𝐡. 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

TRIGGERING THEMES CAN BE PRESENT   …   including,   but not limited to,   war,   child abuse and neglect,   and canon - typical violence.        please note that harry’s main verse is post - war and post - hogwarts     [       selective with my hogwarts verse as i believe the story to generally be tired        ].     harry is usually written as between eighteen and twenty.      this blog is selective with minors        –        but there won’t be any smut here.

*           RULES CAN BE FOUND HERE. *           VERSES CAN BE FOUND HERE.

                        ──────                        all  attempts  at  humour  seem  to  fall  flat  in  this  miniscule  space  that  they’d  been  forced  into                  ⁽   ᵗʰᵉʸ  ʷᵉʳᵉ  ⁿᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ  ᵐᵒʳᵉ  ᵗʰᵃⁿ  ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ  ᵈᵉˢᵖᵉʳᵃᵗᵉˡʸ  ʷᵃⁿᵈᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ  ⁱⁿ  ʰᵒᵖᵉˢ  ᵒᶠ  ᶠⁱⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ  ᵗʰᵉ  ᵏᵉʸˢ  ᵗᵒ  ˢᵃˡᵛᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ      ⁻⁻⁻      ᵗʰᵉ  ˢᵖᵉˡˡ  ᵖʳᵒᵗᵉᶜᵗˢ  ᵗʰᵉᵐ  ʷⁱᵗʰⁱⁿ  ᵗʰᵉ  ʷᵃˡˡˢ  ᵒᶠ  ᵗʰᵉ  ᵗᵉⁿᵗ ,   ᵇᵘᵗ  ʰᵉʳᵐⁱᵒⁿᵉ  ˢᵗⁱˡˡ  ˢʷᵉᵃʳˢ  ᵗʰᵃᵗ  ˢʰᵉ  ᶜᵃⁿ  ʰᵉᵃʳ  ᵗʰᵉ  ᵈⁱˢᵗᵃⁿᵗ  ᵇᵃᵗᵗˡᵉ  ᶜʳʸ  ᵒᶠ  ᵗʰᵉ  ʷⁱᶻᵃʳᵈˢ  ᵗʰᵃᵗ  ʰᵃᵈ  ᵇᵉᵉⁿ  ʳᵉᶜʳᵘⁱᵗᵉᵈ  ᵗᵒ  ˢᵉᵃʳᶜʰ  ᶠᵒʳ  ᵗʰᵉᵐ   ⁾ ,                  but  hermione  allows  a  dry  huff  of  laughter  to  escape  her  lips  anyways ,      eyes  close  as  figure  continues  to  sway  to  the  imaginary  beat .                        ❝      you’re  always  seeming  to  get  me  into  trouble ,      huh  potter ?      ❞                        her  own  attempt  at  finding  hilarity  in  their  shitty  situation ,      but  the  joke  fails  to  land  as  fingers  tighten  their  grip  in  the  soft  cotton  of  his  sweatshirt .            head  tucks  further  into  the  crook  of  his  neck ,      and  hermione  allows  herself  to  be  surrounded  in  the  scent  that  was  distinctly  harry .                        ❝      i’d  still  be  here .      even  if  you  weren’t  around .      ❞                        their  battle  was  far  bigger  than  harry ,      than  the  scar  that  he  bore  and  the  legacy  that  his  name  implied ;            she  was  always  destined  to  become  a  victim  to  the  war ,      likely  would’ve  lost  her  innocence  far  earlier  without  him                  ⁽   ᵃᵗ  ˡᵉᵃˢᵗ  ˢʰᵉ  ⁿᵒʷ  ʰᵃᵈ  ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ  ᵗᵒ  ˢʰᵃʳᵉ  ᵗʰᵃᵗ  ᵇᵘʳᵈᵉⁿ  ʷⁱᵗʰ,   ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ  ᵗʰᵃᵗ  ˢʰᵉ  ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ  ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ  ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ  ᵒⁿ   ⁾ .

❝      our  time  at  hogwarts  was  the  calm  before  the  storm .      but  the  storm  was  always  going  to  come  eventually .      being  your  friend  just  allowed  me  to  be  more  prepared  when  it  finally  hit .      ❞                        she’d  been  lucky  enough  to  consider  harry  her  best  friend ,      to  watch  him  mature  and  grow  into  the  man  that  she’d  loved  today                  ⁽   ᵃ  ᶜᵒⁿᶜᵉᵖᵗ  ᵗʰᵃᵗ  ˢʰᵉ  ʷᵃˢ  ᶠᵃʳ  ᵗᵒᵒ  ᵗᵉʳʳⁱᶠⁱᵉᵈ  ᵗᵒ  ᵘᵗᵗᵉʳ  ᵃˡᵒᵘᵈ ,   ᵉᵛᵉⁿ  ⁿᵒʷ ,   ʷʰᵉⁿ  ᵗʰᵉʸ  ʷᵉʳᵉ  ᵃˡˡ  ᵗʰᵃᵗ  ˢʰᵉ  ʰᵃᵈ  ˡᵉᶠᵗ   ⁾ .                  head  lifts  momentarily  from  his  shoulder ,      and  hermione  takes  it  as  an  opportunity  to  study  his  features  up  close ,      gaze  taking  in  the  chocolate  of  his  irises .                        ❝      you  won’t  lose  me .      ❞                        it’s  another  promise  that  she  knows  she  can’t  really  keep ,      but  hermione  barely  attempts  to  stop  the  words  from  coming  out ,      can’t  imagine  not  saying  the  words  that  she  knows  he  needs  to  hear .                        ❝      no  matter  what ,      you’ll  never  lose  me .      ❞

