On Parchment
By: purplemud
E-mail: purplewitch10@yahoo.com or mudcandies@hotmail.com
Rating: PG13
Disclaimers: Standard Disclaimers Apply. I just mess around with JK's work of genius.
Category: H/Hr fluff (I think... I don't think I can ever categorize any of my fics anyway... they're just... fics.)
Author's Note: Uhm... this fic will be changed soon. Once I get this edited, I'll post it again - hopefully by then the fic would be in a better shape. Well, I do hope you enjoy this itty bitty fic.
ON PARCHMENT
Quill bit against paper as splotches of black ink, like drops of dark tears, were smeared against the surface of the once pristine-white parchment.
Young Harry Potter, seventeen and in love scribbled furiously across the seemingly unlimited space.
He was on roll, filling up more than half of the parchment, his hand almost numb except for the dull throbbing he could barely feel on the pad his right thumb.
Words dance across the paper in an almost frenzied manner until realized grimly that he had ran out of ink. And despite the length of his letter, now bordering on becoming a novel, he still hadn't said anything remotely logical let alone coherent.
Exasperated, he let out an explosive sigh, throwing the quill down and grabbing the inkbottle to examine it more closely. Gone. Dried out. No more ink. He glanced around him trying to look for a new bottle but he knew that it was useless. He had already used up his other inkbottle yesterday when he first tried to make a rough draft.
He'd have to sneak out to Hogsmeade tomorrow and buy a new bottle of ink. Probably a dozen bottles or so and several rolls of ten feet long parchment - ScribbulusMagikal Special Quality Paper, gold embossed and all that jazz.
He glanced at the clock mounted on the wall and was surprised at the time displayed. Twenty-eight minutes past three in the morning.
He had been writing for two straight hours without pause. He would've finished the damn thing by breakfast if it hadn't been for the uncooperative ink. He frowned sullenly and glanced at the unfinished letter.
He had been so sure that he'd be able to put into paper the words that were forever stuck inside his throat. The idea of writing a letter, giving it to her, running away and letting her decide seemed like the most brilliant plan ever.
Until he realized that he didn't have enough words and ink.
The world was positively against him.
Sniffing in mild annoyance, Harry rubbed his nose with the back of his hand and disdainfully picked up the unfinished letter. He read it quietly, squinting at his own handwriting and frowning at how ugly and messy it looked.
The one word that stood out clearly and neatly was her name. And then after that, well, it all went downhill. Literally.
He tilted his head, trying to follow the sentence as it dipped lower, almost creating a perfect diagonal line. He was thoroughly disgusted with himself. How does he expect her to understand how he feels if he couldn't even understand his own handwriting? He skimmed the letter, feeling incredibly stupid.
I have something important to lell you...
Wait? Lell? Oh. That was a "t". Right. Hopefully she'd realized that. Or she's going to get a bloody headache trying to decipher the hieroglyphics that was his penmanship.
There was a loud snort inside his head, followed by the now all too-familiar disdainful voice that sounded exactly just like him. You can't possibly let her read that. Please, kindly, for the sake of your sanity, burn that damn letter now.
He scowled darkly. He will not burn it. He had put everything that he had to say on it, well, a few more words and maybe some more explanation…
Good luck Potter. By the time she finished reading that, she'd be having her second child already.
"Oh sod off!" he roared with surprising viciousness.
"Harry, what are you doing?"
He jumped up in surprise the letter fluttering oh-so-slowly to the floor. He stared at her and then at the letter and then back at her smiling amused face and then back again to the letter which, he was sure of this, was now mocking him. Even from here he could still see her name written so very carefully and clearly.
Her name snapped him out of his stupor. He quickly bent down, crumpled the letter in his fist and hurriedly stuffed it inside his pocket. The rustle of paper, parchment kissing parchment, seemed so loud in his ears that it almost drowned out the sound of his own heart that was now slamming against his ribcage.
Breathe Potter, breathe.
