A/N - Some people kept asking me about Hermione's book. What was it about, are we going to hear more about it. Well, the beginning of this chapter is an excerpt from her story, "Song of Sorrows". The ending, I know some of you will kill me over. Hope you enjoy it, and please review! There's only 1 more chapter left!
Chapter 3
Well That's Where I Belong
As Conny turned off the engine of her small car, she quietly got out, and closed the door. Breathing in deeply, she closed her eyes as she remembered the familiar smell of the ocean mist. It had been years since she was near the ocean, and the salty smell mixed with the light ocean spray influenced her senses; transporting her back to happier times.
Opening her eyes, she walked across the barren road. The quaint, paved road seemed endless, and equally desolate. Beautifully green pasture hugged close to both sides, and stretched past the horizon while the road cut through and moved towards the coast. The road was very rarely used now, as the highway made for quicker trips; but she loved this road. She remembered driving this road the day before he left.
The cry of a gull flying overhead caught her attention, and she watched the bird flap its wings easily as it flew towards the end of the road, where the ocean began. She was so alone on this road in the midday; it would be quite calming to an ordinary person. Conny was too wrapped up in inner turmoil though, and she frustratingly got back in her car, turned the engine over, and sped off towards the coast.
Heaving a heavy sigh, she wiped her forehead, and looked forward. She was so tired of being by herself. Of course she had friends, and family, and many other people she knew, but only he could fill that very specific void that stuck in her heart. Sometimes she could even feel her chest hollow at the dream of seeing him again, and running to his arms and kissing him passionately, like you see in all too many movies. She became used to snickering at those scenes, knowing they never actually happened in real life. Anyone who was that happy, or had a moment that picturesque deserved to get slapped with a dose of reality.
Coming down a small incline, the blue ocean came into view and she smiled briefly, knowing she would soon be sitting on a bench, or picnic table, reading her book. Reading books always gave Conny some peace, being able to just read the words and imagine a whole new world, and-even in her head-escape her own world for a while.
As her car slowly made its way down the hill, she was happy to find no one else there. This would be her spot for the day. She could sit down and read her book in peace, knowing there was not a living soul within miles. It would be her little spot, at the end of the hundred mile road.
Turning off her car, she grabbed her book-a newer one a friend recommended-and her beach blanket, and got out of the car. The rolling of the tide was loud, but harmonious in its rhythm. The sun was bright in the blue sky, and made Conny feel a bit better in the bright colours. The aqua colour of the ocean, the warm beige of the beach sand, the dark brown of the wooden picnic table; it was all very inviting for a book reader.
Sitting, and placing her water bottle down, she looked around the area to breath, see, and listen to it all, when she noticed she in fact was not alone. A small figure of a person walked along the beach far off in the distance.
Conny was disappointed by this of course. Being all the way out in the middle of nowhere, she did not want anyone there, especially a single person. They would probably come there, and try to start a dismal conversation, and ask her questions. It would be annoying, because all she wanted to do was read.
Perhaps if I just stick to my novel, and don't acknowledge their presence, they will leave me alone she thought to herself. Looking up again, she saw it was a man-which made it worst of course-and she buried her eyes in her book.
Reading was almost impossible of course, as she was focusing on the shape of the man walking along. She could not make him out well because she was looking at him from the side of her eyes. She smiled when the man seemed to just continue past her, and walked down the beach. She lost sight of him as he passed behind her and was waiting for him to reappear, but he did not when he was expected.
`Where will I find you all those years from now, searching to find and see if you allow. For at the place where we both belong, I shall go searching for you on the road a hundred miles long' the man spoke softly to Conny.
Conny could feel her spine, her fingers, her legs, her arms; everything tingled and shivered with the words to her own song, sung by the man she wrote them for. She could not believe that it was him, the man she had been trying to find for years and years, finally showed up at the one place she always wanted too.
Dropping her book, and letting it fall off the picnic table and into the sand, she very slowly-and nervously-turned around, and her eyes fell upon the love of her life.
`And though I may not find you in the time that comes to pass, I will always miss your green eyes, green as the summer's grass. But I will always be searching for you from the plains until the sea, for you are my everything and you belong with me' he again spoke gently as he approached. His black hair contrasted greatly to his surroundings, and leapt like fire off his head in the wind.
As he approached, Conny could feel the tears welling in her eyes, and slowly falling down her cheeks. She waited for so long, and was now having her utmost dream come alive. Conny paused for a moment to place her hands on him, worried if he was just her imagination or a dream. He saw the hesitation, and placed his rugged hands on her shoulders. Her heart fluttered in a manner that it had not in years as the man she loved looked down at her with his glaringly brilliant green eyes. Tears where radiating down her cheeks, and the man smiled at her with such care, she beamed at him, and with a love pent up for years, threw herself into his arms and kissed him with a passion no movie could ever picture.
*
Once the siphoning finished pushing against her sides, Hermione opened her eyes, and found herself on a paved road, just outside the town of Godric's Hollow. The road moved down a slight hill towards the town, and Hermione could see the small buildings, and quaint looking homes along the few streets. Knowing her way, she turned away from the direction of the town, and started down towards the Potter's house.
She had only been to Godric's Hollow once, after the war ended. Harry moved in shortly after things settled, and she, along with Ron, Ginny, and the rest of the Weasleys helped clean up. Once they finished, it proved to be a beautifully old house. The elegant staircase and the library were rooms Hermione loved. The library, surprisingly enough, she found she liked the room and its art more than the books that filled the shelves.
