Every parent leaves something behind for their children to remember them by. Lily Evans didn't know, when she left her diary behind, that it would help her son into knowing her and himself…or did she?
Everybody's fool: Thank you ever so much for reviewing here too! Harry&Hermione4ever: I'm really glad you like it, although since this is in the angst category, it will take H/Hr a really long time to get together. Anyway, I hope you all like. By the way, the confrontation between Snape and Cicciobello is…well, crappy. I just warned you.
Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing characters and situations for entertainment purposes, personal and non, and am making no money out of it. And all I own beside the plot are: the Diggorinta (which won't appear anymore until the epilogue), the Stalker Mob (which is very annoying to own because they keep on bugging me about putting snogging scenes between themselves and Harry), Kevin Creevy (which is really scary to have around), the time capsule, and what's in it, including Lily's diary. Cicciobello is owned by the Italian toy company, Giochi Preziosi, but I own his personality. Don't sue, it ain't worth it.
Angst coming up, and now, on with the fic:
Harry Potter and the Knowledge of a Mother
Chapter 3: Jealousy
Why? Hermione asked herself as she tossed once again in her large four poster bed, the sheets askew, the pillow beaten to a pulp, her hair a mottled mess, and her eyes puffy from lack of sleep. The question had been repeating itself in her head from the night before, when she'd been reading Lily's diary to Harry. Why didn't I tell him?
When she'd said that her diary wrote of someone else while she'd been with Viktor, she thought she'd seen a flicker of hope in his deep green eyes. And when he'd asked, "Who?"…well, he'd definitely sounded hopeful then. And she'd felt her heart swell. Maybe he did feel some kind of attraction toward her! Maybe he did feel something in return! Maybe, just maybe, he even loved her back! But the words wouldn't budge past her lips. She couldn't tell him that she'd loved him for years.
She knew he needed to hear the words.
Ever since the Triwizard tournament had been over, Harry…well, Harry hadn't been the same. He'd always been modest. Far too modest even. To him, the amazing feats that he'd gone through had been…kind of like homework. Ok, that was putting it very mildly, but, in a way, it was true. They had been chores. Dictated by duty. As though he knew that it was his job to do it, and he did it simply because of that. He never even pondered whether or not he had a choice in the matter. He never seemed to notice that he could have just ignored the things that nobody else seemed to notice.
He knew nobody else would do it, and so he did it because of duty towards his friends, whom he tried to protect, and towards his parents, in respect of their sacrifice for him.
Yes, he'd always been far too modest…but now…now it was different.
He was still modest, and did everything in his power to fight his battle against the dark forces, but…he'd…well, he'd become insecure.
She'd already seen it the night of the last task, when she'd seen him lie awake in that hospital bed after Dumbledore and minister Fudge had argued. His resolve to win against the Dark Lord had steeled. She could read in his eyes that he had no doubt of winning over him. That wasn't what he was so insecure about.
He was afraid, not of the battle, but of what would be lost because of it. Cedric Diggory had died that night. And Harry held himself responsible. He thought that if he had been selfish (and she knew he couldn't have lived with that), Cedric would not have been involved. He never thought back to remember that Cedric had agreed to it. He'd never thought that, if Cedric had been a little more selfish himself and had gone ahead to get the Cup alone, he would have still died.
He didn't realised that in most of the other ways that the night could have gone the outcome would have been the same.
That insecurity, the one that made him afraid of losing everyone, had slowly begun to eat at him.
She had almost not recognised him at all when he'd come back to his fifth year at Hogwarts, malnourished, pale, ashy skinned, with absolutely no light in his eyes. She knew he must have been having nightmares (and still had them very often now) for not only were his eyes shadow cast, they were also dull, and surrounded by the tell tale dark circles of his bottom lids that told of sleep deprivation.
His confidence of everything had, little by little, deteriorated.
He felt unloved, she knew that, even though she and Ron did show him very much their friendly affection.
But friendly affection wasn't enough.
He needed to be held.
She knew very well, that, if she'd told him what she felt-even without him returning her feelings-would have brought his spark of confidence back.
But maybe, that was exactly the reason for her silence.
Or maybe it was just selfishness.
She didn't want to tell her feelings without the certainty that they were returned. Yes, that was pure selfishness. She was quite sure that he didn't love her-for who could love a bushy haired, boring bookworm?-and she didn't want his rejection.
Thinking about it he might not have rejected her. Maybe, rejoicing in the fact that someone DID love him-and how she loved him!-he would have taken it, no matter the form, shape, size, and person, so long as he could have it.
And she didn't want that.
She wanted something real.