She was wearing a dark blue robe over her pajamas and a peach-colored cotton hair-something; Harry didn't know what the girls call it but it kept her hair from her face. She didn't look like she had woken up from sleep.
She looked beautiful.
Harry took a deep breath determined to keep quiet. What should he say? I'm here because I'm trying to tell you that I love you in a letter and hope that you'd give me a chance?
When she raised her eyebrows, expectantly looking at him for an explanation, he opened his mouth and from that point on, Harry knew that it was a doomed night. "Er… Hello, Hermione. I was just, I… I…um…What are you doing here? A bit early to be awake don't you think? Or have you been staying up late studying for our exams in Potions today? Which you would pass by the way, even if you don't study." He can't seem to stop himself from talking. Something about her, he wasn't quite sure what, makes him feel compelled, no forced, to keep on talking.
Hermione smiled at him as she informed him that they didn't have any exams for Potions today.
Harry thought that it just might be her smile.
"Right," He exhaled loudly, swallowing past another burst of inane paragraphs waiting to burst from out of his mouth. "So… erm, what are you doing here?"
"I couldn't sleep." Hermione said. "I've been having a hard time falling asleep lately." She looked down on her feet, which was covered by her long pajamas. "I didn't know I'd find you here. I saw the fire was still," she swept her hand, arm outstretched, towards the fireplace where a roaring fire was still burning.
"Right." He answered again, mentally kicking himself. Great, now his verbal ability had been reduced to idiotic monosyllables, which was a real added bonus to the blush that was already making it's way from his neck to his cheeks and tips of his ears. He could feel the heat rushing into him and he prayed that it was too dark for her to notice anything.
"I've answered your question. Maybe you can answer mine." She looked at him again and Harry wanted to say Right again, but he knew he'd physically kick himself if he did just that.
"Er, I was..." He began, suddenly at lost for words, not even sure why, but words right now seemed more troubling than Trolls getting inside Hogwarts during Halloween Feasts.
"Writing a letter." She finished for him, taking in the evidence by the table: spilled ink, a quill, several crumpled papers scattered everywhere and an empty bottle of ink.
"I was reading the letter that I wrote." He corrected her.
"Oh." She raised her eyebrow and squinted to look closer at him. "Did you," she paused as if unsure what to tell him. "You have ink all over your nose." She said finally, crinkling her own nose.
Perfect. Just perfect.
Harry quickly wiped his face and froze as soon as he heard her laughter.
It was a sound that rarely gets to hear and it does something to him, much like the way her voice does something to him that he couldn't quite explain. He wanted to join in, just to hear the sound of his own laughter mixing with hers. Maybe he could wish that it would sound like it belonged together, even though he knew that hers had a much lovelier, warmer timbre than his own short hiccupping laugh.
"Now it's all over your face. Come here." Her voice had always been a little glow that would light up her face and he could see her looking at him almost tenderly and he doesn't want that look because it reminds him of how Mrs. Weasely would sometimes look at him. Like he was a lost boy.
He stayed on his place even though his heart was willing to go anywhere just to be with her.
"C'mmon, Harry." She frowned at him, her small hands automatically going to her waist.
"It's ok." He tried to wipe his face again but she was quicker than him and he's amazed by that, because she was instantly in front of him, firmly taking his wrist and capturing it in her hands that were so small and delicate and strong all at the same time.
"It's ok. Look, I want to do this for you. I'm not doing this because I think you're a little boy who can't even get some silly ink off his face. Now are you going to let me or not?"
And this time, she looks just like the Hermione that he had always known.
And now he was suddenly scared.
His mind tried to tell to him to back away now, turn his back and used his robe to clean his face; his possessed foot, on the other hand, took a small step as the other equally possessed foot followed.
Great, Harry thought. He has no control over his wildly beating heart that was making quite a racket of it's own and now he has to deal with possessed body parts.
