UPDATE: I've fixed the fic up a little bit. This was written a million
years ago and since then, the fifth book has come out. So I had to change a
lot of facts and some timeline related issues. I kept the bit about
Hogwarts being in England, despite the fact that the third movie was so
obviously shot in Scotland. I think Hogwarts was intended to BE in
Scotland, but after all, JK Rowling never specifies and I'm just too lazy
to go through and change it...the story itself hasn't changed a bit. Which
is quite a pity.
A/N: Believe it or not, I believe that I heard a song with the line, "love
will find a way." The legacy continues, I tell you!! :) Who'd have guessed?
Anyway, if anyone can tell me from which song I found my title, I would
greatly appreciate it! :) By the way, this fic is exceptionally
sentimental!!
"Sweetheart, Love Will Find A Way"
Harry slumped into his favorite seat by the fire of the Gryffindor common room. He needed to think...think and have a tankard of butterbeer. Yes, butterbeer would do nicely. And so, he pushed himself out of the scarlet armchair and towards the portrait hole, sleepily and heavily.
England was beautiful in winter. Harry had never really realized it before. Perhaps it was the fact that he never really took the time to notice the beauty that Britain had to offer. Perhaps it was because life in retrospect had never been sweet to him. His parents were murdered when he was one and had spent eleven long and difficult years with people hardly considered human beings, let alone family. Yet, all this was different now. He was sixteen and his existence had improved considerably. He was truly content for the first time in his life. True, there will forever be that empty longing for his mother and father, their love and acceptance. Harry was a star on the Quidditch team now as Seeker and he had made the best friends he'd ever find.
Harry was walking slowly and rather halfheartedly down a quaint avenue in Hogsmeade on the way to the Three Broomsticks, scattering dying leaves and listening to the sounds of the wizard village. There were children laughing, Hogwarts first years chasing each other weaving in and out of the carts where witches were coaxing passerby's to come and see their wares. Harry was staring down at his shoes, scuffed slightly at the toes and looked up only when a particularly insistent witch offered him her treasure for twelve sickles. It was a beautiful trinket indeed, yet so simple A light lavender rose, sweet and innocent, with dew that sparkled iridescent from its petals and four other buds of the same exquisite shape bunched together.
"No, thank you," he muttered quietly.
"Come now, dear. You must have got someone this is meant for."
Harry drew in a quick breath and turned away, shaking his head.
"Even for the most bitter of souls, love will find a way." And with that, the old woman turned away, pushing her creaky old cart of enchanted flowers away with her.
He stared after her for a long time and then continued to trudge through the evening, which was rapidly growing extremely cold and dark until he reached the cheery warmth of the Three Broomsticks and had ordered himself an extra large tankard of butterbeer.
As he sat there, alone, listening to the lighthearted chatter of those about him, his thoughts wandered back to the reason why he was sitting in the middle of Hogsmeade in the first place.
There was someone. The flower peddler had been correct in that. He did love this special person very much, too. She, however, was so wrapped up in all the going-ons at school that she rarely got a decent night's sleep, let alone have time for herself...and her own wants and needs.
Harry sighed and began fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers on the table. It was at times like these when he wished more than anything for his parents. A father to confide in and from whom to receive advice...for a mother who would take him in her arms and comfort him when he yearned for support and love the most. The fact of the matter remained. Harry Potter was an orphan and had never felt more alone than he did on that night in the Three Broomsticks.
"Ron, would you please hand me that star chart over there?" Hermione wrinkled her nose and made a face as Ron Weasley pushed a worn piece of parchment across the common room floor towards her. He was cramming for a divination exam-again-and Hermione had been good-natured enough to throw a four hour lecture on responsibility and time management out the window and help him. She quite hated Divination, this fortune telling that meant nothing to her and never would, for that matter. Hermione impatiently pushed her reading glasses up a bit and tried to decipher Ron's extremely messy handwriting. His entire chart was covered with incoherent scribbles. Every so often, however, there was a patch of writing she could make out.
