Name: Courtney Kathrys
Title: Anything You Need
E-mail: Faeriedeath@hotmail.com
Summery: After ten years of hiding from her, Harry returns to the only Mother he's ever known, and with her comes all the memories of why he fled. And the most important question: Whatever happened to Hermione?
Notes: Written in a completely different style than the rest of the "You Got It" trilogy. I do hope to write a sequel series, I have so many thoughts on this. The name Trista is Latin for "sorrowful" which I think fits perfectly for her nature in Hermione's life.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are by JK Rowling. I only own the plot. And Trista, technically.
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The aging, and increasingly calmer, Pigwidgeon was waiting on Harry's kitchen table when he awoke in the morning. At first, he kind of stared at the bird, wondering what was written on the small parchment tied to his leg.
After a few moments of staring, Harry finally untied the letter, and unrolled it tentatively. Though only two words were written, he knew immediately what it was pertaining to. Your turn. He needed no other indication of what his morning would consist of. Ginny had done her part, now it was time for him to do his.
He opted to fly to the Burrow, rather than apparate. He needed to gather his thoughts, place everything together. He knew better than to plan a script, because every word would leave him as soon as she opened the door.
He arrived at the house far too soon for his liking. He surveyed the once teat and tidy yard, now overrun with gnomes and weeds. The paint was chipping, and the once cheerful exterior seemed morbid, and almost gloomy. It was to be suspected, he supposed. He could hardly expect the aging Molly Weasley to keep the house perfect all by herself. The Burrow had been created to be filled; it was formed around the people. Now only the matriarch remained in its embrace. The house was forlorn.
With trepidation, Harry approached the house, and knocked lightly. For a moment no one answered, and he felt a mixture of relief and fear. Then slowly, almost hesitantly, an old woman peered around the door before throwing it wide open and embracing him in a warm hug. Harry could hardly believe it was the same Mrs. Weasley. The woman who held him was thin and frail, and all bones and wrinkles and snow white hair. Her eyes were tired and old, the once bright blue faded to a dull steel. Her imposing presence had fled her entirely, and she appeared almost broken. But her smile was still as gentle, and her warmness still Weasley.
"Harry, dear, how lovely for you to visit me. If I had known I would have made something special! Come in, please, I'll see what I can whip up to put some meat on that skeleton you're walking around with."
Harry smiled, not daring to deprive her of this rare chance to mother. She had been missing it for far to long. So he sat demurely at the ancient table as she puttered around the kitchen, conjuring and charming and cooking. She was in her element and Harry was drowning in his regret. He ate her crumpets dutifully, and sipped his tea. She smiled, excited that he would eat whatever she made.
"Hermione comes once a week, to see me and help me keep up on the chores. Mostly she's preoccupied with Trista."
Harry's breath caught at the mention of Hermione. He knew she blamed him for not protecting Ron and her, for leaving her all but widowed, and for the damage done to her daughter while still in the womb. He blamed himself. He remembered the conversation vividly. The images, the colors, the movements were gone, but the words still scarred his dreams.
~*~
"How's Ron Hermione?"
"So now you care?"
"Don't say that."
"Don't say what, Harry? That you could have killed those bloody Death Eaters right there; that you could have given up your reckless pursuit of Bellatrix to go after Ron and I? Because of some bloody vendetta that you've harbored Ron is lying in St. Mungo's all but dead, Harry, and he's never coming out of there. Because of some bloody warped revenge you had to see through, my child was born four months too early and she'll be lucky if she ever learns to walk or talk. Ron and I told you for years Harry that she would get what was coming to her, but you didn't listen! You and your fucking hero complex weren't satisfied with just Voldemort, you wanted Sirius' murderer's head on a silver platter as well. That wasn't your fight Harry! Lucius gave you a choice. 'Revenge your Godfather, or save your friends...which is it?' Well I'm so honored to be so fucking high on your priority list Harry, so fucking honored!"
"I thought I could do it all Hermione, I was wrong and I will live with that knowledge for the rest of my life!"
"No you won't Harry because you will stay as far away from me as humanly possible. You will not harm Trista more than you already have. Because of you she has no father, no uncles, one grandparent, an estranged aunt, and nearly none of her brain working. I won't have you hurt her further. You will get as far away as you can, and you will stay there, and you will leave Molly alone, and me alone, and Trista alone. You have no place in our life anymore, Harry Potter."
