Just a little idea I couldn't seem to contain. Hermoine's thoughts on Harry's destiny-and yeah it's kind of movie-verse because the dance in Deathly Hallows Part 1 really bouyed my previously unsupported love of the Harry/Hermoine ship.
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Harry Potter, her Harry, is the chosen one, and she finds that terribly ironic and terribly, terribly unfair. Because he was "chosen" he has been robbed of so very many choices. The twisting, bruising hands of fate have forced him into so many painful things, continually taking what little he has (and she had thought in the beginning that he had little, but it just seems to get less and less).
People think of him as a hero and revel in his "glorious" destiny. They see the fame, the glory, and the money (it's a pretty story on the surface). He didn't want any of that, and she knows for a fact that he would never have chosen it. He hates it. His fame is built on death and pain (loss, so much loss in glory). People see the glow of the heroics, the hope in his story, and the superficially perfect picture. They just can't seem to grasp the horror of what he's been through (and god she aches for him, because for most of it she's been there, too). If they knew, she doubts anyone would choose his life (loss follows him like a puppy nipping at his heels). Who would choose countless trips to the infirmary, each injury often worse than the last? Or loved ones and mentors leaving, dying? Who would choose the constant danger, the dreams of sick, terrifying evil night after night? No one would want those things. No one would choose them (she aches and aches for him, haunted even in his sleep).
She knows he's made many choices. The ones that she thinks define who he really is (others always define him by those things he didn't choose). He chose to save her that first year and see past her bushy hair and overbearing intellect. He chose to put up with Ron, to forgive, to be kind and brave, and to save others. He chose to be the best version of himself (still honest and true in the shadow of his destiny). And somehow, somehow, she thinks he chose to be happy, despite it all.
But she hates, despises all the choices he couldn't make. That horrid, horrid family into whose "care" he was forced, with no choice, no way to escape the life of abuse and neglect. He couldn't choose where to spend his holidays and spent too many alone. He couldn't choose not to compete in the Tri-wizard Cup (a kiss on the cheek, desperate luck). No choice, no way to save Sirius, and no choice but to stay frozen and invisible, watching as his beloved mentor fell. No choice but to leave everything (not her, not without her) to search without rest, relief, or comfort for something so important yet so vague it's terrifying.
But it's at this point that her pained musings, her angry belief in his lack of choices begins to shift. Because he could have chosen to tell others, tell the Order and delegate some part of his terrible responsibility (loss, so much loss in glory). But he chose to keep everyone safe, to go it alone (not alone, not without her). From that moment, Harry's web of fate and decision has become clearer for her.
He chose to comfort her, to hold her at night, to work by her side, to smile in the dirt and darkness of those months in that tent. Despite his own fear and exhaustion (pale, so pale all those nights), despite the fact that he had been deserted too, he did all he could for her. And when she told him, asked him, "Maybe we should just stay here, Harry. Grow old." (first words, laughter, warmth, and grass), she could see the longing in his eyes, the sad sort of whimsy on his face as he pictured that peaceful, normal, happy life (more than anything she saw it, longed for it too). But he chose his duty, his bleak mission and boxed away the image of that sweet, easy existence like she knew they both should. Even so, she still sees it sometimes in dreams and quiet moments (first words, laughter, warmth, and grass).
Then there was the night they danced, a shimmering point of joy and comfort in their ever deepening darkness. She chose him. She stayed, and in that moment as their bodies stopped swaying and the music faded, he could have had her. He could have easily taken their closeness and affection and made it more (eyes closed, warm breath). But he pulled away. He chose someone else's feelings, someone else's future, over his own uncertain one (neither can live while the other survives). She sees the sacrifice in that choice and her heart breaks. She chose him. She loves him.
And now, now she is staring out the door he just walked through, trying to sense him somewhere in the darkness that has swallowed him. She is crying and desperate, and this time there's no tender hug or swaying dance to comfort her. And she's not sure there ever will be again. Because his choices are always sacrifices. Because he chose to die so no one else would have to (not alone, not without her).
She wishes, so very often- but never more than in this moment, that once, just once he would choose to hide and be safe. But that just wouldn't be him. That just wouldn't be Harry, and she thinks that that is the most essential choice he makes. He always rushes head first into danger, always worries for everyone's safety but his own, always gives up what he wants for the sake of others (eyes closed, warm breath). He has done so much for them all, out of necessity, out of bravery and his own selfless sense of duty. But this is just too much, too cruel. He was given the choice of his life or the lives of others, and he never chooses his safety. He never chooses himself. And she understands his choice, no matter how much she wishes she doesn't. In some way she'd known it would come to this, and she knows Harry's only doing what he thinks he must (still so honest and true in the shadow of his destiny).
But there is some small, selfish part of her that says because he chose to keep them all safe, because he chose to sacrifice himself for everyone and everything they've fought for—he didn't choose her. He chose to leave her. But she sees that part of herself for what it is and she ignores it. Because she knows what he sees, what they both see on those rare nights when peace finds them in their sleep (first words, laughter, warmth, and grass).
Still she stands there, staring into the night, wishing for that imagined future, or a simpler present, or really just to be with him (even in the face of certain death). But what she really wishes is that he didn't have destiny and duty and life-or-death choices clinging to him like a shadow. It is in this moment that she finally understands. So much was chosen for him, so much forced into and out of his life. And she hates all of that. But what she hates even more, what rips her broken heart to shreds, are the choices he does make. Because the only choices he's given, the only choices he lets himself make, are so heart wrenchingly, excruciatingly hard. And the things he chooses are never the things he truly wants (first words, laughter, warmth, and grass).
And if by some miracle, some amazing force of God and man and magic, they come out of this alive, she's not going to make him choose. Because she chose him. She loves him. And she's going to show him that he can be pushed into good choices too, that he can be immersed in good and happy and peace instead of loss and horror (she aches and aches for him, haunted even in his sleep).
But they both have to survive this first, and that might be too much of a miracle. She's just going to fight as hard as she can, and pray to whoever's listening that he does the same. He's the Boy Who Lived. He isn't supposed to go down without a fight, to just hand himself over. He isn't supposed to die (not alone, not without her). She refuses to believe that walking out into the darkness alone, prepared to die, was the last choice that he will make.
But all his choices are sacrifices, and he only has so much left to give.
(loss, so much loss in glory)
My First HP fic. Hopefully, I did it justice.