Title: Harvesters
Author: Emmylou
Summary: Grief is a selfish emotion, and when Harry and Ron become desperate for the things that meant so much to Hermione, will these things give them comfort or rip them further apart?
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, the characters, creations, and settings are the property of JK Rowling, Warner Bros. and other associated trademarks. This is a fictional piece created solely in respect of the original work with no infringement intended, nor any profit being made.
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Well. I set out to write a Gen fic...but it surprised me by turning into a H/G fic…and I dislike H/G but I really enjoyed writing the ship in this. There are some R/Hr hints (I'm a R/Hr shipper, don't worry)
Author's Notes: This piece marks the end of nearly nine months of writer's block. Inspiration came while I was in the shower and for the first time in a long time I put fear aside and actually tried to write. No- I do not normally think about Harry Potter in the shower. I wrote this listening to Bing Crosby's 'Have Yourself a Merry little Christmas', I really recommend listening to it as you read.
Hermione had poured her heart and soul into her little home. She, Ron, and Harry had spent a pleasant afternoon mixing paint charms to find the right shades for the walls; she'd chosen lovely wooden furniture and put certificates and badges up on the walls.
Ron and Harry had spent most of their free time at Hermione's house. They were twenty and had not yet mastered the art of picking up their own socks, while there wasn't even a cat hair visible in Hermione's little cottage.
"This is going to be strange," said Ginny hoarsely as she, Ron, and Harry climbed the hill up to the house. There wasn't another house visible for miles, just hills and trees. "You know, being there after…"
"We're just going to say goodbye," said Ron. He was looking resolutely at the ground as though he daren't look at the house.
"I don't see why they can't hold onto the house," said Ginny suddenly as they neared the end of their climb. "It's disgusting the way the bank is just taking-"
"Hermione took out the loan to pay for the house. It's theirs technically," said Ron irritably.
Harry remained silent. He wished he could block out what they were saying and then maybe it would be like all he other times they had apparated to Hermione's house and climbed the hill. Ginny could be complaining about some silly little thing- such as her robes being soaked- and Ron would be trying to get her to shut up…and then Hermione would actually answer the door when they got to the top.
"Couldn't you talk to them?" demanded Ginny. "You're the wonderful banker now after all, couldn't you explain?"
"You know Goblins," snapped Ron.
Harry marched ahead up the path and reached the door first. He rang the bell and waited.
"Harry…" said Ginny as she reached him. She couldn't seem to think of anything else to say though, because she sniffled silently and reached in front of him with the key. She opened the door and the three of them stood on the threshold. Ron pulled his hat off and peered into the dark hallway miserably.
"Wouldn't it be wonderful if she's just…leapt out…you know, yelled 'surprise' or something."
"Even Fred and George wouldn't find that funny Ron," said Ginny.
"Well, Hermione never had much of a sense of humour." He swallowed. "C'mon. It's cold out here."
He brushed passed Harry and stepped inside. Harry and Ginny didn't move until there was a glow of light and Ron reappeared after lighting the lamps in the living room with his wand.
"The one in the hall doesn't light," he said. "Hermione said she was going to get it fixed…"
They stood still for a moment before shuffling inside. Harry helped Ginny remove her cloak and they shook the snow from their hats and scarves before hanging them up.
"It's cold in here…" said Ginny. "I'll go light a fire." She brushed past them into the sitting room.
Harry and Ron stood in the shadows of the hall, trying not to look at the stairway ahead of them or at the unsent letters on the letter rack by the door.
"You again…" said the hall mirror as Harry and Ron moved into its line of sight. "Well…it's what's inside that matters I suppose."
They stared glumly at the visible splotches on the cheeks and their messy hair.
"S'pose it's politer than the one mum has," said Ron gruffly. "That one told me I looked like a tramp this morning."
Ginny poked her head back into the hall to tell them the fire was alight and Ron and Harry gingerly followed her inside.
"I expected more…dust…or something," said Ginny. "It's so clean." The gestured around at the polished wood and a spotless bookshelves. The room looked cosy- it seemed Ron hadn't wanted to stay long enough to light anything but the lamps.
"It's only been a week," said Harry. "One week."
Ron padded over to the couch and sat down as though it might explode. He was looking around him as though he were a guest in a stranger's home, not as if he were sitting in a place he'd sat in hundreds of times.