~*~
That conversation took place the day after his final visit to Mrs. Weasley. He had listened to Hermione; listened to her for five years before returning no further than Wales. He listened to her for three more years before retreating to France, to Ginny. And he had listened to her for another two years in Wales again before receiving Ginny's owl. Ten years was too long in his opinion, and not long enough at all. Hermione would murder him if she saw him here. But she wasn't here now, and he would cross her rickety bridge when it came time.
For now Mrs. Weasley smiled at him and patted his hand. "I have to thank you Harry." He was stunned. Thank him for what? What had he done for her? "Thank me?"
"For Ginny, dear. She told me that you came to visit her, and that you convinced her to come home. She's staying at home until she finds a flat close by. She went to Hermione's for the day. I think they're going to visit Ron and Arthur."
Harry's breath caught in his throat, and he knew that Mrs. Weasley could see his fear and dread and horror, because she smiled once again and enveloped him in her frail arms.
"Oh Harry, don't blame yourself. I know you had to leave, if not for yourself, but for Hermione as well. For Ron, and Arthur, and Bill, and Charlie, and Fred and George, and Percy, and Ginny, and Trista, and the elder Grangers. For Dumbledore, and the Order. For Lord Voldemort. Oh yes, dear, I can say his name now. There is only so much someone can take from you before you begin to know them on a personnel level. Tom and I are much acquainted now."
This made sense, and he nodded. Maybe that is why he had always been so flippant to say Voldemort's name. You could not become more intimately related to someone unless they had stripped you down to your most primal needs. Survival, being one of them.
Mrs. Weasley smiled, glad that she was understood. "Ginny doesn't get that yet. She still sees him as Tom, that seventeen year old boy trapped in her diary. She's never called him Voldemort, you know. Always You-Know-Who when she felt she was being judged, and Tom when she was so wrapped up in her memories that she wasn't thinking of hiding her words. I never flinched when she slipped, I doubt most times she even realized it. He was never Voldemort to her after her first year."
Harry managed a weak smile, and earned a warm squeeze of his hand by Mrs. Weasley. Awkwardly he cleared his throat. "I can take care of the yard for you, Mrs. Weasley. The gnomes, and weeds, and handy work. I want to."
She simply nodded at him, not refusing the request. Both because she knew he needed this, to feel as if he had completed a debt he owed, and because he needed to fill his time with something worthwhile. He had always felt guilty killing time. And he had murdered so much of it over the past decade. He smiled fully, and she was relieved to see he still knew how.
She watched him, with the motherly concern that still hadn't left her after years of mothering no one except Hermione rarely, and her only granddaughter even less. She knew that Hermione still harbored a hatred for Harry, but because her love for Molly was greater she refrained from voicing these opinions. However, she doubted the young woman would be so tactfully British if she were to floo over and see him here. She was glad Ginny was there to keep her occupied. She would break the news gently.
No sooner had she thought this then her fire blazed green and out walked Hermione Weasley in all her terrible wrath. "Molly Weasley how could you?!" For a moment Molly said nothing, just watched her daughter-in- law tremble in fury, and her eyes snap in hot anger. Her signature bushy brown hair was thrown up into a loose knot, tendrils flying out frame her head in a frizzy halo. Molly smiled at her patiently.
"Hermione dear, do you wish to deprive me of all my small joys?"
"How can he be a joy? He has caused you nothing but pain?"
Molly patted the seat beside her. Hermione ignored her and remained standing until the force of Molly's glare was enough to pacify her grudgingly off of her feet. "Now you listen to me Hermione Weasley. I have considered Harry one of my own since the moment he first set foot into the Burrow. I may not have been the woman to bring him into the world, but that doesn't mean he was any less my child. He broke my heart when he left as much as my Ginny did, but I understood. Harry has always been one to take the easiest road with the most suffering. I knew he would come back to me. It was he brought my Ginny back, and I knew when she walked through my door yesterday that he would today.
"Now I consider you just as much my child as well. You have been a strength to me, and I doubt I would even still be here if it weren't for you and Trista. But I want to be a mother again, Hermione dear. Harry and Ginny are still very much children, still hiding from the world. I want my house to have voices in the morning, a reason to wake up and cook. I want Harry doing yard work, and Ginny cleaning the house and singing. I want to see them smile again. I want to see you smile again. You have paid dearly in the war Hermione, but so have I. And so has Ginny. And so has Harry. No, Hermione, don't interrupt me yet. Yes, Harry has paid extraordinarily. I was left with you and Trista. You were left with Trista and I. Ginny was left with a husband. Harry... he had no one. He has spent the last ten years in an isolated shell.
