Author's Notice: Umm, this fic killed me. Yeah, it did. It's just so bloody long and so yeah, long. The style is also kinda hard at points. I had writer's block at so many points in this fic. But I like the ending lots. Laura Celeste I think it was suggested I do another Harry/Hermione (you guys are so picky.) So yeah, the only way I can do it is in a 'you' style, I don't know why it just is! So to all of my Harry/Hermione fans, enjoy it. Wooo, it's summer :) The tone in the fic is iffy. Forgive all spelling/grammar errors. I'm lazy and tired...
Disclaimer: Not mine.
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Let's say you're eleven. You're probably thinking, oh, I was eleven a very long time ago! To pretend I'm eleven...that was so long ago. Rack through your mind, find your eleven year old self and continue. Let's say you're eleven.
When you're eleven, you're very smart. Very, very smart. Smarter than you are now, probably. You have knotty, curly brown hair and no one loves it. Maybe no one loves you either. But they love your mind, you're so smart, it's hard to comprehend it. When you're eleven, a letter comes in the mail inviting you go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You're confused, and happy. Confused and happy. Happy and confused. You laugh and run to Mummy and Daddy. They're nervous and confused. Nervous and confused. Confused and nervous. "Oh." They say and follow it up with: "Whatever you want, dahling." For every experience can make you smarter, if only you let it.
Sometime in September, maybe you board a train. Platform Nine and...four quarters? No, Platform Nine and three quarters. Such a difference that makes. You bid farewell to your folks. I'll write you, I promise promise promise! You've never promised anyone anything three times in a row. When you're inside the train, you get that feeling. That feeling. That...everyone's looking at me, all the seats are taken feeling. The feeling you got when you were younger and everyone picked on you. Thankfully, it leaves you. Longbottom, what a strange last name, shows you the seat next to him. You're just so thankful. So darn thankful. You sit by him, and he tells you his woes. A lost frog. Oh, God, don't people have lost hearts and lost loves? Don't people have much more important things to think of than a warty old frog? Oh, maybe some people don't. You go up and down the train trying to find it.
You get to the third compartment. There they were eating sweets and chuckling so loudly the whole train could probably hear them. They really should've tried to keep their voices down, honestly. You ask them if they've seen the toad. You're just trying to help Longbottom, even if secretly you think he's slightly more of a dork than you. Which is difficult, but there you have it. They're mean boys. Mean boys! There are far too many of those in this world. Harry and Ron. Ron and Harry. One has a scar and you almost giggle at the sight of him. Harry Potter. Harry Potter is such a strong name. You've read about him, of course. He defeated the Dark Lord when he was one. One! You look him straight in the eyes, and then look away.
Harry will be very popular, you seem to think. He would never hang out with girls like me. Girls like me who aren't beautiful or silly or fun. Girls like me who read and study and love knowledge. Harry will be very popular. He will bring this other boy to the top to, the redhead. Popularity is so fickle. Red hair is not so attractive. It's ugly, and he has freckles. Well, to be fair, he's the type of boy your Mother would think was cute. And you're not one to call people ugly, so you don't. You say, pleased to meet you. Neville's calling your name just as you try to make eyes with Harry once more. Neville ruins everything.
I'm very hard to get to know, you figure. No one gets to know me. No one. I've been hurt a lot, I've never had friends. This is a very sad thing, as most people know. At eleven, you have been bullied and teased. It has taken you a long time to get over this. Forever, eternity. Eternity, forever. And then after class, there are Harry and Ron. Teasing you. Making fun of you. Giving you that eye...that, what a freak look. You run to the lavatory, no one runs to the lavatory anymore. You cry...you always cry too much. Later that day they find you, so does a troll, but the boys find you too. They save you, you don't think anyone's ever saved you before. You're friends now and you aren't sure if you like it, a part of you doesn't. A part of you really doesn't like it.
