she knew I was a survivor; she was a survivor. She knew that I could get over this. I said it would take a miracle for it to happen. She kept waiting for it. Little did she know the miracle was she.

Hermione

The one happy day I remember during that time was when we finally found our flat. We were staying with the Weasleys until we could get on our feet. Molly welcomed the work, all her children had moved away, living their own lives, and losing her youngest son had taken a toll on her no one would have expected. When we arrived at the Burrow several days after the final battle, Molly had lost at least fifty pounds, and her skin was a dull shade of white. She looked sick, and I think Harry and I were the exact distractions she, as well and Mr. Weasley, needed. I made it my mission since the time I set one foot across the door step I would get her back to the large, loving, and generous Molly Weasley she was before Ron was lost. I finally convinced her to begin all her old hobbies, knitting, cooking, and reading. She stopped reading Gilderoy Lockhart’s works, and moved on to Ewan Sandstone’s dishy romance novels that made he cheeks flush a light pink color when she was caught reading one. By the time we left, not only was Mrs. Weasley’s life nearly healed, Mr. Weasley had picked Harry and I’s brains empty about living with Muggles half of our childhood.

We picked up free real estate papers, both Muggle and Wizarding. The ladder was much more exciting, with little pictures of witches standing on lawns, throwing out their arms, displaying the home, and if you listened close, you could hear them chatter on about the spacious rooms and beautiful views. Three months later we found it. It was Wizarding London, just off Diagon Alley. Actually was rather large for the rent we were to pay. I think it was a little bit because my boyfriend was Harry Potter. Who knows though, it could have been because I was wearing a rather short skit the day we met with the landlord. It had two bedrooms (although we never used the second one) and a bath, a nice lounge and a big enough kitchen Harry could bang around in until he finally just conjured up dinner. Harry could really cook though; he enjoyed doing things for me. I guess it was in a way of repaying me for bringing home the bacon. I don’t know why he had such a problem with it, an obsession almost. We practically lived off his inheritance from Lily and James the first few months before Mark and I’s books started to sell. He would clean the whole house while I sat there…doing nothing. I hated doing nothing, and always will. But he did really nice things too, like massages, buying me flowers or a new quill from Diagon Alley. He did all of the shopping while I was at the office.

Harry was such a mess inside, but it seemed to whomever he met, he was prefect, brave hero, and a grieving friend. I would lie next to him in bed and wipe the sweat from his brow after his nightmares, which were slowing down in their frequency and intensity by that time, and wonder what the public would think of him if they knew even one bit of the pain he was going though. He would tell me things, whispering to me in the darkness, his breath tickling my ear. He told me about his desires, what he wanted for his life…our life together. I would sigh happily and lay my head on his chest as we drifted back off to sleep together, and I hopped he wouldn’t have to go though such pain anymore.

Harry

I loved those days, but not the nights. From nine to five Hermione was at her offices. By the third year of her educational books, Hermione and Mark needed a whole office building to keep their florshing business organized. By then they had even began starting on their publishing house, Quill and Ink Publishing, that print not only educational books, but novels and magazines. It was nice. I would do everything for her, cook, clean, treat her like a queen. She is a busy body, never wanting to stop, but I made her appreciate being just doing nothing. In the process I found a job. Hermione was quite proud, which made me even happier. I took a job at The Greater London School For Young Witches and Wizards. It was kind of like a precursor to Hogwarts. It was for kids from Wizard families to hone their skills of magic while learning the Muggle “three R’s”. I taught Defense Against the Dark Arts of course. I loved my students; some I knew one day would be excellent aurors. Hogwarts wanted me to teach there, but I couldn’t. How could I be away from my Hermione all year long? No, I wasn’t going to do that; however it was an honor to be asked.

