Hermione Granger (andcleverness) wrote in in_omniaparatus, @ 2008-03-31 02:00:00 |
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Current mood: | angry |
Who: Hermione and Harry
What: A conversation which becomes an argument
When: the morning of Remus and Tonks' wedding
Hermione had waited to seek Harry out. She’d stepped back during the post-battle mess, seeking only to make sure that he was alive and if not well, then functioning. She had deliberately chosen distance because she knew the burden of being a hero for Harry here would be hard enough to bear without having her hovering over his shoulder, wanting to make sure he was all right. So she forced herself to wait, to seek Teddy instead and hold on harder, check in with Ginny and Ron and the rest of the troupe and make sure they were all right, too, when she could spare herself from Teddy, which wasn’t for long. She needed to feel the solid weight of his presence to know that it was over. It was all finally, blessedly, cursedly, over.
It was a curse, she knew, in a way that only Harry himself would understand, because the myth-telling would now begin, the legend-crafting. If it had been bad before – if she herself had thought Harry a hero before this – he was destined to feel so much more now. To be lauded at every turn, and stared at, and kept constantly in the limelight.
It had never been Harry’s way to want any of that; Ron may have doubted it once or twice but Hermione – well. Hermione was not Ron. She had the benefit of her own instincts, and they told her that though Harry wanted to be liked, he did not want to be worshipped.
And that, too, was another reason she stayed away for as long as she could, because she feared that even she would lionize him without meaning to. She couldn’t help thinking Harry a hero; he’d always been, in her eyes, and in most ways, that had precious little to do with Voldemort. But Hermione had never been able to explain it, and so she’d kept it to herself.
Now the world was having their hero confirmed, reborn, rejoiced upon, and Hermione chose not to add to that burden until she could bear it no longer. Until she had to seek Harry out, and make sure that inside the shell of the hero remained more than a little of the boy she’d loved and fought alongside and quarreled with for six years, going on seven. It was very early in the morning when she’d stirred from sleep to begin her preparations for the wedding. At nine, she’d paused to grab a slice of toast and remind herself of the true aim she had left before her, and so, with traces of butter on her fingertips and her hair styled finely about her face – but in jeans and a t-shirt – she sought Harry out.
“Harry?” Hermione voiced the name quietly, though her footsteps had undoubtedly alerted him long before she spoke.
Harry had, admittedly, barely left his room since his final stand with Lord Voldemort. As he'd suspected long ago, the questioning started almost immediately. The Ministry was all over him, his friends and loved ones couldn't seem to step away from their concern, and he had a hard time facing even those closest to him. To be honest, he didn't want the attention, no matter who had accused him of always loving the hero-worship he received. He hated the titles. Boy Who Lived. Chosen One. Rumour had it now that he'd be dubbed 'He Who Was Born Again' or some rubbish. It made him angry, more than anything. Didn't anyone get it? Yes, he'd fought him, yes, he'd died, yes he had come back, and yes, he'd won. But that didn't mean he wanted to be made into some romantic tale for it. He wanted to be normal.
It had become apparent quite quickly that it wasn't happening, however, and Harry had holed up in his room, refusing most meals and not wanting to see anyone. He'd briefly thanked those who'd helped him, spent spare moments with those who mattered, but barely spoke. So when Hermione dared to actually speak his name, Harry fought back irritation. It was the day of the wedding after all, and he would have to see everyone sooner or later. "Yeah?" he called back, not moving from the ball he'd folded himself into on his bed.
Hermione shifted her body through the crack of the doorway, not wanting to allow much more light into the room. Part of her, however, rebelled at the idea of respecting his privacy when it meant that he was once again alienating himself from anyone and everyone who actually gave a damn. Like her, and Teddy, and Ron, and Remus and Tonks...the people who at least had an inkling of what he was going through. She hesitated before stepping further into the room and lifting her wand, swishing the window open, though the blinds remained partially closed. What Hermione could see in the dim made her wrinkle her nose, even if that wasn't her point in coming in. The window, at least, provided her the light she wanted, rather than sticking to the illumination of her wand. "Harry," she said again, more firmly this time. "Should I bring you up some breakfast? I promise I won't tell Mrs. Weasley you're up, but you need to start getting dressed."
Harry sighed again, unfolding himself, testing the muscles that had grown stiff from lack of use the last couple of days. "No," he replied, looking around for his dress robes. He knew he'd put them out, the new set, not the old. Right? Oh, hell. "I'm not hungry. You can tell her I'm up, I don't much care." Shrugging, he pulled himself to his feet and reached for the window that she'd forced open, pulling it closed. No need to face the world just yet.
Hermione fidgeted on her feet, choosing to turn and start aimlessly picking up things; it was less as a desire to clean than for the sake of having something to do. She folded a shirt he'd thrown over a chair arm, placing it neatly in the center before nudging at his trainers with a sock-clad foot so that they were properly aligned. "You should eat something," she persisted quietly.
