"Hey Little Train"
Mystic25
Okay, like millions of people I saw DH, and I saw that dance, and well, I couldn't get what happened, and what could've happened out of my head.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Warner Brothers and J.K. Rowling. The title and the lyrics at the end are from the song "O Children" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seed.
RATING: PG
A/N: I loved the scene in the movie with the dance. And, I saw the moment with Hermione, how she hesitated just for a moment before pulling away from Harry. This is how I saw this folding out.
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She was just sitting there, looking for all the world like she had lost her best friend, her eyes finding more comfort in the dirt floor beneath her than any living thing in the tent. The silence was so absolute that it was almost a sound in itself, like a sad love song played when a lover has left you for someone else, or, had died and left you forever.
The only other living thing inside the tent was watching her, slumped in a camp chair, feeling her emotions like a force that would knock him over if he stood up too quickly. But, it had been weeks of this same emotion, of pain that couldn't be addressed without rubbing raw wounds until they bleed. There must be something different than this kind of existence, there had to be, or what was the point of saving life at all?
He found himself in front of her, having left his chair without thinking about it. He watched her eyes slowly move from the ground. She looked so-tired, so sad. He could deal with his pain, it was like a blanket mothers would wrap their children in at night for security, he was used to its feeling, even though he hated it. But, the pain of others was something entirely different. He couldn't stand it, especially when it made someone so strong look so small.
His hand was in front of her, a gesture that seemed so alien to their situation. Like they were back at school, being pushed together by giggling friends. That was the point; he knew what he was doing.
She didn't hesitate in the slightest. Her hand fell into his, and she stood up with the stance of someone profoundly weary being told it was time to go home from the destruction and try to sleep.
It was this tiny gesture that almost undid him. He wanted to tell her something, but he couldn't. What words would bring anything good back at this point? Words had their place, but they also had moments when they were useless, like watching someone being beaten, and doing nothing but shouting at their attacker to stop.
His hands were on her neck, going behind her hair as reached for the chain of the Horcrux locket. Her skin was warm. She dipped her head to allow him to remove it. He placed it out of sight, barely remembering where, focused instead, for the first time in months, on something else besides Voldenmort.
He took her other hand and pulled her to the center of their small, shabby, makeshift home. She followed him slowly, watching him, but still with no words.
He started to move, to dance, some ridiculous gestures that no doubt Ron would have laughed like hell over, calling him a mental git. But it was Ron that brought them here, with him pretending he knew how to dance for her.
She followed him like a marionette, being pulled by strings that he controlled. Harry didn't hate Ron, even after he left like some angered child, leaving the scene of an accident he caused because he didn't want to get in trouble. Ron was his best friend. But he hated him right now, because he had taken a part of Hermione with him where'd he gone, leaving a shell of her behind. And, there was no one else to bring her back except him, and he didn't know if he could do it, because he was so weary himself.
He twirled her, then himself, feeling less stupid as the minutes went on, because she was being to respond, like he had breathed into her and seen life return. He found himself closer to her, and she began to match his moves, their dancing becoming an embrace. He was holding her, feeling the warmth of her body.
It was like being submerged in frozen water, like a pain that stabbed you, but one that reminded you that you were alive, that you were here, that maybe there was something beyond this, because you started to feel something again. Her head was on his shoulder like safety, hers and his. A reassurance that they were still here, they hadn't stopped fighting, they needed more than pain.
She pulled away, the slowest of movements, he could still feel her warmth against him, she was soft, strong. She watched him, looking at him with such depth of emotion he could feel it down every nerve. She had never been more beautiful to him.
What happened next was not planned. A kiss, a small one, but one of her own doing. Nothing hesitant about it, no awkwardness.
He felt it like a current, there was no label to it, only feeling. "Hermione what-"
"Harry, please-"She cut him off with another kiss that blinded him, like he was drowning again in the frozen water, but like each stab of pain was welcome if it ended in such beauty. She ended the breath in his lungs, leaving him gasping.
Her breath was warm against his neck; her lips were against his skin like he gave her life. Her hands were on his neck, stroking it. "Please-" She was pleading to him with a voice full of such longing, like she was begging him to bring her back from the land of the dead, to make her whole again.
"Hermione-" He gently extracted her arms from around his neck.
"But I love you," Her tears slid down her face into his palms. "Harry, please, I love you-" a sob found its way at the end of her words. She wanted more than for him to bring her back from the dead, she wanted him to save her.
He could barely breathe; he was choking on his own tears hearing the ache in her voice. He took her face into his hands. She caressed herself into his palms like a cat seeking comfort. "We can't."
She looked like the world had suddenly shattered under her feet, and she didn't know where to step to be safe. More tears fell from her face, a warm, heartrending rain shower."Why?-"
"Because I love you too," The words came out of him as fast as the tears that were streaking down his face. "That's why we can't do this," he caressed the sides of her face with his thumb, swirling the tear tracks that were still damp against her skin. "I don't want to hurt you Hermione."
Her eyes were now lost in a swirl of tears, they were falling anew down his hands. She didn't sob again; she stood there and cried without a sound, breaking under his hands. He wanted to die rather than see her in such agony. He had loved her for seven years; it didn't have a name, this love. It had simply grown, as love was always meant too. It had made her a part of his world, of every breath he took.
"I'm sorry," he didn't think he could cry harder, but he felt the choke in his throat of something coming up, telling him to feel, reminding him that feeling hurt, but you can't save life unless you live life. And under his hands was a part of his life. "I don't want you to hurt again," He leaned into her and kissed her, long and deep, with no lust, no desire, just a pure, tender love. Her hands were soft on the back of his neck.
He ended the kiss, and wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him, feeling her heart beating rapidly. "I love you so much Hermione."
Their crying became a matching rhythm, a low melody that sang sadly around the tiny tent and out into the quietness into the air, floating up to the stars. His dropped his face to her shoulder, pulling her impossibly tighter. She kissed the side of his face countless times, caressing the hair on the back of his neck.
Her aching heart beat so hard against his, coming back alive into such brokenness. But she welcomed the pain, because she had felt nothing, nothing for such a long time after Ron left. And she didn't want to feel nothing anymore.
They fell back into a dance, an agonizingly slow rhythm that was both heartbreaking and beautiful, holding each other like they were one, not letting go, not wanting to reach the moment when they had too.
Hey, little train! Wait for me!
I once was blind but now
I see Have you left a seat for me?
Is that such a stretch of the imagination?
Hey little train! Wait for me!
I was held in chains but now I'm free
I'm hanging in there, don't you see
In this process of elimination.
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This can be taken anyway you want, friendship, or beyond. I just saw it as love. And I wasn't bashing on Ron; I was just playing on a emotion.
R/R please.
Peace,
Mystic.