he offers her a small smile,  though he can’t wipe the tragedy from it...     he doesn’t know if the smile will ever change from that position:    from now on,  it’s likely that his face would be plagued with sadness.    there would be no way to separate himself from the harp - pluck of agony,   the resounding note of pity sticking in his throat.    do people ever really heal from things like this?    he thinks of remus with his clothes that never fit right,   his eyes that always seemed to be looking out into the distance,    at something that no one else could see.    he was a mess of memories,   ragged and undergrown,    living half in the past:     he loves remus,   but he doesn’t want that to happen to him.       sirius,  too,   wore the same haunted look...     his ran deeper,  though.     while remus’ pain was bodily,   sirius’ seemed to be in his blood.     he huddles into himself at the thought   --   it still hurts to think of sirius.    his smile slips,  but only for a moment   [   he has to spare a moment to center himself again,   to remember that living in the past would kill them both   ].       ‘      i absolutely don’t get anyone into trouble.     i just stand by and prophecies seem to find me...    and you’re the one mad enough to stick around.    if i could have run away from this,   i would have.        ’       he isn’t sure if that’s true,  though.     even before the prophecy had struck between his ribs,   he had a habit for pursuing what he thought was right with a noble ambition.      ‘      i know you would be.    you’ve always been a nuisance.       ’      his grin becomes a little more genuine as he nudges her with his elbow,   a promise that he’s joking.

      “i wouldn’t be surprised.” though… by the time sirius really grew into himself, the brothers didn’t know one another any longer. regulus isn’t really sure where his brother stood, mark-wise. but if he didn’t have the best, then it was certainly for a lack of trying. “i think he knew what he was doing a great deal more often than he was ever given credit for.” regulus, for one, admonished him relentlessly for his recklessness and thoughtlessness; and the tragedy is that only now does he realize that his brother was hardly the fool that regulus thought of him. a horrible thing to learn after a person has past. 

      you could… teach me.

      suddenly there’s a bubble in regulus’ chest, threatening to burst. he regards harry with quiet eyes that wonder whether he’s asking out of pity, asking because he thinks he should, or asking because it’s what he truly wants. and regulus himself cannot deny his desire to impart his wisdom on someone else—because surely he hasn’t lived this long, fought this hard, and learned this much not to have it—but is it right? 

      would he just be a stand-in, a second-choice for a better man? 

      he’s been as much for his brother before.

      “… is that really what you want, harry?” he asks in a whisper, like a man afraid of knowing the answer, “… because if it is, if it’s what you want, and not simply what you think you must do, then i would be more than honoured to teach you what i know.”

not for the first time,   harry wishes sirius was back so much that it makes his heart feel too loose in his chest...      he still writes letters to sirius.   he doesn’t send them,  obviously,   but it’s nice to pretend for an hour or two that sirius was still with him.   just a letter away.   harry even kept the messages coded,   like he had to do before,   to make sure that no one managed to track him down:     there was a stack of them at the bottom of his suitcase,   carefully wrapped up in one of his t - shirts.      he doesn’t think it’s the unhealthiest thing in the world   --    after all,    it was just like keeping journal,  with a few extra steps.