And if she couldn't have that, she would settle for his friendship, for that was the best thing she had in the world.
But now, the sun was up, she had slept none at all, and she had to get dressed to go to breakfast. After all, today was the first day of actual schooling, and the Gryffindors had Potions first thing. Not a great way to start the day…or the term, for that matter.
Descending the crowded stairways to the Great Hall, the lack of sleep and her depressed state of mind didn't manage to keep her from noticing the utter lack of Gryffindor first year girls among the students. She had to remind herself to thank Cicciobello at least for that sole consolation that tried to give her peace of mind.
As she rounded the corner she felt herself forcefully being pulled into the shadows, and almost let out a shriek of surprise-and fright-but managed to stop herself upon realizing that it was only Ron.
She heaved a sigh of relief.
"Ron, you startled me," she told him, and made to go to the Great Hall, but he pulled her back again, and this time she noticed that he had The Look. The one that told that he was upset. The one that told that he was angry. The one that told that he was about to sprout absolutely absurd reasons for being so.
"Why didn't you tell him?" His voice was sharp steel, his grip far too tight on her arm, his facial features chiselled into a mask of anger. His question, though, was what scared her. She'd been asking herself that all night and managed to keep herself from sleep in the while, but how could Ron know?
"What are you talking about?" She asked, realizing that her voice had taken a sharp edge as well. If Ron had done what she thought he'd done…ooh! He would be in for it.
He didn't answer. At least not directly.
"Come on, Hermione!" He exclaimed. "the both of you are suffering!" Why the sneaky little weasel! He'd been eavesdropping! He could see her anger. He read it in her gritted teeth, in her stiff shoulders, and in the pure loathing that he saw in her eyes. But he also saw her despair. Her anguish. It was right there, right next to the anger, in her knitted eyebrows, and in the tears that she was trying to hold back. "Why didn't you tell him?" He repeated, this time with a softer tone, almost caring, his grip loosening on her.
His question had been quiet, but her release wasn't. She'd tortured herself all night. The past nights. Of the last few years. And now it burst out of her. In one loud, booming erupting release-like a volcano finally giving into the strength of the lava-she shouted three simple words that took him by surprise. "I'M TOO SCARED!" and she threw herself at him with all the strength in her small body, sobbing the tears that she'd been holding back for too long.
It had been like being hit by a tornado.
That had been his confirmation.
She loved him. Krista had told him so, or at least hinted at it, and he'd accepted it over the night-somewhat-but this! He had no idea that there was this intensity…this longing…this need. And yet she was scared. Of losing his friendship? Of breaking the balance of their trio? Of being rejected? He didn't know.
He didn't even realise that he was holding her now, in the same way he used to hold Ginny when Fred and George had played a dirty trick on her as a child, instinctively touching her hair in a soothing manner. Her sobs wracking through his body as well.
They were torturing each other.
He knew Harry believed the other Gryffindors that said he and Hermione loved each other, he'd seen it on his face the night before, and heard it in Harry's voice as he spoke bitter words to Hermione before the fire.
But how could Hermione do this to herself? Didn't she see that Harry loved her? Didn't she see that she was destroying their balance like this? Didn't she see that she could never lose Harry?
And, as though summoned-well, maybe he had been summoned by the sound of her sobs-Harry came around the corner, his face a mask of worry as he looked down at the girl he loved.
"Hermione," he whispered. His voice cracked as he spoke her name. He reached a hand out to her shoulder, but his touch made her sob all the harder.
"You better go, Harry," Ron told him, and watched Harry's mask turn, from one of worry for the girl, to anguish. Ron had conflicting feelings at having caused this. On one side, he felt like the lowest of pond scum, for having denied his friend the chance to comfort Hermione. On the other, he felt invigorated-and he knew he was the lowest of pond scum-for making Harry feel like he would have been of absolutely no use, and would have, instead, hindered the situation with his presence. Ron knew that he only felt that because it was, too him, like being more important than the Boy Who Lived. Yet, he couldn't help but relish in that.
In the midst of her sobs, Hermione still managed to ask a question. "Why did you do that?" Her voice was horse from the strain she had put it through.
"To make him jealous," he answered truthfully. That had been the original intention. And, of course, it had worked.
"Why?" She asked again, but to that, he replied by enveloping her more in his arms and smiling a, rather disarming, smile.
Krista-God! He hated her!-had been right.
He was the selfish one.