"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry protested, frustration evident in his voice. "Let it go. I'll eat something before we leave."
He was fine, yes. And she was going to settle down and marry Nearly Headless Nick. Hermione continued cleaning, bringing her wand into it as she straightened the room at large, rather than look directly at Harry's face and lie her acceptance. "Where are your dress robes?"
"Wardrobe. I think." Wandering over, Harry pulled open the door and searched them out. The ones he'd worn to the Yule Ball, the ones from both years, those were near the very back, he knew. It was the black set he was looking for, though, the ones he'd gotten just for the wedding. "There," he said, pulling them out and resting the hanger on the door. "See?" he affirmed, as if he were a smug teenager and she was the worrying mum.
Hermione walked over to where he stood, observing the robes critically, even lifting the heavy fabric to shake it out and make sure every last wrinkle was gone. It took less than thirty seconds for her to crack, however, and let go of the robes, enfolding Harry into one of those impetuous hugs which nearly always made them both feel awkward later on. She hugged him as tightly as she'd hugged Teddy in the aftermath, perhaps even more so. Some part of her had always expected Teddy would get by, in the end. But Harry… Harry had had to stand alone, even when she and Ron had wanted to be there. When they should have been there.
She drew back a moment later with tears starting to blur her vision, but she refused to cry, blinking them back hard as she stepped away. “You’re going to have to shower,” she told him, ignoring the quiver to her tone. “You reek, Harry.”
Godric he hated when she did that. It was annoying, really, all brown curls and bone squishing and yeah. Especially when she cried. It made it ten times more awkward. Oi.
"I had planned on it, Hermione," he replied, annoyance twinging his tone. "And I do not smell that bad."
"Yes, you do," she said, matter-of-factly. "And don't make that face at me, Harry, I'm allowed to hug you." Especially after he had put his life on the line for what she hoped was the last time.
Harry didn't even know if it would be the last time. Not really. It felt like that's all he'd ever done was put his life on the line. He didn't know how to react any longer. "It's the only face I have, Hermione," he said with a sigh. He hated when she got all mum-like on him. "Never said you weren't allowed or anything."
Hermione looked at him, suspecting quite rightly that he was feeling very much like an annoyed teenager with an overbearing mother at hand. And that was not at all how she'd meant to be but it was how Hermione could get, sometimes. That attitude came from the days when she felt like he and Ron would both have failed everything had she not been sitting there reminding them and occasionally handing over her own homework so that they could 'double-check' theirs. It was not a superior feeling, nor one she particularly relished. She couldn't help it, however; it was just how she felt. Nonetheless, the words made her retreat to fidgeting again, smoothing over a shirt she'd already straightened. "Good," she returned, but softly. "Harry--- look, I know you'd rather not have me here right now, but --- I just didn't want someone else doing it."
"Doing what?" Harry replied, glancing over his shoulder at her as he examined his robes. They'd been hemmed just for him, but he kept checking the bottom anyway. And bollocks, he needed shoes, too. The pinching kind, why had he let Remus talk him into this? Oh, right, something about being an honor.
Waking him up, prodding him into joining the human race just for a little while. Hermione chose not to say either. "Honestly, Harry, you are prepared for this, aren't you?"
"Prepared for what?" He was beginning to feel a bit like a broken record that way. "The wedding?" Oi, it was all a haze, she was right about that much at least. He hadn't done any actual thinking in days. "Yeah, I'm ready. Prepared, I guess. I have time, Hermione, quit worrying. It's not as if we're due there in ten minutes. I'm a guy, we can be ready in an hour at most." As if only just seeing her, he blinked and focused. "Oh. Wow. You did your hair." It didn't look like the big wavy pile it usually did, but he couldn't quite place what she'd done.
Hermione suppressed the exasperated sigh. "No, Harry, I usually wake up with it this way, and then muss it up so no one suspects," she glibly replied, all the while never letting her eyes stray from his face. "I don't care that you're a bloke. That's not what I meant, I just---" Had wanted to suss out if he was really all right enough for this. The past few days didn't give her much confidence on that score.
"You just what?" Harry demanded, turning away from her. It unnerved him when she stared at him that way. It was almost scary, like she could read into him. Ron did it, too, though not to the same extent. "You just wanted to make sure I still knew how to tie my shoes and wash my face and hands and hadn't turned into a slobbering, drooling mess over the last week?"
"The fact that you've not moved from this room in a week hasn't inspired much confidence in another alternative," Hermione said pointedly. Perhaps it was cruel, but it was, nonetheless, true. She didn't soften when she added, "I worry, all right? I can't help that. And this is supposed to be a happy day, I didn't want you to --- to have to force yourself to be there if you really can't."
Rolling his eyes, Harry reached into a drawer to pull out black dress socks and pants. He had passed the point of caring if Hermione saw his underthings ages ago. He'd had other things on his mind for far too long. "I'd go even if I had to crawl there, Hermione, I'm the best man for Godric's sake. Remus needs me."
