End
And I sit there, watching as he disappears from me forever, flitting just out of my grasp like a paper plane caught in summer breeze, or a single seed from a dandelion clock – just as you think that you've got it, and are holding on tightly, you open your hand and it flies away before you even have a chance to say goodbye, or wonder why it's leaving. And that's just what he's done – left me. But for the last time. I haven't got any second chances, but I wish, I wish with all my heart that this wasn't the way it happened because I loved him, I loved him, I still love him and when two people love each other they should be together. Because this isn't how I pictured it, in the many nightmares I had when I imagined him leaving me, to be honest amazed that we lasted together for so long, it's not how I wanted it to be, it's all a horrible, horrible dream and if I close my eyes he'll be back, back with me where he should be, and we'll forget it ever happened and I'll laugh and he'll say "fooled ya! I'm staying right here with you!" and we'll kiss and make up and nothing will be different at all –
But when I open my eyes, it's not a dream. It's real. The most real experience I've ever suffered; he's gone from me forever and there's nothing I can do. Nothing but scream, scream and sob and wail like a possessed woman and fall upon the ground in a desperate effort to bring him back, thumping the ground, tearing at my clothes and hair. And as I remember back to how the whole sorry story started, just a couple of days ago – at least, came to a head – a fresh flood of tears begins, but I have to think about it, have to remember. And so I do.
* * * *
"Oh give me a break, Harry," I snorted, hoisting my school bag on to my shoulder, and picking up my pristine quill from the desk. I shoved it into a pocket in my robe and flounced from the classroom with my head held high, ignoring him and making a point of smiling at every other person in the room. Including Draco Malfoy. Oops, that was a mistake. He sneered back at me and whispered something to Crabbe, making him grin like the moron that he is. I rolled my eyes to the heavens, casually flicking my wand at him and watching the rather delightful spectacle of his face turning the colour of mouldy bread and his incoherent mutterings before he sped off in the general direction of the nearest toilets. I'd needed that bit of joy in my otherwise wholly depressing day.
As I continued walking away from the dungeon, heading for the greenhouses where we were going to be doing some work on a particularly vicious species of crocus ("they bite, you know!" Ron had told me eagerly earlier that morning), I noticed that Harry was still there, following me silently but determinedly. He had a look of deep concentration on his face, with his hands deep inside his robes and his hair even messier than usual. I doubted he had slept that night, and expected that what he was thinking about so intently was what to say to me next. I decided to save him the trouble.
"Harry, either tell me what you're thinking about or for God's sake, leave me alone. If I wanted a second shadow, I'd just say "duo-umbraria" and wave my wand around." As I spoke, I did just that, and to my great annoyance a long sliver of black appeared next to the one already attached to my feet and lay down on the ground.
"Oh JESUS CHRIST!" I yelled, banishing the shadow as fast as it had come, startling a group of nervous first years that had accumulated near us for a glimpse of Harry. They yelped and scattered. Harry looked a bit embarrassed. At that point, I felt a million emotions, but embarrassment was not one of them. I started walking again and then realised that I had stopped for a reason. I paused once more and turned to face Harry.
"So . . . " I prompted.
"So what?" he asked, confused.
"So, are you going to tell me why you've been following me around like a lost puppy for the entire day or are you going to continue to do so and eventually drive me round the bend?" I burst out in one breath.
"Oh," he said, understanding. "It's just that . . . well, you seemed to be ignoring me. For ages. That was all. And, you know, I wondered if – you didn't want to go out with me any more. And then I was worried that maybe it was sort of pay-back because I've been ignoring you for about a month because of my Quidditch training – it wasn't my fault, Hermione. I'm sorry. So, I thought that if I tried to spend more time with you than you'd know I was sorry, and I was trying to make up for all of the times that I haven't been here. Is that why you've been like that all morning? Have you finally given up with me?" I didn't answer straight away and he tried again.
"I wish you'd just tell me, Hermione. I wish you'd explain what I've done wrong, so I can try and fix it." But the problem was, inside me I had such a turmoil of feelings that I wasn't sure what I felt, but the easiest one to express was anger, and so it bubbled to the top of me and escaped before I had a chance to stop it.
"You should know what's wrong, Harry. Just – leave me alone, OK? I want to sort out how I feel about you on my own. Do you understand? So just get lost, you're seriously starting to annoy me now. If you expect me to tell you what the problem is, you're mistaken." Harry, taken aback at the outburst, lowered his head and slumped off to Herbology, going off on the alternative route, obviously to avoid me. Once again, I started walking, feeling downright miserable. Why is it when you're upset, you take it out on the people closest to you? I asked myself. Another little voice in my head answered "because you want someone else to feel just as distressed as you are, and you know that by insulting people close to you they'll feel a lot worse than if you said the same thing to a stranger or a more distant friend." Damn you, little voice, I thought to myself. Why are you always right?