"Figures," she muttered. She read a few conversations held between Harry and Ron. It was disgraceful really, but she had to admit extremely interesting...the things that went through the minds of those two!
They were halfway through the ten reasons why muggles could never truly read the stars when a rather ruffled and exhausted Harry Potter made his way through the portrait-hole and plopped downcast, into his usual spot by Gryffindor's merry and warm fireplace. While Ron continued to mutter profanities about his test tomorrow under his breath, Hermione glanced around for Harry. She cocked her head to the side and bit her lip, watching him. He was deep in thought...and something else, she noticed as his glasses had fallen down his nose and black hair askew and he hadn't seemed to notice. Great wizards, he's been acting strangely Hermione thought as she got to her feet. She seriously considered the possibility that Draco Malfoy had slipped a mind-altering potion into Harry's oatmeal at breakfast (as he had done only a week ago!).
He jumped a bit as Hermione took a seat next to him and his captivating green eyes darted nervously about the room. She sat quietly for a moment and for once in her life, Hermione Granger was completely speechless. She was not accustomed to Harry being the moody one.
Indeed...and she was not completely habituated with being the sensitive, soft, and gentle figure. No, Hermione Granger was always a strong, harsh tongued, opinionated sixth year witch.
Still, she was not afraid of the unknown and, quite frankly, there is a first time for everything. And so, with trembling fingers, she touched her best friend's hand softly, startling him out of his trance.
"What's the matter, Harry?"
Harry jerked his gaze to Hermione, her brown eyes filled with worry and concern.
He opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind, looked away, and finally mumbled,
"Everything."
Hermione had been among Harry long enough to read into his single word of a response with impeccable accuracy. She knew too well the loneliness that plagued her best friend for so long, beyond that helplessness and fear. She furrowed her brow. Anxiety was soon overcoming her now, her eyes pleading with him as he faced her again.
"Tell me. What is it?"
Harry drew in a quick and deep breath when -
"I can't do it! I won't do it. I absolutely refuse, Herm-ion-ninny!"
Ron had his head down on the table in desperation and defeat, loudly proclaiming his demise and screeching old favorite Viktor Krum's interpretation of the pronunciation of Hermione.
Hermione jumped up from her place with Harry, shh-ing her despairing friend, praying that he wouldn't wake the first years....or the head boy and girl.
By the time she had gotten the sleep deprived and stressed Ron Weasley to go up to bed, Harry too had gone.
Ron was conniving against Professor Snape over a butterbeer with Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas as Hermione sat beside him twirling her straw, engrossed in Transfiguration notes.
The Three Broomsticks was bursting at the seams this evening with Hogwarts students. It was the end of a long, demanding, exam-filled week and Christmas Eve besides that (A/N: Let us pretend for a moment that Hogwarts has their midterms before Christmas like my school did!). Even Hermione became restless with her endless studies and after being disgusted with her companions' plans for the potions master, looked about for the missing member in their ahem conversation.
Harry was, once again, withdrawn, quiet, and deep in thought as he sat alone. Hermione had not even heard him come in and hopped off her stool and trotted over to the small table where he was seated.
She knew better than to interrupt one so deeply immersed in their thoughts and therefore settled herself in quietly with her pumpkin juice and a worn textbook in hand.
Hermione was very much into the thirty seventh chapter of her book when Harry finally spoke, a bit boldly at that.
"Would you like to go for a walk?"
"What?"
Hermione dragged her eyes away from the fascinating pages in which she was discovering more than ever about dragons, unicorns, and such.
"Oh, I don't know...I've got so much to do and was just reading-"
Harry with his emerald green eyes gazing at her with sweet innocence, begged her with an aura of most immaturity when sophisticated charm failed to work.
"Pwease?"
Hermione looked over the top of book again at Harry and burst out laughing. He looked ridiculous, honestly! !
