His Mirror

Katie

Rating: PG
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 26/07/2003
Last Updated: 26/07/2003
Status: completed

He turns around, and she'll always be there. A series of H/Hr scenes I think should be in book six. Plotless but smooth.

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

Lisa David Normal Lisa David 89 19 1999-07-15T02:28:00Z 1999-07-26T23:16:00Z 4 1768 10082 Sunlight 84 20 12381 9.2720

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Do you seriously believe that that’s going to change?

A/N: This is written in another different style than my normal one. (Gee, what’s with the innovations, Katrina?) I feel that this one moves along more smoothly, conveying the feelings and the imagery better. And what is this? Well, these are “canon scenes” from sixth year…if only I were the one writing the book. *sigh* Hope you enjoy.

Note: [Portkey] I’m Katrina, a.k.a. Katie.

His Mirror By: Katrina

Rain…

He could feel the raindrops, splattering on his face. He could feel them rolling down his cheeks with a salty feel as it rolls past his lips, feel them soaking his robes and sticking them to his body; he could feel them dripping from his hair, fogging up his glasses, and enclosing him in a chilliness that isn’t only physical, but mental as well.

It is night. He can see the lake, a mirror that should reflect the deep violet sky dotted with glimmering stars, yet all he sees are ripples made by the rain, ripples across a silvery-gray blanket that spoke of grief only he could understand. He is in the lake, embracing himself to the coldness, surrendering himself to the desolation he feels, letting himself drown in his misery.

And suddenly, there is no rain. The rain seems to have stopped right above him, yet he can still see the gray sheets falling heavily all around him.

Yet also, he knows, as he turns to face her. Her large brown eyes stares back at him, a strong gaze that warms him, with a smile flickering in them, while she holds a tattered umbrella above his head, letting half of her body get soaked. She had abandoned the feast for him. She is standing beside him in the lake, in the rain, although she so detests to be wet. Neither speaks, but after a moment, he closes his hand over hers on the handle, feeling her roughened skin under his grip.

Even when the rain has stopped, he does not let go, and she does not move.

Crying…

He doesn’t know why he is crying, but he feels the tears and the wetness of his cheeks. He sits on his bed, hugging his legs to himself, letting the curtains shield him from all else, as he cries freely for all he has lost the year before. It seems so long ago, but the tears bottled up since then are freely pouring out, finally allowing himself to pick at the wounds irritated by the neglecting.

There are footsteps on the stairs outside, and she comes in to give him back the book she’s borrowed. “You asleep?” he hears her whisper in the stillness of the night, over the snoring over the others. He does not reply for a moment, but when he hears her turning to leave, he calls.

She seems to be by his side almost instantaneously, peering at him with concern in her eyes. She sets the book down by his pillow, and hesitantly, she holds out her arms to him. Shyly; timidly; but yet sincerely. He lets her embrace him like a worried mother, a loving sister, a closest friend, as he sobs into her shoulder, wetting her pajamas.

She sits there patiently, stroking his hair and whispering words of comfort. She understands his vulnerability, she understands that he isn’t as strong as he seems to be, and she accepts it. She’s willing to protect him from all that hurt him. As the tears subside, all he can seem to remember is the lingering smell of lily-scented shampoo in her hair.

History of Magic…

The droning grows more and more monotonous, drawing him to a sleepy stupor. He feels his quill rolling out of his hand, the parchment falling silently on the floor, as he leans his head on his hand and slowly shuts his eyes. He can see the castles of dreamland waving merrily at him when a trill of soft laughter reaches his ears.

He looks up to see her looking at him, grinning and poking him in the shoulder. She smiles at him, and pushes her own neat notes toward him and Ron. He stares so hard at her neat handwriting that the letters seem to move and form other sentences Binns definitely cannot have dictated, and out of a strange impulse, he reaches out a finger and traces over her name written at the top.

Malfoy…

He is tired of the endless taunts, the needless anger boiling inside of him every time he sees him. He is tired of everything he says, be it truth or rumors. He hates him with a vengeance he cannot describe, and he hates him even more when he sees him taunting his friends.

He tosses all caution to the wind and draws out his wand.

And then he feels her hand softly drawing his hand away, while with her other she cleverly sends a hex his way. He grins at her when he sees that it’s of a similar nature to Marietta’s jinx, except this time the pimples spell SHUT UP. He pulls her away before Snape turns the corner.

And when they are alone, she says softly, “You are a hero, standing up for Ron and me.”

“But I didn’t even do anything.”

She just smiles secretively, a smile that’s like a puzzle, and he looks at her face, wondering.

Detention…

It’s inevitable, it seems, to not get into trouble with Snape. Just because he got the toad’s eye and tongue mixed up in his brewing potion. He sits, copying the recipe for the potion over and over, times over times, till he is sure that he can recite it in his dreams.

He finally stands up, his hand sore, and drudges slowly back to the Gryffindor tower, hearing Snape’s sneer and threat behind him.

In low spirits he enters the portrait hole, to see two figures silhouetted against the dying flames. Ron is asleep, snoring softly, his head dangerously dangling on her shoulder, while she greets him with a warm chuckle. She looks sleepy, but he is almost positive that her eyes shone up when she saw him.

He sits down beside her, in the dark common room where all he can see are her shiny brown eyes, and he reflects to himself that all is worth it.

Sunrise…

He loves to think just as the sun is rising above the horizon, turning the sky a thousand shades of scarlet, a habit only started this term. He stands near the Forbidden Forest, taken breathless as he watches again the red sphere rising slowly from behind a mountain, gently up till it’s shining right above him in the sky.