"Forgiveness is a rocky path, Hermione. I don't ask you to forgive him just yet. But tolerate him, for my sake, and for Ginny's. Tolerate him."
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, then quickly closed it and stared at her hands. Molly was impossible to refuse. And despite how righteous her anger was, she could deny her nothing if it was in her power. Hermione could only nod. "I will tolerate."
Molly hugged her soundly, and Hermione even managed a small grin. "I must go home. Ginny's playing with Trista, but she gets a little frightened if she goes too long without seeing me. I'm lucky Hogwarts is so tolerant, letting her stay with me during the year, and pop in to see her every so often during classes."
"Well, I would love to see her, it's been ages. Bring her for dinner one night?"
Hermione's face hardened for a moment and she glanced over Molly's shoulder to the yard. "Molly, I will tolerate Potter for your sake, and your sake alone. But I meant what I said about him going nowhere near Trista."
Molly nodded, sadly, but in understanding. "Alright dear, I can accept that. She is your daughter. But if the opportunity arises, and he leaves for dinner and promises to stay gone, will you bring her?"
Hermione paused at the tone in Molly's voice. She couldn't very well deprive her of her only grandchild. She smiled gently. "Of course Molly. As long as he promises to be away from the house, I will bring her. But now I must go."
The two women kissed cheeks quickly as Hermione brought out her wand to apparate, her rage having subsided enough to give her mind focus to apparate. Molly called out to give her love to Trista, and remind Ginny that dinner was at six before Hermione disappeared with a pop. As soon as she was gone, Harry peeked his head around the corner, not bothering to hide his eavesdropping. Neither cared much either way. Molly place a hand on his cheek and smiled at him. He managed a weak grin back before staring at the spot Hermione had just left. "It's more than I had hoped for."
That evening dinner with Ginny was surprisingly easy, and the three managed to talk and laugh. He spent the night in Ginny's bed, tangled naked between her sheets and legs. Hermione, Ron, and Trista placed far from his mind for the time being.
And in that moment, he finally felt content.
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Title: Anything You Need
E-mail: Faeriedeath@hotmail.com
Summery: After ten years of hiding from her, Harry returns to the only Mother he's ever known, and with her comes all the memories of why he fled. And the most important question: Whatever happened to Hermione?
Notes: Written in a completely different style than the rest of the "You Got It" trilogy. I do hope to write a sequel series, I have so many thoughts on this. The name Trista is Latin for "sorrowful" which I think fits perfectly for her nature in Hermione's life.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are by JK Rowling. I only own the plot. And Trista, technically.
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The aging, and increasingly calmer, Pigwidgeon was waiting on Harry's kitchen table when he awoke in the morning. At first, he kind of stared at the bird, wondering what was written on the small parchment tied to his leg.
After a few moments of staring, Harry finally untied the letter, and unrolled it tentatively. Though only two words were written, he knew immediately what it was pertaining to. Your turn. He needed no other indication of what his morning would consist of. Ginny had done her part, now it was time for him to do his.
He opted to fly to the Burrow, rather than apparate. He needed to gather his thoughts, place everything together. He knew better than to plan a script, because every word would leave him as soon as she opened the door.
He arrived at the house far too soon for his liking. He surveyed the once teat and tidy yard, now overrun with gnomes and weeds. The paint was chipping, and the once cheerful exterior seemed morbid, and almost gloomy. It was to be suspected, he supposed. He could hardly expect the aging Molly Weasley to keep the house perfect all by herself. The Burrow had been created to be filled; it was formed around the people. Now only the matriarch remained in its embrace. The house was forlorn.
With trepidation, Harry approached the house, and knocked lightly. For a moment no one answered, and he felt a mixture of relief and fear. Then slowly, almost hesitantly, an old woman peered around the door before throwing it wide open and embracing him in a warm hug. Harry could hardly believe it was the same Mrs. Weasley. The woman who held him was thin and frail, and all bones and wrinkles and snow white hair. Her eyes were tired and old, the once bright blue faded to a dull steel. Her imposing presence had fled her entirely, and she appeared almost broken. But her smile was still as gentle, and her warmness still Weasley.
