Water

Title: Water
Chapter Sixteen
Genres: Angst
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sexual references, Strong language
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Summary: "...You’re the one who needs help! You’re the one who makes my skin crawl whenever we stand in the same room! You’re fucked up Malfoy. And your father couldn’t even teach you anything other than how to fuck up everyone else with you-” Her wand went flying.

Chapter 16.

Hermione could never get rid of that uncomfortable feeling whenever they went down there. It was the proximity of the Forbidden Forest. The proximity of rule-breaking. And when there weren’t any high moral reasons to break those rules, they just shouldn’t be broken, and instead, left well alone. Left and accepted.

But of course, they weren’t breaking the rules per se, just getting dangerously close to doing so. Which was enough for Hermione, you know? It was enough, for goodness sake. As if Harry and Ron didn’t get themselves in trouble already without inviting it. Inviting it like they would when they persuaded her to go down to the edge of that forest, and sit under that gloomy old tree which looked roughly a trillion years old, big branches reaching out as if to grab them and plonk them straight down into McGonagall’s office, one by one. And the horror of being in there without the high moral reasoning? God forbid. So Hermione could never stop looking up at them. Just in case. Because this was Hogwarts, after all. And this was almost rule-breaking.

They hadn’t been down there since they started the seventh year. They only tended to go down when it was warmer. And Hermione never really knew why. She never knew why the boys liked that tree so much. Ron said it reminded him of the one in his garden back at the Burrow. Harry said it was just big. “Big and cool”. But that didn’t seem enough to go there as often as they did.

And so that’s where they sat on milder days. Hermione red-faced and pursed-lipped, Ron leaning against the trunk, and Harry lying on his stomach, picking at the grass.

Hermione hated that uncomfortable feeling. She did. But the reason she kept going back there, was because of the way it was. The way they were with each other when they were down there. She mostly noticed Harry. Noticed how he would stop frowning so much, or scratching his head, or rubbing the side of his face. He seemed to relax. Properly relax.

Those moments were golden after Sirius had gone.

*


“I think the- whassit- meaning of life and all-” mumbled Ron, picking petals off a daisy (like a “girl” according to Harry), “-is to just- you know- have a good time and that.”

“I’m sorry?” asked Hermione, a little unimpressed with Ron’s less than eloquent philosophy. “Have a good time and that?”

“Just ‘cos you know, you aren’t around forever are you?” He motioned his hands in the direction of Harry. “Especially important for you, mate.”

“Ronald!”

“Joke!”

“It’s not very funny!”

“I’m just taking the piss out of what old Trelawney said in-”

“I know exactly what you’re doing, Ron,” frowned Hermione, “I just don’t think Harry appreciates it.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t care,” he mumbled.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Typical,” she murmured under her breath. Because as far as she was concerned, Harry only encouraged Ron’s thoughtlessness on many occasions.

Harry rolled over onto his back and stared up at the branches above him. “There isn’t a meaning of life, I don’t think,” he said, letting his glasses rest wonky across his face.

“Divination is rubbish. Half of it’s just- rubbish,” stated Hermione.

“It’s got nothing to do with divination,” replied Ron, “The meaning of life, I mean.”

“I’m not saying it does,” she answered, “Although foreseeing future events, fate and all that malarkey is all related.”

“So you don’t believe in fate?” mumbled Harry.

“No,” she answered, “No I don’t. We’re autonomous beings. We make your own decisions. That’s why every single one matters. We’re the ones in control. Not the stars.”

“You reckon?”

Ron shrugged. “I dunno,” he said, “There’re some things out of your control though.”

“Obviously,” said Hermione, “That doesn’t mean to say each of us has a fate. That’s just life. We’re born with what we’re born with, the world gives us what it gives us, and the rest is up to us.” She swiped at a fly. “The end is up to us.”

“So you think the meaning of life is-”

“To make your own decisions,” said Hermione, “To create your own life. Take responsibility.”

Harry yawned. “Responsibility sucks.”

