Random spots of shimmering white light broke through the treetops in
scattered beams that reached the forest floor. Bright flowers broke out in
magnificent blooms whose fragrance rivaled the best perfume Calvin Klein
had to offer, while cheerful birds hidden behind boughs of leaves whistled
to nature's sweet tune. Smashing those beautiful flowers and cursing at
those innocent birds was a very irritated teen girl who just wanted to find
her friend.
"God damn it!" she screamed, sick of searching for the lost boy. She growled something indiscriminate and violently kicked a squirrel.
"You know, Hermione, if you don't believe in God then I don't think He'll damn anything for you."
Startled, she scanned the surrounding wildlife for anything that could have produced those words. Finally her eyes landed on a lean figure that was perched on a thick branch about twenty feet in the air.
"I could ask Him for you, if you want. But you've got to be more specific about what exactly you want Him to damn. I can't just be shooting general prayers left and right."
"Harry," called Hermione from her distant spot on the ground, "Why did you leave like that?" She received no response, except for the fact that Harry hid his face in a pair of sharply bent knees. Mustering her courage, she awkwardly climbed the tree, dragging herself from branch to branch until she could pull herself up onto the thick, spacious limb that Harry was lithely comfortable on. "I don't care what anybody says; I am NOT cut out for sports," breathed Hermione, exhausted. She crawled hesitantly across the dangerous wood towards Harry, and sat facing him with her legs swung over the sides of the branch. He still would not lift his head. "Harry," coerced Hermione, "Look at me." When he would not face her, she lifted his chin forcefully so that his face was exposed. She blinked twice in quiet shock; although right now Harry was glaring at her reproachfully, there were moist tear marks tracking down his cheeks, the white sunlight glinting off of them like thin diamonds.
"Don't be so alarmed," snapped Harry, "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to 'share my feelings' with you?" Hermione tried to interject a denial, but Harry continued quickly and cut her off. "That glass," he said, drowning out the tiny fragments of Hermione's protesting voice, "wasn't in the meadow before I got there." He paused for effect, and it worked; Hermione leaned forward in interest and silently urged him to continue. "I know you read my journal," he said, "and I know that you read about how my Uncle broke the hallway window. Today I'm wearing the same pants that I wore that day. The shard of glass must have hidden itself in a pocket of mine, and fallen out when I was playing Jungle Ball." Hermione screwed up her face in confusion and mouthed the strange words, "Jungle Ball" to herself while Harry continued talking. "I walked away back there because something hit me when I recognized the glass. I don't know what it was, but it kind of freaked me out so I left."
"But," said Hermione, "Whatever it was must have really affected you, because...because I think you're crying, and that's really unusual for you."
Harry didn't hesitate to answer. "What," he said, his voice suddenly choked with tears, "You think being hit, and yelled at, and hurt all of my life isn't going to affect me? You don't understand; you were raised with normal parents. I was raised with a group of people who hate me. I never had a kind word. I never had that kind of loving praise that a child is supposed to receive. And the worst part is that I thought I deserved that. I didn't know that it wasn't normal for somebody to be shoved against the wall and beat if he ever teased his cousin. I didn't know that it wasn't normal for a five-year old boy to live in a closet with curses screamed at him for absolutely no reason. Now here I am, at fifteen, and I'm completely fucked up because of my family. Not only that, but I've got some raving mad sorcerer after me because I lived after he killed my parents. Yeah, that's what I call a healthy childhood. No shit it affected me," he snapped, fresh tears flowing freely down his cheeks. "And I try not to show it, but you push and you prod and you dig around my personal property until you finally got me to crack. You've officially taken away my masculinity: you got me to cry. I guess you thought it would help or something if I 'talked about it'. Well, it didn't. The only thing that changed is that now I just feel like an idiot, sitting in a tree and crying like a child." He stopped talking at once and returned his face to its spot between his knees.
After that moving speech, Hermione had absolutely no idea what to say. She stared at him, dumbfounded, as his back shook softly due to his weeping, and his hand tangled itself in his messy black hair.