Soon he was standing in front of her, slightly looking down at her brown eyes and meeting her calm, tilted up face. He had grown taller over the years but so had she. He remembered suffering from extreme embarrassment during sixth year when she had been slightly taller than him - by a few centimeters, he'd argue but she had been so smug then, telling him that it was a certainly a few inches, thank you very much.
He remembered wanting to kiss her right there and then.
Thankfully, by the start of seventh year, her growth spurt ended and he had been taller than her ever since. He wasn't as tall as Ron who stood at a towering six feet, all gangly legs and arms, so much like the rest of the Weaselys. Harry liked to think that he had developed some semblance of muscles over the years of playing Quidditch but he still felt as though his body was too small, too narrow and bony. And he always wished he had more of a commanding built, wider shoulders and a slightly bigger frame… well at least a bit bigger than Krum's…
He quickly banished any thoughts of the hunkering Bulgarian seeker as his evil feet took another step.
Ok, leave enough space between the two of you. Stay put. Don't move.
The mental command did not work as his right foot disobeyed his order and took a final, even bigger step towards her. Her body brushed against him sending, not just a jolt, but massive mega-kilowatts of electricity zigzagging across his spine, making his hair stand up even more. With her this close, he could drop his chin at the top of her head and warp his arms around her waist and he knows that it would be a snug fit…
She looked at him, her eyes slightly darkening for a moment. He held his breath and waited for… he didn't quite know what he was waiting for.
She stepped closer, stood on her tiptoes and slowly bought her hand up hair and took off her peach-colored hair-thing. Her bushy brown hair fell past her shoulder, almost reaching her waist. Long and free. He wondered how her hair would taste like.
His mouth and throat suddenly dry, he told himself not to move. He ordered his hands to stay on their side. He begged them and unlike the atrocious feet of his, they obeyed him. Thank you hands, thank you.
He silently watched her as she wiped his face, her peach-colored hair thing cool and smooth against his skin.
She smells wonderful. She feels wonderful. She's so painfully near and yet equally far and so out of his reach.
When she was finished, the peach-colored side of her hair-thing was now almost coal black.
Ruined her hair-thing. Alright, Potter! We're chalking up points on Horrible Embarrassing Moments of Your Life!
He grimaced.
"It's ok. I got them. I think." She tilted her head to the side and then to his utter surprise, thank god he had no serious heart condition or he would've dropped dead, her hand shot out from nowhere, grasped his chin and slightly pulled it down so their lips were almost but oh-not-quite leveled with each other. When she spoke, he could feel her breath on his skin... on his lips. It felt like he had just experience his first kiss from her. And he just wanted to die right there and then. Pain in his chest, tightness on his throat, and sweat on his palms… the whole bloody nine yards.
She didn't seem to notice anything wrong with him and he didn't know whether he should be thankful or not. She seemed so completely oblivious to the painful-pleasant torture that she was inflicting him as she added her other hand, this time, her smooth palm softly rubbing his cheeks. Skin against skin. Her touch was so warm and gentle and so Hermione. There was no other way to describe it.
He realized that he had stopped breathing but then he didn't quite care.
He felt the need for her warmth envelope him and it feels so much like her hugs. Fierce and strong but with an underlying gentleness enough to make him want to lose himself and just cry deep into her neck where there's no need for him to feel ashamed that he, who had faced so many things that were cruel and ugly, was still so much of a lonely child needing someone to hold him and never ever let him go.
"There." She said finally pulling back. "There are still a few inks left, but you can wash your face later."
"Ok." He agreed slowly, surprised to find his voice and thankful that it hadn't cracked.
Hermione glanced at his fisted hands by his side, "Are you ok Harry?"
He sighed and shook his head. No. I'm not ok. I'm in love with you and I don't know if I should tell you or not.
She paused for a while; obviously trying to think of a reason why he was upset. "Look, do you need help with your letter? Writing it, I mean?"
He opened his mouth to tell her that he could do it on his own and that he'd be damned if he let her help him write her letter. He shook his head again and then froze as he heard his own voice say, "Yes" instead.
