Originally Posted: March 13, 2006
Title: The Boy Who Lived Again
Author:![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
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Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing(s)/Character(s):Harry, Hermione, Ron
Rating: G
Genre: Gen, Friendship
Length/Word Count: One-shot, 967 words
Summary: Hermione watches Harry fly.
Notes: Written for the challenge community7spells on LJ. My prompt was do you see what I did?. Thanks to my lovely beta, quite_grey.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
The Boy Who Lived Again
She watched him fly around the pitch, his cheeks flushed from the chill, the wind ruffling his hair until it was even messier than usual; sometimes, if she peered through her omniculars at just the right moment, she'd catch a glimpse of that gleam in his eyes as he went into a sharp dive.
She loved to see him happy.
Voldemort was dead and the entire wizarding world had proclaimed Harry a hero once more: The Boy Who Lived Again. They were back in school, because Hermione had insisted on completing her seventh year; Harry and Ron had tagged along, Ron because his mother had forced him, and Harry because he hadn't been sure what else to do. It was good though, Hermione thought, that he was with them; she had been half afraid he’d run off as soon as Voldemort was defeated. But instead he’d walked over to both of them, tired and dirty, marred by too many wounds to count, and she’d held her breath until he threw his arms around her and Ron, burying his head in her shoulder. She remembered thinking that as long as they were together, everything would be okay.
The thought haunted her now as Harry landed gracefully and made his way over to the stands, collapsing on the bench beside her.
“You been out here the whole time?” She nodded shyly and he grabbed the omniculars, easing them away to take her hand. His fingers were sweaty from gripping the broomstick, but she didn’t mind.
“You’re cold,” he noted with concern; she simply shrugged, a contrasting warmth filling her belly.
“Let’s go in and find Ron. We can sneak down to the kitchens and have some cocoa,” she said, lightly tugging on his hand as they stood; he nodded and grabbed his broomstick before letting her lead him across the pitch.
She waited patiently while he returned his broom to the shed, wrapped tightly in her cloak as a gust of wind blew her hair across her face. It was a shame, she thought, that he wasn’t eligible to play on the house team anymore. Headmistress McGonagall, despite her personal preference to have him playing for Gryffindor, thought it unfair since he was older than the other seventh years; it didn’t seem to bother Harry. Hermione always knew she could find him out here, though, the times before and after classes when none of the teams had reserved the pitch. He flew every chance he got, and she always watched. Most of the time she hid beneath the stands with her books and homework, feeling vaguely silly, but sometimes she simply sat on a bench without any distractions. It amazed her how such a clumsy boy could be so graceful in the air.
His hands were shoved in pockets as he walked back over to her, his cheeks still flushed but the smile on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes. She tried to smile back, but noticed the cold and shivered instead.
“You alright?” It was the same concerned tone as before, but something was off; she wondered once again if the only time she’d see a spark of the same old Harry would be when he was flying.
“I guess I didn’t realise how cold it was.” She cast a quick warming charm over them both, the snow melting beneath their feet as they walked. “That’s better.”
“Thanks.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence, Hermione darting glances at him out of the corner of her eye; he was staring straight ahead, his jaw rigid, his hands turned to fists in his pockets. She bit back her natural inclination to ask him what was wrong. She knew he’d avoid the question and she’d let him, not wanting to be a nag and in the end she'd only feel guilty for asking in the first place.
His voice broke their silence unexpectedly right before they reached the castle doors. “You don’t have to hide under the stands; I always know you’re there."
Hermione flushed, even as she began to protest. “I wasn’t; you saw me—”
“I didn’t mean this time, and you know it.”
“I—”the words died on her lips, and she peered up at him again, meeting his eyes briefly, “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not.” His gaze was burning into her temple, but when she looked up he glanced away, his cheeks still red from flying.
“Oi! There you two are!” Ron bounded down the stairs as they entered the castle, stopping just a few feet ahead of them. “It’s bloody cold out; are you two mental?”
“We were just coming to find you,” Hermione replied while Harry shrugged, knocking the snow off his boots. “We’re going down to the kitchens to warm up; do you want to come?”
“Yeah, I’m starved.” Ron responded eagerly, throwing his arm around Hermione’s shoulders.
Harry stood slightly apart from them, his lips quirking upwards. “That’s a shock.”
“I’m still a growing boy,” Ron said, patting his stomach before leading Hermione down the hallway. Hermione stopped him with a glance over her shoulder, noticing that Harry hadn’t moved to join them.
“Come on, Harry,” she said softly, extending her hand. They stared at each other for a long moment before Harry closed the distance between them, tentatively sliding his hand in hers; their fingers interlocked. They began the walk to the kitchens, Ron’s arm still slung around her shoulders, her fingers still twined with Harry’s calloused ones, and she peeked at him out of the corner of her eye to find him watching her. She didn’t turn away, but gave him a small smile; although it was faint, he returned it with one of his own, and his smile finally reached his eyes.
