FicWad

I'm 15 for a moment
Caught in between 10 and 20
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are
Hurt never fades from your heart it only decreases. Or at least that was what I believed before I saw her that day. I had been angry with her for awhile. I believed that she had betrayed me in a worse way than anyone could. She didn’t talk to me genuinely and she didn’t look at me with the same eyes that she used to. All those things mixed with the deep feeling of ignorance that was rising in my chest made me hate her.
But that was before I saw her. That was before her fifteenth birthday.
The day had been quiet and uneventful for me and it probably would have remained that was if I hadn’t heard her soft sob. My anger from my initial arrival had not yet worn off, and Mrs. Weasley’s insufferable worrying was starting to give me a head ache, so I headed up to bed early that night. As I passed the study I stopped out of shock and instinct.
I heard something it was soft at first, but then it became more evident when I came closer to the door. Out of paranoia I held my wand tightly in my pockets ready for a fight. But that was the opposite of what I found. I found Hermione, my Hermione, with her face buried in a book sobbing.
At first she didn’t register that I was standing there, but after a soft cough she sat up in surprise. She never stopped crying though. Tears came out of her eyes so unabashed I was startled. But what startled me more was a simple thought. Why can Hermione cry yet I still can’t seem to?
I stood there for a few moments pondering this fact until I realized that Hermione was still there. I had expected her to bury her face in her book again or run out of the room embarrassed. Most of the people in my life tend to run away from me. But she didn’t run. She just continued to sit on the couch looking at me curiously as silent tears streamed down her face.
“What is a matter?” I croaked in a low voice I didn’t know I have. She cocked her head slightly to the left and seemed to be examining me closely. When I realized she wasn’t going to answer I went on. “It’s not like you to cry. I mean it’s perfectly ok. Yeah, uh, we’re all upset about Voldemort, and…” but she cut me off with a quick statement
“I am not upset about Voldemort.” Her tone took me by surprise as well as her language. She said his name. Had she ever really said it before? I had never paid close enough attention and in that moment I wish I had.
“So what is it then?” I said more harshly than I had intended. It took me a moment to remember that I was actually quite furious at the sobbing girl and that I had a right to use an awful, nasty tone with her.
“That right there.” She said as calmly as if she had just walked out of a dream.
“What?” my tone was flat now and I fully intended it to be a sort of apology, but she just continued to glare at me like I had just killed a puppy, or something.
“It’s just so typical of you.” She almost spat at me. I was going to retort but she continued on “From the first day I met you I thought you were that guy who was different, the hero who really never wanted attention, but I guess I was wrong. You’re just as clichéd as I first thought you’d be.”
“Excuse me” I immediately exclaimed “Can you please explain one thing you’re talking about because I seem rather oblivious to how you can think all of these things seeing as you haven’t talked to me in about a two months!” I took a minute to sputter useless insults before shouting. “And how do I seek attention. Ever since I came to Hogwarts I’ve been doing nothing but try to stay out of the spotlight.” A grim smile spread across her face as she quickly absorbed all I had said.
“Harry” she snickers softly brushing the last remnants of tears she had on her fact away. “We’re not at Hogwarts right now, and if we were I would be embarrassed for you, because you would be living up to everyone’s stereotypes.” She paused for a moment to give me time to retort but my mouth remained closed as she continued. “It’s in the way you talk that makes you attention grabbing. You say you want to be in the know, but you pout like a little boy the moment something doesn’t go your way. You say you don’t want to be a hero but you jump at the chance to do anything heroic. And you say you don’t want attention, but you still hold a grudge to get our attention back on you.”
I knew my mouth was agape but I did not bother to fix it. Thoughts had fully stopped running in my head because I knew they would do no good. They would only reassure me that my actions were just, and that she was wrong. But my heart knew better than my head. My heart ached because it knew she was right, and because it knew that I had let her down, and everyone else wrong for that matter.
“Why were you crying then?” I asked not looking into her eyes but rather at a spot right above her head. I could feel her gave constantly. That gave drew me to look at her face. And I was blown away by what I saw. She was beautiful. I don’t know why I had never seen it before. Dry tears made her face shine in the soft moonlight that was coming out of the window. She looked into my eyes and I thought my stomach had permanently dropped. She sighed but never broke eye contact.
“It’s my birthday.” She said shortly as if she were ashamed of the fact. Her eyes lost mine as she looked back down at her hands.
“Oh Hermione” the words softly escaped my lips as if I hadn’t even meant to say them out loud. Her gaze was directly on the small book in her hand and I realized for the first time that it was not a dusty old volume like I usually saw her with.
That book was small and almost more intimate. It had no cover slip but rather a soft blue hardcover that looked slightly worn. It hit me somewhere along the way that it must be a muggle book. It had never crossed my mind to ask if Hermione ever actually read muggle books, although it seems quite logical considering that she was a muggle born. It had no title, and my curiosity burned.
“What is it?” I asked moving my position by the door into a sitting one on the floor straight in front of her. She looked up with a surprised expression on her face for the first time in the night.
“What this?” She indicated down to the book. “It’s just Peter Pan. My mom sent it to me today as a gift.” She lifted up the front cover revealing a woman’s neat handwriting. I read it softly aloud.
“Dear My Lovely Hermione today is your fifteenth birthday and I could not be any prouder of you. But remember as you face another year of trials and hard-ships that you are only fifteen for a moment. My beautiful fifteen years old there is still time for you; time to buy and time to lose. So treasure it because you’ll never get a time better than this. My love for you extends farther than you know, your mother.” My breath caught in my throat as I looked up to see Hermione crying again. “You never got to the first page did you?” I said softly looking up at her from my position on the floor.
“It’s my favorite book. Did you know that?” She laughed a little wiping the tears away in embarrassment. I quickly grabbed hold of her hands hindering her from the task. “You would think that I would just want to dive into it was way I do with other books, but I just couldn’t get past that first page.” She broke down into our hands which were still intertwined. I slowly moved up to a position on the couch next to her, and she directly collapsed into my lap. The girl who had been calm and collected earlier was now buried in my lap as a mess of a girl. I looked around for something, anything that would calm her down. I was never good with crying women.
“Would you like me to read the book to you?” I asked softly in her ear. All my earlier anger seemed to have melted away, and all that was left was concern for her. She nodded slowly and I tentatively picked up and started reading in the best voice I could muster. After about the first twenty pages of reading my voice was becoming to get hoarse. I looked down at Hermione to realize that she had fallen asleep. I slowly got up and spread a blanket over the sleeping beauty. I passed a moment at the door before turning out the lights.
“Happy Birthday Hermione. I mean it.” I said in the most voice I could muster after almost half and hour of straight reading.
As I exited I could have sworn I heard her say ‘I know’. It was probably just in my head, but I knew after that day I would never look at Hermione in the same way.