A Tribute To My Own State Of Ruin by lillyfan16

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 10/07/2012
Last Updated: 10/07/2012
Status: Completed

When I’ve see the beautiful Eiffel Tower in Paris, how could I settle looking at a simple
picture? After tasting the decadence of crème brulee, how can I enjoy a stale, hard store-bought
chocolate biscuit? When I’ve felt the jubilant magic a wand can perform, how could I go back to
living without it?




1. A Tribute To My Own State Of Ruin
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**Hey guys. Just a little something I came up with after my new obsession with a particular
song—3 guesses which, haha. I hope you enjoy.**

**A Tribute To My Own State Of Ruin**

*I remember when my heart caught the fever.
You were standing all alone in the summer heat.
I was with my boyfriend, my new boyfriend; he was as sweet as he could be.
But one look at you and I was through
my heart switched up on me.

Like a postcard from Paris when I've seen the real thing.
Its like finding out your diamond is from an old promise ring.
Come on back from your fortune teller she read your cards upside down.
The meanest thing you ever did is come around
and now, I'm ruined*

*“Postcard From Paris” THE BAND PERRY*

I've known him for years. I've seen him at his best, at his worst. I've seen him put
his life on the line. I've seen him loved and admired by all; then, scorned at and said to be
completely nutters.

I've seen him take it in stride. I've seen him blow up at those closest to him. I've
seen him blow up at me.

In all those ways I've seen him…*this*…is ridiculous. Watching him sit on the couch in
the Common Room, with her feet in his lap and a neon pink bottle of toenail polish in one hand and
the brush his the other, meticulously painting her damn toenails as she giggles from the other end
of the couch—it physically sickens me. He threatens her with a body binding curse if she
doesn't stop moving. She raises her eyebrows at his threat, as if daring him to try.

I hunch closer over my book and try to block the scene out. I need to read. I tell myself this
is important. I have a test tomorrow. My eyes have trouble focusing, however. The words go blurry
as I feel my face heat up. My knuckles are white from the death grip I have on my Charms book.

“Ahahaha, Harry! Stop, stop, *stop*!” My face involuntarily jerks up and I see that he has
his legs wrapped around hers, locking them in place as his fingers tickle the bottoms of her feet
mercilessly. Her torso flails in the air as her face grows red. Harry laughs and despite her pleas,
continues his ministrations. They ignore the onlookers as if engrossed in their own little world.
Do they know everyone is here, staring? Sometimes, I don't think they do.

I snap my book shut and throw it in my bag before standing up and huffing out of the Common Room
towards the Library. I think about the badge pinned to the front of my robes and have half a mind
to go back and give them a good telling off for interrupting those trying to get some studying
done.

But I don't. I don't think I could ever stand up to him. When I'm angry and want to
shout at him, my words get all twisted and I just *can't*. He'd look at me with his
big, bottle green eyes, wide with innocence, and my argument just falters.

I slam my books down harder than I mean to, which earns me a death glare from the Librarian,
Madam Pince. I mumble an apology so she won't chuck me out from my temporary safe haven while
internally cursing the wretched vulture-like woman for interrupting the stewing of my thoughts.

I get back to work, thankful for the silence the Library ensures.

Despite my new sanctuary, away from the annoyingly happy couple, I still manage to get almost no
work done. Instead, I doodle miscellaneous drawings on the corners of my essay as my mind replays
the scene from the Common Room. Would I have found it so annoying if *I* had been on the couch
and if he had been painting *my* toenails? If he had been tickling *my* feet?

My feet aren't ticklish. But I damn sure would have faked it if it had evoked that look from
him, that damn I'll-follow-you-to-the-edge-of-the-Earth-then-jump-off-into-nothingness-with-you
r-hand-in-mine look that he had in his eyes.

That he *always* has in his eyes.

When they got together in Sixth Year, it was difficult for me. Yes, I have been in love with him
for longer than I'd care to admit. I followed him last year to the Ministry of Magic, despite
the danger it posed for myself—and everyone else. We all left with our scars, some deeper than
others.

