|
The Tent Dance | ||||
|
Category: Post-HBP Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley Genres: Angst, Drama, General, Romance Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG Reviews: 15 Summary: This one-shot is an attempt to re-envision a scene in DH 1 – The Movie. Hitcount: Story Total: 4434 Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work. Author's Notes: Spoiler Warning: Although most of this is not in the movie, it alludes to a few elements that are. |
|
|||
|
He was gone. He had abandoned them, leaving a painful void. The three-legged stool had lost a leg and it was ready to crash violently to the floor. Hermione sat on a chair in one corner of the cold, sparsely furnished tent. Tears flowed slowly down well-worn paths on her pale cheeks. Looking almost as if she had been petrified, she stared blankly at the tent flaps. They did not open. Harry slumped on the bottom bunk. With both feet on the ground and his elbows on his knees, he closed his eyes and massaged his temples. He was hungry, dirty, and sore. How had it come to this? How had things gone so wrong? He never thought that this would be easy, but once Hermione and Ron had convinced him that they were coming with him on this doomed quest, he somehow figured that they would be there until the end–whatever that end might be. He thought again of Ginny–something that he did three or four times most minutes. Seeing her name on the Marauders’ Map was small comfort, but it was the only comfort that he had. What was she doing right now? Was she safe? Her safety had been his entire goal in refusing to let her come with them, and now he feared that that refusal had been a terrible mistake. If he had known that Hogwarts would be run by Death Eaters like Snape and the Carrows, he never would have agreed to her going back. Harry thought about their last moments together. Damn that Lupin! Harry and Ginny had shared two, all-too-brief dances at the wedding reception. As he held her close out on the dance floor, Harry had thought of Ginny’s lovely bare back and of the warm, gentle kiss they had shared in the kitchen that morning. Merlin, what that witch could do to him! (One day, in some alternative universe in which people lived normal, happy lives, he and Ginny would have to devise some appropriately devious prank to repay George for his interruption.) After they had returned to their table, Harry excused himself to get them drinks from the other side of the reception. He was coming back with two cold, frothy Butterbeers when Kingsley’s Patronus made its startling appearance. Harry turned towards Ginny just as the Death Eaters began crashing into the tent. He screamed for her and tried desperately to reach her. Lupin stood suddenly in his path and shoved him towards Ron and Hermione. Over the following weeks, Harry’s heart ached every time he thought about the fact that he had not even said goodbye. Back in the bleak present, Harry glanced over at the broken shell that was Hermione. She was here because of him. She had left everything: her parents, her home, whatever small bit of safety she might have been able to find some place far away from him. He had to do something for his dear friend. He was typically not the one doing the comforting, but this time he would have to be. The small radio, which was usually detailing the latest atrocities, was actually playing a song; a slow, soft ballad which somehow made his heart feel just a little lighter. Without any thought about what exactly he would do, Harry rose and walked slowly across the tent. He knelt on one knee in front of her and said, “Alright Hermione? What can I do to help?” She slowly shifted her focus to his eyes and in a hoarse voice that was barely above a whisper she asked, “Can you make him come back? Can you make him come back right now so I can hex him?” Harry grimaced and slowly stood. He extended a hand to Hermione and said, “C’mon, dance with me.” She looked up surprised and then her features slowly softened. “Sorry, Harry. I can’t. That’s very sweet, but I have nothing right now. I just feel empty.” Harry responded, “Hermione, maybe I don’t know exactly what you are feeling, but I think that I can probably relate. For a year, and maybe for a lot longer than a year, I have known that I really like Ginny. But it was only at the end of last school year that I realized how much I love . . . being with her. Flying with her. Hearing her tell a joke or do one of her spot-on imitations. Snogging her. Just being with her. Being her boyfriend.” “But it was only since we began this bloody search that I realized that not only do I like her–really like her–but I need her. And when I am away from her, a part of me is just missing. So the ache that you are feeling for Ron right now, I have been feeling it for Ginny for months. And there is nothing that I can do about it. And it won’t go away. So c’mon, dance with me.” Hermione still hesitated. “C’mon, the song is almost over. I have an idea,” said Harry. “You just pretend that I am Ron, and I will pretend that you are Ginny. C’mon, it’s the best that we can do.” The corners of Hermione’s mouth broke slightly upwards. She stood and walked tentatively with Harry to the center of the room. As the song crackled softly over the radio, Harry and Hermione closed their eyes and they waltzed slowly around the tent. For a brief moment, they were both some place else, with someone else, and the situation did not seem quite so hopeless. After a little more than a minute, the song ended and the radio program returned to stories of disappearances and deaths. The dancing stopped and Harry and Hermione opened their eyes. They stood looking at each other for just a few seconds and then Hermione said, “Thanks for being my Weasley, Harry.” Harry smiled, nodded his head slightly twice, and replied, “And thank you for being my Weasley.” Harry and Hermione both turned to walk back to their respective sides of the tent, but they each had a little more determination in their step. |
| Reviews 15 |
|