--Fin--
Shelly's fic index
Title: The Boy Who Lived Again
Author:
sdkFandom: Harry Potter
Pairing(s)/Character(s):Harry, Hermione, Ron
Rating: G
Genre: Gen, Friendship
Length/Word Count: One-shot, 967 words
Summary: Hermione watches Harry fly.
Notes: Written for the challenge community
7spells on LJ. My prompt was do you see what I did?. Thanks to my lovely beta, quite_grey.Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
The Boy Who Lived Again
She watched him fly around the pitch, his cheeks flushed from the chill, the wind ruffling his hair until it was even messier than usual; sometimes, if she peered through her omniculars at just the right moment, she'd catch a glimpse of that gleam in his eyes as he went into a sharp dive.
She loved to see him happy.
Voldemort was dead and the entire wizarding world had proclaimed Harry a hero once more: The Boy Who Lived Again. They were back in school, because Hermione had insisted on completing her seventh year; Harry and Ron had tagged along, Ron because his mother had forced him, and Harry because he hadn't been sure what else to do. It was good though, Hermione thought, that he was with them; she had been half afraid he’d run off as soon as Voldemort was defeated. But instead he’d walked over to both of them, tired and dirty, marred by too many wounds to count, and she’d held her breath until he threw his arms around her and Ron, burying his head in her shoulder. She remembered thinking that as long as they were together, everything would be okay.
The thought haunted her now as Harry landed gracefully and made his way over to the stands, collapsing on the bench beside her.
“You been out here the whole time?” She nodded shyly and he grabbed the omniculars, easing them away to take her hand. His fingers were sweaty from gripping the broomstick, but she didn’t mind.
“You’re cold,” he noted with concern; she simply shrugged, a contrasting warmth filling her belly.
“Let’s go in and find Ron. We can sneak down to the kitchens and have some cocoa,” she said, lightly tugging on his hand as they stood; he nodded and grabbed his broomstick before letting her lead him across the pitch.
She waited patiently while he returned his broom to the shed, wrapped tightly in her cloak as a gust of wind blew her hair across her face. It was a shame, she thought, that he wasn’t eligible to play on the house team anymore. Headmistress McGonagall, despite her personal preference to have him playing for Gryffindor, thought it unfair since he was older than the other seventh years; it didn’t seem to bother Harry. Hermione always knew she could find him out here, though, the times before and after classes when none of the teams had reserved the pitch. He flew every chance he got, and she always watched. Most of the time she hid beneath the stands with her books and homework, feeling vaguely silly, but sometimes she simply sat on a bench without any distractions. It amazed her how such a clumsy boy could be so graceful in the air.
His hands were shoved in pockets as he walked back over to her, his cheeks still flushed but the smile on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes. She tried to smile back, but noticed the cold and shivered instead.
“You alright?” It was the same concerned tone as before, but something was off; she wondered once again if the only time she’d see a spark of the same old Harry would be when he was flying.
“I guess I didn’t realise how cold it was.” She cast a quick warming charm over them both, the snow melting beneath their feet as they walked. “That’s better.”
“Thanks.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence, Hermione darting glances at him out of the corner of her eye; he was staring straight ahead, his jaw rigid, his hands turned to fists in his pockets. She bit back her natural inclination to ask him what was wrong. She knew he’d avoid the question and she’d let him, not wanting to be a nag and in the end she'd only feel guilty for asking in the first place.
His voice broke their silence unexpectedly right before they reached the castle doors. “You don’t have to hide under the stands; I always know you’re there."
Hermione flushed, even as she began to protest. “I wasn’t; you saw me—”
“I didn’t mean this time, and you know it.”
“I—”the words died on her lips, and she peered up at him again, meeting his eyes briefly, “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not.” His gaze was burning into her temple, but when she looked up he glanced away, his cheeks still red from flying.
“Oi! There you two are!” Ron bounded down the stairs as they entered the castle, stopping just a few feet ahead of them. “It’s bloody cold out; are you two mental?”
“We were just coming to find you,” Hermione replied while Harry shrugged, knocking the snow off his boots. “We’re going down to the kitchens to warm up; do you want to come?”
“Yeah, I’m starved.” Ron responded eagerly, throwing his arm around Hermione’s shoulders.
Harry stood slightly apart from them, his lips quirking upwards. “That’s a shock.”
“I’m still a growing boy,” Ron said, patting his stomach before leading Hermione down the hallway. Hermione stopped him with a glance over her shoulder, noticing that Harry hadn’t moved to join them.
“Come on, Harry,” she said softly, extending her hand. They stared at each other for a long moment before Harry closed the distance between them, tentatively sliding his hand in hers; their fingers interlocked. They began the walk to the kitchens, Ron’s arm still slung around her shoulders, her fingers still twined with Harry’s calloused ones, and she peeked at him out of the corner of her eye to find him watching her. She didn’t turn away, but gave him a small smile; although it was faint, he returned it with one of his own, and his smile finally reached his eyes.
--Fin--
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