°*°
"Five points taken from Gryffindor for Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley's incapability of finding the classroom on time," several collective eye rolls and groans were uttered at this, and, in response, Snape gave them an, even more, intimidating look than earlier. Ron and Hermione, who had walked in together, the young girl still red faced and sniffling, separated and sat at different available Gryffindor tables. "Our Head Girl should try to set a better example than this, Miss Granger," he told her maliciously, but, knowing full well that he gloated in their misery, had been expecting it, and simply acknowledged him with a nod, letting him know that he hadn't fazed her at all.
And it was true.
Snape couldn't harm her when she was already so devastated.
And, of course, this angered him.
As he spoke the next words his knuckles had turned white gripping the edge of his black cloak over his folded arms, and his lips had thinned into a thin stern line of pure loathing. "I expect you believed me mad enough to let you all choose for yourselves your lab partners, but you are wrong." He relished seeing most of the Gryffindors tremble as they stole furtive glances at the Slytherins. "You will all now stand," in a manner that spoke resignation, they did so. "I have prepared a potion that, taken by one of you, will work into your subconscious mind, looking at your faults," this was said at Harry, "and your, few, rights," this at the Slytherins, "and you, yourselves, will call out your partner. Oh, and don't bother smirking for you, yourselves, have absolutely no choice in who you will be paired with," he seemed far too excited at that prospect. If he wasn't careful he might have cracked a smile.
He began reading off names in alphabetical order. Lavander had been paired with Neville, and Millicent Bullstrode had called out Malfoy's name (the last didn't seem too thrilled though), lots of Slytherins with their own kind, as well as Gryffindors, and, to the displeasure of both, several mixed pairings. When Hermione's name had been called, she gave a glance at the remaining students. Since her last name started with G, she still had a lot of good shots, and most of the truly horrible ones had been already called out.
Still slightly sniffling, she walked up to the professor as he poured the foul smelling, thick, lumpy, blue-gray concoction that he, the sadist, had brewed. Standing as tall as she could, as to not give Snape the satisfaction of seeing her cringe at the mere sight of the God awful promising 'drink'. Accepting the cup she took it to her lips, and, without hesitation, threw it all back into her throat and swallowed it all at once to have as little taste as possible lingering on her tongue.
Dimly, she was aware that Snape was not pleased with this.
But she didn't have time to ponder this. Yes, the little taste that she'd sensed was enough to make her face contort in what was probably the worst expression of her entire life, but even that was pushed to the very back of her mind as she felt it's effects taking place. It wasn't painful, it was dulling and numbing. Yes, her mind had felt completely numb, and it seemed like an unknown force was searching through every bit of her being, heart, mind, and soul, for something, or someone. It felt like she was losing herself in the haze of gray-white mists, and her ragged heartbeat thundered in her mind.
In the haze, she hadn't even realised, until she saw Snape's rather displeased demeanor, that she must have called out a name. A name that the man hadn't liked at all.
Well, that particular man hadn't liked many of the names remaining, and her mind refused to tell her who she had called out. She stared stupidly (or so she thought) at the teacher, waiting for him to give her a hint, any hint, to whom it might be, but he simply stared back.
Neither would have let out if Hermione hadn't been pulled out of her daze by the slight pressure of a gentle hand on her shoulder. Light as it was, it seemed to slap the potion induced stupor out of her. Her eyes grew wide as they met a pair of troubled emerald green pools. "Come on, Hermione, let's go to our seats," he said quietly.
Harry, she called out Harry's name. Oh, was her mind trying to make things as painful as possible for her? And that look in his eyes? That troubled, troubled look? Wasn't he happy he would be with his brainiac friend that would help him with the potions that Snape was sure to make hell for him? No, of course not, her mind told her as she slumped into her seat. Not after you had the chance to tell him and didn't.
She knew Harry was understanding. But sometimes that was his problem, for, in his attempt not to bother and pry people, he neglected his own needs for information, knowledge, and care. Her change of subject the night before had stung him, but he'd hidden it. Still, it must have gnawed at him. Even if he didn't love her. Simply because they were friends and he cared.
Oh, God, she was going to cry again.
Then, as though sent from Heaven, a voice came from above intent only on keeping her from shedding tears.
Of course, she knew full well that Cicciobello's voice came from the ceiling, and not from Heaven, and he was only intent on mischief, and not her comfort…still. He was…comforting. Most of the time. … Well, this time.
"Pee-eeves, wheeere aaaare youuu," he called out in a singsong voice, and from somewhere within Snape's robes, shuddering whimpers could be heard. Neither Hermione, nor Ron (who was still being sorted out) and Harry missed the terrified thrill that raced along the dark man's spine. For the first time in their lives, they saw Severus Snape scared, truly scared, and of a doll! Of course, they knew full well that Cicciobello was a very scary doll, but that still didn't manage to diminish their gleeful wonder of the discovery that they now held power over the man.
