Title: Solipsism.
Author/Artist: Hiko Mokushi / plural_entity.
Rating: R.
Warnings: Language, drinking, sexuality. EWE, obviously.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Portions of the House described actually correlate to the layout of a home I've stayed at on Lake Erie, Ohio, called "The Rock of Ages."
Summary: She hadn't thought of it this way. Harry's words took on a completely new meaning. Malfoy was both wrong and right, though she'd never admit it. She was self-absorbed. She wanted to be happy so bad that she begrudged everyone else their happiness because she hadn't found it. But in the end, weren't all of them just as self-absorbed? Weren't they all willing to risk each other's happiness, for the sake maintaining their own? Written for the 2009-2010 dmhgficexchange.
Notes: I almost considered changing the name of this piece to "Murphy's Law," because that's sure as hell what happened. Everything that could go wrong, did. Thanks so much to the mods for dealing with all my problems every single time I had to ask for "like two more days." Thanks to my friend Domenic for reading this over when both of my betas seemingly bailed on me. somandalicious, I hope it's everything you wanted and so sorry for the lateness. This jumped from PG-13 to R without me really thinking about it..
Solipsism. [noun.] /[ sol-ip-siz-uhm ]
1. Philosophy. the theory that only the self exists, or can be proved to exist.
2. extreme preoccupation with and indulgence of one's feelings, desires, etc.; egoistic self-absorption.
Let the tide swallow me whole,
Like morning light in windows.
Let that dark water take me home.
We set the wrong course and headed due north.
That's where we went wrong.
We were young and learning steady hearts hate turning.
That's where we went wrong.
- The Hush Sound, "Where We Went Wrong."
December 30th.
She could smell the salt in the air before she'd fully Apparated and when she landed, it wasn't on solid ground. Sand gave way beneath her, pooling into her shoes and messing with her center of gravity. She landed hard on her butt, a few curling wisps of hair fluttering free. Rising shakily to her feet, she stood and rubbed her hand against the back of her jeans, across her butt. Her behind was coated with a fine layer of pale sand, and it made a gentle sifting sound as she wiped at it exasperatedly. She sighed, wiping her hands then against her knees, and bent at the waist to take hold of her bag, which she was sure had sand all over it as well.
"Nice arse."
Hermione spun, cheeks flushing as she clutched her bag to her pelvis defensively. However, when she turned, her gaze met a gentle pair of green eyes and a messy mop of inky black hair.
"Harry, don't be rude," she reprimanded sharply, cheeks still tinged pink though a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
Harry's grin was impish and seemed almost too youthful for his lined, too-worn face. Her eyes slid over him, his tired eyes, and his ashen features. He seemed to have lost weight since she last saw him, and the pale blue button-down shirt and khaki shorts he wore seemed a little too loose. Their meeting reminded her strangely of seeing Lupin again after the two-year span since Third Year; her best friend was rapidly aging the same, only without the telltale werewolf scars.
"You look like death, are you alright? You are not sick, are you? Your letters always made it sound like everything was okay." She walked closer, gripped him on the side of the face hard with one hand while her other pressed flat against his forehead.
Harry shook his head, slapping her hands away in slight irritation. "Hey," he snapped back, "who's being rude now? You just said I look like shite. Do I tell you that you should wear your hair down or that you don't look good with sand on your arse?"
He sounded angry, lips twisted in a grimace, but the playfulness never left his lively eyes. Hermione laughed deeply, throwing back her head as she gently slapped his cheek. He pretended to wince, covering the spot with his hand. "Jesus, 'Mione, what are they teaching you at that school of yours? How to slap someone and break their face? Are you sure you didn't shatter my cheekbone? You're not a woman anymore, you're a beast. I think it's time you stop educationing yourself and you come work for me. Too much information and your head will explode. That or blow up like a bloody great balloon."
"Wuss." She laughed again. "It's a defense mechanism. Keeps all the little perverts away. But while we're talking about how gross each other looks, will you at least assure me Ginny's bought a bathing suit that covers all her bits and pieces? I will charm her into a wetsuit. Your girlfriend needs to learn some modesty."