"That's exactly what I'm talking about, Harry." Frustrated, Hermione shifted from one foot to the other. Pent up energy was going to kill her, if this kept up. "Can you do this? For you, not for Remus?"
"I don't have a choice!" Harry shouted before he realized the tone that had left him. "Don't you get that? I don't get a say in it. I have to go. Life's got to keep going no matter what I want it to do."
For a second Hermione just stared at him. It wasn't as if she'd never been yelled at, but she couldn't recall Harry raising his voice in a while, which was a bad sign. "So what would you rather be doing?" she challenged. "Lying here for one more day, pretending as if the world isn't going on around you? Would you be happier dead, Harry?"
She vocalized the words without meaning to, faltered once they were out of her mouth.
Harry's eyes narrowed, but he didn't speak for a moment. When he finally did speak, he knew the words were going to hurt them both. And more, if she mentioned it to anyone. "Maybe," he said simply, turning away from her. That had been a great deal of what he'd been trying not to think about during the last several days.
It was something of a slap to the face, and yet not. Hermione could intellectualize every reason why Harry would not want to be living. She could make charts and lists and break it down on endless reams of parchment and it still would never quite add up to make emotional sense to her. "I'm too selfish to want that for you," she told his back, watching the stiff lines of his shoulders. "And it is selfish, but I want you here for Ginny and Remus and Ron and Tonks and me. I need you to live." Her parents' visages broke into her thoughts for one moment, and she held on to them both, as much as she could now that they were merely memory. The words were even harder to speak than to think, but they had to be said, and she pressed on. "My parents died. Sirius died. Dumbledore died. Those deaths are meaningless if you're not here, Harry."
Meaningless. The very idea made him cold all over. She really had no idea. Those deaths felt even more meaningless because he'd lived. No matter what Dumbledore had said, Harry knew in his heart that anyone else could have finished it. He could have stayed there, seen them. He could have been with his parents, with Sirius, and he'd turned down the opportunity. He'd thought it'd be better this way.
He'd been wrong.
It hurt. Most of the physical pain from his hours of battling had faded, but the emotional and mental scars all still stood out. "I'm alive," he replied bitterly. "What more do you want from me?"
Hermione folded her arms over her chest, not defensive when she looked at him, but pleading. One more death would be too hard to take, couldn’t he see that? Not just for her, but for all of them – but maybe that was the point. Harry had sacrificed over and over again for all of them, not for himself. Yes, he’d been Voldemort’s target, but ultimately, he’d also been the only one strong enough to kill Voldemort, no matter what Harry believed. She stepped forward, but not closer. Touch would not actually be an aid in this moment, not even if it would reassure her that he was still solid, and not fleeting away from her – but he was. He was fighting to return to that state of nothingness, just to get away from the burden such a touch put on him. “You’re not alive,” she returned, her voice quiet by comparison. “You’re not dead, but that’s about it. I’m not going to pretend I understand everything that you’ve been through. I’m not you, and that is why I can still need you to live. I can stand here and beg you to pull through this but at the end of the day, it’s your choice.” Her mouth twisted. “You have a choice now, Harry. You didn’t, before, but you do now, even if you don’t want to believe me. You won’t disappoint anyone if you remain in this room for the rest of your days – but you will disappoint yourself. There’s more to Harry Potter than the Boy Who Lived. You showed me that, Harry. I want that boy to have a chance, and that’s why I want you to live. To pull through this. But I can’t make you.”
In the immediate silence, she exhaled. “Don’t come today, Harry. Remus and Tonks will understand. Don’t come, if you can’t make your choice yet.”
Maybe they'd understand. But he wouldn't. Remus was one of the few people who had truly supported him when he'd needed it. He'd never pushed, but always stood by him. Much like Hermione had, so why was she pushing this issue? "Make my choice?" Harry questioned, lifting an eyebrow. "What choice, Hermione? I'm not going to go off and kill myself here, that's not an option. I'm going. Remus wanted me to stand by him and I'm going to." There'd be plenty of time to hide away again when it was all over. He just had to face the general public until then. And almost all the student body of Hogwarts. Members of the Ministry. Some press was bound to get through somehow. Dammit.
"Fine." Hermione had wanted him to go, of course, but she wasn't, in this situation, going to push for it. Harry just ... looked so tired. So drawn. He'd just died a few days ago, for Merlin's sake. "I'm not advocating that you kill yourself, Harry. Don't be ridiculous. I'm just saying..." She paused, searching out the right words, and when she couldn't find them, she resorted to an exasperated sigh. "Never mind. I'll leave you to get ready, then."
Harry glared almost violently, gathering up the socks and pants he'd laid out and grabbing a dressing robe from its hook. "Fine. Glad to hear it, too. Go on, then." All he wanted was to be left alone. Didn't she get that? Didn't any of them? He wanted to go to this wedding, get it over with, and go home. He could decide what he was going to do about it all later. Snatching his towel from the dresser behind her, Harry spun on his heel and stormed out into the hallway.