"I'm sorry," she ventured, not sure how to react to Harry's uncharacteristically vulnerable state. He did not move to respond; rather, he just kept crying, albeit softly. Hermione, not at all used to seeing her dear friend so miserable, felt tears well up in her eyes at the depressing sight in front of her. "Please, Harry, I had no idea you were going to react like this. I'm sorry for...for bringing you into that state." Once again, the recipient of this apology did not reply, but seemed to completely ignore her. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked desperately, not expecting a response.
Harry, still leaning against the tree trunk with his knees folded into his chest and his head tucked in between them, shook his head no and hugged his knees tighter. "Haven't you done enough?" came his muffled reply.
"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione in shocked protest, "Don't try and pin this on me. It's your family's fault, not mine."
He sighed shakily, and finally looked up at his friend. "I'm sorry," he said sullenly, his anger diffused, "I didn't mean to blame you for anything. You've always helped me, and if anything, I should be thanking you." They stared quietly each other for several seconds, and Harry gently took Hermione's hand in his.
"We've been through a lot together," whispered Hermione, not breaking eye contact.
"Yeah," answered Harry, "You were my second friend. Ever." He lovingly stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb. "Thanks."
Just as Hermione was about to respond, a rustling in the forest below broke their sacred silence, and Ginny's dainty feminine voice rang through the air. "Hey guys? You out here somewhere?"
Harry dropped Hermione's hand (much to her disappointment) and leaned over the branch to view the delicate redhead standing twenty feet below him. "Ginny! We're up here!" The girl whirled her attention upwards, and adjusted her visor so that she could properly escry the two teenagers perched within a staggeringly tall tree.
"What're you doing up there?" she asked, wrinkling her nose to emphasize her question.
"Nothing," answered Harry, and deftly swung off the branch, scaling his way down the tree until he landed with a crunch on the dry summer underbrush. Once he was level with Ginny, he placed a shy hand on her shoulder and asked her if she was alright after being pushed onto that broken glass. Hermione, still crouching uneasily on the branch, surveyed the two with distaste and felt her cheeks flush when she saw the way Harry was gazing at Ginny.
"I'm so sorry that had to happen to you. Can I see your back?" he asked kindly. Ginny turned around to show Harry the bloodstained rip in her dress. He paled and swallowed; he hated being to blame for the adulteration of what was once so perfect and unharmed. "Ginny, you have no idea how sorry I am for hurting you," said Harry. Ginny cocked her head to the side in confusion.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, "Ron's the one who pushed me. And it isn't like it was your fault that the glass was there, right?" She laughed and shrugged at this speculation. "Yeah Harry, I can just picture you dancing around my backyard, throwing pointy glass everywhere and hoping I'd land on it."
Harry laughed nervously; she was dangerously close to finding out that the glass's unfortunate location was, in fact, completely his fault. "Erm...yeah, ha ha, you're right, of course it's not my fault, how would that work?" he stammered, regretting how terrible he was at lying to friends- lying to professors came naturally to him, of course, but he always felt so guilty after being untruthful to somebody he cared about. Ginny, a very smart girl, immediately recognized the strange tone in Harry's voice and squinted at him suspiciously.
She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him in this untrusting manner for almost a minute before she finally spoke. Harry, of course, was growing more and more nervous by the second. He was just about to break into a cold sweat before Ginny voiced her thoughts. "Right. Harry, why are you lying to me?" His mouth opened and closed silently, like a fish out of water, while his aggravatingly blank mind searched for suitable words. "What are you trying to say?" asked Ginny, now slightly suspecting this person of laying a trap for her.
"Whatever Harry did, he didn't do it purposefully, I swear to you," said Hermione, who had obviously struggled down the tree while the two were talking and was now standing behind Harry with her hand on his shoulder. "Come on, I feel bad for leaving Ron back there all alone. Let's go."
Ginny led the way back to the meadow, allowing Harry and Hermione to whisper quietly to each other several paces behind her.
"Thanks for not telling," said Harry with a grateful smile as he carefully stepped over an unearthed root.
Hermione shrugged. "I knew you wouldn't want me to say anything about what happened. Anyway, that's what friends are for: saving your butt."
"Yes, he says thank you as well," said Harry, patting his rear, "You kept him nice and safe." Hermione giggled and pushed her friend lightly on the shoulder.