"Nice change of subject," grumbled Harry, rolling his eyes slightly. "I'll let you slide for now, but we are going to have a talk about that later. In defense of my girlfriend, she'd say you need to learn to not be a prude. But I mean really, a wetsuit would probably be just as bad—they're skin tight."
Harry coughed slightly at the purse Hermione's lips had taken on and decided to reach for her bag. "But let's get moving onto the house; nearly everybody arrived at the beginning of the week. Really, you missed half the fun, Hermione," he joked sarcastically, making a face as she finally relinquished hold of her bag. "Pansy had everybody sunbathing, because she wants all of us to look tan for her pictures. Luna rather discouraged her by talking about sand lice. For once was actually talking sense about something and I couldn't bring myself to lie just to make Pansy feel better. Luna has to get discouraged with all of our disbelief."
That brought a smile back to the brunette witch's face, and she took off her loafers, stuffing her socks inside them so she could walk barefoot through the sand. "I would almost pay to see that," she chuckled. "I bet she went and showered right afterwards."
"Of course."
Hermione could just make out the large house further up the beach, and she lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun's glare off the sand. The house was large by beach house standards, at least all the ones she had stayed in over the years; it certainly looked old and worn though. It was mostly white and pale brown, with what looked like three stories, six balconies, and a large, wrap-around porch. It huddled, half-hidden against a small forest of bushes and trees.
The island was only one of many privately owned islands in the area. It was so private and so small an island in fact; it had only the one house and a large stable on the southern side. It didn't even have an official name. It could never be found on any map, didn't respond to locator spells, and had so many illusionment charms, it was practically invisible. For the exceptionally strong-willed and determined, redirection wards would keep any unwanted visitors from getting too close. The island was small, a tiny blip amongst others in the middle of North Atlantic Ocean. The famed paranormal hotspot nearly all Muggles knew, turned out to be nothing more than a Wizarding vacation spot. One thing she had not expected to feel was wonder, but even after all this time, Wizards still had a way of surprising her.
"It sure is beautiful here," she murmured, taking in the unusually clean beach, clear blue water, and cloudless skies.
Harry nodded, matching her smaller gait with practiced ease. "I wasn't sure it was a good idea at first, you know," he admitted sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. "You hear some odd stuff about this place. I was expecting to get abducted by aliens."
Hermione laughed, kicking a little sand at him. "Most of those stories about the Bermuda Triangle are easily explained though, if a lot of Wizarding families are coming to the islands. All those spells and charms to keep Muggles away. It's easy to explain even when not considering magical interference. If you were so nervous, you should have just done some research on it. I mean, you do know how to use a library."
"I'm going to ignore you even said that," Harry muttered under his breath, hefting her bag into his other hand and then over his shoulder. "But ignoring my fears of alien abduction, where's Blaise? You're always late, but Blaise is normally the first to shirk his Williams-inian duties."
"I take offense to that. I can shirk my duties." At Harry's bemused expression, her face hardened. "I can shirk my duties."
Harry nodded. "Sure, Hermione. What are you doing now, at Williams? You always say you are so busy, but it's not like I ever hear about anything going on. You're so far away. But Blaise, love, Blaise. Where is my big cocoa-mocha chocolate man?"
"I'm focused on poisons at the moment. Discovering different antidotes, easy ways to diagnose and such. I like America. It's... different." Hermione's eyes focused on the beach beneath her and she absently flicked a shell out of her path with her big toe. "Does Blaise get offended at that nickname? It's like... a hop, skip and a jump away from being racist."
"No, it's a term of endearment, affection. I call him that out of love. Like how Ron calls Malfoy a motherfucker and Draco calls him a fuckshit."
Hermione let out a short bark of laughter as she tossed her head back, letting the wind blow her bangs away from her face. "Well, that's the reason he's late."
Harry stiffened beside her and she kept walking. It took her a couple of minutes before she realized that he had slowed to a complete stop, his feet sinking into the sand. Hermione turned around and lifted a hand to her face, shielding her narrowed eyes as she examined his face.
She shifted back and forth, the sand hot beneath her feet. "Oh, come on, it's not that big of a deal, Harry. You can't blame him for being bitter."