By the time I arrived at Professor Sprout's class, Harry was there already. He had made a point by pairing off with Ron (was always worked with me in this class, so I expected it was only to make me feel jealous); but it didn't upset me really because I wanted to be on my own anyway. I didn't think that I could trust myself with anyone, and in this class that was OK because there was an odd number of people. I wandered down the rows of pot plants, looking for a spare one. Professor Sprout stopped me.
"Hermione, you can be partners with Edwina. Seamus isn't here today, so there's an even number." I looked around, and sure enough, Neville was where Seamus normally stood, next to Dean; nobody minded working with Neville in Herbology because he was so good at it, unlike everything else. But Edwina – well, she was the Hufflepuff equivalent of Neville, except her strong point was definitely not Herbology. I sighed, and stomped off to join her; she gave me a watery smile and wiped her nose on her sleeve, before falling over a plant pot. The lesson didn't get any better.
In fact, by the time lunch arrived I was feeling much worse than I had earlier. All I wanted to do was talk to Harry, discuss what I was feeling and then see if he felt the same. But he was quite obviously avoiding me, which didn't really cause me any surprise after the way I had treated him earlier. So I muddled through the day, not paying nearly as much attention as I usually did, and being so uncommunicative and monosyllabic that even Professor Binns noticed, and asked me if I needed to go and see Madam Pomfrey. That was a rare occurrence, as Professor Binns hadn't even noticed when he died, so there must have been a ridiculously dramatic change in my attitude if even he was to realise something was up. But I told him I was fine, just a little tired, and he accepted my reason and carried on teaching us about the Witches Convention of 1872 and the Wizards and Warlocks Scottish Peace Treaty. At the end of History of Magic nothing had sunk in and although at the time it had felt like it would never end, after it finished I looked back and it was like the lesson hadn't even happened. This had never happened before, however sad or depressed or ill I felt, I never let it affect my work. The whole day had passed in a haze, and before I knew it, another day had passed and it was the next morning. I could hardly remember the evening, and I had tossed and turned all night, so I was shattered. I needed to do something to sort it out, quick. It wasn't just that it felt like nothing else could fit into my mind, which was exploding with thoughts, but also I was worried that Harry felt the same, and if he did that it was all my fault.
Oh why, why was I feeling like this? I had no idea. Maybe, as in most relationships, all of his annoying, niggling little foibles were starting to get to me. After all, he certainly had enough of them. Like the way he would come up to me when I was in the middle of a good book, and whisper "Hermione" like it wouldn't annoy me if he said it quietly, regardless of the fact that I still had to put the book down and engage in some pointless conversation about how much he hated Snape or a similar subject. Then, there was the way he went on and on about Quidditch; and how when Ron pointed out a particularly pretty girl, Harry would always reply with "blimey, you're right, nice legs or what?" or "do you think she needs a hand with all those books?" – nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Even though I knew he didn't mean it, he still said it, and on some of my more down days, I didn't need that.
But it wasn't his little habits which were making me feel like this. You know when you've hit upon the catalyst for a problem when your mind says "yes! That's it! That's why you feel like this." But my mind was saying nothing of the sort. I tried another approach. Maybe I just didn't find him attractive any more. Perhaps the little spark between us had disappeared, and I simply didn't . . . well, fancy him, I suppose. I glanced over to where he was sitting a row in front and a few seats to the right. But as he raked a hand through his mass of jet-black hair, and I saw a flash of his striking emerald eyes, normally so full of life, but today showing pain and dullness, I knew that that just wasn't true. I still found him fascinating and desirable, and whenever I saw him I still felt the familiar lurch in my stomach of a first date. So what was it?
Possibly . . . just possibly . . . I wanted more. Was that it? I asked myself. And somewhere, something in me said "yes". That was it. That was what was wrong. There was the problem which had been eating away at me for all this time, which had pushed a wedge between me and Harry, and had been unknowingly separating us for weeks. We'd been going out for – what – ten months? Ten and a half? Probably. And yet, I realised with a jolt of surprise, Harry had never said that he loved me. Of course, he'd said he liked me, he'd "never felt this way about anyone before" and to be honest, I knew that he loved me anyway. I could see it in those oh-so-expressive eyes of his. But still . . . every girl wants to hear those three little immortal words. And I didn't just want to hear that – I wanted to take the next step. I wanted to confirm to him how I felt, to stop him from feeling scared if that was the problem, to show that I wanted to be with him. To prove that I loved him too. And after the past few days of heartache, I couldn't wait any longer. I would tell him, and show him, that night.