                        ──────                        any  tension  in  the  room  dissipates  as  soon  as  harry  begins  to  laugh ,      and  even  hermione  feels  a  crack  of  a  smile  tug  at  the  corners  of  her  lips                  ⁽   ᵈᵉˢᵖⁱᵗᵉ  ʰᵉʳ  ᶜᵒⁿᶠᵉˢˢⁱᵒⁿ  ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ  ᵗʰᵉ  ᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ,   ʰᵉʳᵐⁱᵒⁿᵉ  ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ  ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ  ʳᵉˢⁱˢᵗ  ᵗʰᵃᵗ  ˡᵃᵘᵍʰ  ᵒᶠ  ʰⁱˢ   ⁾                  as  eyes  roll  in  their  sockets .                        ❝      your  hair  has  always  been  unruly ,      sure .            but  it’s  so  fitting  for  you ,      don’t  you  think ?      ❞                        there’s  fondness  in  tone  as  gaze  fixates  on  the  digits  that  run  through  chocolate  strands ;      she’d  always  viewed  his  hair                  ⁽   ᵖᵉʳʰᵃᵖˢ  ᵉᵛᵉⁿ  ʰᵉʳ  ᵒʷⁿ  ᵃᵗ  ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ   ⁾                  as  an  extension  of  personality            ──────            wild  and  untameable ,      independent  and  defiant .            the  gentle  patter  against  the  window  pulls  her  focus  away  momentarily ,      perhaps  her  brain’s  own  way  of    deflecting    from  the  sheer  proximity  to  unspoken  desires                  ⁽   ᵇᵘᵗ  ᵉᵛᵉⁿ  ⁿᵒʷ ,   ᵃˢ  ᵉʸᵉˢ  ᶠⁱˣᵃᵗᵉ  ᵒⁿ  ᵗʰᵉ  ʷᵃᵗᵉʳ  ᵈʳᵒᵖˡᵉᵗˢ  ᵗʳⁱᶜᵏˡⁱⁿᵍ  ᵈᵒʷⁿ  ᵍˡᵃˢˢ ,   ˢʰᵉ  ᶜᵃⁿ’ᵗ  ʰᵉˡᵖ  ᵇᵘᵗ  ʷᵒⁿᵈᵉʳ  ʰᵒʷ  ˢᵒᶠᵗ  ʰᵃʳʳʸ’ˢ  ʰᵃⁱʳ  ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ  ᵇᵉ  ᵗᵒ  ᵗʰᵉ  ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ   ⁾ ,                  her  own  fingers  brush  locs  out  of  her  eyes  before  figure  leans  backwards  in  leather  chair .                        ❝      i  wonder  if  we  understand  the  ugliness  more  because  of  the  way  we  were  raised ,      because  of  the  hatred  we’d  been  exposed  to  in  the  muggle  world .      ❞                        the  grimness  of  humanity  had  bared  its  teeth  to  both  of  them  at  a  young  age ,      innocence  had  been  stripped  far  too  early ;      maybe  it’s  why  they  had  been  able  to  survive  through  it  all ,      maybe  it’s  why  they  had  always  been  the  last  ones  standing .

❝      role  model  might  not  be  the  right  word .      ❞                        declaration  is  barely  a  whisper  as  pink  colours  her  cheeks ,      as  gaze  remains  fixated  on  the  clouds  looming  above  her  office .                        ❝      but  i  always  looked  up  to  you .            i’ve  always  admired  you ,      harry .      ❞                        burnt  umber  hues  find  their  way  back  to  his  visage ,      any  hilarity  now  gone  from  her  features ;      harry  had  always  been  part  of  her  foundation                  ⁽   ᵉᵛᵉⁿ  ⁱⁿ  ᵗʰᵉ  ᵉᵃʳˡʸ  ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ,   ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ  ˢʰᵉ  ᵗʳᵘˡʸ  ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵒᵒᵈ  ʷʰᵃᵗ  ʰᵉ’ᵈ  ᵐᵉᵃⁿᵗ  ᵗᵒ  ʰᵉʳ   ⁾ ,                  had  always  been  the  person  that  she  could  turn  to  when  she’d  needed  him  most .                        ❝      i  was  lucky  to  find  you  too .            i  don’t  think  i  really  knew  how  lucky  i  had  been  at  hogwarts  until  it  was  all  taken  away  from  us .      ❞                        fingers  twitch  under  her  desk ,      hands  clasp  and  unclasp  as  she  attempts  not  to  trace    ᴛʜᴇ  ꜱᴄᴀʀ    on  her  forearm                  ⁽   ᵃ  ᵖᵉʳᵐᵃⁿᵉⁿᵗ  ʳᵉᵐⁱⁿᵈᵉʳ  ᵒᶠ  ᵗʰᵉ  ʰᵃᵗʳᵉᵈ  ʰᵒᵘˢᵉᵈ  ᵇᵉⁿᵉᵃᵗʰ  ᵗʰᵉ  ʷᵒⁿᵈᵉʳˢ  ᵒᶠ  ᵗʰᵉ  ʷⁱᶻᵃʳᵈⁱⁿᵍ  ʷᵒʳˡᵈ ,   ᵃⁿ  ᵉᵛᵉʳˡᵃˢᵗⁱⁿᵍ  ˢʸᵐᵇᵒˡ  ᵒᶠ  ᵃˡˡ  ᵗʰᵃᵗ  ʰᵉʳᵐⁱᵒⁿᵉ  ʷᵃˢ  ᵗʳʸⁱⁿᵍ  ᵗᵒ  ᵉʳᵃᵈⁱᶜᵃᵗᵉ  ᵃˢ  ᵐⁱⁿⁱˢᵗᵉʳ   ⁾ .                        ❝      how  do  we  know            [  .  .  .  ]            when  we’re  finally  at  peace ?      ❞