I thought, once we came back and he was stricken with grief from Sirius's death, that
perhaps, out of all this dark, light—possibly in the form of our love—would surface. I followed him
to almost certain death, even when I knew it wasn't a good idea. But I had to go; I had to go
to keep him safe—as safe as I could anyway. I had to know he was doing what he could to keep
himself safe. The thought of being left behind, not knowing…it was horrifying.

He had gone through a lot. I tried to just be a good friend. I tried to be there for him when he
needed someone. Maybe he would see me as more than a friend. Maybe he would see me as someone
special, someone he realized he needed in his life more than at a friend's distance—the way I
needed him.

But instead, *they* found each other. It had happened in slow motion—in my mind anyway. He
had come into the Common Room from serving a detention and missing the Quidditch game that won
Gryffindor the cup. I had tried to catch his eye as I pushed myself forward. I knew he didn't
think the team would win. I could see it in his eyes when he talked about it. I knew how guilty he
felt about not having the proper faith without him being there. But the team pulled through and I
knew how ecstatic he would be. I wanted to see the pure joy light up in face at the win. I had been
anxious. I felt as if this was a pivotal event—the euphoria after the slim win just might set off
the perfect chain of events.

I continued to push against the crowded room, as he did the same, but in a different direction.
*She* was also shoving the crowd out of her way to reach him. She threw her arms around him in
a hug, but he took a step further and drew her face to his in a deep kiss.

I had stopped in my tracks, jaw slacked. I hadn't been aware that I was now right in front
of them. The catcalls and wolf whistles around me grew muted as I watched, horrified, as he pulled
away and spun her around. His head was tossed back in open laughter.

They both caught Ron's expression, and he rolled his eyes and shook his head. Harry's
green eyes met my brown ones. I quickly changed my expression to one that was beaming. Even when
they made their way to the Portrait Hole and left, I still laughed and smiled and joked. If I
stopped grinning, I would fall apart.

That was the first night in a long time that I cried. I literally *bawled*. Salty tears
stained my lavender pillow case, but I didn't care. I cried and cried and cried until finally,
a restless bout of sleep claimed me.

Then, in my dreams, I had cried some more.

That was last year. They've been inseparable ever since. I've been a brooding, bitter
woman ever since. I think most days, it doesn't show. I've put my distance with him.

Sometimes, it's harder than others. For example, in the summer, when we're all
together—what escape can be found at the Burrow? At least at Hogwarts, distractions are around
every corner.

I shut my book, bored. Even in the solitude of the Library, they follow me. I should be used to
it by now. But I'm not. I should date other blokes—plenty have asked. I've accepted
some.

It's never worked out. But I can't blame the boys. They're nice. They're sweet.
In some ways, they're my perfect course.

However, when I've see the beautiful Eiffel Tower in Paris, how could I settle looking at a
simple picture? After tasting the decadence of crème brulee, how can I enjoy a stale, hard
store-bought chocolate biscuit? When I've felt the jubilant magic a wand can perform, how could
I go back to living without it?

He's ruined me. I've seen a man, perfect in every sense of the word. He's allowed me
to be an important part of his life. Firsthand, I've witnessed his kindness, his confidence.
He's handsome—more beautiful than I ever hope to be. He's witty and too funny. I can't
help but feel at ease and laugh in his presence, even when it hurts. He has that sort of
personality that just causes people to gravitate towards him.

I've memorized his features. Sometimes, he falls asleep in the Common Room, and I get to
gaze at him for hours over my homework. His skin is pale, but not sickly—more of a smooth
porcelain. His dark, ebony hair sticks up in every direction, and I ache to run my fingers through
it the way I've seen her do. I bet his hair is heartbreakingly soft. His nose is straight, his
lips always curved up in a smile, despite the hardship he's faced. Those eyes…so deep I could
get lost in them. Their shade changes daily—dark bottle green, deep emerald, and bright jade. Once,
I've seen them almost an impossible darker harlequin. They're my favorite feature of his.
Once, while experimenting with Glamour Charms in class, Harry had bright blue eyes for a week. I
never told him why I was so angry with him all those days and refused to talk to him.