* * * *
Not surprisingly, this decision to do something about the huge problem which weighed so heavily on my mind made me feel like I could do whatever I wanted. It was like I had wings attached to my body, as if I was so strong that I could pick up a boulder the size of the Hogwarts Express engine, and hurl it half way to China. Even though I wasn't entirely one hundred percent convinced of his answer, it still made me extraordinarily happy and relieved. As soon as lessons were finished for the day I ran up to the Gryffindor Tower, panted "higgledy-piggledy" at the Fat Lady, and leapt up to my room where I set about making myself look as good as possible. I'd never been much of a looker, but I did as well as I could and soon I was pleased with the effect. As it was the beginning of summer, it was relatively warm out, it not unpredictable as far as rain went, and I decided that I wanted it to happen outside, near to the Forbidden Forest in a particular area which was beautiful in late spring and early summer, filled with fragrant flowers and beautifully soft grass. I went down to the common room where I found Harry moping around and staring into the fire (even in the summer it still blazed merrily away). I knelt down next to him and took his hand. He looked at me, surprised, about to say something, but I stopped him by putting a finger to his lips. I stood up and pulled him up with me, and although he was confused, he didn't hold back but did as I motioned. I wound my way around the tables and armchairs scattered throughout the room, and led him out of the portrait hole, down through the tower and across the Great Hall, and into the Hogwarts grounds. It was still daylight, although not as bright as before, and the glow which come an hour or two before sunset was spreading all over the land as far as the eye could see. It was the most beautiful evening I had seen in years. For a moment or two I stood watching it, and Harry slipped his arm around my waist. I put my hand over his, and it was perfect. A perfect moment. But then the spell was broken – had we been standing there for seconds, or hours? – by a bird which flew across the sky. I smiled and then Harry laughed, and then I starting giggling madly, until we were both in hysterics although we weren't entirely sure why. By this time we had wandered over to my special place, out of sight of the school and Hagrid's cottage, and I sank down into the grass, out of breath from laughing so much. Harry came and lay down on the grass next to me.
"Harry, I'm so sorry about – "
"Leave it, Hermione." Harry held up his hand, and I stopped. "I don't need to hear it. We've both been at fault recently. I've ignored you and you haven't exactly been treating me well either. But it doesn't matter because now everything's going to be ok."
I sighed with happiness. Everything's going to be ok, I repeated to myself silently. Oh, how wonderful. Harry looked as if he was trying to say something.
"You know how I've always lived with the Dursleys?" he asked me.
"Of course," I answered, wondering where it could be leading.
"Well," he carried on, as if it were extremely hard to say what he was trying to get out, "they hate me there. No, don't say anything – it's true. And I hate them back. And the thing is, when you're a boy, the only person who tells you that they love you is your mother – and maybe your father, if you're lucky. But I never knew my mother. And I never knew my father. And so . . . "
"No-one's ever told you they loved you," I whispered. My heart contracted for the boy who was worshipped by millions – and yet loved by nobody. Easy enough to understand, but not to comprehend. How could he have gone through life not knowing if anyone loved him? I reached out towards him, because I wanted him to know that I did, I loved him, and I always had, from the day I first met him. But he reached out at the same time and took my hand.
"And that's why it's hard for me to tell anyone that I love them. But Hermione, what I have with you, it's made me realise how much I – "
"I do apologise for breaking up the party."
We fell apart immediately, whipping our heads around to see who had spoken. And there, in front of us, stood one person who hadn't crossed my mind for over a year, the only creature who made my blood run cold and my fingers freeze:
"Voldemort," Harry spat.
"Congratulations, Potter, you know my name," Voldemort sneered. "Having fun, were you?" He appeared to glide over to where he were scrambling to our feet. Once standing, Harry was level with him, and I came just a few inches below. I was terrified, but for some reason felt extremely calm, which I expect was shock. Harry took a step towards Voldemort, looking as menacing as he could.
"How did you get in here?" I asked. "No-one can apparate inside the grounds."
"My dear girl," Voldemort replied, turning his attention to me, "how many times do I have to explain to people that I am the greatest wizard who has ever lived? I can break through a ridiculously simple spell like that in a second. Like that" he said, clicking his fingers.
"Oh," I answered in a small voice, having no idea what else to say, when faced with a wizard who, as he had said, was the greatest one on earth. But Harry, although visibly scared, stepped forward once more.
