AN: AN: one shot written for the QLFC week 3
Position prompt: BEATER 1: The Raqs Sharki of Egypt; write about a character who comes to respect someone they didn't previously.
Additional prompts used:
Prompt 3: (setting) beach
Prompt 6: (quote) "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." Eleanor Roosevelt
Prompt 7: (object) snow
Prompt 11: (emotion) happiness
Prompt 14: (poem) A Friend - Gillian Jones
Thanks to my fellow Puddlemere United team members JBrocks917 and SilvermistRuhi for beta-ing.
I can't help but stare at the scar. It's massive. It's ugly. It will be there for the rest of my life. And that is not something that I expected.
Before the war started I read a lot of books. Books with stories from survivors, so I knew the war was going to be hard. But reading isn't enough. You don't how hard it is until you are in the middle of it. By then it is too late to flee.
As I look up at the sunset, I can't help but think about my parents. My parents, who can't remember me. My parents, who have always loved me and done their best for me. And I wiped out their memories of me. I've decided for them what the future holds. Sitting here, I can't help but wonder if it's all worth it.
I long for my parents. I need them, I need them to tell me that everything will be fine and that they forgive me and that they understand. But most of all, I need them to tell me that giving up is okay. Because I can't continue what I'm doing.
How does a person decide to quit? Whoever said that giving up is easy, or the cowards way out is wrong. They never hit rock bottom. It is easy to comment from the outside, but unless you've been there, you can't understand.
How can I tell my friends that I think this trip is pointless and I want to stop? As soon as we leave here, we'll be back on the run. Back into hiding. Back to more insecurity, to being scared of being caught.
After so long on the run it is nice to have some sort of normalcy. To wake up in the morning and be able to come out and watch the sunrise. Being able to hope that today will bring improvement. Being able to spend the day recovering, not worrying if my spells are going to fail or if we're going to die. Watching the sunset is a mix of emotions. It gives me relief because we all survived another day. But it is also another day with no change.
I'm constantly on high alert; wand at the ready. Ready to fight; ready to save not only my life but also those of everyone around me.
A second later I jump up, wand at the ready. I'm halfway through my first spell when I realise that it's just Luna, coming towards me. I'm not sure I want to talk to her right now. I know that Harry gets along with Luna, but I only tolerate her. She is just so strange. She's one of the kindest people I know, but she doesn't do normal or logic, and I'm all about logic. She's the opposite of me and I can't handle it.
I sit back down, turning back towards the sunset. The sun's nearly gone now, but I'm not ready to go back inside—I prefer to lie on the beach. The sand is soft and cool, letting me relax. When I close my eyes I can hear the sea, swishing by.
"You're wearing short sleeves."
My eyes automatically go back to the scar—trust Luna to pick the one thing I don't want to talk about. She is right, I am wearing short sleeves. Fleur took all my other clothes to wash. Something about feeling better in clean clothes. It's the first time that I've not covered up my arm, but I wish that I had. Out of sight is out of mind. The scar brings me back to Malfoy Manor, to Bellatrix. It reminds me of how weak I am.
"You know, no one can make you feel inferior without your consent."
I look up at Luna. Did she know what I was thinking?
"Well, they managed to do a damn good job of it anyway. I will always be the girl with the scar on her arm. The wizarding world will look at me with pity—she's the one that was tortured by Bellatrix, and not just the cruciatus—She got carved as well. She'll always have that scar on her arm. The Muggle world will be no better—where did that scar come from, what does it mean?" I turn towards the sea, where the last of the sun has just disappeared behind the horizon.
"That is one thing that the scar can show, or it can show a young woman who went to hell and back for her friends. A survivor. Someone who has seen the worst, but still gives her best," Luna replies. "If you don't like the negative, turn it into something positive."
"The scar is a result of months on the run. Months of hiding, in which we nearly got caught. Months of fear, with no result. We found one item at the start of the journey. But nothing since September. Ron left for some weeks and Harry nearly died. That is what the scar says. The end of pointless fighting."
We just sit there. I'm not sure if Luna just doesn't know what to say, or if she is aware that nothing she can say will make me feel better.
"I just can't keep going on. I'm at the end of my capabilities. I'm tired, exhausted and ready to quit. I was ready to give up during the torture, and I regret surviving. I want to die, Luna. And I can't tell anybody." I fall silent, surprised at how much I told Luna, but at the same time I'm relieved. A problem shared is a problem halved?
I'm so caught up in my memories that I don't notice the snow at first. It's slowly floating down, disappearing as soon as it touches something. I look up at Luna with surprise in my eyes. I'm sure I never told her how much I like snow. In fact, I never told anyone. Snow is my favourite weather.
Whenever it would snow back home, I used to go out with my parents. We would have a snowball fight, build a snowman, make snow angels, and go sledging. But we would always end the night in front of a warm fire, with a hot chocolate in our hands. My parents always worked hard and long hours, but when it snowed they always had time for me.
I can't help but admire the snow and wish that it wouldn't melt. I want to go back to being a little girl, even if it's only for a few minutes. Once again I'm so deeply in my thoughts that I don't realise what's happening. It's only when Luna throws a snowball at me and shouts, "SNOWBALL FIGHT!" that I realise what's happening. As soon as the first snowball hits me, I forget where I am. I'm back to being a small child, throwing snowballs at my parents.
For the first time since leaving home in July, I'm happy. I forget where I am and I smile. I even laugh. At this point, nothing else matters. It isn't long before I'm soaked, wet to the bones, but I don't care. When we finally run out of energy, we fall into the snow laughing loudly. Our clothes, which are made for summer sun, are dripping with melting snow. Neither of us cares. As the snow starts to fade we make a snow angel that turns into a sand angel.
Looking into the sky the only things visible are the stars in the sky, shining brightly. Even though the snow is gone and our clothes are soaked, neither one of us makes a move to get up. The silence is nice and comfortable. For the first time since removing myself from my parents' memories, I feel safe—Something I hadn't thought I would feel again.
For the first time since meeting Luna, I finally understand who she is. And I know that if I ever need someone, she will be there. I also know that from now on I will be there for her, for Luna is so much more than I had first thought. She may be weird, but she is loyal and clever. She is exactly what I need to keep going.
"HERMIONE!"
"LUNA!"
I don't know how long we stayed lying on the beach, enjoying the moment, but the moment is now gone. Luna and I get up and start walking back to Shell Cottage as if we've been best friends for our whole life.
When the others see us approaching the cottage, they look relieved. I guess we've been longer than we thought. They also give our clothes a weird look. Our clothes have slightly dried up, but not fully, and are full of sand.
For once I don't care what others think. Luna was right. No one can make me feel inferior without my consent.