And then they saw Cicciobello's blue (plastic) eyes meet Snape's black ones. Oh, that would be a moment etched into their minds forever! "Severus," he shrilled, and, pulling down his pants, sat on top of Snape's oily hair, and, with the most retched sounding noice of anyone's life, he released a mountain of foul-stenching, brown…well, crap. Snape's pale complection and dark robes couldn't be seen anywhere beneath the pile, but Peeves flew out crying like an infant who was swimming in his own droppings while calling out, "Filch! Filch! Help me!"
That Peeves would be calling out to FILCH, of all people, was enough to let them know that very few people in the castle appreciated Cicciobello's presence.
The students, of course, in no mood at all to stand being around an already foul teacher now completely submerged in…droppings, ran out covering their faces with shouts of "Ewwwwww…"
Cicciobello was outside the dungeon door waiting for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to come by. When he finally spotted them he began to giggle madly. "Ah, daddy and papi would have been proud!" He exclaimed. No doubt that Cicciobello was proud, he kept on hovering around the trio trying to pry a compliment out of them.
Finally, Harry managed to wheeze, after a certain amount of trying, "What did you eat? Horse manure?!" It certainly smelled so. And Cicciobello beamed.
"Nah…that's too mild. I run on Centaur…and Dragon if I find them, but that's only sometimes," he tried to sound modest, failing rather miserably.
Ron, opposed to his mates, was enthusiastic. He walked off with Cicciobello, trying to bend the scary toy to his will.
"That is scary!" Hermione vocalised the thought that had been crossing both of their minds for several minutes. She saw Harry nod, and, though lightened by the sight of Snape buried under a pile of Centaur escrements, felt all her previous worries returning. She knew that Harry's had too, for his eyes had clouded over again.
°*°
"I'm scared of Ron now that he's met Cicciobello," Hermione said as she walked through the portrait hole, seeing Harry alone on the floor before the hearth again. She saw him nod, but her attempt at a lighter mood had failed miserably.
Certainly, her silence over the fact that she loved him could not still be affecting her. It couldn't! After all, one only worried that much if he…did he…? Could he…? Should she…?
But the incomplete questions in her mind were thrust aside by an alien voice from the staircase saying, "Mind if I join in?"
Her face, along with the rest of her, stiffened.
Ron.
Oh, if looks could kill Ron would have been wishing for Avada Kedavras to put him out of his misery. So eavesdropping is not enough anymore, huh? She was about to snap at him, but Harry agreed to letting him stay. Well, he was his best friend, and she couldn't deny him that, even though she'd started to think that the Diary was something special just between the two of them.
Of course, Harry had felt the same, but if Hermione really did love Ron-and he was certain she did-then she might like to have him there with them. Sure, Harry loved Ron's company, but he really didn't want to see Ron bending over Hermione's shoulder while she read out loud, not just to him anymore, but to the both of them. Completely missing the daggers that Hermione had just released from her eyes at Ron, Harry settled in to absorb her voice better, and soon, found himself conscious only of her soft, lilting whisper that washed over him, hypnotising him, and of the words that, so long before, had been penned by his mother.
Dimly he realised that it was somewhere around midnight, and they'd read all the way through the first half of Lily's term.
Since the year started, I've been having a recurring dream. It's not the first time I've had the same dream over and over, but even though it felt like something important from the very first night, I ignored it, because it's meanings eluded me. But tonight it was different. Tonight I woke right after the dream was over, and wrote everything down before my mind let it slip away. Generally, it takes a very long time for me to figure out these dreams, and I'm nowhere near the solution of this one, but finally I managed to capture the images, if not the meaning.
The setting is always limited. A dark sky, a full moon, actually, a gigantic full moon, a big, shaggy blond wolf, howling, despaired, solitary at it. Asking for company, asking for friendship, asking for love. But he shies away from the ones around him.
That I've had this dream at least once a month, I can understand, but I don't understand what's changed.
Something has to have changed tonight, or I wouldn't be conscious of those images.
I think the wolf's call has been answered. I'm glad for him, but I want to know who that wolf is, because I know he, and the one, or ones, that answered him, need me. They're calling to me, too, but I don't know how-or even who-to answer.
But I'll find out.
That's a promise.
Lily
Quiet fell over the trio.
"That must have been the night in which the Marauders were formed," Hermione explained in an awed whisper.
And silence fell again.
Which, Ron, of course, had to disturb by saying something totally inappropriate. "That's all nice and dandy, but where's You-Know-Who? She still didn't say anything about him."