Sometimes, it really stinks getting to know people. But you do anyway. You find out their favorite colors. Harry's is red and Ron's is orange (for the Chudley Cannons, you know.) You find out about their siblings. Ron has six and Harry has zero, Harry's sad about this, it's so obvious. You ask Ron about his parents, and he laughs and tells you they're crazy. Harry chimes in, "you didn't ask me about mine." Because you already knew of course. "I know what happened, Harry. I'm really sorry." Harry is quiet.
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Being friends with Harry, you figure, is very near having a piece of your heart gone forever. Being friends with Harry is heartbreaking. Not in the loud, glass shattering way. Not in the melodramatic way either. In the quiet way, everything about Harry is quiet. Sometimes you wonder if he sips tea quietly. You would talk to Ron about this, if you could. You would talk about how difficult Harry is, and how sad you are for him, but Ron would think that was ridiculous. You're over-thinking it, Ron would say.
Harry is a hero. Ron would love to be a hero, but he is not. Harry hates it, and there Harry is...a hero. Harry is a hero because he has to be. It's very sad, you think, because no one wants it and no one asks for it. But sure as daylight he is. He is one. And he is your biggest hero, but he is not just a hero. He is a person, and he is heartbreaking.
Explaining this would be difficult. Harry is heartbreaking because he is. Because he's a very tragic character. He plays quidditch and he chuckles like the rest of the boys, he eats sweets and ignores professors during lessons. But Harry is not normal. He is heartbreaking and he is saddening. You always try to talk to him...he needs someone to talk to with. But Harry is quiet. Sometimes, he will say very short things. He's very deep for a boy. Much deeper than Ron and probably deeper than Professor Severus Snape as well. Ron says you like Harry because he's very popular. Only Ron could be so shallow. One does not like Harry Potter because he's very popular, one likes Harry Potter because he is Harry Potter. Because he is heartbreaking.
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When you are twelve, you are Hermione Granger. You have always been Hermione Granger but sometimes you are your best you. You are your best you when you are with the boys. You are silly and childish and you are maternal. You don't know why you're maternal, you just are. You scold them when they stay up too late reading Quidditch Through the Ages, again. You praise them when they do well on quizzes, or excel at quidditch. You teach them how to be good, and you teach them how to be smart. But they are great boys already...they are their own little people and they are perfection. You are so lucky to have such good friends. Hogwarts is a grand place. It's hard to believe one could know Voldemort was alive and well and be happy, but you three were. You three were so happy it was hard to imagine.
They teach you lots of things too of course. How to make snowballs that can actually hurt someone instead of the 'wimpy' ones you throw. How to stand up to Malfoy when he's being a dolt, how to drink all of your pumpkin juice in one sip. They teach you how to be young, how to be twelve. They teach you that it's okay to be Hermione Granger. They make you feel perfect too.
Like every little girl, at twelve you're getting to that age. That age where your idea of romance is overblown and lovely and optimistic. And a Prince, a lovely Prince. Even if you're mature, you're not past childhood wishes. Unlike most little girls though, you know who you want to get married to, and what color silk your dress will be. You know about wedding appetizers, and wedding songs. Like most little girls, you think about kissing. Not kissing kissing, of course. Just little good-bye and hello pecks. You think about long walks all over Hogwarts grounds, and love notes tucked inside large books. You think about sharing tea. But mainly, you think about Harry.
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Third year is hectic. You are taking so many courses. You are growing up. You are becoming addicted to green tea and you are so busy. You study so much. Harry is going to pieces, Ron is insane about Scabbers, and you are still the girl. The girl. The girl who must try to mend the fences, put the pieces back together, and make the people happy.
Sirius Black is after Harry. Harry. Harry. Not Harry, why can't Sirius Black want someone else? Like Ron...well, maybe not Ron. Maybe Malfoy or Goyle. But Sirius Black, as much as anyone else, wants to kill Harry. You're worried, worried you're losing your mind too. A thirteen year old cannot stop a murderer however, a thirteen year old cannot make sure a man is back in Azkaban. Where he belongs.
Harry is more distant. He is excelling at quidditch and you make it to every game. Especially the last one. You are so happy you could die. Harry smiles up at you and you smile. Sometimes, you manage a chat with him on a personal level.