Most importantly, I've seen the way he is with her, the way he gives her his
*everything*—honestly, after seeing his devotion, how could I settle for anything less? When
fairytales were written, Prince Charming had to have been molded from him in a former life. Even in
heated arguments, all manners out the window, they manage to have this almost erotic charge between
the two of them that's perfect. I guess she's braver than I am, to be able to glare
stubbornly into those emerald depths and hold fast to her argument. Sometimes, I'm in awe. More
often than others, I want to hex her into oblivion for upsetting him.

It's frustrating. Watching them *physically* hurts me. I compare every other bloke to
him. I measure myself against her even.

I'm always short. She's smart. She's beautiful. She's kind. She has more curves
than my skinny body, but it works in her favor. Her hair isn't as long as mine, but it's
fuller—more luscious.

I want to hate her, but how can I? She makes him insanely happy. I've known her for
years—any bloke would be lucky to have her. I want to say he's too good for her, but I
can't honestly say that.

I want to say he's too good for me, but I can't say that either.

I feel like I could make him just as happy as she does, if not more. If I were given the chance.
But when I look at the two of them…part of me knows I'll never get the opportunity. It's a
difficult position: to see love and want it to win because honestly, if they can't make it,
then who can? And pit that argument against my own natural instincts to want it to falter so I can
have my turn.

I sigh and slowly put my books back in my bag. Lethargic, I all but crawl back to the Common
Room. In the hour of my absence, not much has changed. I notice she's gone though, but Harry is
still monopolizing the couch. He's playing a game of chess against Ron. I can't help the
grin that takes over my features as I stare at him. I quickly cross the Common Room and drop into
the seat at his side.

He looks up at me and grins. “Hey.” He greets me. I can feel the blood slowly make its way to my
face, just as it usually does when I'm around him. I try to nonchalantly glance his way, but as
always, I find myself gazing deep into the depths of his beautiful green eyes—today, they're
bright jade. My own greeting catches in my throat and I manage an odd gargling noise. His dark
eyebrows rise quizzically at my behavior. I cover it with a cough and say almost too cheerfully a
hello of my own.

“Where have you been?” He asks conversationally as his knight wrestles Ron's castle. He hold
up his hand in a gesture for me to give him a small victory high five over getting his third chess
piece compared to the six of his that Ron has managed to capture.

I slap my hand against his. “Studying in the Library.” I respond, trying to ignore the tingling
in my fingers his warm hand ignites.

He snorts. “Who would think to look for *you* in a *Library*?” I can't tell if
he's being sarcastic or not, so I just smile broadly and pull my knees up to my chin and turn
so I'm facing his direction, a justifiable reason to be staring at him.

He looks up to meet my stare, and I hastily turn my attention to the board. Now I feel his gaze
on me, and my face burns all over again.

Sometimes, I think he knows. He's never said anything, but there are times when he gets this
sad look in his eyes, like he feels bad, but really, there's nothing he can do. I think it
makes him uncomfortable. He's even tried setting me up with various blokes. A small tribute to
my own state of ruin that he feels responsible for.

Sometimes, I think he knows I know he knows. Muted conversations pass between our eyes.

*I want you.*

*I know.* Sigh*.* *And I want* her.

Right now is one of those times. I know what his eyes will say when I meet them, so I don't
look up. Not today. Not now.

Right now, I'm the most interested Wizard's chess spectator in the world.

He sits back against the couch, and the action involuntarily draws my eye. He sees my eyes
follow his movements and gives me a playful grin. “Your brother is *kicking my ass*.”

*In the evening you can catch me daydreaming
Did that moment send you reeling just like me?
I should have gone over right over I should of never let you leave
But it's the never knowing that keeps this going and drives me

Like a postcard from Paris when I've seen the real thing
Its like finding out your diamond is from an old promise ring.
Come on back from your fortune teller she read your cards upside down.
The meanest thing you ever did is come around*

*“Postcard From Paris” THE BAND PERRY*

**Hi, so what did you think? I was inspired by my other story, I Meant Every Word He Said.
It's written in a similar style.** **Anyway, please review and let me know what you think.
Honestly, takes like 2 seconds.** **And in return, I will post something super soon—maybe a
chapter of Potter Vs Granger Rivalry? Possibly that last, final Harry/Hermione ending of Outlet
everyone wants so badly? I know you are all just aching for it! Or hell, it could be something
entirely new!**

**So please, review!**

***~Archie~***
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