"All right. I'm coming."
With that, she set down her work and dragged herself to her feet. Harry had taken her by the arm and was pulling her towards the door and did something he hadn't done in a long time. He smiled. Yes, Harry Potter had flashed the charming and shy grin that made girls (such as Ginny Weasley) blush and giggle nervously.
Hermione was relieved at that. She had been extremely concerned about her friend's well being. She grabbed her coat and hat before being swept out into the snow.
Harry had never really enjoyed snow. In the past, the magical winter wonderland England became meant Aunt Petunia would be pushing him out for two hours with a shovel, or Dudley would be torturing him in methods the fall, spring, or summer could not provide. Harry contemplated this for a moment...a moment too long.
Harry felt something very cold hit him viciously on the shoulder and he wheeled around
Hermione was laughing and covering her mouth with her mittened hands, an old habit she had not yet outgrown since her fourth year when she had ahem changed her smile.
"It wasn't me."
"I'm sure."
She laughed again and hopped daintily over the snowdrifts to meet him. They plundered back towards the castle, admiring the stars and teasing each other with a heaping handful of sparkling snow.
By the time they had made it to the lake, they were sopping wet and yet Harry, despite the obvious chill, had never felt warmer when he had grabbed Hermione about the waist after she had, once again, pelted him with another snowball.
"Hermione?"
"What?"
"I'm freezing."
Hermione rolled her eyes and after much persuasion and many nervous glances at the castle, had conjured up her signature blue flames, which crackled and danced with energy and warmth all their own. Hermione stepped back to admire her work.
"I was wondering-" she started, turning around away from the fire.
Hermione stopped, unable to speak.
Harry was standing before her and in his hand was a delicate lavender rose.
A/N: Like I said about my last work, it had a promising beginning!!:)
Needless to say, all characters, ideas, and places belong to the talented Joanne Kathleen Rowling and Warner Brothers....I won't even go into their cast...again!! :) Also, I would like to credit the artist to whom the five words in my title belongs! (HAHA. Lion King Simba's Pride. I was just talking about that movie because it came out the same as they re-released Peter Pan, the current object of my desire and that which I cannot have because they put the movie back into the stupid Disney vault! AUGH! For all the trouble Warner Brothers has caused and all the money they have drained me of, at least they don't have a stupid vault like that. They do have a water tower though...Hmmm...)
"Sweetheart, Love Will Find A Way"
Harry slumped into his favorite seat by the fire of the Gryffindor common room. He needed to think...think and have a tankard of butterbeer. Yes, butterbeer would do nicely. And so, he pushed himself out of the scarlet armchair and towards the portrait hole, sleepily and heavily.
England was beautiful in winter. Harry had never really realized it before. Perhaps it was the fact that he never really took the time to notice the beauty that Britain had to offer. Perhaps it was because life in retrospect had never been sweet to him. His parents were murdered when he was one and had spent eleven long and difficult years with people hardly considered human beings, let alone family. Yet, all this was different now. He was sixteen and his existence had improved considerably. He was truly content for the first time in his life. True, there will forever be that empty longing for his mother and father, their love and acceptance. Harry was a star on the Quidditch team now as Seeker and he had made the best friends he'd ever find.
Harry was walking slowly and rather halfheartedly down a quaint avenue in Hogsmeade on the way to the Three Broomsticks, scattering dying leaves and listening to the sounds of the wizard village. There were children laughing, Hogwarts first years chasing each other weaving in and out of the carts where witches were coaxing passerby's to come and see their wares. Harry was staring down at his shoes, scuffed slightly at the toes and looked up only when a particularly insistent witch offered him her treasure for twelve sickles. It was a beautiful trinket indeed, yet so simple A light lavender rose, sweet and innocent, with dew that sparkled iridescent from its petals and four other buds of the same exquisite shape bunched together.
"No, thank you," he muttered quietly.
"Come now, dear. You must have got someone this is meant for."
