Never in a million years would I be intelligent enough to create these characters. All characters/Potter-verse belong to the brilliant JK Rowling and Warner Bros. I write strictly for my own interest… I bow down before Ms. Rowling!
The title comes from a Counting Crows song from their gorgeous new album Hard Candy. Buy it, love it…
*This story is powered by the Dixie Chicks!!!*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Butterfly in reverseThe amber glow emanating from the back of my fridge is so mystical, it's mesmerising. Enveloping the otherwise wintry gloom, it casts a bright light that squeezes around half-empty jars of generic food and illuminates the mountains of vegetables slowly turning into a slush of penicillin. Late at night, I find myself drawn back again and again to its warmth.
It hasn't always been like this. Before she left me, there was no need for this amber security blanket. Before she left me, I was content to watch the moonlight play over her face as she slumbered. The moon outside the window and her shallow breathing each night were reason enough to rise every day. We – I – had been happy… an emotion that continues to elude me, and a concept that feels too far from my reach.
Entering the apartment since she left is an ordeal in itself. All traces of the beauty that Hermione injected into my life have been erased – even the faintly spicy smell of her no longer lingers in each of the now cavernous and empty rooms. I wander the house during these endlessly sleepless nights, and I remember all the small touches that were innately Hermione. Without her here, the apartment feels the size of the Burrow, but each sound is magnified and echoes through the desolate and dreary landscape. Even though it has only been mere weeks since she left, my memory is already faltering – slowly erasing all traces of Hermione completely. I stare at the dark wooden table in the hallway and try desperately to recall her house keys lying upon its shiny surface. I cannot remember which side of the table she would place them on. And yet, despite the valiant efforts of my traitorous mind, I can recall other small, seemingly insignificant details without even trying. I lie in bed in the mornings after my sleepless nights, and I can see her critically studying her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She runs her hands over her wavy hair and then over the smooth skin of her face, before her lips emit a barely audible sigh. My heart explodes in my chest with love for this woman, and I call out hoarsely to summon her into bed, when I remember that she has left me.
That first day I came home to an empty apartment, I could feel that Hermione was missing before I had even moved from the spot I had apparated to. Given the events of the previous days, the absence of her presence should not have come as such a shock. However, I hadn't expected the end to come so soon… I searched the lonely apartment in vain for some trace of her inadvertently left behind.
I am all alone in our house.
The amber glow from the fridge reflects off the wooden floor in the kitchen, and casts strange shadows through the empty and unrelenting darkness of the night around me. It is the only constant… the only reminder I have of Hermione.
Running my hand over the coldness of the wooden floor, I can suddenly see her naked form relaxing upon it, the light from the fridge illuminating her beauty. The first night we spent together, we had been so hungry for each other – our sweet, gentle, tender lovemaking had been such an incredible release. An unrelenting urge had led us to this very spot. After ten arduous years of fighting our feelings, and each other, the yearning had brought Hermione to my apartment, drenched with rain and parched with desire. That first time had been altogether new and exciting, and yet somehow her lips tasted exactly as I had anticipated, and my hands had already known every inch of her body. Every night since had been just as familiar and as unique between us.
I smile sadly into the darkness that envelopes me, and imagine that her hand is tangled with my own.
"Oh, 'Mione," I whisper into the nothingness.
All those wasted years, just waiting for a sign… How I wish that I could take back all of the time we wasted, right all of the wrongs! I long to have Hermione here within my grasp, I wish that I could relive our last moments together and somehow imbue myself with the ability to express all of these feelings to her.
There can be no denying that we had both felt our hearts swell on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago. When I first met her, it was the sparkle in Hermione's hazel eyes that forced my breath to catch within my throat. The words that flowed forth so rhythmically from her wild raspberry lips could not have made less sense to me, but that hardly mattered. Within an instant, I knew that I could not live the rest of my life without kissing those lips.
