a/n- welcome back to the three ring circus! Harry's sad, Hermione's sad,
what do you know, they're all a little pathetic. Anyway, sorry for the
wait. I had the conversations done a while ago, but you can thank my
lovely beta reader, Landry Anne for not sending them back.
Oh, and ten points to your house if you can find the quote from my favorite movie of all time!
Without further ado, Chapter 3 of Soul Searching!
~*~
"Come on Mick! I promise I'll pay the tab as soon as I get back!"
Mick looked at Harry incredulously. "Yeah, sure, kid. You will go running back to England and never pay me back!"
Harry looked at Mick, worriedly. "Mick! I'm your friend! Your best customer! Without me, you would have no one in this fleabag bar of yours!"
"Oh! So now it's fleabag! Only two days ago you were sitting at this same bench, feasting on wine, spirits and merriment!"
Harry sighed. Sometimes he wondered why Mick hadn't become a Shakespearean scholar, instead of owning the bar. He certainly didn't look the type. He was small and compact, and had a slightly greasy look to him.. "Look, Mick. I don't know when I'm coming back, or if I will come back, at all."
"What, running back to the motherland to get yourself killed? Do you find me such a fool?"
Harry grinned. "Something like that. Look Mick, I'll leave a deposit. Here are the keys to my apartment. I would say that you will have a month to fence anything you want before my landlady uses brute force to get in." With this, Harry pressed a set of keys into Mick's hand.
Mick's eyes softened. "What's the matter, kid, not coming back? Gonna make a permanent residence in jolly ol' England?"
Harry sighed again. "I don't know Mick. I don't think I'll be coming back. For all that its worth, you were a good listener, even if I didn't have much to say."
"Come back, kid. You're too young to lose your dreams."
"I have no dreams." Harry said emptily.
"Just come back, kid. Without you blowing your paycheck here every week, I wouldn't be able to feed my family."
Harry gave a shallow laugh. "You have no family, Mick. So long. And if anyone ever asks, you never knew me."
With this, Harry walked out of Mick's bar, leaving Mick to try to understand what was going on inside the complex mind of Harry Potter. Mick just sighed and went back to cleaning the bar.
~*~
Hermione looked around her apartment. It was spotless. Not one thing of its previous resident remained, except for Hermione herself. She had been planning this for a while. The apartment was too big, too unwelcoming, to live alone. But no, she would not think of Draco today. Today she was going to move. Going to finally leave this place, and go back to London. The thought of London made her face flush. Back to her parents; her childhood.
Hermione sighed. It was no use going back to that topic. She had become an adult in one moment. When she had left Hogwarts after her fourth year, she knew she had lost something. It had taken her several years to realize that it was her innocence.
"Goodbye! And I hope your next inhabitant has better luck!" With this final farewell, she turned on her heels, and walked briskly out the door, to the Knight Bus already waiting for her.
~*~
Harry walked slowly out the door. It was still dark out, and the reluctance of the sun to come up seemed to signify something greater. He breathed a deep gulp of the dirty Los Angeles air. England didn't have air like this. England's air was stale, it tasted of stagnation. Los Angeles, on the other hand, seemed alive. It held electricity in the air, it buzzed, a sense similar to after a spell was completed. Los Angeles was moving, and it wasn't going to wait for Harry.
He had left everything in his apartment, true to his word. Being a Gryffindor had left him with some nobility, enough to know not to go back on a promise, if not enough to leave him with a sense of bravery.
With little difficulty, and a simple /wingardium leviosa/ on his baggage, Harry was on his way, up the street to the bus station, routed for the airport. He had tried to take only the necessities. Several robes, jeans, his broom, invisibility cloak and wand, which was secured in his pocket, shrunk down to a reasonable size. Hedwig had been dead for several years, so there was no need to carry a bulky owl cage also.
After standing on the corner for an unidentifiable time, the bus finally came. Harry had contemplated apperating to England, but considering his recent assault, he felt it was more appropriate to fly, and not by broom; by plane. He was posing as a muggle, after all. These measures were meant to keep him safe from the threat of the Death Eaters. "Only three months until he will return," he muttered to himself, before he fell into a restless sleep.
The airport was a hard place to navigate, and Harry was so lost he was considering whispering /point me/ to navigate through the maze of gates and terminals. This was one thing that Harry believed wizards were superior in; they didn't have to find their way through an airport to get somewhere. But at least this was better than Floo Powder, Harry reflected. He had never really liked that mode of transportation, and after he had found himself in Knockturn Alley, he had cemented his belief.