he feels soothed when she breaks into a grin alongside him...       at least they could still feel their happiness.     he had always been worried that would be the first thing to go.   that one day he would wake up and it would already be too late:    happiness would have slipped through his open palms,   desperate to escape the glum little routine he had settled into.   every time he manages to laugh and smile,  it surprises him.     and it’s good to know that hermione still has laughter in her,   too.    it would be a shame to lose that noise   --   to deprive themselves of that lilting happiness,    that sweet sweep of her mouth,    as she falls into excitement.     he could listen to her laugh for hours and still want more of it.     there is a hunger that comes to listening to her:    he wants more and more of it,   but he knows he must stop up that greed before it overwhelms him.    ron,   he reminds himself.    he wouldn’t do anything to hurt ron.     ‘      it’s fitting?      ’       there’s another laugh that shakes through him.        ‘     are you trying to say i’m unruly?    that isn’t true!      ’       but the more he thinks about it,   it definitely is.     he’s never been good at following the rules.      ‘      i’ll have you know that i’ve become much more mild - mannered in my old age.     some might even call me tame now.      ’       of course,   those people aren’t ones that know him very well,    but hermione didn’t really need to know that tidbit.     her fingers lift to brush her own hair from her face and he studies those fingers   --   older now,  but still smooth and sweet.    he was struck dumb with an urge to feel them in his own hair:    to be touched without needing to worry,  or fret,   or second guess himself.    it was always easier with hermione.     he doesn’t ask,  though.   they’re at her place of work and it’s been a while since they really talked and...     there’s a million reasons,  really.          ‘       it’s ugly all over,   isn’t it?    well.    at least we’ve made this world a little brighter.    i hope it’s different now.    for the children being raised here.   i hope they feel    --    i hope they know that they’re safe.       ’

                        ──────                        they’re  closer  now  than  ever  before ,      so  close  that  hermione  swears  she  can  feel  the  steady  thrum  of  his  heartbeat  against  her  breast                  ⁽   ᶠᵉᵉˡ  ᵗʰᵉ  ᵐᵒⁱˢᵗᵘʳᵉ  ᵒᶠ  ʰⁱˢ  ᵇʳᵉᵃᵗʰ  ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿˢᵗ  ʰᵉʳ  ᶜʰᵉᵉᵏ ,   ˢᵐᵉˡˡ  ᵗʰᵉ  ˢᵒᵃᵖ  ˡⁱⁿᵍᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ  ᵒⁿ  ʰⁱˢ  ˢᵏⁱⁿ   ⁾ ;                  she  can’t  help  but  lean  into  his  warmth ,      welcome  the  hand  that  presses  against  the  small  of  her  back  as  bodies  begin  to  sway  to  an  imaginary  tune .            the  silence  lingers  around  them  as  her  head  finds  its  way  back  to  his  shoulder ,      eyes  close  momentarily  as  she  basks  in  the  moment ,      and  hermione  fears  that  even  breathing  will  disrupt  the  calmness  settling  in  her  chest .            the  medallion  reminds  her  of  the  impending  doom  that  awaits  them  outside  of  the  tent ,      of  the  war  that  threatens  their  livelihoods ,      of  the  prophecy  that  awaits  harry            ──────            still ,      she’s  happy  to  have  this  moment  of  stillness  amongst  the  chaos ,      glad  to  have  a  moment  where  he  was  just  all  hers .                        ❝      the  sentiment  is  returned ,      harry .            i  wouldn’t  want  anyone  else            [  .  .  .  ]            meeting  you  was  one  of  the  best  things  to  happen  to  me .      ❞                        it  came  in  second  only  to  this  moment ,      dancing  alone  with  him  in  the  middle  of  the  woods ;      there’s  so  much  honesty  behind  their  words  that  it  threatens  to  tear  her  apart ,      that  she  feels  too  embarrassed  to  look  him  in  the  eyes .

❝      i’m  not  going  leaving .            i’m  with  you  ‘til  the  very  end .      ❞                        it’s  a  dangerous  promise  to  make ,      but  hermione  means  every  bit  of  it .                        ❝      and  if  we            [  .  .  .  ]            if  i  don’t  make  it            [  .  .  .  ]      ❞                        maybe  it’s  the  horcrux  now  that  forces  her  to  think  about  the  possibility  of  the  end ,      reminds  her  of  the  death  that  follows  them  in  the  shadows ;      it’s  only  then  that  she  realises  she  no  longer  fears  death ,      no  longer  fears  what  might  await  them  outside  of  their  own  sanctuary                  ⁽   ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ  ʷᵃˢ  ⁿᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ  ᵐᵒʳᵉ  ʳᵒᵐᵃⁿᵗⁱᶜ  ᵗʰᵃⁿ  ᵈʸⁱⁿᵍ  ʷⁱᵗʰ  ᵃ  ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ   ⁾ .                        ❝      just  know  i  don’t  regret  a  single  thing .      ❞

he has never quite held hermione like this before...     and he finds that he likes it.  she’s warm and alive in his arms,  a reminder that not everything he loves has died   [   and he does love hermione,   entirely and utterly,   though he won’t be able to admit that to himself for quite some time   --   it is amazing how hindsight can alter these sweet memories   ].    he can’t imagine he smells very good,  considering that baths have been few and far between on this journey,  but hermione doesn’t shy away from his touch.     in fact,   she seems to enjoy it.   the thought makes him a little dizzy,   so he doesn’t linger on it too long.   his cheek comes to rest against the side of her hair,   letting their bodies fall a little closer together,   as he continues to move to a song only they can hear.    at least he hasn’t lost the thin veneer that serves as a guiding hand between them.    her words are gentle enough to make his chest feel like it is being pried open,   revealing a heart that is beating too quickly.       ‘   meeting me is the reason you’re in this whole mess,     ’      he says,  trying to summon a laugh and failing miserably.   his heart felt like it was going to sink to his feet.     ‘    i’m sorry.   i didn’t mean to say that.     ’

