Her Boys by Tic-Tac

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 20/11/2004
Last Updated: 20/11/2004
Status: Completed

[one-shot] Hermione laments the outcome of the war and the fate of her boys. Pure angst.




1. untitled
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**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything; it all belongs to the masterful JK Rowling.
Besides, if I was, I'd never let this happen. Harry and Hermione would be snogging in a broom
closet till Christmas.

This is the saddest thing I have ever written, I think. But I like to think that there's a
bit of hope in it. I was feeling in the mood, and this came to mind, and I couldn't help
myself. All reviews are welcome! Thanks.

* * *

I used to believe that everything happens for a reason; that in this great, vast world there is
a supreme catalyst who assigns fate and destiny, always distributing each equally - in other words,
the bad to the bad, the good to the good, and those who sinned were forgiven. It was never a
religious feeling, just an inkling of something bigger than me, whom I couldn't touch in
goodness and wit and respect. It was like a supreme being who was a mentor, setting examples, using
philanthropy … being fair. I could never live up to something like that, but my goodness, how I
tried.

The idea that life was fair was completely ludicrous, of course, and I knew that too well. But I
thought that I had some power over the dice in that respect - for I had been as good a person as I
knew how, and I believed if I was selfless, wishing only for the safety of others, that fate would
land softly, kiss our cheeks, and let us move onward.

I'm crying. I don't even know how it started, but I am. How can I possibly explain to
anyone the wretched pain that is twisting itself in my stomach, the kind of self-abusing thoughts
that repeat inside my head like a scratchy old record? I'm feeling the troubles of the insane,
I know; the kind of biting loneliness that establishes itself in my heart, and I have no one to go
to.

Had I been forgiven for all of my sins? I found myself asking myself this, and oh, I was
horrified to find myself not knowing the answer. I asked forgiveness for everything - stealing
cookies from my mum's sweets jar, acting harsh with my grade school friends, being an
insufferable know-it-all, badgering poor Ron about schoolwork, being short and temperamental with
Parvati and Lavender, forgetting my dad's birthday … and … oh God, how I regret it now - not
telling Harry, my wonderful, brooding, benevolent Harry, that I loved him as only a woman can love
a man, as a heroine loves her hero.

I am doing everything in my power not to lose myself in the agony of it all, and I wonder why no
one has arrived yet. I feel the cold wind biting into my face and neck, the tears burning in my
eyes, and I do something I have never done before. I get down onto my knees and clasp my hands and
pray.

Do I expect it to do anything? No, of course not - I would have degraded myself, thinking that
by surrendering myself to the one force that fucked up my life, everything would be solved. It
could be that I am just going crazy in my own, logical way. Maybe I believe that I can bring them
back. But by this time, I can't really tell, and my soliloquy seems broken up and shattered,
sputtering some kind of Morse code impossible to make sense of.

One for all and all for one: the motto of an unbroken trio. We each held up a portion of what
was ours, and our triangle was perfectly balanced. We were unbeatable. And we won. But at such a
price.

Oh, how I want them back. How I want *him* back. It doesn't feel right without them,
with their own traits that helped me master my own; and I find myself hoping that I was of some
benefit to them, that I was smart and clever enough. Probably I was. Probably. It is so hard to
tell sometimes.

I could have been self-sacrificing. I loved Harry dearly, more than words can express even now,
and I found myself thinking the desperate; that if he would have lived, I would not have acted upon
my own feelings; that, despite everything, I would have left him alone to lead his own life in the
arms of another woman, one who could never love him how I do, but who would treat him well
nonetheless. I would not have harbored jealousy or hatred for her, and I would have moved on,
thankful for his friendship at least. If I just had him here now, then everything would be
alright.

I look at them both and touch their cheeks. The skin is still warm, and, tears streaming, I lie
down next to Harry, wrap my arms around him, and sob onto his chest.

I remember their yells, how they pushed me behind them, how Harry grasped my wrist and pulled me
close. They towered above me like strong, formidable bodyguards, as I buckled in weakness. I had
never seen them look so terrible, their features etched in stone. Harry was emanating hatred as he
stared his enemy in the face. I had held onto him and felt him tremble, and I knew I was the only
one who knew that the little child in him, who had grown up before his rightful time, was shaking
in fear.

There are voices all around me and someone is pulling me from Harry's body. I am too weak to
resist. Someone checks my pulse. *She's alive.* *Hermione's alive.* There's
silence, and I know that they must have realized.

Is it possible to die from loneliness? From complete and utter sorrow? What could I do without
them? My life and my best friend were dead, both of whom had made me who I was.

Someone is smoothing my hair, and carrying me somewhere. I don't want to leave them, and I
cry out. Someone whispers soothingly into my ear, and I can only gulp down tears.

My heart breaks as they lead me away, but somewhere, deep inside me, I feel a tremble of some
strange emotion that can only be called *hope*. Harry had always told me that I was the most
capable of us all, the one who would make it best in this world, and I had scoffed. He had smiled,
but it hadn't reached his eyes, and I believe now that he knew his fate. He had accepted it for
what it was. Oh God, Harry, I can't accept it, but I can try. For you and Ron. My boys.

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