Glimpse of Home by 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 …