jack nearly winced;    a part of him knew this was a cheat’s way in,   &   never tended to last long when borrowed belief could only make him knowable to others for a sort amount of time.  afterwards,  he was just as likely to eventually slip from remembrance only to become twice as hard to believe in,  when ears that had already heard of him would not startle or alight at the mention of his name.  if he could not get somebody new to believe in him,   then he would make sure harry potter never forgot.    ⍘  bit of both,  maybe.  hey,  maybe it’s better she can’t  —  it’s the nerdy ones that are the most fun to prank.   too practical to think a fairytale’s after them.  ⍘   hunching low and tapping his fingers along his staff,  jack considered the smatter of his pale hair that struck around in the wind like wilted straw.    ⍘  he does kinda’ look like a weasel.  ⍘    jack’s eyes tracked the wizard around the field,  but all it took was harry’s command of go for him to puff out of existence in a shower of snowflakes.  he reappeared through glimpses of the east wind,  hovering behind draco malfoy.  summoning a snowball touched with magic to his finger tips,  jack beamed with a devious grin as he hurled it right to the back of malfoy’s neck.   naturally the boy reared in surprise,   but as soon as his fury had taken shape it had dissipated from his face.

instead he cackled,    and the snowball jack manifested in his hand launched at another passing slytherin.  and then another,  and then one more,   &   then it was everyone in a snow ball fight that had landed the malfoy boy off his stick and into the sloshing mud.  with a snap,  the magic wore off on him alone,  as he scrambled up right in confusion   &  was surrounded in a circle of laughing teammates.  jack reappeared at harry’s side,  his impish delight apparent.  the amusement seemed to double as several boys dressed in garbs of yellow   &   red stepped out onto the field as well,  expecting their slot only to find the slytherin’s in disarray:  the rest of the wizards had begun tumbling off their sticks as the invisible wind shook them loose like winter leaves.    ⍘  right on time  —  the gryffindor’s are here.  don’t think they’ll live this one down,  man.  ⍘

jack unleashes a sort of chaos that can only be described as glorious...    soon enough,  the slytherins are confused about who is even throwing the snowballs,   which leads to them turning on their own   [   not surprising for a house that cared for nothing but its own ruthlessness...     either way,   it was kind of fun to use that against them   --   harry can’t help the way laughter sparks in his chest,   as alive as the flutter of a sparrow’s wings   ].     his eyes keep losing track of jack:    that’s how fast the other moves.     but when he catches glimpses,   he’s nimble as the air itself as he weaves between the slytherins,   barely more than a flicker of light snow causing gleeful mischief.   how many of them could even see him?    they’re missing out on quite the sight.    what was an even better sight,  however,   was draco getting absolutely pummeled with snowballs.     he was covered,   his skin gleaming with ice,   his shoulders shaking as he tried to dodge what his teammates threw at him.    harry didn’t care much for pointless violence  ---   but draco rather deserved everything that he got,  especially considering how vile he was to hermione and ron   [   he was a bloody nuisance with harry,   too,   but the knife of self - sacrifice meant that he didn’t care much for personal vengeance   ].

[      ··SHE  IGNORES  THE  WAY  HER  STOMACH  TWISTS  AND  DROPS ,      ]            the way that breathing hitches as they grow endlessly closer ;            she’d always been in the palm of his hand ,      had always been at his mercy ,      but it had always been hidden beneath a pressing need            (   whether it be classes ,      or the looming threat of the war that would inevitably rip their childhoods away from them ,      the endless battles that would take away everything that they’d ever cared about   ) .            now ,      with  no  guarantees  of  tomorrow ,      the truth was beginning to unfold before their very eyes ,      just barely hidden in the shadows of their shared tent .      THE  MOUNTAIN  DEW  CLINGS  TO  THE  OUTSKIRTS  OF  THEIR  TENT ,      and hermione finds herself wondering just how much time has passed since ron had journeyed on his lonesome ,      whether he’d returned to an empty home ,      or if he’d miraculously been able to find his family amongst the chaos ;            the bitterness swells in her throat ,      POISON  WHISPERED  INTO  EAR  BY  THE  MEDALLION  IMPRINTED  UPON  HER  CHEST ,      angry thoughts stifled only by the gentle caress of her cheek ,      by the warmth of harry’s hand and the dew of his breath .      at least she was no longer stuck on the metaphorical porch of her house ,      waiting for the return of a life that had never truly been hers            (   a childhood where the magic still held its charm ,      a life where she’d found true acceptance in the world of the mystical arts   ) ,            waiting for the return the people who had never truly cared for her in the first place .                        “      you have too much faith in me ,      harry .      ”

