A day late and a dollar short
I’m not even Catholic, yet the guilt is overwhelming! Sorry for missing my Monday - was at my parent’s all weekend and forgot they’re a bunch of Luddites.
Does this mean I’m on probation? On the bright side, my negligence means two fics for the week, as here’s what I had for yesterday (and it has a title!). Alas, it does not have a Christmas theme. Instead, it’s a scene I had in my mind for a long time that was meant to be a part of my novel-length that went down in flames. But since I liked the scene so much, I decided to put it to paper for you all to read. It’s not really H/Hr - it highlights their friendship, no romance here.
To make up for missing my Monday, my next fic will finally find its “Happy Ending.”
Author: kyc639
Title: The Question Isn’t Nearly as Important as the Answer
Rating: PG
Pairing H/Hr friendship
Summary: Harry angsts and Hermione helps.
Notes: Takes place in seventh-year…the school has opened for business and the kids are knee deep in tests and all other school things.
The Question Isn’t Nearly as Important as the Answer
To say that the start of seventh year was anti-climactic would be quite an understatement, even coming from a Brit. I had expected all kinds of things to happen, mostly bad. But despite the events of sixth year - discovering horcruxes, Dumbledore’s death, Hogwarts possibly closing, vowing to gallantly take the fight to Voldemort - seventh year began essentially the same way that all the other years did: signing up for classes, buying books, getting on the Express.
It was eventually decided that Hogwarts would stay open for seventh year. Despite the war, it was felt that educating the young was still important, and besides, Hogwarts was no less dangerous then anywhere else in magical Britain. And despite my noble pronouncement of foregoing seventh year in favor of a quest for the horcruxes, I soon realized that I didn’t have any idea where to start. So, Hermione, Ron, and I decided to return to Hogwarts and continue our schooling while combing the library, Dumbledore’s office, and his pensieve for clues as to the whereabouts of the remaining horcruxes. Thusly, I found myself sitting in the Gryffindor common room one late autumn night, attempting to decipher the seemingly random collections of letters and words that make up my Potions textbook.
I was studying for tomorrow's Potions test when it suddenly hit me. I looked around the Common Room and only saw signs of normalcy: first and second years still exploring the wonders of magic; third and fourth years talking and playing various wizarding games; the fifth years and seventh years studying hard for OWLs and NEWTs, respectively; and the sixth years just glad they’re not in fifth or seventh year. I watched everyone and everything, it all made me angry.
I wanted to scream, How dare we act so normal when there are people dying in a war right outside these castle walls?! I saw Neville helping Dean with Herbology and I wanted to shake him by the collar, yelling don’t you care that Bellatrix is still out there? in his face. Two muggleborns in fourth year were playing Exploding Snap, and all I could think was how can you just sit there playing a game when you have large, red targets painted on your backs simply because your parents are Muggles?
But right on the heels of my righteous anger came a deep feeling of despair because, in the end, was it not my responsibility, my destiny, to save them all? The prophecy said it all, didn’t it? I was the only one who could stop Voldemort. In the end, it didn’t matter what anyone else did, because it would be up to me and me alone.
And what could possibly make me think that I had a chance of success? Besting a two-faced Quirrel and a basilisk? Surviving the duel in fourth year? Though I had “successfully” faced Voldemort in the past, it was never of my own doing. Whether it was my mother’s protection, a dungy old hat, or the blind luck of having the brother wand to Voldemort’s own, I had never managed to fight off Voldemort’s schemes by myself. And now with Dumbledore gone, did I really think that my six years of magical education really stood a chance against Voldemort’s lifetime of immersion in the Dark Arts? I couldn’t even touch Snape when we dueled, and yet somehow I’m supposed to beat his master? Hell, I probably couldn’t take Voldemort when he was a seventh year, much less the Voldemort of today.
But lest I forget, before I could even get that far, I first had to somehow find and destroy his Horcruxes, one of which was missing from where Voldemort had hidden it. I stared at my Potions textbook cradled in my arms, but all I wanted to do was to run away and hide. What has the wizarding world done for me anyway? Killed my parents, forced me to live with the Dursleys, alternatively mocked and praised me…was it even worth it?
But of course, I couldn’t very well run from my responsibilities, could I? No, brave little Harry Potter would run blindly to his fate, where he would no doubt find a slow and painful death to a much superior wizard. The thought of death was depressing enough by itself, but when coupled with the knowledge that my failure would mean Voldemort’s success, I was practically paralyzed with feelings of desolation. Seriously, who’s running this place anyway? Hadn’t fate ever heard of a back-up plan? Entrusting civilization as we know it to a 17 year old kid wasn’t the brightest of ideas. Not only do I have to save my own life, but knowing that I was the only chance that we had…
“It’s not that bad, really,” Hermione said, sitting beside me.
I looked up at her. “What?” Had I spoken my thoughts out loud? Could she read my mind? Was I that obvious?