Oh good Lord. Now his mouth was possessed as well.
"Well, what's the letter for?"
"It's a... it's a..." He stammered not wanting to lie to her and not wanting to tell her the truth either. Well, at least not yet. They have to be somewhere, in an open space where he can run and bolt and leave her to read the letter.
Which is unfinished by the way, a knowing voice reminded him. The last thing you wrote was, I value our friendship and I want us to stay friends bu... and that was when you ran out of ink.
"A love letter?"
"Yes."
Later tonight, he'll have to cut out his tongue.
"For who?"
This time, he regained some semblance of control as he clamped his teeth tight and just shook his head.
"Oh honestly Harry! I know already."
Oh shit.
"You--- you do?"
"Of course! Now, sit down and I'll help you write a letter for Ginny." She said nonchalantly, clasping her two hands together and sounding so much like McGonagall.
"What?" He was dumbstruck. Who?
"Ginny." She took a few steps backward and plopped herself on a chair regarding him with curious brown eyes. "Aren't you writing a letter for Ginny?"
"No." He said sourly, wondering how she ever got that idea.
"Well, I thought... anyway, if you won't tell me who's it for, I won't be able to help you much."
"It's for the girl I like."
"Really? I thought you'd be writing to Malfoy. The boy you like."
Now she's making fun of him.
He had nothing to say that and she rolled her eyes, "Honestly, Harry, I'm beginning to think that you're suffering from lobotomy or something equally worse. Did the bluddger from yesterday really hit you that hard?"
"No. I'm fine. My head doesn't hurt. I don't feel weird. Because of it." He paused realizing what he just said. "The bludger, I mean." He hurriedly added. He opened his mouth again to try and explain when Hermione stopped him from making another impossibly dumb statement.
"Never mind." Hermione said with a wave of her hand. "Well, then, what have you got there on that letter of yours?"
Harry tried to think of what he had written there.
Dear Hermione,
Hello. I hope that you aren't mad at me that I ran out on you like that. I'm sorry, it was rude of me, I know, I hope that you'll forgive me. If not, then I'll understand.
I'm not really good at these kind of stuff and I feel utterly ridiculous right now, to tell you the truth but you've always been kind and understanding and I'm sure that you won't have it against me if I am making no sense at all right now. I am nervous and you're not even here in front on me. Isn't that just silly?
I'm writing to you because I have something important to tell you and I don't think I have enough courage to look at you in the face when I do tell you what I'm about to tell you now. So I figured that this letter ought to do.
Before I go to that, I want to thank you first. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I don't thank you enough and I know I've been taking you for granted for a long time.
Remember first year? You told me I was a great wizard even though you haven't seen me do anything remarkable. It had always been you who got the right spells and potions and charms but you believed in me, Hermione. And before Hogwarts, no one else had truly ever believed in me. Thank you for your faith on a skinny eleven-year-old boy, you saved me that day. I didn't know it yet at that time, but now I know, so thank you Hermione and I'm sorry it took me this long to finally say, or write as the case maybe, those words to you.
You shouldn't be reading it in a letter because you deserve more than that and I'm sorry if I can't say this in front of you. If I do say them now, I'm afraid that I'd muck it all up and you don't deserve that either.
If I list all the things you've done for me, year after year, I'm afraid that this letter would turn out longer than Hogwarts, A History; you've been with me from the very beginning and you never once turned your back on me.
I'm sorry for not seeing that sooner.
I'm sorry for all those times that I had hurt your feelings, for making you worry about me, for arguing with you, for not listening to you, for making you cry and worst of all, for not believing in you when I should have. I know I don't often talk about what happened in our fifth year and I know that you wish that I didn't blame myself for what had happened but Hermione, it is my fault. No matter how hard you try to make me understand I am not to be blamed, I am still responsible for my actions. It was reckless and thoughtless and if there's something that I wish I could take back, I wish I had listened to you. It cost me Sirius and it almost cost me you.