Harry drew in a quick breath and turned away, shaking his head.
"Even for the most bitter of souls, love will find a way." And with that, the old woman turned away, pushing her creaky old cart of enchanted flowers away with her.
He stared after her for a long time and then continued to trudge through the evening, which was rapidly growing extremely cold and dark until he reached the cheery warmth of the Three Broomsticks and had ordered himself an extra large tankard of butterbeer.
As he sat there, alone, listening to the lighthearted chatter of those about him, his thoughts wandered back to the reason why he was sitting in the middle of Hogsmeade in the first place.
There was someone. The flower peddler had been correct in that. He did love this special person very much, too. She, however, was so wrapped up in all the going-ons at school that she rarely got a decent night's sleep, let alone have time for herself...and her own wants and needs.
Harry sighed and began fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers on the table. It was at times like these when he wished more than anything for his parents. A father to confide in and from whom to receive advice...for a mother who would take him in her arms and comfort him when he yearned for support and love the most. The fact of the matter remained. Harry Potter was an orphan and had never felt more alone than he did on that night in the Three Broomsticks.
"Ron, would you please hand me that star chart over there?" Hermione wrinkled her nose and made a face as Ron Weasley pushed a worn piece of parchment across the common room floor towards her. He was cramming for a divination exam-again-and Hermione had been good-natured enough to throw a four hour lecture on responsibility and time management out the window and help him. She quite hated Divination, this fortune telling that meant nothing to her and never would, for that matter. Hermione impatiently pushed her reading glasses up a bit and tried to decipher Ron's extremely messy handwriting. His entire chart was covered with incoherent scribbles. Every so often, however, there was a patch of writing she could make out.
"Figures," she muttered. She read a few conversations held between Harry and Ron. It was disgraceful really, but she had to admit extremely interesting...the things that went through the minds of those two!
They were halfway through the ten reasons why muggles could never truly read the stars when a rather ruffled and exhausted Harry Potter made his way through the portrait-hole and plopped downcast, into his usual spot by Gryffindor's merry and warm fireplace. While Ron continued to mutter profanities about his test tomorrow under his breath, Hermione glanced around for Harry. She cocked her head to the side and bit her lip, watching him. He was deep in thought...and something else, she noticed as his glasses had fallen down his nose and black hair askew and he hadn't seemed to notice. Great wizards, he's been acting strangely Hermione thought as she got to her feet. She seriously considered the possibility that Draco Malfoy had slipped a mind-altering potion into Harry's oatmeal at breakfast (as he had done only a week ago!).
He jumped a bit as Hermione took a seat next to him and his captivating green eyes darted nervously about the room. She sat quietly for a moment and for once in her life, Hermione Granger was completely speechless. She was not accustomed to Harry being the moody one.
Indeed...and she was not completely habituated with being the sensitive, soft, and gentle figure. No, Hermione Granger was always a strong, harsh tongued, opinionated sixth year witch.
Still, she was not afraid of the unknown and, quite frankly, there is a first time for everything. And so, with trembling fingers, she touched her best friend's hand softly, startling him out of his trance.
"What's the matter, Harry?"
Harry jerked his gaze to Hermione, her brown eyes filled with worry and concern.
He opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind, looked away, and finally mumbled,
"Everything."
Hermione had been among Harry long enough to read into his single word of a response with impeccable accuracy. She knew too well the loneliness that plagued her best friend for so long, beyond that helplessness and fear. She furrowed her brow. Anxiety was soon overcoming her now, her eyes pleading with him as he faced her again.
"Tell me. What is it?"
Harry drew in a quick and deep breath when -
"I can't do it! I won't do it. I absolutely refuse, Herm-ion-ninny!"
Ron had his head down on the table in desperation and defeat, loudly proclaiming his demise and screeching old favorite Viktor Krum's interpretation of the pronunciation of Hermione.
Hermione jumped up from her place with Harry, shh-ing her despairing friend, praying that he wouldn't wake the first years....or the head boy and girl.