“Big time.”

“It’s part of life.”

“That part of life sucks.”

“Big time.”

“Yes, alright.”

*

She would never go down there without them. She never needed to. And of course it took a lot of pushing from them to make her go there in the first place. So, it was never by herself. She found she could think easily without having to sit alone outside. She didn’t need the fresh air to achieve it. She didn’t need to wander.

Harry did.

Hermione had found him down by the tree halfway through in sixth year. It had been unusually warm, and he was sitting there with his shirt sleeves rolled up, arms propped up on his knees.

“Are you okay, Harry?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought I’d find you here.”

She sat down beside him.

“Where’s Ron?”

“I left him arguing with Ginny over who gets the bigger half of that cake Molly sent.”

Harry smiled slightly. “Ginny’ll win.”

“Of course she will.”

He leant his head back against the trunk, closed his eyes slowly.

She looked at him. Stared at him for a while.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked, voice quiet in fear of disturbing him.

Harry shook his head.

And so they sat there in silence for a while, Hermione glancing up at the branches of the trees every so often, trying to spot the bird that was singing above them, looking at the pink clouds in the sky. Anything to stop her thoughts from trailing towards his.

Harry sniffed.

She looked at him.

He sniffed again. Bowed his head slightly.

Hermione knew.

She parted her lips, hesitated momentarily. “Harry-” she whispered, “Harry…”

His head stayed down.

“It’s okay to miss him, Harry.”

When she saw the tear fall, she moved her hand towards his, curled her fingers around it, and squeezed.

After a long while, when Harry and Hermione got up to leave, she bent down to pick up what looked like some paper that Harry had dropped. It was photo. Of Sirius and his father.

They were standing by the tree. Their tree.

It was then that she understood. She understood why he came here. Why it comforted him. What was left of memories that weren’t his own. When she pressed the photo back into Harry’s hand, she pulled him into her arms. And held onto him, tightly.

“Sirius gave it to me,” mumbled Harry, mouth pressed into her shoulder, “He- he said I could have it- just…”

“Shh…”

After that, she didn’t need so much persuasion to join them down by the forest. And she didn’t ask where Harry was going when he went off by himself sometimes either.

She just let it be.

*


“I think you’re cynical.”

“Excuse me, Ron?”

“You’re cynical. To not believe there’s a meaning to life.”

“Meaning to life or meaning of life?”

“Don’t be difficult, Hermione.”

“I’m not being difficult, Ron,” she frowned, “The two are completely different.”

“Just that we don’t have a path or whatever,” he mumbled.

Hermione frowned. “I am not cynical, thank you very much,” she replied, “If anything, I’m being optimistic.”

“How?”

“How?” she asked, “Think about it Ron. You’re the one in charge. You’re the one who can control your life. Your life and your- your-”

“Death?”

“Well yes. To a certain extent.”

Ron shrugged. “Maybe. I still think there’s something else.”

“I agree with Hermione.” They looked over at Harry, still staring up at the branches. “You can choose. Sometimes half the choices are taken away but- you’ll always have one. A choice, I mean.”

“You’re deluded if you think you’re completely free, mate.”

“Well I for one make my own decisions,” murmured Hermione, “I always have. And I always will.”

Ron shrugged again, and picked up a fresh daisy to dismember.

“The world isn’t like that,” he mumbled.

“It is if you want to be,” she replied.

The three of them sat in silence for a while.

Hermione thought about that premise. The one that involved complete responsibility. It scared her. It scared her to pieces. But it made sense. It was necessary. It was necessary to get anywhere in life.

And it was logical. To base your decisions on the idea that perhaps- in reality- you didn’t really have those decisions? Hermione didn’t see anything solid within that concept. She didn’t see anything at all. Hopelessness- helplessness- they was more frightening than responsibility.

The feeling that there may be no way out.

Her attention wavered.

“Oh Harry.”

“What?”

“I wish you’d stop picking the grass like that.”

“Oh for the love of…”


*