When Harry had looked back at the plane ride, most of it was fuzzy. He had fallen back to old habits, and had downed a considerable amount of alcohol, enough to drive away the demons of his consciousness. It seemed to him that soon enough, he was back in England, at Heathrow Airport.
He took a deep breath. But instead of tasting a staleness common of England, he felt something else. The people all around him were oblivious to this, but even in this completely muggle place, he could feel it. The sense buzzed through the air. It whispered to him. Fear, apprehension, it coursed through the air, emissions from even the few wizards who clouded the walkways of the busy terminal. Determined by this emotion, he pushed past the other people in the airport, towards a taxi.
Harry's head pounded, a reminder of the alcohol he had drank during his journey. The site of the hotel gave him some hope. A bed, where he could lie, where he could find some escape from the relentless fear flowing through the air.
Harry went into his room and slept. He wasn't sure for how long, but when he awoke, he felt almost alive. This was an unfamiliar feeling for Harry, who was accustomed to a pounding headache accompanying a hangover. But today Harry felt different. He had a purpose, a goal. And he knew what he had to do.
He took out a phonebook. "Gallager, Glass, Gomes, Granger. There! Just off Regent Street…"
Harry wasn't sure why he had gone to Hermione's parents first. Maybe they could tell him about her since he had left. She had been sending owls weekly to Los Angeles, but Harry had never written back. He had nothing to say.
He knocked on the door, and to his surprise Hermione stood at the doorframe. She was a tall woman, and had her fuzzy hair pulled back. Her face held a mixture of surprise and anger, but her eyes were stone. She beckoned him into the house, and led him into a parlor, where there were several pictures of her on the mantel. She went over and picked up one, and sat down on a couch across from Harry.
"Hermione. I'm back." Harry looked at her with a sigh of relief.
She studied the picture and put it on the table separating them. "Oh, yes, you're back. For what? Just felt like finally getting out of your drunken stupor and coming home? Well, this isn't your home anymore Harry."
Harry picked up the frame. It held a picture of him, Hermione and Ron, taken in their fourth year. He looked up at her, his eyes pleading. "I don't want to talk about this."
"Oh, so you think that you can just walk back in here, and everything will be okay?"
"Hermione, we're not the same people we used to be."
"And that's the truth. You're a drunkard."
Harry cut her off. "And you have let your hate consume you. I did nothing to you."
"Nothing. Of course you did nothing. You have my life in your hands, and what do you do? Drink it all away! Do you think that helps?" Her face was savage now, but her eyes were still cold, forbidden.
"It dulls the pain."
"Life is pain, Harry! Anyone telling you differently is trying to sell you something. But that's what separates you from me. I deal with my pain. And you run from it!"
"Hermione, I never meant to hurt you!"
"Well, you have! And I can't forget it! Harry, everyone is gone! Ron is dead, Draco is gone, even Ginny…"
"Ginny is not gone! Unlike some people, I will never give up my hope!"
Hermione stood up, knocking over the table. She towered over the slight frame of Harry, and slapped him in the face. "Oh, yes, Harry. Very healthy. Live in the past, where you can pretend that none of this" she made a grand gesture, "ever happened! You can pretend what you want, you can drink what you cannot pretend, but you cannot forget that he is coming! Only three months left! And what are you going to do then?"
"Why should I have this weight! I have never asked for anything!"
"Well, you know, Harry, at least you have the opportunity to do something! Some of us are forced to watch from the sidelines because we cannot make our opinion heard! You have the opportunity to do something great! And what do you do? You run."
"I do not want this responsibility."
"Who says you have a choice?! Think of Albus! Think of Snape! Think of Ron." She grabbed the picture from Harry, and held it to her breast.
"Ron is dead and there is nothing I can do about it!"
"At least he made a difference. He's still making more of a difference than you ever did!"
With this statement, he stopped and looked into his hands. "God. Look at what this place has reduced us to. We are still children, Hermione. Can't you feel it? I've been holding back my childhood. Hermione, people aren't supposed to die."
"But they do, Harry, and sitting here isn't going to help." She looked up at him, straight into his blinding eyes. "why have you come back?"
Harry gave her a strong look. He felt to his pocket and pulled out the ring. So strange, he thought, it feels so light. "I have a plan."
Hermione looked up at him, her face finally betraying her, letting out one tear.
~*~
a/n- There is a deficit of angry Hermione stories. So, I though I would do my part and fill in that missing genre.
If you would like to guess what the quote is, put it in review, and five extra points if you can figure out what movie it's from! ;)
Like always, reviews will be enjoyed, printed out and pasted on my wall.
Flames will be laughed at and fed to Landry.