Great Ron! Hermione thought in her mind. Don't wait for the news to sink into Harry's mind, no, let him think about the insane wizard who's been trying to KILL HIM for the past sixteen years instead. God, she wanted to thwap him upside the head!
"Not that it has anything to do with this, Ron," she began, letting him know exactly what she felt of his 'joining in'. But as she continued, her voice softened, if only for Harry's sake. "It's not something close to her heart. The Marauders, and James, are," she explained, and, seeing Harry smile, she added, "and at this point You-Know-Who hadn't really made much of a noticeable move yet, besides, at this point, she's just a girl who's living out her years at Hogwarts," she finished as she put a bookmark to the page, and delicately closed the book shut. "Anyway, it's bedtime," and with this made to get up.
Harry rose as well, but Ron stayed seated. Looking at Hermione he told her, "I need to talk to you," and with that Hermione's anger at him swelled again in her chest. She watched in near anguish as she saw Harry's face covered in an expression that told of how he felt left out and unloved while he trudged up the stairs alone calling out a distant sounding goodnight.
Not even had he clicked his door shut that she began to yell at Ron. "What the hell are you getting at, Ron? What are you trying to do? Do you think you have the right to prance in here with a 'Mind if I join you' after you've eavesdropped on something that hadn't been any of your business? Do you think you have any right to treat Harry like…like…" she couldn't find the words to describe what Ron was doing to Harry (incredible that Hermione Granger would be struck speechless, but anger blurred her mind to words). Not knowing what to say she began a thick stream of curses that Ron had no idea she had any knowledge of (but then, again she knew everything) at the redhead that soon had his ears the same vermilion as his hair.
And, while she was still halfway through one of her insults, he shouted at her, angrier than he'd ever been, "YOU just didn't want ME butting in you HARRY TIME!" And, after his eruption, ran up the stairs like a bat out of hell.
The both of them went to sleep seething and picturing ways of extricating revenge on the other.
At least, Hermione thought sourly, now I won't keep myself awake thinking of Harry.
But she was wrong. Very wrong.
°*°
Ron noticed that morning, of course, that Harry had been avoiding Hermione, which suited his purposes quite well considering that, for the moment, it served as a good revenge toward the girl, and, also, made it easier for him to avoid the both of them.
Of course, avoiding Krista Perril was nowhere near that easy, he realised as he turned a corner and unceremoniously banged into her, knocking them both on the hard ground. He was about to apologise till he saw who she was. "Oh, you! Great!" He mumbled bitterly as he got himself off the floor, without bothering to help her up (which he knew was wrong, but at the moment he still hated her too much), and began to dust himself off.
Even from her, rather undignified, position, she managed to look superior by piercing him with her glare below her nose. How could she, from her sitting position, look up at a man who stood over 204 cm from down her nose without looking ridiculous, but rather quite fascinating?
"Are you upset because you think you love her," and her voice was a shill oomph as she said this, "or because you feel left out?" And how could she make such sharp, cutting remarks (for it hadn't been a question at all), first thing in the morning, after a strong tumble on the floor, and while his own thoughts were in a jumble?
He chose silence as his answer. Let her figure things out on her own.
Without bothering to get up, and still managing to look menacing and imposing, she added in a softer volume, but with a steel edge, "I don't think you love her."
He snapped his neck to look at her so quickly that she feared he might have broken it in the process. "Why?" he spat at her, and she noticed that his head was still well held onto his neck, so she cursed herself for worrying.
How could she think to know him so well? How could she say things like that with such a certainty? How could she pretend to know more of what he felt than he, himself, did?
And, still on the ground, as though getting up would be an insult to herself, she fixed him with her most pregnant stare. "Because you touch her the same way you touch Ginny."
°*°
As Hermione, finally, managed to catch up to Harry, she saw in his expression that something was wrong, and he confirmed it by saying, "I feel like I'm in your way."
He didn't need to specify, for Hermione, after resisting more taunts about being with Ron, understood perfectly well what he meant to say. And so did she. "Harry, you mean more to me than anyone else in the world!" She exclaimed, and she'd never said anything in her life that she believed more. Nothing truer.
And Harry smiled. A sad smile. One that almost seemed a farewell. Farewell to my heart, he thought to himself, and told her simply, "Well, that's a lie, Hermione, but thanks anyway," and he walked away before he could give her time to deny the falsity he had said, and before she could find the strength for the truth.
To be continued.
Author's notes: As always comments are welcome at Robbygal@hotmail.com, as well as any kind of reviews. Flame if you feel like it. I'll just have a BBQ
Thanks
Pearl