Effortlessly, or Odd

Effortlessly or Odd

By: Melika Elena

“I won't promise that we'll win, because I can't,” Harry was saying and his voice was strong, tinged with regret and solemnity. “But I will do my best to fight off the darkness and Voldemort and that's all I can give you right now. I can only hope that you will do the same.”

She knew she should have been listening to his voice as he addressed the large group, but in an uncharacteristic moment, she let her attention wander. Her gaze lingering over the room, she couldn't help but reflect upon the last time the group had met like this. Things had been so different then. They knew exactly what they were doing, and yet at the same time hadn't considered what might happen, hadn't fully known the consequences.

Well, at any rate, they did now.

It seemed that ever since their fourth year they had been preparing for this. This war, this battle, this time of desperation and where physical, mental, and emotional strength were tested. And yet for all of her preparing, she still found herself so lost and confused. She, who considered herself so independent and forward-thinking, was so utterly, effortlessly, lost. But she couldn't let them know it, him know it. Thinking of him again, his words began to infiltrate into her ears by now, and reluctantly, Hermione Granger turned her attention back to her best friend.

Harry Potter had become a great speaker. Hermione found that when he spoke, he always managed to keep his voice low, and he never dared raised it higher than he needed to. His words were clear and concise and he never used more than he needed to, but something about the weight of those words, something about the meaning behind them, traveled to his audience and invaded their minds, staying in them long after they were out of his presence.

Hermione envied that about Harry. To her it seemed as though whenever she spoke, people were inclined to turn the other way. But with him, people were enthralled at his simply spoken words. Although, she reflected, she didn't have very good people skills. She knew that. But that didn't mean she wouldn't have liked to have them.

Last year was a testament to that. She had been a walking disaster, hadn't she? With all her battles over textbooks and canaries and Malfoy and everything. It was a wonder that the three of them were still such good friends.

Although war, Hermione thought, had a way of bringing everyone together or tearing them apart. Thank goodness it had done the former with them.

They had an odd relationship, Ron mused to himself one day as the three basked outside right after exams were over. There were times when they didn't understand each other, where it seemed like the other person was speaking a different language. And yet at the end of the day, they knew each other like no one else. It was at those times where that easy comradery came so... effortlessly.

The people filled out of the Room of Requirement, and were eager to floo back to their homes. There had been many debates on whether or not The Order should all live together. Was there really safety in numbers, or was it the perfect opportunity for mass casualties?

Until the attacks became more frequent, people continued to live as they had been, afraid and cautious, in their own homes.

“You seem distracted today,” came a voice from her right. It wasn't accusing or angry, but curious and concerned. She still found it odd at how observatory he had become.

Glancing over, Hermione smiled at Ron Weasley. They had come a long way from who they had used to be. “Just a little worn down,” she told him. “I don't think I should have skipped dinner tonight.” It was funny how amused she as at herself; a year ago she would have never admitted she was wrong or had that sort of patience with Ron—but when one is in a war, little things don't seem so important anymore.

Ron frowned. “You know how we feel about you missing meals,” he said, referring to both himself and Harry. “I'll go get you something,” he said, leaving the room with a nod to Harry.

Once he had gone, Hermione turned her attention over to her best friend. “I'm sorry I hadn't paid attention to your speech,” she told him, smiling a little teasingly. “I'm sure it was wonderful, as always.”

He gave her a small smile back, but as always, he seemed so serious and focused, and his eyes never sparkled anymore. “It's all right,” he said, before shrugging. “It was okay, anyway,” he added, referring to the so-called mediocrity of his speech.

Hermione noticed that throughout the years, however many facades he liked to pursue, he could never cover up his modesty, his essential Harry-ness that had attracted her (and others) to him so steadily. As loath as she was to admit it, he entrhalled her so effortlessly.

“But it wasn't just about missing supper, was it?”

Yes, Hermione thought to herself. Although Ron had finally snapped out of his oblivious haze, Harry was still always just a little more keen on things.