there were quiet beats in the silence between the two of them ,      and hermione can’t tell if it’s the sound of her own heartbeat or harry’s ;            he’d always been the one that she couldn’t do without ,      SHE  WOULD’VE  FALLEN  APART  LONG  AGO  IF  NOT  FOR  HIS  ENDLESS  SUPPORT .      she can hear the trees swaying outside of the tent now in the heavy air that surrounded them ,      the distant shouts of wizards who had been tasked with tracking them down            ————            they  were  lucky  to  be  alive ,      lucky that she had remembered the spell meant to keep their location concealed from all who thought to look .                  “      if anyone deserved a different life ,      IT  WOULD  BE  YOU .      you should’ve …      you should have more than just me and this shit tent and a life of constantly living in fear .      you deserved happiness ;            not the falsified happiness that your fame offered ,      BUT  TRUE  HAPPINESS .      ”                        fingers wrap around his own ,      hold them against her cheek for just a moment longer            (   it grounds her ,      drowns out the harsh whispers of a tattered soul ,      balances the endless weight growing on her chest the longer the medallion remained wrapped around her neck   )            before hand drops and head tilts to the side .                        “      not much happiness in this tent ,      i’m afraid .      ”                        poker face falters as the lie escapes her lips ;            ALL  SHE’D  NEEDED      was in this tent ,      this quiet moment between the two of them ,      so delicate that she was afraid breathing would disrupt it all .

if he knew that hermione considered herself at his mercy,   he would laugh himself sick at the irony...     to him,   she has always been so fully - formed,   so entirely her own person,   that nothing could touch her   [   even when harry had twisted himself into a thousand different names   --   son of prophecy,  son of lily and james,   friend of sirius black,   enemy of the death eaters,    harry potter and everything that had ever haunted him    --    he had found hermione to be singular and solid   ].    he had leaned on her so much over the years that she had become something of an extra limb...     he doesn’t know what he’d do without her.   he hopes that he’ll never have to find out.   he is at her mercy:   he would sacrifice anything if she asked for it,    if she told him that it would make her happy.    hatred has never come easily to harry,   but he is pressed against the medallion,    against hermione.    ron had a family to return to.   molly and arthur and their caring arms   --   not to mention all the siblings that would embrace and care for him without a moment of hesitation.   they had lost percy to the ministry,   but there was still an entire host of kids who were worrying over ron.    hermione had erased her family’s memories to keep them safe and harry had lost almost everyone he had ever considered family...    they were alone in the same way now.   another bond between them,   another thread that twisted around their hearts and joined them together.

eyebrows draw together at her next declaration...     ‘      too much faith in hermione granger?    there’s no such thing.     ’       his palms flatten against her back as they dance,   the clothes there warm from touching her skin,    warm from the summer they should be enjoying.       ‘      i don’t think you how understand how...    how...      ’      he doesn’t know if he should go on,   but then he thinks that they might die any day now.   death was a promise that had loomed over his whole life,   watching him grow from a boy who could barely stand to be looked upon to a teenager who drew eyes wherever he went.   such is the nature of a prophecy   --   it seems his own was inked over his skin in his blood.     they could die tomorrow,   if the wrong person managed to see through hermione’s crafty spell work.    though he doesn’t think he can offer the full honesty of his heart,   he thinks he can sacrifice enough pride to compliment her.      ‘      you’re brilliant.   absolutely,  completely brilliant.   smart beyond compare,   but also...      kind when you have to be and ruthless when the time calls for it.    i’m proud to call you my friend.   honoured,   i think,    is the word i’m looking for.   there’s no one else that can do the things you can do,   hermione.   and if there was,  i’d still want it to be you.      ’

[      SHE  IMMEDIATELY  REGRETS  OFFERING  THE  PSEUDO - COMPLIMENT ,      ]            refuses to allow the embarrassment to wash over features as he teases her ,      a small frown slowly replacing the grin that had been spread upon delicate visage .      people had always treated harry as if he were their martyr ,      PLACING  A  CHILD  ON  A  BROKEN  PEDESTAL  IN  HOPES  THAT  HE  WOULD  BE  THEIR  SALVATION ;            as if he were meant for nothing more than the fruits of war ,      as if he were worth nothing more than his ability to survive .      harry had always deserved more than what was expected of him ,      had always deserved a peaceful childhood surrounded by those that cared for him                  (   truly cared for him ,      not the scar on his head ,      not the legacy that voldemort had left behind   ) .                  fingers twist in her lap as head shakes ,      gaze remains fixated on harry before heavy sigh escapes her lips .                        “      it was never about the scar ,      you know that .      although i must admit ,      i had been a fan of the hair .      ”                        the hint of a grin returns to cherry-stained lips ,      shoulders shrug before figure leans backwards in the leather desk chair .                        “      there was a time where maybe i put you on a pedestal too ,      BUT  NOT  BECAUSE  OF  THE  NAME  YOU  BORE  OR  THE  MARK  ON  YOUR  FOREHEAD .      you were just …      different from everyone else at hogwarts when we first met .      you didn’t care about what others expected of you ,      despite the scar .      you were friends with me despite it all ,      you went to gryffindor to distance yourself from voldemort’s legacy .      you were so brave and fiercely loyal ,      and representative of so many things that i had hoped to become .      ”                        HERMIONE  WAS  STUCK  IN  CONFESSIONAL ,      bearing her sins to the man that everyone had donned sainthood upon ,      thoughts and feelings being spoken aloud for the first time since they’d met all those years ago ,      things that she should’ve told him long ago .

