Christmas night, it clutched the light, the hallow bright
Above my brother, I and tangled spines
We smoked the screen to make it what it was to be
Now to know it in my memory
And at once I knew I was not magnificent
High above the highway aisle (Jagged vacance, thick with ice)
But I could see for miles, miles, miles
- Bon Iver "Holocene"
Harry plucked his guitar strings, humming low and slow. His fingers were callused from the war, scarred and rough but slender enough that it didn't affect the way his fingers held down the strings. He was sitting crossed legged at the edge of his bed, cold but unwilling to get up and do something about it. In general, his appearance hadn't falter too much in the last five years. He had grown taller, he had a very thick stubble, his skin had tanned considerably, his hair had turned nearly black, like obsidian. On a good day he looked pretty respectable, a generally masculine looking man, although pretty slender (mostly due to his atrocious dietary habits). But good days were few and far in between. In general he stayed at home, walking around sometimes with boxers and a bathrobe, sometimes a pair of plaid pajama pants, always the same pair, sometimes he would actually wear real clothes, when Hermione and Ron came round to make sure he was still alive. Things had changed quickly since the war ended, he had become some sort of shitty celebrity, finding his face on the cover of Witches Weekly, occasionally, usually accompanied with some title trying to poke fun at him. But really, since he had killed Voldemort, people had really forgotten about him. He was just another childhood celebrity. So he had abandoned the Wizarding world, finding a small and reasonable home near London.
Harry heard a pounding on his door, although he didn't make much of a motion to go see who had come to visit him. He untangled his legs, throwing his guitar over his shoulder, he walked into his kitchen. He heard the sound of keys entering his lock, the sound of thick paper ruffling. His guitar sitting on his shoulder, he opened his fridge and bent down to inspect what little he had. Ah, whiskey! Harry grabbed the half empty bottle and opening the cupboard, he pulled out a coffee cup and poured himself drink. He sat the guitar against the counter, chugged his drink, and poured another as his front door opened and a very unhappy Hermione came in carrying about four paper bags full of food.
"Thanks for getting the door for me, Harry." Hermione snapped sarcastically setting the bags down onto his kitchen counter. "I bought you groceries. You still eat don't you?"
"Nice to see you too, 'Mione." Harry had finished his second cup, his face twisting as his throat burned, he poured himself another and set the whiskey back into his fridge.
"More alcohol? I'm going to come find you passed out one of these days, and I swear Harry-" Hermione started quickly piling the items into the fridge and into his cabinets, boxes of organic foods, fruits and vegetables, most of which would find themselves rotting soon.
"Thanks," Harry said, interrupting her and pushing himself up to sit on his island. "Any plans tonight?" Harry reached into the old pizza box beside him and pulled out a cold slice of 3 day old pizza, took a bite, made a face and then threw the pizza into the sink. "Yuck."
"You are ridiculous." Hermione picked up the box and threw it away, went into the sink and pulled the piece of pizza out and threw it too into the trash. Then she proceeded to carry his dirty dishes scattered about the kitchen into the sink, poured soap over them and ran the hot water until almost everything had become submerged.
"Why do you do that?" Harry mumbled into his coffee up, and then waving his hand, made the dishes clean themselves and find their places in the cabinets.
Hermione continued to stand at the sink, staring out of the window just above it, a nice view of the town Harry had found himself in. Cobblestone roads and very ancient little homes. Moss finding its home upon everything. "Ron proposed." She turned around to him as she spoke.
Harry found himself less and less interested in conversation and more and more interested in his whiskey. "Well that's great. I'm happy for you. Bout time I guess, you know? How long have you two been together. That's great, 'Mione." Harry looked up over his cup and flashed her a smile.
"Why don't you go out, Harry?"
Hermione crossed her arms, her brows furrowed with worry. Ginny and him had worked out all of three months before she left him, or he left her, Harry couldn't remember, didn't want to. It had been too fast for him, everyone had expected them to get together, it had been a strange and awkward relationship. But he loved her, he thought he loved her. She's like a sister. Harry had thought, while they kissed, while he let her hands cross over his body. Like a bloody little sister. He had broken the kiss off to say something, to protest, but the sweet look in her eyes, he had been caught.
That was five years ago, now and he still hadn't really dated since then. When he got really lonely, he would go to the bar and play some music and some girl would come home with him. But it was just a one night contract and he could go back to his firewhiskey and his cold empty house.
"Yeah, yeah, I was. I wrote a new song." Harry pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the breast pocket of his it a couple of times, pulled out two cigarettes, put one between his lips and one behind his ear. "Got a lighter?" He mumbled with the cigarette bouncing up and down as he spoke.
Hermione shook her head, "That's disgusting, Harry." She headed for his front door.
Harry pulled the cigarette out, hopped off of his counter and walked towards her. "Thanks, 'Mione, for the food. And congratulations." He smiled, taking her in for a hug. "I'll see you later, alright?" He placed a kiss on her cheek.
"Don't do anything stupid, Harry." She looked very serious but as she opened the door and took a step out into cool evening, she turned and smiled with a small wave. "See you."
Authors Notes: I've decided, while I'm writing something hopefully much darker and longer, I will write something cuter and funner and shorter and easier to write. The war is over, Draco is gay, Harry is sad and lonely, let's relax.