“Yes, beautiful, isn’t it?”

He turns to see her, cocking her head and grinning impishly at him.

“You watch sunrise too?”

She nods, and shrugs then. “I just started too, actually,” she says softly. “I just started because I want to see something I’ve always wanted to see.”

He hears the meaning in that, and feels his cheeks warming. Upon thinking, he thinks the sunrise isn’t the only sight that renders him breathless.

Essay…

The ink drips steadily from the tip of his quill as he pores over the same sheet of parchment where only half a foot of essay is written. The inkblot slowly grows larger and larger till it seems to seep over the whole page. He has no idea what McGonagall is talking about in her essay topic, for his mind seems as blank as his parchment…without the inkblot.

And then he hears her, whispering softly the facts much needed as she writes her own essay, but loud enough so that he can hear. He looks at her in wonderment, only to get a wink from her. He nods and gives her a thumb-up as his thanks, as he finishes his essay with surprising ease.

It is only when he walks behind her to read her own essay that he realizes that the essay she’s writing is for Arithmancy.

Snow…

It’s Christmas.

He has left his friends brooding over an essay he’s completed and is now sitting in the snow, surrounded by people dancing about or making snow angels. People who are perfectly happy in this season of giving. People who aren’t aware of such things as worries as of now.

But he does.

He is very aware that one present is missing, one present from someone who has never failed to give him something he needs.

One person who has always given him what he needs even when it isn’t Christmas.

One person who has died because of him.

He had put up a good show for his friends. He appears to be very happy and joyous when he exchanged presents with them. He appears to be delighted over Ron’s present of the Weasleys’ Whistles and over her present of a snow globe, with snow falling over a stag, a dog, a wolf, and a rat perched on the antlers of the stag.

And he is sick of himself for not trying hard enough to be happy.

Splat! He feels the cold snow on his face, and hears the trill of laughter behind him. It’s Ron, he thinks, turning around, only to see that it is her mittens that are caked with snow, and her face that is plastered with a mischievous grin. They lock gaze for a moment, and then he scoops up a big handful of snow.

Quidditch…

He is sailing toward the Snitch. Cho is right behind him, but he is accelerating. He knows he can do this, the many nights he practiced nonstop with Ron while she watches. He thinks of her expectant looks, her encouragements, and the many nights she’d stayed up with him and Ron as they try to catch up on their homework. He must do this. He knows he can. And he knows it completely when his hand encloses the struggling Snitch, when he flies up in the air, triumphantly waving the Snitch and grinning at the crowd. The Quidditch Cup is theirs, again.

He is kissed by all the females in this team, thumped on the back by the males, and carried to the stands with the Cup by the crowd. He sees the Gryffindors, each of them jumping up and down and he sees her. She is beaming, kept in the back by the frenzied crowd. And then, she holds up her hands and waves.

He waves back, releasing the Snitch to its flight in the air.

Hogsmeade…

She has been staring at the same eagle quill for a good quarter of an hour. Ron has left, disgruntled, to find Ginny and Luna in Three Broomsticks. But she is still standing there, staring at the quill with such intensity that he is surprised the windows don’t melt right off.

And then, she chuckles.

“What’s so funny?”

She shrugs.

“What’s so funny?” he persists.

She grins. “You won’t be mad?”

“No.”

“You broke the record.” She laughs harder, and even he feels a smile tugging at his lips, though he doesn’t know why. “For being the most clueless dork for twenty minutes! Even Ron has noticed that the eagle quill has taken flight and flown away. I’m looking at the clock in the shop.”

He looks. Sure enough, the quill is gone. He must’ve been busy staring at something else.

Sun…

The sun is burning hot on his head. He curses himself for not inheriting his mother’s light shade of color, to absorb less heat in this weather. Ron has long fallen asleep beside him, and he’s on the verge of nodding off himself in this warm weather.

Suddenly, she flops down beside him. Holding out a book. Grinning as she casually drapes an arm over his shoulder. “Study?”

He stares at her, but agrees.

Casually, she leans her head against his shoulder as she asks his questions, her hair against the side of his neck.

He wonders why he suddenly feels so chilly.

Hospital wing…

The first thing he sees are her tears.

The first thing he sees when he awakens.

She doesn’t notice that he’s awake. She’s just sitting by the bed, tears rolling down her cheeks, her cheeks that are bandaged themselves.

She doesn’t seem to realize that she has fought just as hard in his newest encounter with Voldemort. She has bravely snapped at Voldemort when he seems to have cornered him, has thrown all the hexes and curses to get him out of a life/death situation, and has been hit by numerous spells as they tried to run for their lives.

But she’s crying for him.

Not for herself; always for him.

He swallows hard, feeling a lump in his throat, and takes her hand in his. She seems startled, and Ron stands up quickly, mumbling that he needs to give him a get-well card. He sits up gingerly, despite Madam Pomfrey’s protests. “Let me comfort you the way you comforted me,” he says softly, and draws her into his embrace.

End…

He is standing in the station.

He has said goodbye to all his friends already.

All his friends except for her.

She lingers still, waiting, till he looks toward her.

“Bye,” she whispers.

“Yeah,” he says.

She wears a strange expression on her face. “Yeah,” she echoes, and turns to be lost in the many people that’s walking around.

And then, he catches up with her. Bending over, he kisses her on the lips.

And she doesn’t pull away.

A/N: I hope the story flowed along and you didn’t drop off during…*looks around and sees nobody there* Well, so anyway…yeah, I hope you like it, and I’d like a few reviews! *puppy eyes*

~Katrina