I don't know if I could've survived for this long if I lost you. I don't even want to think about it. I can't even think about it. It paralyzes me, Hermione. And I can't breathe.
I know that I'm sorry isn't enough, but for now, it's all that I have. If you let me, I will do everything that I can to make it up to you.
People think that I'm some sort of a hero, but they're wrong. It was never just me. You and Ron had always been there and you're more of a hero than I am, than I'll ever be.
I hate it when people don't give you the credit you deserve. I wish there's something I can do about it but they never really listen to me. Funny how they all think that I'm the one destined to save them from Voldemort and yet what I have to say doesn't count.
To them I'm still a boy with a dreadful title to live with and a destiny to fulfill.
Hermione, my heart is beating so fast right now…
I don't want to lose you. I can't. You have to understand that you're everything to me and that our friendship is the only thing that I truly have. I value our friendship; I want us to stay friends bu…
He stared at Hermione who was waiting for his answer. He couldn't swallow past the lump in his throat. He couldn't even open his mouth to say something.
"Well? What have you told her on the letter?"
"Um… a lot, but… actually, not so much really. I still don't know what to tell her."
"Well, aren't you supposed to write that you like her and why so."
"I ran out of ink."
Hermione paused for a while, her eyes darting back to the littered table where he had written the letter. "She must be quite a girl then." She said in an odd sounding sort of voice, soft and almost far away… maybe even wistful?
Harry forced himself to look into her eye. "She is." He answered simply.
They were silent for a few minutes as they stared at each other. Hermione sighed and turned her face away to look at the flames, all golden and burning red dancing wildly by in the fireplace.
"Hermione."
"Hmmm?" She asked not looking at him.
"Have you… erm, have you ever received a love letter before, from Vik- from Krum?"
Hermione slowly nodded her head and didn't say anything.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry but… I just, I mean, did you liked them? The letters I mean."
"The letters? Sure I enjoy reading his letters. He would tell me all about Bulgaria and well, sometimes there's Quidditch, but he knows that I'm not really a fan…"
"No, I mean, the love letters."
"Oh."
"So, do you?"
"Well… it was… it was flattering, But oh, Harry, to tell you the truth I really didn't appreciate it that much. I mean, most girls would think it's romantic and maybe in a way it is but… It's always very long winded, too many words… Victor, it may not seem obvious, but he can be such a poet."
Harry's stomach churned. Bloody fantastic then.
"His letters are beautiful, but," she paused as if looking for the right word. When she found it, she said it so softly that Harry was almost sure that she hadn't spoken at all. "…beautiful lines but impersonal. I would have preferred seeing the look on his face when he tells me, see how his eyes would darken with emotion, watch him blush or feel the beating of his heart against my palm… " Hermione sighed. "What I mean is, why hide behind parchment and a dozen or so words? It all seems a bit… cowardly to me."
Harry slowly took out the crumpled paper from out of his pocket and stared at it for a long time.
"You can't give her that you know."
"Wh-why?"
"It's all crumpled up. You know a girl would appreciate it more if you folded it nicely and a little bit erm, neatly. Maybe even a scented envelope would be nice, perhaps she'd like that."
"Not her."
"What do you mean?"
"She doesn't want a love letter."
"How did you know?"
"She just told me." And Harry flung the letter on the fireplace and watched as the fire licked its edges. It resembled a closed flower, about to burst but it just turned to ashes and never bloomed.
It didn't take him so long to realize that he loved Hermione. That he was in love with her. He had always known although he had also always been scared to admit it to himself or to anyone in particular. He felt as though it was the only thing that he truly owned, his feelings for her. It was the only sacred thing that he had kept inside his heart, everything else about him, his past, his destiny, his current status as Quidditch Captain, Seeker, Boy Who Lived, savior of the wizarding world, was open for the public to discuss, dissect and taint. He had thought that by trying to burry his feelings deep down, where no one can see it, it would remain pure and treasured and there was nothing in the world that could ever tarnish it or worse, take it from him.
