"When you have only two pennies left in the world, buy a loaf of bread with one, and a lily with the other."
-Chinese Proverb
Author's Notice: I have to tell you. I'm awfully impressed with this. It is 1:15 AM and I am writing a Harry/Hermione and rather enjoying it. For all my Harry/Hermione fans! Woo! Just a short lil' ficlet. And it's odd...and it's not Ron/Hermione...and it's just wow. =P
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She wrote home to her folks once a week.
She wrote home to her folks because she missed them. Missed her Mother's pearl earrings, her Father's rambling, and the house they lived in.
She missed everything.
They asked: 'How're you, dear?' And she told them of her boys.
Harry. He was destined for greatness, she said. 'We fight evil sometimes,' she wrote. 'Sometimes it's fun.' Harry was calm and collected, he must be boiling inside. He was quiet, reserved... a listener. He didn't feel things regular people felt.
Ron. Ron was poor. He was loud, too. Chaotic, almost. Just looking at his bright red hair you could tell. She liked Ron too. It just...wasn't the same. ' I yell at Ron,' she scrawled neatly 'he yells back. Sometimes it's fun.' Ron felt everything so strongly.
She met them when she was eleven.
When you were eleven, she always thought, that was when things really started happening for you. Like friends and old books and pudding that only adults ate.
Eleven was when you were able to go off to school.
She loved Hogwarts. She relished in magic. She wallowed in books. Everything was so exciting.
She remembers his eyes the most. The word green wouldn't even begin to do them justice she knows. Nor would emerald.
Because real beauty, she knows...cannot be explained.
He taught her that.
They bring her into these awful sinister situations and she sort of loves them for it. Her life at home is nothing like this. She eats dinner with her family, goes to a regular school, and does nothing on Friday nights.
She wonders how one can grow up without parents. He doesn't have parents, you know, Voldemort killed them.
And Voldemort wants to kill him too.
So the boys and her try to kill Voldemort.
It's just like...everyone tries to kill everyone and she gets sort of confused at these sort of things. Revenge is nice. But peace is better.
She can't even pretend to understand.
She doesn't believe in falling love, or stumbling into it, or walking into it, she believes in finding love. And sometimes finding it in the back of a red train. Finding it inside a black-haired boy who eats sweets and has a scar on his forehead.
And she realized that all she ever was...and to be...was all that he had taught her.
That some people do find love. Some people do live happily ever after and dash the castle!
Of course...some people don't.
Her parents were in love at some point. Now they're both tired. Her Father's always working alongside his wife, her Mother, and her Mother wants to just dash it all. And her Father says: 'If we dash it all then we'll be poor.' And her Mother says. 'Then let's dash it all.'
But they don't.
She went with Viktor to the Yule Ball. Viktor was like Harry, in some ways. Famous. A real nice kid. Sometimes when he smiled his eyes lit up and everything in the world just melted with her heart. And sometimes it didn't happen like that at all. He wrote her love letters and she looked at them and thought it was all rubbish--nice rubbish one should save.
So she saved them. Put them in her jewelry box, which held a gold chain.
Before the train ride home, back home, where one belongs, safely tucked away she kissed him on the cheek. It was just on the cheek and she doesn't remember much of it--only every other detail. She never wants to forget these things; she wants to die thinking of it. She just doesn't want to die now.
And Ron--what does he know?--he knows quite a bit about wizard's chess, and what sweets are the best, what magazines you should read and that sort of thing.
Harry's deep. Harry goes so much farther. He knows more than she could ever imagine, more than she knows. He knows suffering and misery, and dark...and light. And sometimes she wishes she were that light. And sometimes she is.
She loves Harry.
She loves everything about him---there's not a thing about him that doesn't impress her and amaze her.
So as she writes her last letter, the last one in Hogwart's history, as she takes out the ink and the quill--she writes to her parents, in deep scarlet ink--
'Is this what it's like to be in love? Is this what it's like to want to dash it all...and keep one person there with you, for the end. One person, Daddy. And I want him to be Harry Potter.'
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