Vignettes

LittleCreek

Rating: G
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 26/08/2007
Last Updated: 26/08/2007
Status: in_progress

Hermione struggles to come to terms with life after the War. Let's forget everything after page 749 of DH and start there.

Chapters

1. Vignettes, Part 1

1. Vignettes, Part 1

A/N: It's been a year and half since I uploaded a story to PK. I honestly thought my HHr fic days were done, but this one came out around 3 a.m. yesterday morning. Two more parts to follow.

Let's forget the epilogue, shall we?

--

When you're near me I have no fear
When I'm untrue you see right through me
You know me as deep as the sea goes
Calm my head whenever the storm blows

When the stars, and the moon,
and the sky fall through

I'd throw them all away when I'm hollow
Deep as the sea goes
All I know is I would
Throw them all away, away

So in my restless hour I'm holding
Words you say that lay my soul to sleep
I dream of buildings that burn
The sky turns black, I toss and turn

When the stars, and the moon,
and the sky fall through

I'd throw them all away when I'm hollow
Deep as the sea goes
All I know is I would
Throw them all away, away

This love branches out like an oak tree
Reach for the sky and roots to the sea
So when you're shaken down and broken
Find some peace of mind in knowing

I'd throw them all away when I'm hollow
Deep as the sea goes
All I know is I would
Throw them all away when I'm hollow
Deep as the sea goes
All I know is I would
Throw them all away, away

Throw It All Away, Brandi Carlile

--

She's realizing she's a wanderer.

Before... everything... she never pondered all the time spent away from her family. As much as she loves her parents, Hogwarts - Harry and Ron - were her home. With them, she was whole, no matter the place.

Nothing proved this to her more, than those months spent veiled and silent in the woods, their "home" stuffed inside her silly, beaded bag. Returning to Hogwarts, after all that happened in their absence, gave the place an unfamiliar feel, still, there was nothing more right, more ingrained in her being, than to fight to protect it. To save it. Everything important, meaningful - everything that defined her life - had come from those grounds, the darkened halls and secret rooms fit snugly around her like the tattered old robe hanging in her bathroom.

And now... it's been hours since Voldemort fell. Sunlight is shimmering violently against stars in the distance, and she can hear the chaos of victory still ringing in the Great Hall. The Ministry has come and gone - for now - while parents and family are just arriving, searching hopefully for their loved ones, crying out when they can't find them.

She's trying to drown it out, sitting stiffly on the edge of a bed she's hasn't slept in since 6th year, eyes focused on nothing, wand limp in her hands. She remembers the joy, relief; hugging Harry, holding on, and shrinking away. Her mind can't seem to sharpen - a feeling she's not used to - and the image of her friends and classmates, their lifeless bodies lining the floor, covered lovingly in House Flags, taunts the tears already trailing down her cheeks.

She's not really sure how she got to her room. Doesn't remember climbing the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, or what excuse she gave the boys. She was just looking for space, needed room to breathe.

It hits her she's spent a year roaming, running, hiding. And seven in fear for her life, her family, and two boys she loves in a way she can't describe. Now she's free, and perhaps more scared than she ever was, face to face with a Deatheater. She's grasping for identity, when she hears his footsteps at the door.

She doesn't look back to face him, or move to beckon him in, only whispers a meek, "Hi," into the air.

There's a moment thick with silence before he shuffles closer.

"So much for 'constant vigilance.'" He scoffs. "Not going to lecture me on breaking into the girls' dormitory?" There's an attempt at a smile in his voice, but she can see him gripping the brass bedrails from the corner of her eye.

"Well, I suppose I won't turn you in this time. You did just defeat the Dark Lord..." she finally smiles up at him, not caring about her blotchy face and wet eyes. "Nevermind the shielding charm that would normally keep you out, isn't in place at the moment, so you weren't exactly taxing yourself magically to walk up the stairs..."

He rolls his eyes and sinks down beside her, "Couldn't let me have just one moment of triumph, could you?" He means it to be funny, but the words fall heavy between them.

She wonders why they're joking now, with all that's happened, but she remembers Dumbledore's funeral and understands. He needs this.

The time that passes before they speak, reminds her again, of those months spent together in the forest. She's never really had to say things to Harry, not needed to fill the room with words. She knows what they're both thinking.

"Ron?" She finally asks, feeling guilty for leaving him alone, after what's happened to Fred.

"They've all gone back to the Burrow."

"Merlin! Oh. I should've..." Her voice becomes frantic.

"No." His hand is on her arm, "He knows. He knows you haven't..." The words die on his lips and she wonders why he's here, why he didn't go with Ginny and Ron. She can see him struggling when he finally says, "I told him we'd be along later, tomorrow, maybe. I thought maybe they'd all like to just... be together. Alone."

She knows this is only partly true, that the Weasley's probably expected Harry to go, wanted him - and her - there, but she nods her head in agreement because it somehow seems right.

He slings an arm around her shoulder and she lets her head loll toward him, feeling suddenly exhausted.

"What are we going to do now, Harry?" She bites her lip to fight back the tears.

His fingers tangle in her hair and he sighs before adding, "I... I don't know."

Her shoulders heave with a sob and the tears come fast and silent. She feels his other arm slide around her, and buries her face in his chest. She smells the sweat and grass on his clothes and remembers the sight of him, limp in Hagrid's arms. Her fingers clutch at his sweater and she thinks maybe it's his tears she feels, hot on her forehead.

--

The next morning, they make for the Burrow, neither of them questioning why they're passing through the countryside on a Muggle train, when they could have apparated in an instant.

If she stares out the window too long, a concerned hand appears on her knee and she turns her head, so he knows her eyes are dry.

It's a flurry of hugs when they arrive, and even with their loss, the Burrow is warm - alive - and she feels a little more like herself again.

Ron holds her hand beneath the dinner table and the blush goes down to her toes.

Later, the three of them sit in the garden, laughter and memories echoing in the darkness, as Ron retells the battle, slightly embellished in his favor, starting with their first year. It's strange and funny to remember what they've been and done, and Ron's a fantastic storyteller, but she notices how he leaves out the bits that are fresh, too raw, to talk about just yet.

Somehow the epic ends with Ron and Harry singing "Weasley is Our King," after one too many butterbeers, and she thinks maybe it can always be like this.

But then they're swept into interviews, and stuffy rooms with endless Ministry investigators, asking questions she doesn't want to answer.

And there are too many funerals.

Ten days later, Mr. Weasley tells her it's safe for her parents to return to England.

The war... is over.

The next day, when life can finally stand still for the first time... ever... all she wants to do is move again.

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