Title- Reminisces
Author- Feather
Rating- PG
Category- Harry Potter
Genre- Angst/ Romance
Author's notes- My dear readers: I felt compelled at this time to write something, as I have not really lifted a finger towards my keyboard of the late, and I searched desperately for some inspiration until I realized that I could not choose inspiration, and simply had to wait for it to come to me. I was looking through deep recesses of my computer, which houses most of my fanfic ideas, and low-and-behold I come up with this. So, dear readers, please do not be alarmed if this is totally odd for my style of writing, because although I do find the inspiration worthy of writing, it may not quite be up to par. This is dedicated to dearest Hayley-chan, who reads all my Harry Potter stories, and humors me with her praise. Thank you so much, Hayley-chan! ^^* ~ Feather =^-^=
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The day was beautiful, and even though winter still showed subtle hints of dominance, its colors were faded and tired; fresh green blossoms had started on the trees, and the grass had a lighter tone than the brown norm for that time of year. Looking out her window, Hermione Granger felt something she hadn't felt for a long time; there was an unexplainable urge deep inside her being to be outside, to feel the life she had once had as a school girl those long three years ago. Shaking her head slightly as she tried to resist the balmy sunshine's haunting notions that all was indeed felicitous, she picked up a pile of bills and started to budget. Naïveté can be a beautiful thing, she though sadly as she started to open then envelopes, but in the end it will weigh you down more than let you soar.
Drawing a fresh sheet of notepaper out of her organized desk, she looked down at her ballpoint pen. She bit her lip, and looked to the small balcony outside her flat. She had a strange urge to write a letter, several letters; the day was crisply fresh, and maybe she could humor herself into believing that the sunlight was right; maybe all could be felicitous, as long as she didn't pretend too long.
Sticking the pen behind her ear, she idly reached into the bottom drawer of her desk almost subconsciously, and drew out a quill, piece of parchment, and bottle of bright green ink. Who could I write to? she asked herself, already knowing the answer at who she would have to write. Harry, perhaps?
She walked outside, settled herself on the cool cement of the balcony's floor, and leaning against the sliding-glass door, slipping into another frame of mind, she began to compose:
It's funny how the mind works sometimes. Doing my bills and looking out the window, I was struck with a strange feeling of déja vu as the warm spring air teased my instincts; it felt so much like those many years ago, those balmy days that I, at the time, thought were slipping past so slowly, like they would never end, though now I realize things passed much more quickly than I would have liked to know when I was so naive. Things just seem so different from then, and I can't believe so much time has passed, made me into what I think is a different person, though I can't really speculate. I sat on the porch, quill in hand, feeling so like I used to waiting for Professor Snape to start his lessons, but could not focus my mind on writing this letter, as much as I wished. Closing my eyes, I was struck with a vivid image of myself three springs ago, and flushing slightly at the memory, how naive I was. I don't mean to say that leaving school or anything like that has distantly impacted me, but now I suppose I've just now realized that even though I had seen diversity stretching out into infinity, I hadn't really /wanted/ to see it, and yes, I do miss it. I hadn't really accepted that time would pass with or without my consent, and I regret that I didn't truly value those times when I could be free.
Time, indeed, has passed, much too quickly. It's been almost three years since I left school and closed a chapter of my life. Now, I am much more quiet, can you believe, more reserved, and I value my time much more conservatively. Seeing now as I have to hide my true faces from other people at times, it seems suiting that you should hear at least that confession. And though the wind is capricious yet always seems warm, the sunlight and endless blue skies enchanting me into believing that all is felicitous, I just can't seem to leave the part of my conscious that cries out that I need to at least let go of that part of me that wants to stay in those times, to stay behind in the times I loved foolishly, forever.
So now I am sharing my careful collections and reminiscences with you, hoping that all is well. Summer passed, fall and winter, several seasons since I've seen your face, and hopefully with this spring things will blow a better wind. I still struggle with my many peccadilloes, my ineptness in photographing what I want at the exactly right time, my longing to sometimes pick up my wand and spell something. I suppose that these vexations are good for a person, as they allow you to realize that as much as you'd like to change yourself, you can't.
As much as I'd like to change myself, I can't, Harry. I'm afraid; afraid I'll lose you, lose the world I once loved, lose the memories I had of when times where once better. I'm a coward, and I know it; but that doesn't change me. And you, Harry, I can't change the way that I feel about you either; it isn't fair for a man to haunt a girl's dreams like that. And I still feel I am a girl in so many ways, yet the world has accepted me as a full-grown adult, and who am I to resist the natural feeling of wanting to belong?
I've been looking for something for a long time, and I can't find it. Sometimes, I go into London for business, and I have a strange attraction to follow the alleyways that lead to the Leaky Cauldron. I went into it once, spelling myself to look like I was wearing robes, but it was too painful. I can't take the pain, but can't shake my longing, longing for magic, longing for you. Life feels incomplete without magic.
I feel ridiculous doing this, really I do. Harry, I left you, left everyone behind because I was scared, but now I realize that my other Hermione, the witch you knew at school, is the real myself, not this pathetic façade of a Muggle. It's so easy to play through different masks, but you have to be careful not to be too caught up in them. Learn from your mistakes. This was a mistake.
Just as a plant cannot live without water, I cannot live without magic, yet still…a flower must fear for its life when it is drowned with water. I need to revive myself but don't know how, and these petty confessions I'm never going to send are driving me half-mad. But Harry…don't forget the real Hermione? Even when a plant, delicate flower though it is, hasn't had water, it can be revived. Ophelia drowned from hiding her true self, but now I see I have an inner will. I will revive the Ophelia I have become. For you, for myself, I don't know. A flower doesn't know why it grows, just as a person doesn't, but what will come will come; I'll just have to try to meet it somehow.
Hermione
Looking down at her work, Hermione sighed. Spring is an odd season, she thought sadly, and bitter winter must be better suited for a person such as I. Slowly dragging herself up, she folded the letter, holding it close to her heart for a brief moment, then dropped it, letting the wind carry it where it may.
And a bird chirped. An owl hooted, swooped gently down, held the letter delicately in her claws, and carried it to her master.
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Closing notes- ::hangs head in shame:: This has to be the WORST thing I have ever written ::sobs::. Oh well, thank you for reading. I do not claim to own Harry Potter or any other related works, but do own the plot and a rabid squirrel pillow ::nods::. Thank you for reading, love you all ~ Feather =^-^=