"Harry, dear, how lovely for you to visit me. If I had known I would have made something special! Come in, please, I'll see what I can whip up to put some meat on that skeleton you're walking around with."
Harry smiled, not daring to deprive her of this rare chance to mother. She had been missing it for far to long. So he sat demurely at the ancient table as she puttered around the kitchen, conjuring and charming and cooking. She was in her element and Harry was drowning in his regret. He ate her crumpets dutifully, and sipped his tea. She smiled, excited that he would eat whatever she made.
"Hermione comes once a week, to see me and help me keep up on the chores. Mostly she's preoccupied with Trista."
Harry's breath caught at the mention of Hermione. He knew she blamed him for not protecting Ron and her, for leaving her all but widowed, and for the damage done to her daughter while still in the womb. He blamed himself. He remembered the conversation vividly. The images, the colors, the movements were gone, but the words still scarred his dreams.
~*~
"How's Ron Hermione?"
"So now you care?"
"Don't say that."
"Don't say what, Harry? That you could have killed those bloody Death Eaters right there; that you could have given up your reckless pursuit of Bellatrix to go after Ron and I? Because of some bloody vendetta that you've harbored Ron is lying in St. Mungo's all but dead, Harry, and he's never coming out of there. Because of some bloody warped revenge you had to see through, my child was born four months too early and she'll be lucky if she ever learns to walk or talk. Ron and I told you for years Harry that she would get what was coming to her, but you didn't listen! You and your fucking hero complex weren't satisfied with just Voldemort, you wanted Sirius' murderer's head on a silver platter as well. That wasn't your fight Harry! Lucius gave you a choice. 'Revenge your Godfather, or save your friends...which is it?' Well I'm so honored to be so fucking high on your priority list Harry, so fucking honored!"
"I thought I could do it all Hermione, I was wrong and I will live with that knowledge for the rest of my life!"
"No you won't Harry because you will stay as far away from me as humanly possible. You will not harm Trista more than you already have. Because of you she has no father, no uncles, one grandparent, an estranged aunt, and nearly none of her brain working. I won't have you hurt her further. You will get as far away as you can, and you will stay there, and you will leave Molly alone, and me alone, and Trista alone. You have no place in our life anymore, Harry Potter."
~*~
That conversation took place the day after his final visit to Mrs. Weasley. He had listened to Hermione; listened to her for five years before returning no further than Wales. He listened to her for three more years before retreating to France, to Ginny. And he had listened to her for another two years in Wales again before receiving Ginny's owl. Ten years was too long in his opinion, and not long enough at all. Hermione would murder him if she saw him here. But she wasn't here now, and he would cross her rickety bridge when it came time.
For now Mrs. Weasley smiled at him and patted his hand. "I have to thank you Harry." He was stunned. Thank him for what? What had he done for her? "Thank me?"
"For Ginny, dear. She told me that you came to visit her, and that you convinced her to come home. She's staying at home until she finds a flat close by. She went to Hermione's for the day. I think they're going to visit Ron and Arthur."
Harry's breath caught in his throat, and he knew that Mrs. Weasley could see his fear and dread and horror, because she smiled once again and enveloped him in her frail arms.
"Oh Harry, don't blame yourself. I know you had to leave, if not for yourself, but for Hermione as well. For Ron, and Arthur, and Bill, and Charlie, and Fred and George, and Percy, and Ginny, and Trista, and the elder Grangers. For Dumbledore, and the Order. For Lord Voldemort. Oh yes, dear, I can say his name now. There is only so much someone can take from you before you begin to know them on a personnel level. Tom and I are much acquainted now."
This made sense, and he nodded. Maybe that is why he had always been so flippant to say Voldemort's name. You could not become more intimately related to someone unless they had stripped you down to your most primal needs. Survival, being one of them.
Mrs. Weasley smiled, glad that she was understood. "Ginny doesn't get that yet. She still sees him as Tom, that seventeen year old boy trapped in her diary. She's never called him Voldemort, you know. Always You-Know-Who when she felt she was being judged, and Tom when she was so wrapped up in her memories that she wasn't thinking of hiding her words. I never flinched when she slipped, I doubt most times she even realized it. He was never Voldemort to her after her first year."
Harry managed a weak smile, and earned a warm squeeze of his hand by Mrs. Weasley. Awkwardly he cleared his throat. "I can take care of the yard for you, Mrs. Weasley. The gnomes, and weeds, and handy work. I want to."