Even despite the fact that her pedantic and slightly bossy nature had perturbed me beyond belief, I still felt myself undeniably drawn to Hermione Granger in those early days. As a young boy in love with a seemingly untouchable young girl, I hid my emotions behind my incessant taunting of the resident Gryffindor brain. Hermione had been such an easy mark, and I felt that as long as I was attacking her, I could keep from grabbing her and professing my undying love. It took until our fourth year for me to realise that there was a very real chance that she might slip beyond my reach.
Every moment was about her – I was drinking in her very essence, swallowing each and every word. I knew her every mannerism, could read her mind without a thought even escaping her mouth. Reflecting upon those early years, I don't understand how no one else seemed to notice the feelings we clearly had for each other. Then again, I was so immersed in Hermione that I possibly wouldn't have noticed had anything ever been mentioned.
I remember feeling as though everyone thought that Hermione should be with Harry – the archetypal fairytale couple… the hero and his fair maiden.
There's much to be said for challenging fate instead of ducking behind it.
For seven years we were at Hogwarts together, sleeping in beds separated only by a few walls. We had built a strong relationship based upon admiration, trust, and above all, love. Hermione was a brilliant creature, constantly surprising both Harry and myself with her immense courage. I myself longed to have the courage to confess the deepest desires of my heart to this woman, and yet I continued to treat her simply as a friend. Her brief interlude with Krum in fourth year, and the inklings of interest from other boys cut me deep inside. We continued our charade for three more long years after graduating from Hogwarts – our suppressed love for one another survived Voldemort's rise back to power, his eventual defeat, three Weasley marriages… Harry and Ginny finally realising their own strong connection…
Before Hermione entered my life in a rush of frizzy, chestnut waves and insulting words, I had battled years of loneliness. The youngest son in a family of stars, the one destined for failure, to dwell in the shadows, I somehow knew that my time at Hogwarts would be as fantastically unspectacular as my life before it had been. And yet, that first journey had reeked of promise and anticipation. I had found a place where I belonged. I had found a home… in Hermione.
Now that she is gone, and I am left with only fading memories, I am once more alone. For so long, I fought her demise. I gave and I gave until there was no more to give. There is nothing left but an empty husk of a body. Empty arms yearning to hold her near… stroke her face… trace her soft, smooth frame. Longing, aching lips searching in vain for their matching twin. She has taken everything. There is nothing left…
But the amber glow keeps me going.
Hermione would not have chosen to leave me. She had taken leave of her senses. I had shouted, groveled, pleaded. On the floor, desperate, begging… all my protests fell upon absent ears. She is gone.
And so I sit before this enigma. Like a moth to a flame, and a dozen other pathetic metaphors… I am drawn back over and over to this place. The potion bottle she left behind… this legacy provides comfort when nothing else wields any sort of permanent power over my senses.
And I am grateful.
Every night I am drawn towards this enigmatic glow of the warmest amber. The frosty air from the open fridge slowly creeps over me, pervading my senses, until I am reduced to a shivering, shaking mess of a man in a dark and lonely kitchen.
A sudden rage comes over me, and all I can see is Hermione, cold and as alone in the world as I am feeling. I cannot contain my anger, and I am on my feet in an instant. Throwing the half-empty jars of food from the fridge, I finally reach my prize. In cold and shaking fingers, I grasp hold of the bottle containing the amber potion Hermione had concocted to breathe life into my desperately pathetic cooking failures. It is the last concrete piece of Hermione that I have left.
Screwing up my face to halt the tears that are threatening to spill down my cheeks, I gather all my strength and slam the potion bottle down upon the floor. A strange feeling of satisfaction overcomes me, until I suddenly come to my senses once more.
I am alone, cold and shaking in a dark kitchen. Hermione has left me. I have just smashed the last reminder I have of my love…
Curling into a ball upon the cold floor, I damn Ginny for not getting rid of the potion bottle when she cleaned Hermione's belongings out of the apartment.
Then I damn her for stealing what was left of Hermione… not even a full month after her body had been placed into the cold earth...