For a while he was content to love her silently, keep it all inside of him, only now did he realize that he didn't want his love for Hermione to turn into ashes, he wanted it to bloom, to grow…
In the fireplace, even with the flames now engulfing the parchment, he could still see her name and he was sure that she could see it. She hadn't said anything. Hadn't made any sound.
"Hermione, there are a lot of things that I want to tell you right now, but I guess it's only fair that I tell you the truth first. I'm a coward Hermione. I didn't want you to find out because I'm afraid that when you do finally realize that, you'll see all of my other flaws and I... I can't live with that. A lot of times, I've convinced myself that I can be brave and strong and in control. But I'm really not. That letter," he nodded towards the pile of ashes, "just proves it."
"Before, when I hadn't yet realized what I felt for you, I wanted to run away and escape everything. I never wanted to be The Boy Who Lived. I didn't want to be the one destined to fight Voldemort. But you…" he took her hand and gripped it hard, looking intently at her face that was still turned away from him, watching the fire but not really seeing it. He could tell because her eyes were unfocused and slightly glazed over but when she gripped his hands back he continued.
"You make me want to be brave and courageous and strong. And I feel like I can face whatever it is that would happen in the next coming days or weeks or months or maybe even years, as long as I know that you believe in me.
"I'm not yet ready to be the hero that everyone expects me to be, I'm not even sure if I can be that hero, but Hermione, I won't turn my back on my destiny, because if I did, I will be walking away from you and I can't do that. You're my destiny, Hermione."
Hermione was crying now. Silver tears running down her cheeks.
Harry swallowed hard.
Well, Potter, it looks like you should've kept your mouth shut after all and now you'll have to find a way to un-burn that already burnt letter - words turned into ashes; black ink to dust gray, lost already.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry. I wanted to tell you everything not because I want to know what you feel about me, which doesn't mean I don't want to know either, but I want you to know because you deserve the truth. I don't want to lie to you or to anyone anymore. Most especially to myself. I don't want to keep on denying what I truly feel for you, or making up stupid excuses why I can't feel the way I do for you. I want to take the chance Hermione because I might never be able to tell you and then I'll end up regretting it and I just don't think my heart can handle any more regrets. I already have one too many and I…"
Hermione turned to face him and whatever it was that he was about to say was lost as she looked at him with wide brown eyes.
Brown eyes that had always been honest and open and beautiful not because she had the perfect color of irises or the longest eyelashes, but because she saw him, really saw him, not just his scar or his startling green eye or his messy hair but him - just Harry Potter - and not the Boy Wonder Who Lived or whatever it was the people were calling him now.
He loved her more right that minute.
"Tell me Harry."
Harry leaned forward until his eyes were inches away from her and told her without pausing to take a deep breath, without thinking of the right words to use, because there sure aren't any.
"I'm in love with you Hermione."
She smiled at him through her tears.
"I love you Hermione." Harry found out that it wasn't so hard to tell her. That it was the easiest thing he had ever done in his entire life. He wanted to tell her again and again and again and he was about to do it when she silenced him with a hug.
He hadn't expected it. Didn't saw it coming, but he held on to her tightly and realized with a start that they do fit together.
It's the way it should be.
Love inside their hearts, inside their locked arms, just between their beating hearts and not on parchment.
Definitely not on parchment.
END
Author's note:
Well, there you go, second fic. Unbeta-ed. Sorry. I'll probably post an edited version when I'm not too lazy. I know, I know, rotten tomatoes (or pumpkins as the case maybe) for me. Sorry again. I thought maybe it could be some sort of a companion piece for One Moment. Although it could be a separate fic, either way, please let me know what you think. I welcome constructive criticism, would be glad if you could give me really helpful comments. I'm still trying to get some vibe writing HP. I hope that you enjoyed reading this one. Thanks so much for your time and please do leave a review. I appreciate it. Thanks.