'Are you scared, Harry?' 'I'm cautious.' 'That wasn't the question.' 'I'm cautious.' 'Ron and I are very worried, very, you know, shaken up. You must be as well.' 'Must be? No one 'must be' anything. I don't get involved in it.' 'It's part of your life, you have to get involved.' 'Oh.' 'Yeah, I know, it's bad.' 'It's really bad.'
Really really bad didn't even begin to describe it.
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When you are fourteen you have the sole most important experience of your life. You meet a boy by the name of Viktor Krum from Bulgaria. Viktor Krum from Bulgaria shows interest in you. You don't know how it started, or how you're so darn appealing, of even why someone so old would like you. You met him in the library and he was reading the book the wrong way. 'Hello, I couldn't help but noticing your book is kinda backwards...' He laughed. 'Thank you.'
He asked you to the Yule Ball and you were delighted, well, almost. You were nervous and scared and unsure. Ron hated Viktor, and you didn't know why. Victor was a nice boy. Not the most intelligent, but nice. And he liked your hair. Harry already had a date, so you said yes to Viktor. Waiting two days to make sure Harry really had a date, and then losing hope and agreeing to go with Victor. Victor was so happy. The night was fun, you looked so gorgeous. Blue dress robes, your hair in a fancy knot, your shoes perfect. You were perfect. Viktor never once stepped on your feet, and you never once stepped on his. You drank butterbeer on the arm of someone well-liked from all schools participating in the Triwizard Tournament. Harry looked happy with his date and you smiled at him, "yeah, I'm having a lot of fun too." Going to the Yule Ball with Viktor made you realize how much you missed seeing Harry there and not being on his arm. Not hugging him. Not dancing with him closely. Going with Viktor made you realize how much you loved Harry.
Fourth year you were worried about Harry the most. The tasks were grueling. Under water tasks, dragon tasks, a big maze. It was that year that Cedric Blaine Diggory died. Voldemort. Harry felt so much guilt from that, no one else could possibly understand. Maybe not even you. He didn't talk about it much, and you hated to say that you were just happy he was alive. So you didn't say that at all.
That year, you kissed Harry on the cheek. You knew it'd be horridly, shamefully romantic if you had on pretty dark lipstick...lipstick that was red. You knew that'd make it sexy. But when you're fourteen, you're not sexy. You're little and chapped lips would have to do. You went on your tip toes and kissed him. In a very long time, he smiled. You walked to your parents with a big smile too.
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Fifteen, your mother once commented, is the absolute perfect age. When you are fifteen, you are on top of the world. When you are fifteen, you are so happy you could burst.
But your life never did go in accordance with your Mother's opinions. The summer after fourth year you visited the Black house. Sirius Black, strangely enough, was not a crazy murderer as previously thought. He was a good man and he cared much for Harry. Harry was hard to care for sometimes.
You met the boys at the house and spent a long time cleaning it. It was so dirty. Harry seemed to be having a hard time, you made him lemonade and you pushed the hair out of his eyes. He was a wreck and when someone is a wreck it's so hard to fix him. You tried. Ron tried. Ron was funny...you never were. It's times like these you were just happy. So darn happy you had parents. Everything in Harry's life was sad because he had no parents.
Seeing Harry like this made you love him more. It's such a cliche. But when you see people in a bad light, in an ugly light, you all of a sudden appreciate them much more. Harry was a sad hero, with emerald eyes and a dark scar.
You hated Ron for not noticing anything. For not noticing how hurt Harry was and not noticing that behind Harry's feeble facade was someone who was so sad. Someone who was hurting. You hated Ron for not understanding and not getting it. You could never live with someone like Ron, you always had to clue Ron in. Harry understood things instinctively and deeply. Harry had so much compassion for someone who was brought up by people with none.
You hated Ron for not telling Harry that you loved him. Ron knew some things, he knew things like that. He knew that you loved Harry.
Fifth year was hard, and you saw it coming. Life was darker. Not darker like in movies when you hear the lurking music or see shady characters all around you. Life was quietly breaking your heart, as well as Harry's, as well as beginning to tear Ron's. Life was quietly, without doubt, beginning to catch up with you.