And, if you would like to discuss this story, Harry Potter in general, or just have a burning question, drop me a line at Smile7499@aol.com.
Oh, and ten points to your house if you can find the quote from my favorite movie of all time!
Without further ado, Chapter 3 of Soul Searching!
~*~
"Come on Mick! I promise I'll pay the tab as soon as I get back!"
Mick looked at Harry incredulously. "Yeah, sure, kid. You will go running back to England and never pay me back!"
Harry looked at Mick, worriedly. "Mick! I'm your friend! Your best customer! Without me, you would have no one in this fleabag bar of yours!"
"Oh! So now it's fleabag! Only two days ago you were sitting at this same bench, feasting on wine, spirits and merriment!"
Harry sighed. Sometimes he wondered why Mick hadn't become a Shakespearean scholar, instead of owning the bar. He certainly didn't look the type. He was small and compact, and had a slightly greasy look to him.. "Look, Mick. I don't know when I'm coming back, or if I will come back, at all."
"What, running back to the motherland to get yourself killed? Do you find me such a fool?"
Harry grinned. "Something like that. Look Mick, I'll leave a deposit. Here are the keys to my apartment. I would say that you will have a month to fence anything you want before my landlady uses brute force to get in." With this, Harry pressed a set of keys into Mick's hand.
Mick's eyes softened. "What's the matter, kid, not coming back? Gonna make a permanent residence in jolly ol' England?"
Harry sighed again. "I don't know Mick. I don't think I'll be coming back. For all that its worth, you were a good listener, even if I didn't have much to say."
"Come back, kid. You're too young to lose your dreams."
"I have no dreams." Harry said emptily.
"Just come back, kid. Without you blowing your paycheck here every week, I wouldn't be able to feed my family."
Harry gave a shallow laugh. "You have no family, Mick. So long. And if anyone ever asks, you never knew me."
With this, Harry walked out of Mick's bar, leaving Mick to try to understand what was going on inside the complex mind of Harry Potter. Mick just sighed and went back to cleaning the bar.
~*~
Hermione looked around her apartment. It was spotless. Not one thing of its previous resident remained, except for Hermione herself. She had been planning this for a while. The apartment was too big, too unwelcoming, to live alone. But no, she would not think of Draco today. Today she was going to move. Going to finally leave this place, and go back to London. The thought of London made her face flush. Back to her parents; her childhood.
Hermione sighed. It was no use going back to that topic. She had become an adult in one moment. When she had left Hogwarts after her fourth year, she knew she had lost something. It had taken her several years to realize that it was her innocence.
"Goodbye! And I hope your next inhabitant has better luck!" With this final farewell, she turned on her heels, and walked briskly out the door, to the Knight Bus already waiting for her.
~*~
Harry walked slowly out the door. It was still dark out, and the reluctance of the sun to come up seemed to signify something greater. He breathed a deep gulp of the dirty Los Angeles air. England didn't have air like this. England's air was stale, it tasted of stagnation. Los Angeles, on the other hand, seemed alive. It held electricity in the air, it buzzed, a sense similar to after a spell was completed. Los Angeles was moving, and it wasn't going to wait for Harry.
He had left everything in his apartment, true to his word. Being a Gryffindor had left him with some nobility, enough to know not to go back on a promise, if not enough to leave him with a sense of bravery.
With little difficulty, and a simple /wingardium leviosa/ on his baggage, Harry was on his way, up the street to the bus station, routed for the airport. He had tried to take only the necessities. Several robes, jeans, his broom, invisibility cloak and wand, which was secured in his pocket, shrunk down to a reasonable size. Hedwig had been dead for several years, so there was no need to carry a bulky owl cage also.
After standing on the corner for an unidentifiable time, the bus finally came. Harry had contemplated apperating to England, but considering his recent assault, he felt it was more appropriate to fly, and not by broom; by plane. He was posing as a muggle, after all. These measures were meant to keep him safe from the threat of the Death Eaters. "Only three months until he will return," he muttered to himself, before he fell into a restless sleep.
The airport was a hard place to navigate, and Harry was so lost he was considering whispering /point me/ to navigate through the maze of gates and terminals. This was one thing that Harry believed wizards were superior in; they didn't have to find their way through an airport to get somewhere. But at least this was better than Floo Powder, Harry reflected. He had never really liked that mode of transportation, and after he had found himself in Knockturn Alley, he had cemented his belief.
When Harry had looked back at the plane ride, most of it was fuzzy. He had fallen back to old habits, and had downed a considerable amount of alcohol, enough to drive away the demons of his consciousness. It seemed to him that soon enough, he was back in England, at Heathrow Airport.