"Knock it off, silly," she said, suddenly wincing at the onslaught of bright, unhindered sunlight as the three left the dark, cool shade of the forest and stepped into the flowered clearing where Ron lay half-asleep, basking in the sun.
"God damn it!" she screamed, sick of searching for the lost boy. She growled something indiscriminate and violently kicked a squirrel.
"You know, Hermione, if you don't believe in God then I don't think He'll damn anything for you."
Startled, she scanned the surrounding wildlife for anything that could have produced those words. Finally her eyes landed on a lean figure that was perched on a thick branch about twenty feet in the air.
"I could ask Him for you, if you want. But you've got to be more specific about what exactly you want Him to damn. I can't just be shooting general prayers left and right."
"Harry," called Hermione from her distant spot on the ground, "Why did you leave like that?" She received no response, except for the fact that Harry hid his face in a pair of sharply bent knees. Mustering her courage, she awkwardly climbed the tree, dragging herself from branch to branch until she could pull herself up onto the thick, spacious limb that Harry was lithely comfortable on. "I don't care what anybody says; I am NOT cut out for sports," breathed Hermione, exhausted. She crawled hesitantly across the dangerous wood towards Harry, and sat facing him with her legs swung over the sides of the branch. He still would not lift his head. "Harry," coerced Hermione, "Look at me." When he would not face her, she lifted his chin forcefully so that his face was exposed. She blinked twice in quiet shock; although right now Harry was glaring at her reproachfully, there were moist tear marks tracking down his cheeks, the white sunlight glinting off of them like thin diamonds.
"Don't be so alarmed," snapped Harry, "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to 'share my feelings' with you?" Hermione tried to interject a denial, but Harry continued quickly and cut her off. "That glass," he said, drowning out the tiny fragments of Hermione's protesting voice, "wasn't in the meadow before I got there." He paused for effect, and it worked; Hermione leaned forward in interest and silently urged him to continue. "I know you read my journal," he said, "and I know that you read about how my Uncle broke the hallway window. Today I'm wearing the same pants that I wore that day. The shard of glass must have hidden itself in a pocket of mine, and fallen out when I was playing Jungle Ball." Hermione screwed up her face in confusion and mouthed the strange words, "Jungle Ball" to herself while Harry continued talking. "I walked away back there because something hit me when I recognized the glass. I don't know what it was, but it kind of freaked me out so I left."
"But," said Hermione, "Whatever it was must have really affected you, because...because I think you're crying, and that's really unusual for you."
Harry didn't hesitate to answer. "What," he said, his voice suddenly choked with tears, "You think being hit, and yelled at, and hurt all of my life isn't going to affect me? You don't understand; you were raised with normal parents. I was raised with a group of people who hate me. I never had a kind word. I never had that kind of loving praise that a child is supposed to receive. And the worst part is that I thought I deserved that. I didn't know that it wasn't normal for somebody to be shoved against the wall and beat if he ever teased his cousin. I didn't know that it wasn't normal for a five-year old boy to live in a closet with curses screamed at him for absolutely no reason. Now here I am, at fifteen, and I'm completely fucked up because of my family. Not only that, but I've got some raving mad sorcerer after me because I lived after he killed my parents. Yeah, that's what I call a healthy childhood. No shit it affected me," he snapped, fresh tears flowing freely down his cheeks. "And I try not to show it, but you push and you prod and you dig around my personal property until you finally got me to crack. You've officially taken away my masculinity: you got me to cry. I guess you thought it would help or something if I 'talked about it'. Well, it didn't. The only thing that changed is that now I just feel like an idiot, sitting in a tree and crying like a child." He stopped talking at once and returned his face to its spot between his knees.
After that moving speech, Hermione had absolutely no idea what to say. She stared at him, dumbfounded, as his back shook softly due to his weeping, and his hand tangled itself in his messy black hair.
"I'm sorry," she ventured, not sure how to react to Harry's uncharacteristically vulnerable state. He did not move to respond; rather, he just kept crying, albeit softly. Hermione, not at all used to seeing her dear friend so miserable, felt tears well up in her eyes at the depressing sight in front of her. "Please, Harry, I had no idea you were going to react like this. I'm sorry for...for bringing you into that state." Once again, the recipient of this apology did not reply, but seemed to completely ignore her. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked desperately, not expecting a response.