"You wouldn't dare try anything," he mocked, "not with Dumbledore so close. And it would give away your whereabouts; you're supposed to be dead. Don't you think that people would be a little suspicious?"
"Potter, I would spend years in Azkaban, just to know that you were dead and gone, and killed by me," he answered without a flicker of fear or sarcasm in his voice. He'd do it, as well, I thought. And I couldn't let him; not just when Harry was about to say that he –
I stood in front of him, shielding Harry's body with my own.
"You wouldn't dare," I said matter-of-factly, as if I wasn't scared at all, although I was the most petrified I had ever been in all of my life. "You've tried to kill Harry many times before, and it's never worked yet, has it? It's always backfired in your face. And I know that you're weak – not that weak, still stronger than Harry or I, for sure, but if the curse rebounded off Harry again, could you bear it? Would you survive? I doubt it. I really do. You can't do it."
But instead of him hesitating, as I had hoped, giving me a chance to do some spell which may have held him off for a few seconds, he did the most astonishing thing. He agreed.
"You're quite right, Granger. Clever little witch, aren't you? Of course, it could easily kill me if I attempted to do it in the same way I always have before. Avada kedavra? Hah! We're not doing that today. No, I'm using another method which seems to be just as effective and a lot more painful. Oh, and distressing for the person watching." He paused and took out his wand.
"And that's the Muggle way." And with that, he calmly said a few words and before our very eyes, a gun appeared, hovering in the air. He delicately picked it up, pointed it towards Harry, and murmured,
"Goodbye, Potter. Nice killing you." And he pulled the trigger.
Everything seemed to happen in such slow motion that I could almost see the bullet moving through the air. I stood there, prepared to take the shot, to deal with the consequences – to die for him if necessary. But Harry shoved me out of the way and before I had a chance to scream it had hit him, and he was lying on the ground in a pool of blood. I was by his side in less than a second, and Voldemort was shrieking with laughter.
"Oh, what fun! I've done it! I've finally done it! I've killed Harry Potter! You're no greater than any other wizard, Muggle, or Mudblood anywhere. Downfall of Voldemort? Can't have them thinking that, can we? Must go, Potter, I'm terribly busy. Things to do, Muggles to kill. Maybe I'll see you later, Granger." And with that he apparated instantly and it was as if he had never been there at all.
I rested his head on my lap and tried to hold back the tears as he screwed up his face with the pain, and his breathing became more shallow.
"Hermione – I – I never told you that I – "
"It doesn't matter now," I whispered, "I know what you mean. I know how you feel. The same way that I feel about you. All we have to do now is concentrate on you getting you better." But he reached up and tried to touch my cheek with his fingers.
"No, Hermione, I have to – I have to say it – " he choked, unable to speak with the pain and the lack of energy which was rushing out of him with the blood from the wound. I applied pressure to it, remembering what I learnt in Year 6 at my junior school, when we had done a mini first aid course.
"Hermione – I – I – "
But before he had a chance to finish what he was saying, to tell me how he felt, and to say those three words for the first time ever which he had been desperate to say and hear all his life, his eyes glazed over, and his already minimal breathing stopped altogether and his grip on my hand became slack. I shook his shoulders.
"Don't leave me, Harry, don't do this. Don't let him win. Come back to me! I'm not going to give up on you this easily! Come back!"
But he didn't.
And I sit there, watching as he disappears from me forever, flitting just out of my grasp like a paper plane caught in summer breeze, or a single seed from a dandelion clock – just as you think that you've got it, and are holding on tightly, you open your hand and it flies away before you even have a chance to say goodbye, or wonder why it's leaving. And that's just what he's done – left me. But for the last time. I haven't got any second chances, but I wish, I wish with all my heart that this wasn't the way it happened because I loved him, I loved him, I still love him and when two people love each other they should be together. Because this isn't how I pictured it, in the many nightmares I had when I imagined him leaving me, to be honest amazed that we lasted together for so long, it's not how I wanted it to be, it's all a horrible, horrible dream and if I close my eyes he'll be back, back with me where he should be, and we'll forget it ever happened and I'll laugh and he'll say "fooled ya! I'm staying right here with you!" and we'll kiss and make up and nothing will be different at all –
End.
* * * *
There you go, my second fanfic. I have to say that I actually quite like this one, although as you can probably tell, I seriously speeded up at the end and it's very rushed, and although I thought it through beforehand, I didn't seem to be able to convey what I wanted to say. I'm sorry it's so long, but I get carried away! Please r/r because I like constructive criticism; it's the only way you can improve, after all, if you hear from the readers themselves. I'll write more when I have time, and I hope that you actually want me too!
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters (they are owned by JK Rowling), just the plot.