“      you were like …      my first role model .      before lockhart ,      before viktor ,      BEFORE  ANYONE .      as dumb as it may sound .      ”                        she knew that role model was the wrong word ,      but even her courage had its limits ;            she avoids his gaze for a moment ,      ignores his statements about her not being boy - crazy                  (   harry didn’t know how wrong he was ,      how much she had idolized him for years ,      only for her feelings to not be reciprocated      ————      it could never be reciprocated ,      so she’d never even tried   ) .                  soft smile finds its way to her face once more ,      the same one that is reserved solely for them .                        “      i fit in better with the professors than with the students .      i was the perfect student ,      sure ,      but i always had trouble making friends like you and ron had .      ”

“      i wouldn’t let you touch my paperwork with a ten - foot - pole ,      potter .      i don’t need you signing off on something stupid under my name …      ”                        another joke in an attempt to lighten the tone ,      TO  IGNORE  THE  WEIGHT  OF  HER  WORDS ,      the implications behind everything that she’s saying .                        “      you’re worth so much more than being yet another soldier in the wizarding world’s endless wars .      i can ask them to stop reaching out ,      if you’d like .      YOU  DESERVE  PEACE ,      just like the rest of us .      if anything ,      you deserve it more .      ”

the raw scrape of her honesty is enough for him to want to cut his own heart out...     they’ve always been honest with each other,   but maybe they haven’t always been truthful   [   the difference is this:     they wouldn’t ever lie,   but they might be prone to keeping things from each other   --   just little snippets of information,   not things that would permanently alter the world they lived in,   but personal secrets ache like holes in their chest   ].    he feels a little ashamed for keeping anything from her when her voice takes on that quality...    he’d slip a knife into his gut and spill it all if he thought that it would make her happy.    but he knew that violence had never appeased hermione:   she saw no need for it   --   and with the wizarding world still in recovery,   harry would have to say he agreed.     there was enough blood wetting their lands.    let it all be laid to rest,   let nothing else be spilled,   let a new reign be ushered in by hermione’s firm hand.       

‘      you liked my hair?       ’       harry half - gasped out and began laughing deeply.    by anyone’s politest of estimates,   his hair had been a veritable rat’s nest for most of his youth.   even now,  it was untameable   --   mostly because he’d given up trying to manage something that didn’t want to be managed.    he lifts a hand to his hair now,   feeling the curls stubbornly resist any attempts at being flattened.     ‘    you are perhaps the only person in the world that likes my hair.    i knew you were mad.   i mean,  absolutely stark raving,   always,   but that?   that really takes the cake,   ‘mione.      ’      he lifts the back of his hand to wipe at his budding tears,  knocking his glasses upwards at the gesture.    she’s already delving into something mushy   --   she stumbles over her words sometimes,   but she always manages to strike home with harry.    maybe they’ve just always known where to touch each other   --   what matters to the both of them.       ‘      i think it helped that we were both raised as muggles.    we understood the newness of the wizarding world,   the...     the beauty of it,  the rarity of it.   but the ugliness of it,   too.      ’       death meant something different in the wizarding world.     he wiped away the rest of his tears,   hiccuping out his last laugh.      ‘     sorry for laughing,   ‘mione,  but the hair?   really?       ’

⍘  gryffindor …  ⍘    jack murmurs under his breath,  a whiff of longing and wistful contentment at the prospect of such a life that could have once stood before him.    if it were four hundred years back   perhaps,  and he was not a sliver of the moon but a boy just like harry.  with a hum he floats along,  careful to let his cloak conceal the fact that he had never touched the ground.  a grin marked his face at the sight of hagrid flailing about by the snow banks,  as if he were attempting to swat away a flurry of enchanted pixies.    ⍘  d’you think hermoine would believe in me?  or see me?  ⍘    clever people tended not to delve too deep into superstition,  but harry wasn’t like the lot of them  —  he believed enough in jack to see him,  and knew enough sense to never believe the ill spirited rumours discouraging students to engage with the winter sprites.

ducking through waves of departing students,     jack distracted heads left and right until he had safely ventured into the hall and across with harry beside him.  peaking from over the boy’s shoulder,  he couldn’t help his own impish grin.   one for jack,  zero for hagrid.    ⍘  alright,  name him  —   which one of these jerks is the malfoy kid?  ⍘    jack pulled away with wicked excitement,  and retrieved his staff from thin air before gesturing the end towards the stadium before them.  it seemed a team had taken to playing dressed in garbs of black and green.  jack shrugged out of the cloak,  so anyone looking over did not see a floating uniform bobbing after harry potter.    ⍘  he won’t see it coming.  ⍘

despite the circumstances,   harry can’t help his smile at jack’s wistful tone...    he knows what it’s like to want something so desperately that your voice shapes itself around it,   that your entire body seems to grow towards it   [   if he had known of hogwarts before coming here,   he was sure his voice would have rung with the same longing   ].    besides,  it drove forth the point that harry has always felt vaguely aware of:    gryffindor was the best house.      ‘      i’m not sure.    if i tell her about you,   would that help?    or does it have to be a pure sort of thing?      ’         he doesn’t know how most magical creatures worked and jack might be the least known of all.    probably because telling people his secrets would ruin all his fun.       ‘      i would hope she could see you.       ’       he doesn’t want to ask why he can see jack,   what exists in him that makes him appear:     he doesn’t want to know what the answer will be.    sometimes,    ignorance really was the only form of bliss.