Harry kissed Cho Chang and when he told you you laughed. Well, you tried very hard to laugh. You sort of sputtered and buried your face in your book, looking up only when Harry sternly took the book away. "She's a nice girl," was all you said as feedback. Harry wasn't satisfied with that answer and Ron stifled giggles. You went up to your dormitory and cried for an hour and a half. Straight. You couldn't stop and when you did you were sleeping. Harry was telling his troubles to Cho Chang. Harry was kissing someone that was so much prettier than you. And Harry looked happy. You hated yourself for not taking joy in Harry's happiness...you could be so unsupportive sometimes.
That night, you went into the boys dormitory and quietly found Harry's bed. He was sleeping peacefully in striped pajamas. "Harry..." you said "wake up. Please wake up." You shook him gently and finally he woke up. "What...who--Hermione. What do you need?" He sat up and fetched his glasses from the night stand. You smiled, suddenly aware of your pink nightgown and brown, worn slippers. Aware of your hair in the messy bun and your morning breath. You took a deep breath. "I love you." He smiled. "Hermione--I, love you too. But please go back to bed, it's very early." He massaged his temples and you smiled. "You mean you don't love Cho Chang?" Not quite aware of how young that sounded. He shook his head and grinned at you, "'course not." And Ron, a few beds down smiled to himself.
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After that, you all of a sudden grew up very quickly. You had a boyfriend who loved you, another best friend, Ron Weasley, who adored you and thought you were the smartest person on earth. You had a Mother and Father who embraced the fact that you were a witch, and an incredibly talented one.
After that, Voldemort was defeated at the end of your seventh year. You and Ron were with Harry the whole time, fighting alongside of him. As were many other able bodied people with different magical talents. United, you defeated him. After the final battle you, Ron, and Harry went to The Three Broomsticks and drank the strongest stuff you could find. Staggering back up to the castle, all three arm and arm, laughing and joking.
After Hogwarts, you and Harry married straight away. Harry's best man? Ron, of course. It was a small ceremony and you had the blue silk dress you always wanted. At seventeen, it felt as though you had won the world. It was so hard to believe. Harry and you inhabited a small flat, very close to Ron's. In between muggle London and the wizarding world. Part time you attended University and the rest of your time you worked at the Ministry. Harry, after extensive training, became an auror, and you always worried about his safety.
When you were both twenty-two you had your first child. Amelia Justine Potter. She had her Father's eyes and her Mother's nose. Harry was an amazing Father and you immediately fell into the role of World's Best Mummy, taking a leave from work. Constantly you would snap photographs of her. Amelia and Harry. Amelia in her pram. Amelia eating apple sauce. Amelia crawling towards her teddy bear. Amelia and Mummy. Amelia with her grandparents. Amelia with Godfather, Ron. Amelia at her first quidditch game.
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You have watched Harry grow up. From little boy with tousled black hair and silly big glasses to a handsome young man, an auror. He is not so heartbroken now, he looks truly happy. With Voldemort defeated, his past is gone, revenge has been completed. You have watched him open up his heart so you could crawl right in, which took a very long time. You were the first one he said I love you too.
You have seen yourself grow up too. From the shy little girl with knotted brown hair to a mother, a wife, a graceful woman. The eleven year old girl seems so far away from what you are now. But she's still close to your heart. You wish you could take back time and tell that little girl to slow down, don't try to grow up so quickly, only tell Harry you love him sooner.
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You used to be heartbroken, Harry.
Did I?
Yes.
But we were so young...how could you tell such things?
I just always knew it. I loved you Harry, even then.
I'm not heartbroken anymore, then.
Good. You just needed someone to love you.
Did I?
Yes.
Then I suppose I have it.
Oh, you do. You have me...you've always had me.
He meets her lips with his, and a baby in wrapped in a pink blanket giggles in her Mother's arms. Hermione laughs and passes Amelia to Harry. "Thank you for giving me my happily ever after."
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