Copyright: What elements of this story that I own, and are not the property of anyone else, are licensed
CC-BY-NC-SA. That means that you can take anything in this story, up to and including the whole thing, and use it
however you like, as long as you promise me three things:
1. You will link back to me (preferably to my author page)
2. You will not make money off whatever you do
3. You will share your work under these same conditions
OHAI, remember me?
It's been a long time since I updated (now nearly a month after I'd originally planned to be done with this story), but this one took me much longer to write than it really should have. I hope you enjoy it, all the same.
The prompt is 'Can you define a turning point in your character's life? Multiples are acceptable.' The setting shouldn't be too hard to guess, and nor should the "turning point." I went through a lot of revisions of this chapter, and this is the best I came up with, so I hope you enjoy despite the lateness.
My name is Hermione Granger. I am fourteen years old. I am falling.
An optimist would say that I was flying, but I've flown before, and this is not flying. Flying implies safety, such as that offered by a pressurized metal cylinder in the hands of trained professionals; what I am doing right now - that is, sitting on the back of a hippogriff piloted by Harry Potter, thirteen-years-old and notable for his lack of flight training - has no such illusions. This isn't flying: it's falling with something faintly resembling style.
Under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn't have allowed myself into this mess. But then, I remember, these are hardly ordinary circumstances. A decades-old murder mystery mixed up with political subterfuge, all tied together by Dark Lords and something involving time travel. Even for me, an associate of Harry Potter - for whom daring, convoluted plots are as common as toast - this isn't exactly a typical Thursday.
I mentally kick myself for this line of thinking. After all, what right do I have to complain, considering the person with whom I am sharing this suicidal ride? I still have both my parents. I was raised by a family who cared for me. I didn't wonder, every minute of the day, if there was anywhere I really and truly belonged.
Okay, maybe I did that last one. I wonder if that's why I'm here, why I continue to follow Harry on his damned fool idealistic crusades, trotting blindly after him into all sorts of trouble. It's not because I pity him - although I do, even though I know he would be very cross with me if he knew that - but if it because I feel like, in some small way, we're the same? That sounds plausible, but it doesn't explain why I'm here, risking my neck; kinship is one thing, but there's a dreadfully small list of people for whom I would risk death by hippogriff.
Is it because I don't want him to think less of me? True, I've always had a very external locus of self-worth; my own self-esteem has always been very closely tied to how others feel about me. But I know Harry; I know that he wouldn't think less of me for running away from his adventures. Ron would, certainly, but bugger to Ronald Weasley: the louse thinks that a broomstick is worth more than his friend's life.
No, I know why I'm here; why I'm always here, and why I will always be here by Harry's side.
I'm here because I know him.
Because, despite everything that has happened, all the pain he has suffered, he remains a good person.
And I want him to stay that way.
I'm here because I want to be here.
I'm here because I can't imagine being anywhere else.
I'm here because I need him.
I'm here because I love him.
I love Harry Potter.
Bugger.