“No,” she said. “It wasn't.” Her gaze turned questioning. “How did you know?”

Harry shrugged again, his nonchalance coming out again. “You're hardly ever distracted unless you're thinking about something serious,” he said. “And besides, I knew you were at least semi-lying.”

She smiled (she found herself doing that a lot lately), answering just as Ron pushed open the door, trays of food in hand. “You know me too well.”

And for once, his smile was genuine, and his eyes were clear as he said simply, “Of course.”

Many people tend to or like to forget a lot of the time, an entry from Hermione's journal read, that we are not just saviors or warriors, or bookworms or know-it-alls, or poor or quidditch players. No one really sees that when it comes down to it, we're just two boys and a girl. That's all. And somedays, we have less hope than they do.

“Are you all right now, Hermione?” Ron asked as he slipped down next to her. He could see in her grateful smile that she too had been affected by the empty common room. After growing up with the large family that he did, the loneliness was an alien, oddly unwelcome, feeling.

“I'm fine, thank you,” she told him, setting down her book, another one on the dark arts. That's all she seemed to be reading lately. “I've been better of course, but haven't we all?”

Ron lay back, lazily. “Yeah,” he said, his tone wistful. “Yeah.” He turned to her abruptly, his expression apologetic. “I'm sorry,” he said. “For all of those times I provoked you and made you mad and said cruel things. I just wish I hadn't wasted so much time being so petty.”

Hermione smiled at him, and he knew that she understood why the sudden apology had come about. “I could say the same for myself,” she told him. “But it doesn't matter now. I have this theory that everything happens for a reason, everything is connected, and perhaps in some twisted way… our bickering helped mold us to who we are now.”

Her friend looked at her. It was odd, he thought. For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger wasn't using logic to hide or cover her emotions. Instead, she was using that reason to convey her emotions. Regardless of how and why this had taken place though, Ron was just glad that for once in his life he understood what she was trying to say, and to top it off, he agreed. “That's a good theory,” he said. “I think you're right.”

She gasped, although her eyes twinkled. “Did you just admit that I was right? First an apology, now this?”

Ron glared, though not offended. “If anyone asks, I'm chalking it up to temporary insanity. Come tomorrow, my emotional range will be able to fit into a teaspoon again. Don't worry.”

A wry smile crossed her lips. “Can't help it,” she said.

The memory flits through his mind, and he wonders why he's recalling it now. She is reciting a line from a poem to him, and now it fits so perfectly, he wonders if she knew what she was talking about, even way back then.

“I just love this poem, Harry,” she told him. “Oh, listen to this:

`I thank whatever gods may be 3

For my conquerable soul.

`It matters not how strait the gate, 15

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate.

I am the captain of my soul.'”

Oh, how fitting that is now.

“Ron.” His best friend looked up, effortlessly alert. He struggled to hold back an amused half-smile. “Did she go to bed already?”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “She went without me telling her, too. Think it's been a long day.” He scrutinized him closely, something Harry still wasn't quite used to. “Where were you?”

“Thinking.”

“You do that a lot,” Ron commented needlessly. “But tell us next time, all right? I had to lie to Hermione and tell her you were in the library. You know how she gets when she doesn't know where we all are.”

Harry nodded. “I know. It's just… I hate…”

“Being captive,” Ron said. It wasn't a question. “We do too, mate. We're together in this.” Don't think you're the only one feeling this way.

They have to remind him often, and he still doesn't like the idea, but they all know that he needed them. They needed each other.

“Where do you see us after the war?” Ron asked, and there was no hesitation or hidden meaning there. Like Hermione, Ron had full confidence that they all would make it through the war, scot-free. It was a mentality that kept them sane, dreams that kept them human.

And even though he knew that those chances were slim, Harry didn't deny that he had thought of it himself. At times, it was the only thing that kept him hanging on. “Happy,” he said. “Living our dreams. Free.”