By the time she had gotten the sleep deprived and stressed Ron Weasley to go up to bed, Harry too had gone.
Ron was conniving against Professor Snape over a butterbeer with Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas as Hermione sat beside him twirling her straw, engrossed in Transfiguration notes.
The Three Broomsticks was bursting at the seams this evening with Hogwarts students. It was the end of a long, demanding, exam-filled week and Christmas Eve besides that (A/N: Let us pretend for a moment that Hogwarts has their midterms before Christmas like my school did!). Even Hermione became restless with her endless studies and after being disgusted with her companions' plans for the potions master, looked about for the missing member in their ahem conversation.
Harry was, once again, withdrawn, quiet, and deep in thought as he sat alone. Hermione had not even heard him come in and hopped off her stool and trotted over to the small table where he was seated.
She knew better than to interrupt one so deeply immersed in their thoughts and therefore settled herself in quietly with her pumpkin juice and a worn textbook in hand.
Hermione was very much into the thirty seventh chapter of her book when Harry finally spoke, a bit boldly at that.
"Would you like to go for a walk?"
"What?"
Hermione dragged her eyes away from the fascinating pages in which she was discovering more than ever about dragons, unicorns, and such.
"Oh, I don't know...I've got so much to do and was just reading-"
Harry with his emerald green eyes gazing at her with sweet innocence, begged her with an aura of most immaturity when sophisticated charm failed to work.
"Pwease?"
Hermione looked over the top of book again at Harry and burst out laughing. He looked ridiculous, honestly! !
"All right. I'm coming."
With that, she set down her work and dragged herself to her feet. Harry had taken her by the arm and was pulling her towards the door and did something he hadn't done in a long time. He smiled. Yes, Harry Potter had flashed the charming and shy grin that made girls (such as Ginny Weasley) blush and giggle nervously.
Hermione was relieved at that. She had been extremely concerned about her friend's well being. She grabbed her coat and hat before being swept out into the snow.
Harry had never really enjoyed snow. In the past, the magical winter wonderland England became meant Aunt Petunia would be pushing him out for two hours with a shovel, or Dudley would be torturing him in methods the fall, spring, or summer could not provide. Harry contemplated this for a moment...a moment too long.
Harry felt something very cold hit him viciously on the shoulder and he wheeled around
Hermione was laughing and covering her mouth with her mittened hands, an old habit she had not yet outgrown since her fourth year when she had ahem changed her smile.
"It wasn't me."
"I'm sure."
She laughed again and hopped daintily over the snowdrifts to meet him. They plundered back towards the castle, admiring the stars and teasing each other with a heaping handful of sparkling snow.
By the time they had made it to the lake, they were sopping wet and yet Harry, despite the obvious chill, had never felt warmer when he had grabbed Hermione about the waist after she had, once again, pelted him with another snowball.
"Hermione?"
"What?"
"I'm freezing."
Hermione rolled her eyes and after much persuasion and many nervous glances at the castle, had conjured up her signature blue flames, which crackled and danced with energy and warmth all their own. Hermione stepped back to admire her work.
"I was wondering-" she started, turning around away from the fire.
Hermione stopped, unable to speak.
Harry was standing before her and in his hand was a delicate lavender rose.
A/N: Like I said about my last work, it had a promising beginning!!:)
Needless to say, all characters, ideas, and places belong to the talented Joanne Kathleen Rowling and Warner Brothers....I won't even go into their cast...again!! :) Also, I would like to credit the artist to whom the five words in my title belongs! (HAHA. Lion King Simba's Pride. I was just talking about that movie because it came out the same as they re-released Peter Pan, the current object of my desire and that which I cannot have because they put the movie back into the stupid Disney vault! AUGH! For all the trouble Warner Brothers has caused and all the money they have drained me of, at least they don't have a stupid vault like that. They do have a water tower though...Hmmm...)