She simply nodded at him, not refusing the request. Both because she knew he needed this, to feel as if he had completed a debt he owed, and because he needed to fill his time with something worthwhile. He had always felt guilty killing time. And he had murdered so much of it over the past decade. He smiled fully, and she was relieved to see he still knew how.
She watched him, with the motherly concern that still hadn't left her after years of mothering no one except Hermione rarely, and her only granddaughter even less. She knew that Hermione still harbored a hatred for Harry, but because her love for Molly was greater she refrained from voicing these opinions. However, she doubted the young woman would be so tactfully British if she were to floo over and see him here. She was glad Ginny was there to keep her occupied. She would break the news gently.
No sooner had she thought this then her fire blazed green and out walked Hermione Weasley in all her terrible wrath. "Molly Weasley how could you?!" For a moment Molly said nothing, just watched her daughter-in- law tremble in fury, and her eyes snap in hot anger. Her signature bushy brown hair was thrown up into a loose knot, tendrils flying out frame her head in a frizzy halo. Molly smiled at her patiently.
"Hermione dear, do you wish to deprive me of all my small joys?"
"How can he be a joy? He has caused you nothing but pain?"
Molly patted the seat beside her. Hermione ignored her and remained standing until the force of Molly's glare was enough to pacify her grudgingly off of her feet. "Now you listen to me Hermione Weasley. I have considered Harry one of my own since the moment he first set foot into the Burrow. I may not have been the woman to bring him into the world, but that doesn't mean he was any less my child. He broke my heart when he left as much as my Ginny did, but I understood. Harry has always been one to take the easiest road with the most suffering. I knew he would come back to me. It was he brought my Ginny back, and I knew when she walked through my door yesterday that he would today.
"Now I consider you just as much my child as well. You have been a strength to me, and I doubt I would even still be here if it weren't for you and Trista. But I want to be a mother again, Hermione dear. Harry and Ginny are still very much children, still hiding from the world. I want my house to have voices in the morning, a reason to wake up and cook. I want Harry doing yard work, and Ginny cleaning the house and singing. I want to see them smile again. I want to see you smile again. You have paid dearly in the war Hermione, but so have I. And so has Ginny. And so has Harry. No, Hermione, don't interrupt me yet. Yes, Harry has paid extraordinarily. I was left with you and Trista. You were left with Trista and I. Ginny was left with a husband. Harry... he had no one. He has spent the last ten years in an isolated shell.
"Forgiveness is a rocky path, Hermione. I don't ask you to forgive him just yet. But tolerate him, for my sake, and for Ginny's. Tolerate him."
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, then quickly closed it and stared at her hands. Molly was impossible to refuse. And despite how righteous her anger was, she could deny her nothing if it was in her power. Hermione could only nod. "I will tolerate."
Molly hugged her soundly, and Hermione even managed a small grin. "I must go home. Ginny's playing with Trista, but she gets a little frightened if she goes too long without seeing me. I'm lucky Hogwarts is so tolerant, letting her stay with me during the year, and pop in to see her every so often during classes."
"Well, I would love to see her, it's been ages. Bring her for dinner one night?"
Hermione's face hardened for a moment and she glanced over Molly's shoulder to the yard. "Molly, I will tolerate Potter for your sake, and your sake alone. But I meant what I said about him going nowhere near Trista."
Molly nodded, sadly, but in understanding. "Alright dear, I can accept that. She is your daughter. But if the opportunity arises, and he leaves for dinner and promises to stay gone, will you bring her?"
Hermione paused at the tone in Molly's voice. She couldn't very well deprive her of her only grandchild. She smiled gently. "Of course Molly. As long as he promises to be away from the house, I will bring her. But now I must go."
The two women kissed cheeks quickly as Hermione brought out her wand to apparate, her rage having subsided enough to give her mind focus to apparate. Molly called out to give her love to Trista, and remind Ginny that dinner was at six before Hermione disappeared with a pop. As soon as she was gone, Harry peeked his head around the corner, not bothering to hide his eavesdropping. Neither cared much either way. Molly place a hand on his cheek and smiled at him. He managed a weak grin back before staring at the spot Hermione had just left. "It's more than I had hoped for."
That evening dinner with Ginny was surprisingly easy, and the three managed to talk and laugh. He spent the night in Ginny's bed, tangled naked between her sheets and legs. Hermione, Ron, and Trista placed far from his mind for the time being.
And in that moment, he finally felt content.
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