"I can blame him for whatever I want." Harry pouted before he started walking again. He lifted a hand as they neared the house and pointed out one of the six balconies. Two were in the facing the closest part of the beach, two in the back, and one on either side. "You're the room in the front to the right."
When his hand dropped back to his side, he reached for hers and she slipped her fingers between his. They swung their clasped hands back and forth in the space between them. "I'm just going to have to listen to him go on about liars and cheaters and how he's never cheated on a girlfriend. You know I feel horrible about it, I don't like being reminded of it, and that's all he's going to do. How long am I going to be stuck in the same house as him? Having him in the Ministry is bad enough."
"You never see him in the Ministry, Harry. But really, it happened—it happened not only once, it happened twice—so just deal with it. Let's not be immature about this."
"I'm not immature, so stop being a boob."
She grinned and bumped her hip against his. "Real mature."
"What are you going to do about it?"
"I could kick you in the balls?" she said, though it came out more as a question.
"Harsh, 'Mione. Harsh."
Hermione smiled, glad the momentary irritation had faded easily. All joking and teasing aside, it was nice that she could do this. A few terse moments and instantly they weren't the Minister of Magic and Potions researcher, they were just Harry and Hermione, best friends who hadn't seen each other in months. It was so easy for the two of them to fall back into the same familiar roles they'd always had, it made her wonder why they'd never made it. They seemed so perfect... Even Ron had given them his blessing. It wasn't fair, she decided, as she watched the man beside her in the sun. They had grown up too fast. Or maybe they hadn't grown up enough. Maybe if they had had a proper childhood they would have done all right, but none of them had been able to make it work properly yet.
And it wasn't just her and Harry. None of them had gotten it right yet. Unless you counted Ron's odd marriage as right.
She also wondered if it would have worked out with Ron. If she'd never been disloyal, if it might have worked. He had always said he thanked Harry for the little betrayal, but she wasn't so sure. Their friendship had been more important than a random relationship, but they had never been the same since then. The two of them walked the rest of the way in quiet, comfortable silence.
"Hermione, you're here!" Hermione smiled as Ginny frantically waved to them from the porch front, arm stretched high over her head. "Guys!" she called, "Hermione's here!"
In the second when Ginny turned her head to look into the house, Harry casually slid his hand from her grasp, flexing it slightly before slipping it into the pocket of his shorts. Hermione frowned but did not comment, and allowed her arm to hang limply at her side, noticeably cooler in the breeze without the warmth of Harry's palm. Shaking her head slightly, Hermione followed Harry up the tiny staircase onto the wooden porch. It creaked beneath their feet, the wood warped and stained with age and wear. It made the house looked lived in and welcoming, which was the exact opposite of what she felt from the other woman's gaze.
Ginny smiled widely though, snagging Hermione by the shoulders and gripping her in a tight hug. Hermione had only time enough to pat the woman on the back before Ginny jumped back to Harry's side. "We were wondering what was taking you so long. Ron and George wanted to get supper ready, but Pansy is making them wait to use the grill until you were back. She seems to think they'll burn down the island."
Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly as Ginny's hand firmly clasped with Harry's, almost exactly as she had done moments ago. The only difference was the pressure of grips—Hermione's hold had been loose and friendly. Not even five minutes, and the redhead was already getting territorial. There was no question, Ginny Weasley had never forgiven Hermione for her part in Harry's betrayal, and she was vengeful enough that she would make Harry pay for his disloyalty as long as he was with her.
Harry sat her bag on the ground, wincing. Gazing at her pointedly over Ginny's head, he mouthed a silent apology, before kissing his girlfriend on the forehead. "Sweetheart, don't get angry, but Hermione said we may have an extra guest," he started out quietly, before Ginny interrupted him.
"He's already here," she grumbled, crossing her arms underneath her breasts. "Insufferable ass, he and Blaise showed up about two minutes after you left down the beach. They've apparently been here before," she added, looking irritated. "With Pansy. They Apparated right into the middle of the kitchen. Luna accidentally dropped a plate on Blaise's toe. But it's okay, I guess. We'll keep busy."
