# Glimpse of Home

Tic-Tac

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 27/02/2004
Last Updated: 27/02/2004
Status: Completed

He would never know what convinced him to do it, or what reasons he contemplated, but the outcome was strangely simple.

## 1. Glimpse of Home

Disclaimer: fan fiction, everyone! Notice the fan in fiction?

The damn plot bunny wouldn't leave. End of story.

(ROFLOL, Jen, DEVIL RABBIT!! Hee hee!)

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- Glimpse of Home -

The boy in the mirror was not accustomed to his face.

It was a pale, gaunt face, with cheeks that glowed red only while flying, and a nose that looked simply too lengthy to be allowed. His cheekbones were raised slightly, with an almost unhealthy look to them, as if all of the meat had been plucked clear off. His chin was stout and strong, and his mouth, more often than not, was neutral, his lips dry with unsurpassable worry. Hair the color of charred soot and brilliant emerald eyes flickering behind thin-rimmed glasses lightened his rather awkward appearance, and he was well known for those features, along with what had made him the most famous person alive - a slit embroidered across his forehead in the shape of a bolt of lightning.

He avoided looking at himself at all cost. He hardly knew himself anymore; hardly knew the innocent, traumatized boy from Privet Drive. The body had grown and the face had changed, but he had missed it. He had missed everything, from the start of his childhood to his present way of life.

Harry touched his scar and frowned. He saw himself, there, in the mirror, but he was still utterly baffled. Where was he, the boy who had cowered in front Dudley's dim-witted gang, holding broken glasses to the bridge of his nose? Where was he, the boy sitting huddled in his bed under the staircase, trying desperately to recall memories of his parents? He looked at himself and saw what he had always feared - the savior of the Wizarding World, and essentially, the human race. But he did not feel brave or heroic or confident. He felt like a lost boy, stumbling through life blindfolded.

Harry turned away from his reflection, an unwonted pressure building rapidly in his chest.

Using a free hand, he pulled on his black robes and straightened his lopsided glasses. He attempted flattening his hair, to no avail, and scowled darkly.

He was not supposed to feel like this. He was not supposed to feel like a teenage boy, miserable and brooding because of his lack of appealing attributes, or simply because he was misunderstood and different. The world had taught him that.

“Harry! Harry, it's absolutely wonderful, I had to tell you first -,” An excited voice broke through the din of his thoughts, scurrying frantically into the room and coming to a quivering standstill beside him. Harry turned his head and smiled weakly. Hermione's breathlessly glowing face beamed back at him, and for a moment, the whole of his own problems seemed considerably trifling.

“Oh Harry … I'm so thrilled … Luna's response came! She says that her dad's letting me place my article about S.P.E.W in the Quibbler!” Her excitement was a contagion. Harry couldn't help but smile, half in amusement, half in swelling pride. Hermione suddenly clapped a hand to her head, walked back, and plopped onto Harry's temporary bed. “I can't believe it. I can't believe it. Finally S.P.E.W will be getting the recognition it deserves.”

“Yeah.” Now that Hermione had spilled her news, Harry's barricade of indifference ebbed away, and he was left raw and empty. “Yeah.”

He felt her staring at him. He turned his head.

“What's wrong, Harry?”

Those damn dreaded words.

If only she were less intelligent, he could wilt away in peace.

Harry tried to control his shaking hands. Hermione's eyes were on him again. She did not utter a word. She had the decency to wait, constricting herself from digging into the grooves and ruts of his mind, pulling out her desired information piece by piece. It was because he knew she could that he was afraid.

Afraid of rejection. Afraid of change. Afraid of losing the closest person to family he had ever known.

His voice trembled when he spoke, as he knew it would.

“My life.”

There was a brief, troubled silence.

Hermione's voice said softly, “I'm sorry, Harry … I know it must be hard, with your parents…” Her breath caught in her throat, and Harry, even in all of his misery, found her will to comfort superfluously brave. “ … And I know Sirius was as important a figure in your life as they were -,”

“It's not that,” Harry interrupted rather snappishly, then felt ashamed, “It's stupid, really … nothing to do with anything at all…” He sat down beside her, but did not subject to turning his head.

“It can't be stupid,” responded Hermione, “if it's bothering you.”

Ambivalence like no other bubbled up inside him. And suddenly, to his horror, he found himself saying, “I'm not sure who I am anymore.”

“You're Harry,” said Hermione quickly, unthinkingly.

“No,” Harry said, turning his darkened face so that his eyes met hers, “I'm Harry Potter.”

There was a moment where Hermione looked like she was about to cry, then she regained herself and said firmly, “It doesn't matter who they think you are, it matters who you see yourself as.”

Fury at her lack of response erupted in his heart. “Don't you think I try, Hermione? I'm just a freak to them! I'm just a poor, attention-deprived little boy who wants fame and money!”

“They don't think that, Harry.”

“They don't now, do they? I just want a normal life. I just want a bloody normal life…”

Harry buried his head into his hands, massaging his throbbing forehead. He could feel Hermione's presence beside him, her pondering brown eyes on his back; she didn't seem to have anything to say to such a statement.

Harry continued heavily, “I just want … you know … to be able to worry about stupid things - the things that people seem to take for granted …”

Hermione's face was turned away, so Harry could not read her expression. He continued despite. “I don't feel like anyone special, Hermione. I just don't. I don't feel like some wonderful hero. I feel like an insecure person with insecure problems.”

He sighed. “I want to worry about girls and about my looks, and -,” He choked, “I want to be able to see my parents and criticize them, and hate them for worrying about me … and deep down, knowing they love me anyway, despite what I do …”

Harry had no recollection of speaking anymore. His thoughts merely translated into words, and they rolled easily off his tongue. He was not fully aware until Hermione rested her hand lightly over his and looked beseechingly into his eyes, her own shimmering with tears.

“Harry, I love you,” she said gently, truthfully, without flinching or looking away. “I want you to know that.”

Perhaps it was because she said it, or perhaps because no one had ever told him such a powerful phrase before; but Harry felt completed overwhelmed, a turmoil of conflicting emotions raging throughout him. It was then that he knew how secluded he was from reality. In all of his sixteen years, he had never been told he was loved by anyone. To have that feeling of euphoria envelope him so suddenly was like a sledgehammer to the head, a sudden jerk into something completely new and unfamiliar.

But as he sat and pondered this blissful feeling of utter serenity he realized that it had been there all along; a push, a call, an instinct, a longing to protect and defend.

Harry looked into her face, her eyes aglow, her cheeks flushed delicately pink, and saw the same feeling of serenity creased into every groove and dimple.

He would never know what convinced him to do it, or what reasons he contemplated, but the outcome was strangely simple. Without so much as a second thought, Harry brought his hand to her radiant cheek and kissed her.

It was chaste and awkward, unblemished in its own right - a tangible expression of his undying loyalty and devotion. It was purely innocent, rounded to perfection by their unwavering adoration and fidelity, and they both knew it was so the instant their lips brushed. It was not so much a revelation, per se, but an announcement, a proclamation. It was because they had known all along in the depths of their inner beings, blockaded by the doubts and worries that come from being human; it was why they had never acted upon their own subconscious understanding. They were afraid.

But they had no longer reason to be afraid.

They had found home.

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A/N: Thanks for reading. This is just a short little piece I wrote during homeroom … Hope you like! ^.^

*giggle* I'm tired and hyper at the same time. Is that weird? *yawn*

-Lauren, who is up way past her bedtime …