He took a deep breath. But instead of tasting a staleness common of England, he felt something else. The people all around him were oblivious to this, but even in this completely muggle place, he could feel it. The sense buzzed through the air. It whispered to him. Fear, apprehension, it coursed through the air, emissions from even the few wizards who clouded the walkways of the busy terminal. Determined by this emotion, he pushed past the other people in the airport, towards a taxi.
Harry's head pounded, a reminder of the alcohol he had drank during his journey. The site of the hotel gave him some hope. A bed, where he could lie, where he could find some escape from the relentless fear flowing through the air.
Harry went into his room and slept. He wasn't sure for how long, but when he awoke, he felt almost alive. This was an unfamiliar feeling for Harry, who was accustomed to a pounding headache accompanying a hangover. But today Harry felt different. He had a purpose, a goal. And he knew what he had to do.
He took out a phonebook. "Gallager, Glass, Gomes, Granger. There! Just off Regent Street…"
Harry wasn't sure why he had gone to Hermione's parents first. Maybe they could tell him about her since he had left. She had been sending owls weekly to Los Angeles, but Harry had never written back. He had nothing to say.
He knocked on the door, and to his surprise Hermione stood at the doorframe. She was a tall woman, and had her fuzzy hair pulled back. Her face held a mixture of surprise and anger, but her eyes were stone. She beckoned him into the house, and led him into a parlor, where there were several pictures of her on the mantel. She went over and picked up one, and sat down on a couch across from Harry.
"Hermione. I'm back." Harry looked at her with a sigh of relief.
She studied the picture and put it on the table separating them. "Oh, yes, you're back. For what? Just felt like finally getting out of your drunken stupor and coming home? Well, this isn't your home anymore Harry."
Harry picked up the frame. It held a picture of him, Hermione and Ron, taken in their fourth year. He looked up at her, his eyes pleading. "I don't want to talk about this."
"Oh, so you think that you can just walk back in here, and everything will be okay?"
"Hermione, we're not the same people we used to be."
"And that's the truth. You're a drunkard."
Harry cut her off. "And you have let your hate consume you. I did nothing to you."
"Nothing. Of course you did nothing. You have my life in your hands, and what do you do? Drink it all away! Do you think that helps?" Her face was savage now, but her eyes were still cold, forbidden.
"It dulls the pain."
"Life is pain, Harry! Anyone telling you differently is trying to sell you something. But that's what separates you from me. I deal with my pain. And you run from it!"
"Hermione, I never meant to hurt you!"
"Well, you have! And I can't forget it! Harry, everyone is gone! Ron is dead, Draco is gone, even Ginny…"
"Ginny is not gone! Unlike some people, I will never give up my hope!"
Hermione stood up, knocking over the table. She towered over the slight frame of Harry, and slapped him in the face. "Oh, yes, Harry. Very healthy. Live in the past, where you can pretend that none of this" she made a grand gesture, "ever happened! You can pretend what you want, you can drink what you cannot pretend, but you cannot forget that he is coming! Only three months left! And what are you going to do then?"
"Why should I have this weight! I have never asked for anything!"
"Well, you know, Harry, at least you have the opportunity to do something! Some of us are forced to watch from the sidelines because we cannot make our opinion heard! You have the opportunity to do something great! And what do you do? You run."
"I do not want this responsibility."
"Who says you have a choice?! Think of Albus! Think of Snape! Think of Ron." She grabbed the picture from Harry, and held it to her breast.
"Ron is dead and there is nothing I can do about it!"
"At least he made a difference. He's still making more of a difference than you ever did!"
With this statement, he stopped and looked into his hands. "God. Look at what this place has reduced us to. We are still children, Hermione. Can't you feel it? I've been holding back my childhood. Hermione, people aren't supposed to die."
"But they do, Harry, and sitting here isn't going to help." She looked up at him, straight into his blinding eyes. "why have you come back?"
Harry gave her a strong look. He felt to his pocket and pulled out the ring. So strange, he thought, it feels so light. "I have a plan."
Hermione looked up at him, her face finally betraying her, letting out one tear.
~*~
a/n- There is a deficit of angry Hermione stories. So, I though I would do my part and fill in that missing genre.
If you would like to guess what the quote is, put it in review, and five extra points if you can figure out what movie it's from! ;)
Like always, reviews will be enjoyed, printed out and pasted on my wall.
Flames will be laughed at and fed to Landry.
And, if you would like to discuss this story, Harry Potter in general, or just have a burning question, drop me a line at Smile7499@aol.com.