She fluttered her lashes suggestively and smiled coyly, letting go of his hand to tug at the bottom of his sleeve. Her brown eyes were lined heavily with black and lashes lengthened with mascara, Hermione noticed. It must have been something new, because the Ginny she used to know never wore makeup, let alone needed it. But to Hermione's surprise, the woman was dressed both conservatively and casually, with straight-leg jeans and a simple t-shirt. Years ago, she would have been sporting a revealing halter and a skirt that ended shortly after it began. To top it off, Ginny had done something with her hair, but whether it was a new cut or highlights, its escaped Hermione.
She felt somewhat awkward now, standing out here on the porch with two people that she used to know as well as herself. As easily as she could get along with Harry, she knew that they were no longer the best friends they used to be. Time and distance had seen to that. It had not helped that forming relationships with people had never been her strong point. They could last near a decade, but their depth and loyalty wavered.
Lasting, but weak.
The look Harry gave Ginny was one that, despite their short fling, Hermione had never been on the receiving end of. Retrieving her bag from around Harry, she quietly let herself into the house.
The door opened into the basement, which contained little more than random cupboard and a pool table, with a set of stairs leading upwards to the left. Hermione followed them and entered what appeared to be a series of would-be rooms all open to each other. To the right were a couple of circular tables with chairs and a large black, grand piano. In front of her, there were half a dozen lounge chairs facing a couple large, floor-to-ceiling windows. To her left was a large kitchen, with four sets of sinks—two on an island in the middle of kitchen—and another, smaller countertop island. Two large wooden tables with benches lined the wall opposite the kitchen.
"Uhm... Hello?" she asked loudly, setting her bag on the ground and continuing to walk further into the house. There was no way in hell that she was going to walk back out onto the porch with Harry and Ginny. Ginny might look different, but she'd still have her hand down Harry's pants faster than you could say Who's your kitty? A door across from her let out onto the back patio, but she couldn't see anyone through the glass, so she could only assume everyone had decided to Apparate off the island or they were playing a very good game of hide and seek.
A series of loud thuds caused her to jump, spinning around and clutching a hand to her throat. Beady, brown-black eyes met her gaze as she peered at the black boy, sprawled at the foot of the staircase. He smiled widely, white teeth bright against the dark skin of his face. His eyes were glassy, his smile just a little too big; she doubted he even realized that he'd just fallen down the stairs. "Hermione!" he exclaimed, not moving from where he lay as he reached for her, like a child wishing to be picked up.
"Blaise, what the hell?" she gasped, kneeling to see if he was all right. His fingers brushed her face and she gripped him by his wrists. "It's not even six, and you're sloshed already?"
The stairs above her creaked slightly and with a tiny rustle, she heard a quiet voice. "Hello, Granger."
Hermione's eyes narrowed and she looked up, gracing the man with a half-glower. She had not seen him in over a year, longer than her absence from Ron or Harry—she had seen them back at break before summer session. For the most part, he still looked the same as she remembered. Standing at nearly six feet, he was possibly longer and lankier than he had been at Hogwarts. His face had grown less pointed, but strong cheekbones made his appear hollow and sometimes even gaunt in the right light. Silky blond hair framed his face with messy casualness, pieces haphazardly falling into his line of sight.
"Malfoy," she hissed, "did you push Blaise down the stairs?"
"No, Granger," he sighed boredly, glancing down at her from over the cell phone he held sideways in his hands. He smirked with the corner of his mouth. "He did that well enough on his own. I'm just attempting to beat this infernal contraption you call a game. It seems impossible. I've even been in one of these... deathtraps your people deem worthy enough to call a mode of transportation."
"My people?" Hermione bristled as she helped lift Blaise to his feet. She swayed slightly under his dead weight, face reddening.
He reached the bottom of the stairs after a slow descent and gave her a grin that she could only call a sneer. "As long as you continue to get offended, I'm going to make my normal, scathing remarks on the idiocy of Muggle culture. Let me get him," he said as she struggled to control the anger swelling inside her and her on Blaise. "You already won the war, Granger. Allow me some prejudices."