      “of course he was!” regulus sounds shocked, as though by insult; and he sits just a little higher in his chair like a serpent proud and poised. “there isn’t a person in my family who wasn’t clever. and the cleverest part of it is that we hid it very well.” well… some better than others. regulus hides his cleverness in his silence; you don’t know which cards he holds because he’ll never allow you to see them. his mother hid hers behind a rueful stare and taut lips. sirius hid his in his theatrics; always bold, always brash, and you’d have thought he was all noise and no brains, but… “he didn’t care to let anyone know it, but i’d bet he had just about the highest marks in his year. but he didn’t care about things like that. it’s not about marks and studiousness, it was about the fun of it.” the fun of magic, the fun of discovery, and the fun of being everything his parents didn’t want him to be.

      regulus, who has become rather excitable, steals a quieting breath and settles back down into his seat. it’s been years since he’s been allowed to speak of sirius like this—without, your brother? the imprisoned one? that murderer? following his every word. he wonders what other things have been said about sirius; what things remus has said about him. or mcgonagall, or even albus… 

      regulus thinks they can’t possibly know him like the real brother did.

      “if he’d have… if he’d have had the chance to teach you, i think you’d be much better off for it,” he adds quietly, turning his eyes down towards the floor, “and i don’t think anything would’ve made him happier.” 

harry doesn’t like thinking too much about his own legacy...     it sticks between his ribs like an uncomfortable thorn,   an omen of ill - will and iller fates   [   when does the sickness end?    when does his blood stop feeling like a curse?    he is the child of death and war:     he carries that with him   ].     there are easier smiles and easier laughter,   moments of reverie within a life that has gifted him brutality,    but he wonders if it evens out.    if these drops of happiness somehow makes up for everything else:     the potters will always be a family that comes with apologies first.   averted eyes and whispers of i’m so sorry for your loss.     harry doesn’t hate his life,   nor his name,   nor his family   [   in fact,  he loves all it with such steady patience and earnest anticipation   ].     but sometimes melancholy creeps right into his bones,   a toxic substance that he can’t quite bleed out.      ‘      the highest marks in his year?     ’      his shock is a happy creature that spreads across his face.       ‘      he always seemed to know what he was doing.   even when what he was doing was crazy.     ’       happiness twists into fondness,   though sometimes it’s hard to tell them apart:    both feel like a knife in his gut.

⍘  happy to oblige kiddo,  ⍘    jack retorted easily,  floating over his shoulder.  it wasn’t big news for spirits of his kind  —  in fact,  jack was among the youngest around them.  but there was an amusement to being the eldest for once,  but try as he might to exert any authority,  he fell to his more mischievous and impish impulses instead.  jack wasn’t meant to lead so as much to liberate,  to send a crowd of kids into fits of giggles until they were running out of their potion class with their strange hats thrown off.  that was precisely what he’d meant to do here —   let harry lead,  and start the fireworks from behind.    ⍘  woah,  you’re letting me …  ⍘

with a wicked grin,  the sprite dived under the cloak and was rendered a little more ordinary.  his staff,  which seemed odd for a would-be wizard,  burst into snowflakes and promptly disappeared.    ⍘  do i look the part?  a student i mean.  i’ve always wanted to go.  ⍘    for the first time in a long time,  he’d looked down and not seen his blue sleeves.  standing near harry made jack a little more real than just the wind to those around them,  and it was because harry believed in him.  he smiled wistfully.    ⍘  where do you think i’d be sorted?  i’ve always liked your house.  what’s it like in there?  ⍘    despite his amazement and the temporary glee of donning a wizard’s cloak,  jack ducked his head low and thrust out his hands,  sending a flurry of snow to distract passing students and hagrid from looking their way.    ⍘  almost there.  ⍘

harry winced at being called kiddo,   but decided that it would be a worse argument to say anything about it...     sometimes,  it was best to just let jack do what he wanted.    besides,   he was in high spirits from the promise of a prank   [   he couldn’t wait to recount this to ron:   the other would no doubt propose something even more spectacular to top it   ].     harry was nervous that the cloak couldn’t dim what was undeniably jack.    he was filled with so much reckless energy,    impish laughter and easy smiles defining his very being.    but he adjusted well enough into the part of a student:    even his staff vanished into falling snowflakes,   which did a lot job of making him look earthly.    not quite perfect,   but there was no reason to believe that he wasn’t part - veela.    there were a lot of strange,  and unexplained,  students at hogwarts,   after all.