"It was so unfair…" said Ginny thickly as she joined her brother and hugged him lightly. "The war's over…people are happy again, mostly, she shouldn't have got sick."
"Mum said Muggle-borns are affected worse by these bugs…and Hermione had a bad reaction to one of those healing spells. It just happened…" Ron seemed at a loss to continue. "There's no one to blame…or to yell at."
"We can't do anything," said Harry. He sunk onto the pouffe near the couch. When all three of them visited one of them had to because the couch only took two and Hermione would sit in her own chair.
They sat in silence, unable to think of what to do next.
"What will happen to her things?" asked Ginny. "The furniture and…and stuff?"
"Uh…the things she used the loan to buy – the furniture and curtains I guess – the bank will sell those with the house." Ron stroked the couch absently. "The other things…her books…her clothes…I think her parents are going to come and get them."
They looked around again, it seemed impossible that this would be the last time they ever saw Hermione's home again.
They were all startled by a chirping noise. A robin in a calendar on the mantelpiece was twittering to get their attention.
Ginny removed the leg she had tucked underneath herself and walked over to the calendar. She ran her fingers along the uncrossed days until she reached the eighteenth of December.
"Put up decorations for Christmas," she read aloud. "Oh I'll miss doing that…remember last year? How Ron had to lift her up to put the Angel on the tree- it was enormous!"
"She had nice decorations," said Ron. He looked to the corner where the tree had been placed for the last two years.
"I think we should do it again!" said Ginny eagerly. "A sort of goodbye present. She'd have loved us to see the house decorated again…alive…even if she- she couldn't be here."
"It's not like she's gone on holiday Ginny," said Harry sharply.
"For us then," she pleaded. "Don't you want to see the house lit up again?"
"It's not the same without her!" Harry said angrily. He got up, suddenly shouting for a reason he couldn't quite remember. "She's not here to tell us off for wearing the baubles as earrings or charming the musical fairies to sing rude songs. She won't have us move the tree around the entire room-" he waved around expansively, "-before deciding it looked better in the first place and Crookshanks isn't going to try and climb up the stupid tree!" he pointed up towards where the point of the tree would have been. "So what's the point!"
"The house is so cold without her," said Ron softly. "It'd just be nice to remember it warm with her memory…even if she's not here. Like Ginny said."
"You don't have to Harry," said Ginny kindly.
Harry sagged back onto the pouffe.
"It's- it's just never going to be the same, is it?" he croaked.
Ginny shook her head.
"No. It's not," she said finally. "I don't understand this any more than you do. But I want to do this."
She remained staring at him, the room was quiet again.
"Okay," he said finally. "We'll try."
Ginny and Ron smiled gently and as one leapt into action, as if determined to cover up the quiet.
"Ginny, can you go and find the decorations- knowing Hermione they'll be a perfect box labelled 'decorations' right at the front of the attic. Harry, you can help me conjure a tree? I don't fancy going out and cutting down one in that snow."
Harry and Ginny nodded. Ginny trotted off upstairs and Harry began by conjuring a pot to hold the tree in.
The next ten minutes passed quickly. Ron found the magical gramophone that Hermione nearly always had on and set some Christmassy tunes going. There was some friendly arguing over whether Harry's half of the tree leant a bit too far right and whether Ron's was too prickly.
There was some creaking and thumping going on upstairs, and Ginny returned shortly with a three boxes. One was a large one and the others were shoe box sized.
"Aha! I knew you wouldn't let us down Hermione," cried Ron as he laid eyes on the box predictably labelled 'decorations'. One of the smaller ones was clearly marked 'Angel'. The other Ginny rested on the pouffe before being caught up in an argument over the prickliness of the lower half of the tree and whether it was the wrong green.
"I swear, she is…was…the most organised person in the world!" said Ron. He said it every time they saw the decorations. The glass baubles, red and gold, were wrapped in tissue paper. Other little ornaments had their own boxes and bags. Underneath these were carefully rolled up tinsel that leapt from the tree every now and again to wrap around the nearest person's throat like a feather boa. Then there was a nativity scene and an advent candle, and two rolls of wrapping paper that they recognised from their gifts last year.
