harry potter: NEW YEAR
Title: New Year
Chars/Pairs: Harry/Hermione
Rating: PG
Words: 741
Summary: New Year's theme, broken glass, "Do you think it's real?"
A/N: challenge at hh_sugarquill
It is the 31st of December and they meet at number 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry is still not quite sure why he has decided to take up this place as his permanent residence but, in truth, he has no other place to go. Mrs. Weasely had offered up a room in the Burrow, of course, but he could not fill the gaping hole the family had in their hearts. Even these many years after the war, after everything, Harry could not bear to look at them, could not bear to be around them all at once, feeling the strain and heartbreak that hovered in the air.
So he resides at number 12 Grimmauld Place. It is not so bad, once he scrubbed clean all the bedrooms, once he painted over the alarming family portrait, once he built a bookcase in front of Wallburga Black's portrait. It was actually quite nice a lot of the time.
On this occasion, the eve of the New Year, he threw a party. Well, he invited a few of his friends over and they, in turn, invited a few of their friends and it had grown a little out of control. As the crowd stormed the front door, he had to send Hermione out to gather some things to feed the unexpected guests.
Harry still doesn't know much about wizarding parties and he finds that most of his Muggleborn friends are having a lot better time than the others. He can hear Ron complaining over the murmurs in the living room. Harry sighs and shakes his head.
He hears Hermione enter the kitchen and place an empty bowl on the counter. “I guess everyone is hungry,” she says, laughing a little. “It's almost midnight, Harry, you should come out and join the party.”
“You're right,” he tells her (-- he suddenly has a flash of a memory, a whisper, you're right). “I'll be out in a minute.”
Her smile is thin now and she moves to get herself a glass from the cupboard. Hermione feels very at home at number 12 Grimmauld Place. She pours herself some wine and places one hand on her hip. “I mean it,” she adds before turning to rejoin the party. But her movement may have been too quick (-- or maybe a memory flashes in her head too) because the glass slips from her hand and crashes onto the tile floor, red wine spreading quickly from the spot. “Oh no,” Hermione gasps, her hand flying up to her mouth. “Harry do you have paper towels somewhere?”
He stares at her for a second. “What?” She kneels on the floor next to the spill.
“Harry! Something to clean this up!”
He kneels beside her. “Hermione,” he almost whispers, another memory floating to the surface. This one fuzzy, like it was from long ago. “Are you a wizard or aren't you?”
She laughs then, How silly, and points her wand at the mess. It disappears, leaving no stain on the clean surface. Another point and the glass is mended. They are both still on the ground and Harry's hand moves to hers suddenly.
More memories flicker through his head and, for a moment, Harry can't remember what he is doing. Cold lips against his, hasty and wrong. Rigid hands grasping at the neck of his robes and the rough feel of frizzy hair against his cheek. “Do you think it's real?” he hears in his head, a voice from everywhere and nowhere.
But no, there is hot breath against his ear. He hears counting from the room next door. (-- Ten, nine...) He feels his hand move up her arm to her neck, like he has done this so many times. The soft fabric of her robes sliding up her arm, revealing her sudden goosebumps. (-- Eight, seven...) He turns his head, maybe to speak, but she leans into him. (-- Six, five...) Cold lips against his, soft and slow, familiar but different. They are older now. This is not comfort in a time of war. (-- Four, three...) Harry can say nothing but, “Just because it's in your head, doesn't mean it isn't real.” Though this, too, is another memory that doesn't quite fit. (-- Two, one..) “Happy new year, Harry,” she breaths.
He opens his eyes. Only an empty wine glass sits in front of him.
Chars/Pairs: Harry/Hermione
Rating: PG
Words: 741
Summary: New Year's theme, broken glass, "Do you think it's real?"
A/N: challenge at hh_sugarquill
It is the 31st of December and they meet at number 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry is still not quite sure why he has decided to take up this place as his permanent residence but, in truth, he has no other place to go. Mrs. Weasely had offered up a room in the Burrow, of course, but he could not fill the gaping hole the family had in their hearts. Even these many years after the war, after everything, Harry could not bear to look at them, could not bear to be around them all at once, feeling the strain and heartbreak that hovered in the air.
So he resides at number 12 Grimmauld Place. It is not so bad, once he scrubbed clean all the bedrooms, once he painted over the alarming family portrait, once he built a bookcase in front of Wallburga Black's portrait. It was actually quite nice a lot of the time.
On this occasion, the eve of the New Year, he threw a party. Well, he invited a few of his friends over and they, in turn, invited a few of their friends and it had grown a little out of control. As the crowd stormed the front door, he had to send Hermione out to gather some things to feed the unexpected guests.
Harry still doesn't know much about wizarding parties and he finds that most of his Muggleborn friends are having a lot better time than the others. He can hear Ron complaining over the murmurs in the living room. Harry sighs and shakes his head.
He hears Hermione enter the kitchen and place an empty bowl on the counter. “I guess everyone is hungry,” she says, laughing a little. “It's almost midnight, Harry, you should come out and join the party.”
“You're right,” he tells her (-- he suddenly has a flash of a memory, a whisper, you're right). “I'll be out in a minute.”
Her smile is thin now and she moves to get herself a glass from the cupboard. Hermione feels very at home at number 12 Grimmauld Place. She pours herself some wine and places one hand on her hip. “I mean it,” she adds before turning to rejoin the party. But her movement may have been too quick (-- or maybe a memory flashes in her head too) because the glass slips from her hand and crashes onto the tile floor, red wine spreading quickly from the spot. “Oh no,” Hermione gasps, her hand flying up to her mouth. “Harry do you have paper towels somewhere?”
He stares at her for a second. “What?” She kneels on the floor next to the spill.
“Harry! Something to clean this up!”
He kneels beside her. “Hermione,” he almost whispers, another memory floating to the surface. This one fuzzy, like it was from long ago. “Are you a wizard or aren't you?”
She laughs then, How silly, and points her wand at the mess. It disappears, leaving no stain on the clean surface. Another point and the glass is mended. They are both still on the ground and Harry's hand moves to hers suddenly.
More memories flicker through his head and, for a moment, Harry can't remember what he is doing. Cold lips against his, hasty and wrong. Rigid hands grasping at the neck of his robes and the rough feel of frizzy hair against his cheek. “Do you think it's real?” he hears in his head, a voice from everywhere and nowhere.
But no, there is hot breath against his ear. He hears counting from the room next door. (-- Ten, nine...) He feels his hand move up her arm to her neck, like he has done this so many times. The soft fabric of her robes sliding up her arm, revealing her sudden goosebumps. (-- Eight, seven...) He turns his head, maybe to speak, but she leans into him. (-- Six, five...) Cold lips against his, soft and slow, familiar but different. They are older now. This is not comfort in a time of war. (-- Four, three...) Harry can say nothing but, “Just because it's in your head, doesn't mean it isn't real.” Though this, too, is another memory that doesn't quite fit. (-- Two, one..) “Happy new year, Harry,” she breaths.
He opens his eyes. Only an empty wine glass sits in front of him.