I would come home from school sometimes and just sit down. Hermione wouldn’t be home yet, and I would just let my mind wander dangerously though the past…a painful past. I would think of the dark years, the ones where I felt the overbearing power of utter evil all around me. Most days I would be so caught up in my memories, I wouldn’t hear her come in. She sat down beside me, and touch my arms softly, and lay her head on my shoulder. I don’t know how she knew to reach for me at just the right time, before I would become completely lost in how things were. How things weren’t.

Hermione and I lived together in that apartment for five years together. We were unmarried still. We felt that we didn’t need to. We were young…21. It was my birthday when I proposed to her. I had been thinking about it for the longest time. I was ready to spend the rest of my life with her, I was sure of it. I was ready to make the final commitment. We decided to go out for dinner. It was our favorite Muggle restaurant in the city, Gang Po’s Chinese Eatery. We were lo mien junkies, and still are when we are too lazy to cook. So after we were done eating, and Hermione finishing up her tea, I asked her to be my wife. I’ll never forget the look on her face…a mix of relief and extreme happiness. I put the ring on her finger and she lost it. Tears were everywhere, and before I knew it she was on my lap, kissing me like there was no tomorrow. It was one of those happy moments that erase about two bad ones. I don’t think the manager of Gang Po’s will forget it either.

She rang her mother first. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were happy for her, I think the phone almost short-circted due to the volume of liquid dumped upon it. They knew we would get married eventually, ever since Hermione pecked me on the cheek for the first time at the end of fourth year. Next we owled the Weasley’s, and then Sirius and then Lupin. I wanted Sirius as my best man, since Ron had passed. Hermione asked Ginny to be her maid of honor, and her little cousin Kristi to be the flower girl. A small wedding was to be planned…the date was set for late spring. I myself couldn’t wait to see her in white.

III

Hermione

Planning for the wedding was quite interesting. I had my mother, who wanted us to get married in a little chapel in Dover, over looking the white cliffs, and Molly who wanted us married at Hogwarts, and I wanted married at this park near our apartment. It was silly for us to get married at Hogwarts anyways. All of my Muggle relatives wouldn’t understand, and they couldn’t see it anyways due to all the charms around it. Harry just wanted it over with and on to the honeymoon.

That was one thing we all agreed on: Italy. We wanted to see Rome, and Venice and the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I wanted to go on a gondola ride and Harry wanted authentic Italian cuisine and a Quidditch game. Over the course of our relationship, Harry got me somehow to become a big fan of the Fullham Flyers. Besides, half of the reason we chose Italy was because the Quidditch World Cup was there that year. Lord knows Ron would have come with us, even if it was our honeymoon!

Ron. It was hard during all the preparations for the wedding, he was our best friend, and by seventh year we knew that we would be friends forever…no matter what. He had healed over, but it seemed as the wedding grew closer Harry grew more and more sunken into his old rut of depression. I tried everything…but somehow through all my efforts seemed to make him worse. One evening during the winter between his proposal and our wedding in May, I came home from the office, I found Harry sitting in our bedroom, on the bed, with mementos and photos from our Hogwarts days, Ron’s maroon sweater in the center. On his cheeks were stains of old tears, and when he looked up and me, it seemed like my heart froze with the feeling of death. I walked slowly in the room; there was a feeling like something horrible was happening in his heart that was pulling him in two. Halfway in I realized Harry had never really grieved for his friend. He was to busy preventing any more deaths…including his own, and after the war he was ravaged by nightmares and painful visions.

“Hermione, Ron loved you,” Harry stated matter-of-factly

“I know; I loved him too.”

“No, he loved you like I love you. He wanted to marry you. You would have said yes too, wouldn’t you?” Though his voice was full of pain, it was thick was accusation.

I furrowed my brow. Didn’t he understand I loved no one else in the world but him since the day we met? “No, I wouldn’t have. Where do you get this idea from Harry James?”

“He told me. He told me he wanted to marry you. He told me several days before his death. He didn’t know we were seeing each other Hermione. He didn’t know. He would have gone to you with his romance and naïve hopes and dreams for a fairy tale life. You would have said yes. I know you would have.”