The only thing that was untidy was a bag that turned out to have the world's most knotty string of fairy lights. The fairies had predictably wound themselves up over the year despite Hermione's carefully placed spells to keep them organised.
"I kept telling her," laughed Ron, "there isn't a spell invented that can keep those fairies from destroying your carefully un-knotted row of lights. Me and Percy would spend hours undoing them when we were little."
The three of them sat by the fireplace trying to sort out the excited fairies, Ron was stretched out on his stomach, Harry cross-legged. Ginny was leant against the pouffe, eyes half-closed and head rested near the box on top of it.
"I don't know what you're complaining about," she huffed. "Whenever we decorated the tree Fred and George spent the entire day scaring me and threatening to turn me into a dolly and put me on the tree."
"They were just bitter because mum wouldn't let them dress up a gnome to use."
Harry listened to their stories and laughed, he wondered if Ron and Ginny were wondering about some of the stories from Hermione's childhood as he was. Had she had her father carry the tree around the house until she found the perfect spot? Had she scolded her mother for wearing tinsel around her head? Had her parents made jokes about putting her on the tree?
"Hermione's decorations were always so pretty," said Ginny, she reached into the box and picking one up. It was a little glass robin, fluttering its wings in the light.
"Yeah," said Ron, as he put the row of lights into his mouth and began furiously tugging a knot apart with his hands. "They wer' luffley."
An hour later the lights were fluttering in the tree, the tinsel had been wrestled into place, and the tree was groaning with ornaments. Ron was moving about, hanging mistletoe and holly in the best spots he could find. He had balanced some on his head (for what reason no one knew, as it seemed unlikely he particularly wanted Harry or Ginny to kiss him).
"We've only got three ornaments left," said Ginny. "But if we try and add any more the tree will collapse."
She held them up. One was a reindeer, pawing at her hand, the other a heart shaped bauble, and the robin she had held up earlier.
"Can…can we keep them?" said Ron. "I dunno…to remind us of today when we miss Hermione terribly?"
They peered at the ornaments as if it was a terrible notion indeed.
"Yeah…" croaked Harry finally, "I'd like that."
They reached in. Harry's hand slipping around the reindeer, Ron taking the heart, before Ginny was left with the robin cupped in her hand. Silently they pocketed their prizes.
"Hermione left us with one more gift," said Ginny softly. "I…I found it in the attic."
She walked over to the pouffe and held up the box that Harry could now clearly see labelled 'Pictures'.
"I only got a glimpse," said Ginny quickly, "but there must be hundreds of pictures in there- Muggle ones too. There might even be some of Christmas when Hermione was little."
They all looked at the box again, as if such a rare gift could not be given.
"Open it then," said Ron desperately.
"No," said Ginny, clutching it away from his as though frightened he might snatch it.
"Ginny! How can you act like this!" shouted Ron. "How can you act like you've got all the answers and tell us how to grieve. I cried all night when- when she died. All night. I looked at all the photos I had of her a thousand times. This is my-our-" he waved desperately at Harry, "-chance to see her a little bit more. Our final chance to learn something about her! About Hermione!"
Ginny began crying silently.
"I just…just meant…that I wanted to look through them alone. I thought you might want to too."
She held the box out between them. Any one of them would be able to take it first. But they just stared.
"Who gets to look through it first?" demanded Ron.
There was silence at this. Harry knew that each of them wanted that box more than anything in a long time.
Finally Ron breathed deeply and spoke again. "As far as I can see it…it's only fair that…Harry gets it first. He was nicer to her…at first…than me. I was cruel. And Ginny knew her last. So it should go Harry, me, Ginny. "
Harry paused before reaching for the box. It was the sort of moment in which you say 'Oh, no, I couldn't.' and let the vicar take the last cream cake, when you've been salivating over it for an hour.
And this was too important surely. They'd get their turn.
Ginny held the box out to him and he took it, holding it to his chest as though it might suddenly be taken from him.
"C'mon," said Ginny quietly. "Let's go home."
Ron extinguished the fire and lights, leaving just the blinking tree. They left the gramophone on, because it seemed awful to leave a silent house, and locked the door behind them. They pulled their cloaks and hats closer to them and stomped through the snow to the bottom of the hill.
"I'll, uh, pass them on to you Ron, tomorrow," said Harry awkwardly.
Ron nodded silently, and they disapparated.