The house was visible, and as she approached, her feet began to tingle with each step. She could not imagine how Harry felt that night when he came. She had so much respect for him taking that chance, and doing this. Hermione was determined though, and she would not let anything stop her.
Coming closer, she could see the window drapes were all closed. The stone bricks were storm cloud grey, as were the drapes, and gave the house an ill feeling. Hermione felt the house itself reflected Harry's mood that last night; forlorn and neglected.
Reaching the black iron gate, which stood up to her waist, her mind began wondering if Harry would even speak to her. Would he even answer the door, and if he did, what would stop him from just yelling at her?
Her hand waited on the gate, and she looked up at the two storey house, and then to the walkway to the front door. She knew there was risk in her coming, but she needed to see him. If he wanted to not answer, or yell at her, it was up to him. She deserved it all.
Opening the gate, it squeaked as it was not greased. She turned and closed it with the click of the lock, and she quietly walked towards the stairs that lead to the door. The sky was overcast here, and increased the dismal and worn out feeling to everything.
Waiting on the brink of the first stair, she looked up at the ghostly house and exhaled slowly. She belonged here, with Harry. She knew it, and wondered why she waited so long to search for Harry. If she had gone earlier, she could have been sitting in the grass near her house like she did in her dreams; in the arms of Harry, as he gently kissed her neck and whispered sweet words in her ear, making her beam intensely, and shiver as his breath moved past her ear, and down her neck.
Just the remembrance of the dream made Hermione hopeful, and doubtful at the same time. She wanted it happen so much, but it was all up to Harry. If she went ahead, she would have to put all her dreams in his hands. If she turned, she knew for a fact her dreams would never happen.
Placing her foot on the first step, it creaked loudly. The creak broke the silence that surrounded the house, and Hermione cringed at the annoying step. Wasting no time, she moved up the other stairs quickly and reached the old, dark green painted wooden door.
She could feel her hands shaking as she moved to knock on the door. Her mind was running madly with calculating possible outcomes of this. It seemed she always had some idea of how things would turn out, or how she would want them to. This time however, she had no idea. She wanted things to turn out great, but like Harry did before her, she had to trust fate.
Holding her hand up, she knocked on the door. Her mind was racing more than ever before, and it seemed the knocks echoed around her forever. The wait became almost unbearable, as she just wished she could have Harry open the door, smile at her, and she could run up and hug him like never before.
Continuing to wait, and hearing no movement in the house, she began to worry that she traveled all this distance, and put all this worry into coming to an empty house. She moved over to the window on the porch, and looked in.
The curtains were silk-like, so she could see the armchair and the sitting room it sat in. A fireplace stood on the far wall, and a table sat in the middle of the room, with various novels littered along the top. She could just see the edge of that beautiful staircase, and some of the ancient-looking paintings on the walls.
No one was answering the door though, and Hermione could not see any movement in the house. Her heart and mind began to feel lonely and upset at making such a big deal of coming to see Harry, to only end up on the porch of an empty house.
Deciding not to give up so easily, she decided to move around to the back, in hopes of perhaps finding some movement, or stirring Harry if he was indeed inside.
Stepping off the porch-the last stair again creaking loudly-she turned, and moved around towards the back of the stone house. Once she entered the back, her heart hollowed as memories from the house's clean up surfaced in her mind.
The table everyone ate at still sat in the middle of the back yard. A thicket of trees grew less than one hundred feet from the back door, and the table-in line with the tree line-had weathered the past three to four years. Hermione approached it slowly, and it seemed to her like the table was a reminder of better times. She remembered the night they all sat down for supper. Harry looked so happy to have all his friends and family there, eating at his parents-now his-table. The meal went on for hours, and Hermione vividly remembered the bright green of Harry's eyes as he smiled and laughed with Ron and the others, sharing what still remains, Hermione's best meal ever.
She wanted that supper to never end, and it almost did not. They stayed at that table until very late, talking, laughing, and enjoying each other.. Hermione remembered Mrs. Weasley bringing out the fairy lights, and levitating them from the trees. The glow of the fairies lit the entire table, and left the rest to the darkness of the moon-lit sky.
Reaching the table, she put her fingertips to the old wood, and washed her hand over the surface. It had been ill kept and worn, and turned grey over time. It pained her to see this table, once fine and bright brown with a wonderfully smooth finish, now wasted away, and old.
Sighing, she realized this how Harry felt. Enjoyed and loved at once, and now feeling lost and forgotten. She needed to find him, even if it meant waiting on his doorstep. She would wait forever if she had too, to tell Harry the truth and fix the terrible mistake she made all those years ago. It was where she belonged, and where she should have been a long time before.
Leaving the old table, she walked back around the house-the tall grass reaching up to her knees-and she moved towards the staircase. She was so determined, she would not have noticed a crowd standing in front of the house, let alone a single person. Moving up the steps, she pounded on the first step-which resulted surprisingly in no sound at all. Reaching the top, she again peered into the windows, and again saw nothing or no-one moving. Sighing, she decided to sit on the stairs and wait for Harry to come.
Turning around, she froze instantly, and her eyes grew wider than she could remember, as they came upon the face of the man she had so sorely missed.
`I read your book' Harry expressed evenly.
A/N - So, thought's? Questions? Premonitions? Please review!
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