She followed almost obediently as Malfoy led Blaise to a couch in the room on the other side of the stairs. "Prejudices are wrong," said Hermione, sitting down next to Blaise, her hand smoothing across his forehead.
"So are grudges. I guess we're even."
Malfoy walked swiftly away—into the kitchen—leaving Hermione to flush silently. She pushed Blaise into a comfortable position while the man babbled and played with her hair. Being around Malfoy was as awkward as being around Harry and Ginny, if not more. The two of them were the ones left over, besides Luna. Luna could have cared less for relationships, and Luna held no bitterness toward Harry, but Malfoy... He was an entirely different story. Just being around Harry made him furious. She supposed the only reason he was even here was because there would be drinking. Harry had seen fit to give all the Ministry workers off for New Year's, so she was sure he'd either be here or at his apartment with a bottle of whiskey. Or, if not alone, with a hooker. It was public knowledge that the boy Malfoy did not have relationships, not since the stunning betrayal of Ginevra Weasley.
Malfoy walked calmly back into the room and handed her a small, smoking vial. She glanced up and shook her head before accepting it. "Come on, Blaise, open up," she instructed, tiling back his head to pour the vial's contents slowly down the man's throat. She rubbed at the front of his throat gently. When he swallowed it all, she sighed and handed the empty vial back to Malfoy. "I have no reason to hold a grudge against you, Malfoy."
"No," he agreed. "You hold it against Ginny."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but a loud groan from her side distracted her. Blaise sat up, hand on his head and frown on his face. "Draco, you arse," he swore, glancing up through narrowed eyed. "I said no sobering potion."
"Sorry, mate. Pansy will kill you if you're drunk before supper." Malfoy smirked and held the cell phone out to the black man. "And that game is a piece of shite. Never convince me to play it again."
Hermione glanced away, furious at herself for allowing Malfoy to get a rise out of her. The slam of a door and sudden chatter announced that Harry and Ginny had resurfaced for air and they were not alone. Recognizing both Pansy and Luna's voices, Hermione smiled and leaned around, waving.
Pansy smiled back at her, glancing them all over before she leaned down to give Hermione a one-armed hug. The rest followed behind, Luna's wide, friendly smile brightening her face. Even Ginny did not look so annoyed anymore.
"Good to see you're keeping them in line, Granger. We'll need that Gryffindor mothering spirit of yours come tomorrow evening. I don't want anything in this house broken or vomited on." Hermione grinned ruefully, watching the boys grimace. "I thought you were going to bring Donovan, though?"
Hermione pursed her lips, a tiny frown tugging the corner of one side down. "No, he couldn't come this year," she explained haltingly, accepting the glass that Luna passed to her over Blaise's head. The man had pointedly monopolized Malfoy's attention and proceeded to explain animatedly how to drive a cell phone car properly.
Malfoy leaned into the sun; he blocked the glare and threw her into shadow. "He had some business at Williams to take care of before he could celebrate. So he decided to visit his sister in Michigan. He said he wanted to see the New Year in with snow, not sand."
Harry shook his head, expression mocking. "Crazy bloke. Who doesn't want to spend New Year's getting drunk on a beach?"
"It's a bloody shame," came Malfoy's quiet acknowledgement from her right. She glanced away to avoid his gaze, sure that his eyes would be focused on her.
"More alcohol for me," Blaise said smugly, bopping Malfoy on the head and getting a laugh out of everyone, including herself.
Pansy chuckled, walking toward the kitchen. "Well, you're staying sober until after supper," she growled, fixing the man with a furious glare. "We only have three bathrooms. Three toilets don't satisfy nine people, and I refuse to cook a meal merely for everyone to throw it back up later."
Blaise stuck his tongue out, muttering ignorantly as she got off the couch and stalked past her. "Party pussy."
"You're not making supper," protested Harry, playing with Ginny's hair. "I am. None of you know how to use the grill."
Pansy glared at him and made a show of mimicking Blaise's muttering. Hermione smiled and got to her feet, lacing arms with Luna to follow the other girl into the kitchen. She smiled at Malfoy as they past him, not all too surprised that he did not return it.
to be continued..