“I see myself married,” Ron told him. “It's what's expected of me. And besides, I do like kids. I'll probably get a ministry job. It'll be so fucked up when the war's over, even more so than now, and maybe I can make it better, so brats like Malfoy don't have a chance in running the show.”

Harry had to smile at that; it was still so Ron, and yet it was an oddly mature dream. There were no mentions of parties or girls or booze or quidditch, but rather, something more.

The war showed everyone what was really important in life, he figured.

“So who will the Missus be?” Harry asked, and his voice was lazy. “Hermione?”

Ron made a face, briefly. “Who knows?” He shrugged. “None of us know what's going to happen.” His expression is thoughtful. “But I don't think so. It's better now, but I think there's someone else out there who will know—or rather, does know—her better than I.”

Harry became interested, sitting up a tad straighter. “Who?”

But to his irritation, his best friend just smiled and his remark was annoying and nonchalant. “Forget it,” he said. “All I have are hunches. Nothing substantial.”

Damn Ron and his odd remarks.

In the future, she will hear a song. And it will make her think of that night and of herself. And it will her think of him. “Back to you… it always comes around… back to me. Doesn't it scare you, your will is not as strong… as it used to be?”

She was never as strong as she thought she was. She was never that resilient. Especially when it came to him. But that was a deception that kept her alive for so long.

He found her at the astronomy tower and her stance was the same as it had been that night, when he had been addressing old D.A. and new Order members in the Room of Requirement. She was thinking about something important.

“Sometimes I don't trust myself,” she whispered and it didn't surprise him that she knew he was there. She turned and faced him “That's why I didn't listen to you last year. If you were wrong, and if we ended up doing something rash, and if it cost someone their life, someone you loved, then it would be my fault. Because I didn't fight hard enough to stop you. That's why that's what I did last year; fight you. Fight you about things that mattered and things that didn't. But I didn't give you enough credit. You were right. And I was wrong.”

The blunt admission startled him, as well as her roundabout thinking. He knew she was referring to Sirius's death, and her actions the year before. But he had no idea why they bothered her so much.

“What's done is done,” he told her. “And besides, it's not as if I was totally in the right, either. Using the textbook to cheat? That was wrong.”

“I told you not to use it because I was jealous,” she said, her bluntness still coming in waves. “I'm used to being the best. And you took that from me. So effortlessly.”

“You told me not to use it because it was the wrong thing to do, and you have more morals than anyone I know,” he told her, a little frustrated over the topic. He didn't want to think of last year. “Why are we talking about this, Hermione?” He hoped his soft tone didn't betray his aggravation.

“Because I wanted you to know,” she told him and he could tell that, like so much else, this was important for her to say. “That I trust you now. I won't let you do everything you want, of course, but I won't ever just shut you down like I did last year.”

He smiled at her, and she could see the amusement in his eyes. “Honestly,” he said, a flawless imitation of her. “I already knew that.”

Harry walked toward her and sat down at her side, their legs dangling over the edge of the castle, dangerously. “Sometimes I think our relationship is so complicated,” she told him. “As if we're on completely different levels. It's very frustrating. But it's really not, is it?”

“It's you and me,” he told her, and the words, not odd but so right, spilled out of his mouth effortlessly. “There's nothing complicated about that.”

And there wasn't.

Note: I have no idea where the hell this came from. I think the title fits this piece to a tee. Haha. I have to admit that while I like this piece, the format is quite unorganized. The people may seem OOC... I'm sorry about that. I tried to justify their maturity, but who knows if it worked?

I haven't posted at portkey in so long, let alone HHr, but this idea came to me and just wouldn't go away. I do still deeply love and support this ship though; it's just my muse for it is quite fickle, damn thing.

Also, the poem mentioned was “Invictus” by William Ernest Henley, and the lyrics were from “Back to You” by John Mayer.

Please tell me what you think! Thanks!

Written: 25 February 2007

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