Harry, still leaning against the tree trunk with his knees folded into his chest and his head tucked in between them, shook his head no and hugged his knees tighter. "Haven't you done enough?" came his muffled reply.
"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione in shocked protest, "Don't try and pin this on me. It's your family's fault, not mine."
He sighed shakily, and finally looked up at his friend. "I'm sorry," he said sullenly, his anger diffused, "I didn't mean to blame you for anything. You've always helped me, and if anything, I should be thanking you." They stared quietly each other for several seconds, and Harry gently took Hermione's hand in his.
"We've been through a lot together," whispered Hermione, not breaking eye contact.
"Yeah," answered Harry, "You were my second friend. Ever." He lovingly stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb. "Thanks."
Just as Hermione was about to respond, a rustling in the forest below broke their sacred silence, and Ginny's dainty feminine voice rang through the air. "Hey guys? You out here somewhere?"
Harry dropped Hermione's hand (much to her disappointment) and leaned over the branch to view the delicate redhead standing twenty feet below him. "Ginny! We're up here!" The girl whirled her attention upwards, and adjusted her visor so that she could properly escry the two teenagers perched within a staggeringly tall tree.
"What're you doing up there?" she asked, wrinkling her nose to emphasize her question.
"Nothing," answered Harry, and deftly swung off the branch, scaling his way down the tree until he landed with a crunch on the dry summer underbrush. Once he was level with Ginny, he placed a shy hand on her shoulder and asked her if she was alright after being pushed onto that broken glass. Hermione, still crouching uneasily on the branch, surveyed the two with distaste and felt her cheeks flush when she saw the way Harry was gazing at Ginny.
"I'm so sorry that had to happen to you. Can I see your back?" he asked kindly. Ginny turned around to show Harry the bloodstained rip in her dress. He paled and swallowed; he hated being to blame for the adulteration of what was once so perfect and unharmed. "Ginny, you have no idea how sorry I am for hurting you," said Harry. Ginny cocked her head to the side in confusion.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, "Ron's the one who pushed me. And it isn't like it was your fault that the glass was there, right?" She laughed and shrugged at this speculation. "Yeah Harry, I can just picture you dancing around my backyard, throwing pointy glass everywhere and hoping I'd land on it."
Harry laughed nervously; she was dangerously close to finding out that the glass's unfortunate location was, in fact, completely his fault. "Erm...yeah, ha ha, you're right, of course it's not my fault, how would that work?" he stammered, regretting how terrible he was at lying to friends- lying to professors came naturally to him, of course, but he always felt so guilty after being untruthful to somebody he cared about. Ginny, a very smart girl, immediately recognized the strange tone in Harry's voice and squinted at him suspiciously.
She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him in this untrusting manner for almost a minute before she finally spoke. Harry, of course, was growing more and more nervous by the second. He was just about to break into a cold sweat before Ginny voiced her thoughts. "Right. Harry, why are you lying to me?" His mouth opened and closed silently, like a fish out of water, while his aggravatingly blank mind searched for suitable words. "What are you trying to say?" asked Ginny, now slightly suspecting this person of laying a trap for her.
"Whatever Harry did, he didn't do it purposefully, I swear to you," said Hermione, who had obviously struggled down the tree while the two were talking and was now standing behind Harry with her hand on his shoulder. "Come on, I feel bad for leaving Ron back there all alone. Let's go."
Ginny led the way back to the meadow, allowing Harry and Hermione to whisper quietly to each other several paces behind her.
"Thanks for not telling," said Harry with a grateful smile as he carefully stepped over an unearthed root.
Hermione shrugged. "I knew you wouldn't want me to say anything about what happened. Anyway, that's what friends are for: saving your butt."
"Yes, he says thank you as well," said Harry, patting his rear, "You kept him nice and safe." Hermione giggled and pushed her friend lightly on the shoulder.
"Knock it off, silly," she said, suddenly wincing at the onslaught of bright, unhindered sunlight as the three left the dark, cool shade of the forest and stepped into the flowered clearing where Ron lay half-asleep, basking in the sun.