A Story of No Consequence
Waiting Just a Beat
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See, the thing is, Harry's space is filled with books. I don't mean space as in his room, like his bedroom, or, his room, like his living room. Dining room. Laundry room. Wash room. No, I mean his space. His living space. If you walked into Harry Potter's flat today, you would swear that every square inch was covered in books.
If he were to sleep in his flat, which he doesn't, he'd find it very hard to breath surrounded by all those books.
Hermione would probably orgasm. Okay, no probably, because it's obvious she would.
Orgasm, that is.
Anyway, Harry is too stubborn to rent a storage space and he needs a flat. Not in the sense that he wants one or feels he has to have one. But, Tonks thinks he does. And so does Remus, who agrees with almost everything Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin says because she's his wife and she's pregnant. Tonks, her hair is teal curls today, thinks he should have a flat because it looks good.
Because living in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place doesn't look too good to the authorities. Even when the authorities are licking your boots for being the savior of the entire fucking world.
At the time Tonks had straight red hair and a rather dour expression; she reminds Harry of his mother and so he agrees. Remus managed to pat him on the back and gave him a cigar. Not because Harry was getting a flat, but, because Remus was getting a puppy.
Puppies.
Fine, damn it, his wife was pregnant. Draco still swears the little devil spawn, his second cousins, have tails and howl at the moon. No one is sure, but, it could possibly be a possibility. Oh! Back to the books.
His space is covered in books. Not just any books, either, but books on World War II. Hitler, Churchill, Roosevelt the second one, and Stalin. Books about the death, death, death, and more death. Nazis, Fascists, Jews, Allies, Axis Powers…all the little words that have become silly little catch phrases now. Maybe if they would have caught Tom Riddle before Dumbledore found him, before he started stealing toys and killing little Muggle children, then maybe we would have been able to stop this.
This most horrible, awful thing that happened. Maybe if we had a Time Turner click click click, it could have all been averted. Maybe, just maybe, if you stupid lazy assholes would learn how to read between the fucking lines Harry James Potter wouldn't have had to play savior and his parents would still be alive.
Harry tells Pansy all of this on their first date, amid his flat full of books, and she fucks him on top of Churchill and the Atomic Bomb. It is the best orgasm of her life, period, at least at that particular moment anyway.
See, there really wasn't much to do in the war, so Harry read all the books Hermione gave him. Even though Ron groaned and complain and said she was being batty because It's bullocks Hermione, no one reads during a bloody war, Harry read them anyway. If someone had had the sense to pick up Mein Kampf, the soon to be savior thinks, then maybe six million people wouldn't have had to die for their dirty dirty blood and another six million people wouldn't have had to die for ethnicity, religion, and sexual preference.
History repeats itself. Muggle, Wizard, it really doesn't matter. It's all an endless cycle. It's no surprise then that Voldemort was a half blood, sort of like Hitler, and that he decided that Muggle born witches and wizards were the reason why everything was messed up in the world.
Scapegoats. This all has an application beyond passing high school History people. Listen. Listen and maybe there won't be a need for saviors anymore.
You're not really listening, but, no matter anyway.
Hermione did all of this because she wanted Harry to understand and she wanted Harry to be prepared. While Ron helped him drill, practiced digging foxholes and hiding in the underbrush, preparing him for the present, Hermione prepared him for the future. A future where Harry would be petted and admired and put on a pedestal and used as a mouthpiece.
And while Harry James Potter didn't have a head for politics, Hermione Jane Granger surely did.
Now days, Harry kisses babies and shakes hands and talks about the new Ministry policies to Ms Rita Supreme Bitch of the World Skeeter and Hermione makes sure the Minister doesn't over step his bounds and nothing like Voldemort happens again. No ghettos, no scapegoats, no special marriage laws…nothing stupid and no taunting God into punishing us with another another war. The Old Testament God, of course.
Where Ron is running off and playing with Cannons' action figures, or something, the other two thirds of the Golden Trio are getting something done. Because no one wants to listen to Hermione spread the gospel joy across the rebuilt lands and no one wants to let Harry tell them how everything needs to be done.
But don't think that Ron's not important, because he is. Without Ron, Hermione would work herself into a catatonic state and Harry would have become a meat sack of gloom. It's a proven fact; ask the fates, they'll tell you the truth.
Maybe.
I know you want a love story. A love story so full of love that there are flashy lights and fireworks going off every single time the destined couple kisses. You want that because, after a war, everyone's ready for procreation and good dreams. And I want to give it to you.
You're just going to have to wait a beat. Or two. Or three. You've got to understand something, because, if you don't, you'll be just like Pansy who got drunk the first time she saw Harry and Hermione bent over a pile of books. Fingers and lips and faces ink stained. See, you'll jump to the wrong conclusions and end up puking up your dinner and your lunch and your double peanut butter mocha chip latte into the toilet.
She was so relieved when his body weight ground her spine into J. Robert Oppenheimer that she cried, cried, cried.
In this game, we can't risk jumping to the wrong conclusions. I can't let you have your fairy tale just yet.
Harry's on his way to interview with Skeeter, who apparently needs his words to pen to parchment some inane piece about the general election. Oh, oh, oh and St. Mungo's. He's just a little disillusioned because Hermione took up with King Ferret Face, in the flesh, Draco Malfoy six months before and it might just be getting serious. Like fucking in an actual bed serious. Somehow, St. Potter doesn't think this will end out all right.
This is when he decides to splatter his brains all over the front of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. He likes the twins, they're good blokes, and this little incident should help with publicity. Not like they don't get enough traffic as it is. But just as Harry is about to raise his wand, this moose comes barreling at him.
Only the moose is wearing nude tights with a run in them and black fuck you heels. Fuck you and get out of the fucking way, before I run you the fuck over Potter. Okay, so it's not a moose, it's Pansy Parkinson. Who, if she'd done her civic duty and just married the stupid Malfoy git already, wouldn't have allowed him to be fucking in an actual bed serious with Hermione Granger.
He tells her this and she laughs, actually has the gall to laugh, and says she'll walk him to the Prophet's building, because she's passing by, and she needs someone to take her elbow while she limps down the street.
Because, apparently, nude tights cause your feet to slip in black heels and cause you to sprain your ankle. And because Pansy very well can't take out her wand, because it's in her apartment, and she's too plastered to apparate, she needs a little help getting steady.
Always an angel, Harry James Potter agrees and takes her elbow and starts back down the street.
Here's a secret, something no one should ever ever know. See, the thing his, he sort of, kind of, takes Pansy's elbow, because, at his height and with her blouse, he could see down her shirt and look upon the tops of her breasts. And just once he thinks, because he fucking saved the universe, he should get a little something for helping walk the former Slytherin Ice Princess, not so former, down the street.
Another secret? He gets a little something and then a lot more than he bargained for.