Disclaimer: I just made up this poem. ::clears throat::
Harry Potter is not mine
It's all JKR's which is fine
I wrote all of this story
In all of it's glory
Well just a little of the plot
(I modified it a lot)
The poem's also pinched
Writing poem's ain't a cinch
As is proved by this rhyme
Yeah, you've wasted your time
Author's Note: Okay so I know the disclaimer was dumb but I love it. Here's the prologue to my first D/Hr. The poems for this fic are all Emily Dickinson, in case you were wondering. I hope you like it. And you know the deal. R/R cause you know I love it.
Dedication: I dedicate this fic to my longtime friend, FindingBeauty. Your beautiful fics are why I started writing fanfiction. I hope to be as good as you one day. Enjoy the D/Hr-ness while you can, and thanks for beta-ing.
Come Slowly, Eden
COME slowly, Eden!
Lips unused to thee,
Bashful, sip thy jasmines,
As the fainting bee,
Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums,
Counts his nectars—enters,
And is lot in balms!
Eden.
Paradise.
A place or state of bliss, felicity, or delight, says the dictionary I remember consulting long ago.
I pride myself in always knowing where I've been, where I am, and where I'm going, always one with the firm grasp on the text and the tangible. It's funny how you can be standing in the middle of somewhere and not know where you are. Little did I know, all those years ago, that I was standing in the middle of paradise.
I mean, what was bliss anyway? So I quickly turned the pages of the dictionary, worn by the many years of use from when I didn't understand an aspect of life and needed a quick answer, and scanned it quickly for the definition, finding only: complete happiness.
Happiness.
That wasn't hard to understand. I was a happy person. I had great friends, great family, great grades, and an overall great life. I was happy all the time. The one word I got tripped up on was complete. Sure, I was happy, but was I completely happy? Had I ever been completely happy? More importantly, was I completely happy right then? And I was confused all over again.
Finding myself confronted with a topic I didn't fully comprehend, I did what I always did; I grabbed my quills, ink, and parchment and headed off to the library. I spent hours upon hours gathering as much research as I could about Eden and paradise, researching from Milton's Paradise Lost to the Bible to Orion Stinglekrill's, a secular wizard of the 1300's, essays on Eden and the wizarding world, not realizing the truth about Eden.
It took me 3 years, a suicide attempt, and many hours of therapy to realize that Eden was what you made it and that you couldn't quantify complete happiness because it was so much a measure of you that you could only experience it.
When I left the library that night, I was more confused than when I had started.
Little did I know I was being presented with a question, a question that would set the precedent for the rest of my life.
I could either accept that I would never be able to find the answer to my query in text and my only option was to live it to understand; or I could return to the library the next day and continue searching for the answer, thus allowing the text to take over my life.
I returned early to the library the next morning. Thus was my undoing.
I'm not saying that what happened all those years ago was my fault because it most definitely was not. I'm merely explaining my part in the whole matter that has lead me to where I am right now... standing rather uncomfortably at the top of a staircase, target of many questioning gazes, but I guess I should explain my current situation before I get too behind myself.
Tonight's the night of Hogwarts' First Annual Memorial Celebration, started to raise money for the thousands of men, women, and children widowed and orphaned by the Second Voldemort War that ended almost a year ago. After killing large numbers of muggles and muggleborns, Voldemort himself was killed, quite fittingly I believe, by none other than Harry Potter, the-Boy-Who-Lived-and-Lived-Again.
I wish I could say that I played some part in this victory, but I cannot. I wish that this were why people were speaking in hushed whispers at the bottom of the stairs as I descend, but it is not.
I feel a reassuring squeeze on my arm, and I look up into the face of the one who is very much responsible for me being here tonight. As I look into his eyes I can't help but smile, reflecting upon how much I admire and appreciate him. I wish with all my heart that I loved him, but then again, it was never really love with us. It was just we were there for each other at a very rough time in our lives. Alton Willoughby could never be more to me than my savior, but I figure maybe that's the best I can hope for.
"Hermione!" comes an eager voice from the crowd in front of me and within moments the happy face of Ron Weasley emerges from the sea of faces, with equally joyous Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley in tow. As I look at them, I realize I'd forgotten how it felt to be this kind of happy; the kind where you feel like your entire self is glowing because you have joy oozing out of every pore of your body.
God, I missed them. We hug and I can't help but think that, 'Yeah, things will be okay.' After we pull away, I quickly introduce them to Alton, making no false titles, "This is Alton Willoughby, the man who saved me." Not an acquaintance, not my boyfriend, and not the man I love.
We all start for the Great Hall, one of the many rooms converted to accommodate the occasion, and as I walk sandwiched between my two best friends while they spout incessantly about the past three years of their lives, I take the time to notice the changes they've undergone. Their faces look harder and more worn from years of fighting and in their once brilliant eyes I now see all traces of youth gone, defeated by the horrors of war. But as they talk I also see the sparks of something new alighting them, like every time Harry glances back at Ginny trailing behind with Alton and in Ron's glances across the room at Lavender Brown.
As they talk I can't help but notice that their stories are somewhat...guarded, I suppose is the word. And when they get close to almost talking about the mysterious "it", they shoot warning glances at each other, thinking I don't see them.
But I do.
And I know exactly what they're trying to guard me from; but, of course, I don't push it.
We continue talking like this for a while, wandering about the room, until they stop abruptly, staring angrily ahead. I look up and, lo and behold, standing not far in front of us was the infamous "it". I resist the urge to snort as I am amused by the irony of the situation. We had been dancing around it only to find "it" dancing around us.
But then again, I'm not at all surprised. Draco Malfoy always had a tendency to show up, even when he wasn't wanted.
"It's okay," I hear myself say confidently to Harry and Ron, masking all the uncertainty I'm feeling inside of me. It was bound to happen sooner or later, I tell myself, barely registering Alton slipping his hand into mine or the strange, somewhat hurt looks of my best friends, resigned to no longer being the ones that are there to take care of me.
All I can think about is back to three years ago when I had been in paradise...an Eden of my own making...and how good it felt to share it with Draco Malfoy. I think back to how I got lost in the silvery depths of his eyes and how he was my whole world, regretting how quickly it had all come. I think back to the ups and downs of our relationship and how we had been persuaded by others that our love wasn't strong enough. I think back on how it had been strong enough, however, to send me to St. Mungo's for a year, so unwilling was I to live in complete happiness because I couldn't understand it.
For us, Eden came too quickly, kind of like eating an entire ice cream cone too fast. Although it was good, all you have left to show for it is no ice cream, a painful brain freeze, and the memory of good ice cream.
As I stare at Draco now across the room, Pansy disgustingly draped over him, I think back to the old Bible story my mother used to tell me about Adam and Eve. How can a story written so long ago tell our story so well? They allowed themselves to be persuaded by temptation, going against God's decree, and earning them eternal ejection from Eden.
Our eyes meet and as I feel the all too familiar butterflies in my stomach I can't help but wonder if God grants exceptions.