His voice tore at me like a knife. “No! Harry you’re wrong. I loved you since we were eleven. Since you saved my life, since you penetrated my wall of bossiness. Don’t you know yet? Don’t you get it? I would give up my life so you would live. I want you to be the father of my children. Don’t you want that Harry…don’t you?” I was scared he was going to admit her never loved me. Tears began rolling down my cheeks at the very thought of losing his love.

He looked at me with his large green eyes that I could never ignore. “No. I love you more than you will ever know.” The conviction in his voice made my heart leap.

“I would have said no. Harry, Fate is stronger than we all are. It was supposed to go like this. Ron was supposed to die. You were supposed to save the world. I was supposed to be with you. Harry, this is all right. Everything is all right, and it isn’t even the end yet.” I took him in my arms and I hugged him tightly to me. For the first time ever…Harry doubted my love.

I felt Harry choke back a sob and I held him tighter. I soothed his hair with my hand and shut my eyes tight, for if I maybe I hopped hard enough he would never feel pain again.

He spoke again, his voice muffled by my sweater, “Please don’t think I was doubting you. I realized that Ron should have been here…taking me out for a ’guys night’, planning his own wedding with his own wife, just living, breathing, being Ronald Weasley. I never cried for him.”

“I know Harry. You have to remember though; Ron would have wanted us to move on. He would have wanted us to go on about life and love and happiness. He knows we think about him…the way your mother and father are always looking in on you, always protecting you. Harry you have been though so many tragedies…” I trailed off. I didn’t want to talk anymore of death when I was going to pick out my wedding dress tomorrow.

“Hermione, you make happiness come from sorrow, you make laughs from tears. You have a soul like none other. You’re tough and soft at the same time. You are more than I ever will be.

I smiled, “Harry, it’s all about soul.”

Harry

It seems odd, talking about all this now. I would suppose it’s a good story, like a fairy tale for the real world. I am sure the Muggle would still consider it a child’s story if they ever heard it. I am a grandfather now…my children are no longer children, but adults with children of their own. When I was seventeen I didn’t think I would live this long. I was fully prepared to kick the bucket seventh year.

If you didn’t know already Hermione and I had two children together, Benjamin James, the oldest, and Julia Lynn, my baby girl. Benny got married to Draco and Lavender’s daughter, Roxanne several years ago and just brought Jamison Thomas into the world six months ago. Who would have guessed I would be indirectly related to the Malfoys? Julie recently wed Clay Gracin, an America wizard. They met while Julie was studding in Spain. They are living happily in Boston, his hometown; they are planning on moving back to the UK when Clay is done with his university.

Hermione and I are living in the same house we bought when we found out she was pregnant with Benny in Dover, where Hermione grew up. One wouldn’t think of it, but there is a rather large community of wizards there. It was a wonderful place for the kids to grow up. We had hard times after our marriage as well. We worked though them, of course. What else is there to do with a problem? You can’t turn and run, or let it be. You have to fix it, correct it, and heal it. I’ve always believed in the power of love…love is healing. With the healing power of love, laughter, family and friends, I would have gone insane.

Hermione

Harry and I are strong. That’s the bottom line. We stick it out when things get bad. But being strong just isn’t it. You have to have soul. Faith in yourself and faith in your partner is essential. Harry and I learned that early. You have to trust, and let others trust you, because you can’t make it though with out them. Life is hard. Life isn’t fair, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make the most of it. Take advice from Grandma Potter and just live. All these stories, all these lessons won’t do you a heap of good if you don’t take a chance first. All our teen years Harry and I took life-risking chances. We have loved, grieved, lived, and one day we will die. Remember your friends and family. Remember good times, and try to forget hard ones, but always remember the lesson you learned from them.

Harry says I have real soul. I think we all have soul though, just different ones. Harry says I have a clever and healing soul. I think he has a brave and noble soul. What are you?

Thanks to: My HP friend Erin (sugarjet03), and my best friend in the world, Leann who is wonderfully and brutally honest.