She smiled encouragingly. “It’s not that bad,” she repeated. At my look of disbelief, she added, “Okay, I know it looks bad right now, but it’s all in how you look at it.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “How I look at it.”
She nodded. “Yes, you just need a different perspective.” She looked around the room briefly until she spotted a pair of third years playing Wizard’s Chess. “Take chess, for example. When you first begin, your opponent has what seems like a ton of pieces, right?”
I nodded slowly, not quite understanding where this was leading.
“Well,” she continued, “what do you do when you start playing? Do you begin by trying to take the king right away?”
I shrugged. “Well…”
Hermione laughed. “Okay, maybe you’re not the best person to ask about chess strategy, but normal people start by weakening your opponent’s defenses, taking pieces one at a time until the king is exposed.”
“Okay…but what does that have to do with anything?”
She smiled. “Right now, you’re just looking at the end goal, the last step, instead of focusing on all the little steps that you have to complete first. It can get overwhelming if you just look at the final objective. But if you break apart your problem into little pieces- and focus on succeeding with those first - then you won’t feel all weighted down by the enormity of the task. And while I know you feel pressured to make things happen right away, remember that it doesn’t all have to happen now. You have to wait until everything’s ready in order to move to the next step for it to work. It’s a process.”
I let her words sink in for a moment. Maybe thinking about the end goal - defeating Voldemort - was too overwhelming for me. Instead, I had to ‘break apart my problem into little pieces.’ And those pieces? Let’s see...essentially, find horcruxes, destroy horcruxes, and train. And then, only then when I’m ready, will I seek out Voldemort. And while it was still seemed a foreboding task, I still somehow felt much better. “Thanks,” I said. “That helped a lot.”
She grinned. “And don’t forget, you’re not alone here. I’ll always be there when you need help.”
I smiled gratefully. “I know. You’ve always been there for me, Hermione. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” she said, turning back to her own book. “Besides, even I think that the potion that Slughorn assigned is really tough, and I started looking at it a month ago.”
I looked at her curiously. “Wait...what? Potion? What potion?”
She motioned at the textbook in front of me. “The potion that we’re supposed to create tomorrow for class? You’ve been staring at for ages…that’s what’s bothering you, right?”
I looked down at the book, which listed the ingredients for the NEWT-level potion that we would be tested on tomorrow, and realized that she was having a completely different conversation than I was. I suddenly found myself smiling uncontrollably, and impulsively reached out to give Hermione a hug.
She was shocked. “What was that for?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. You’re...amazing, that’s all. Thanks Hermione.”
She blushed and mumbled something before burying her head back in her book. It really was amazing, and somehow unsurprising, that Hermione always knew the right answer even when she didn’t know the question. And with that kind of help, how could I possibly fail?
Does this mean I’m on probation? On the bright side, my negligence means two fics for the week, as here’s what I had for yesterday (and it has a title!). Alas, it does not have a Christmas theme. Instead, it’s a scene I had in my mind for a long time that was meant to be a part of my novel-length that went down in flames. But since I liked the scene so much, I decided to put it to paper for you all to read. It’s not really H/Hr - it highlights their friendship, no romance here.
To make up for missing my Monday, my next fic will finally find its “Happy Ending.”
Author: kyc639
Title: The Question Isn’t Nearly as Important as the Answer
Rating: PG
Pairing H/Hr friendship
Summary: Harry angsts and Hermione helps.
Notes: Takes place in seventh-year…the school has opened for business and the kids are knee deep in tests and all other school things.
The Question Isn’t Nearly as Important as the Answer
To say that the start of seventh year was anti-climactic would be quite an understatement, even coming from a Brit. I had expected all kinds of things to happen, mostly bad. But despite the events of sixth year - discovering horcruxes, Dumbledore’s death, Hogwarts possibly closing, vowing to gallantly take the fight to Voldemort - seventh year began essentially the same way that all the other years did: signing up for classes, buying books, getting on the Express.
It was eventually decided that Hogwarts would stay open for seventh year. Despite the war, it was felt that educating the young was still important, and besides, Hogwarts was no less dangerous then anywhere else in magical Britain. And despite my noble pronouncement of foregoing seventh year in favor of a quest for the horcruxes, I soon realized that I didn’t have any idea where to start. So, Hermione, Ron, and I decided to return to Hogwarts and continue our schooling while combing the library, Dumbledore’s office, and his pensieve for clues as to the whereabouts of the remaining horcruxes. Thusly, I found myself sitting in the Gryffindor common room one late autumn night, attempting to decipher the seemingly random collections of letters and words that make up my Potions textbook.
I was studying for tomorrow's Potions test when it suddenly hit me. I looked around the Common Room and only saw signs of normalcy: first and second years still exploring the wonders of magic; third and fourth years talking and playing various wizarding games; the fifth years and seventh years studying hard for OWLs and NEWTs, respectively; and the sixth years just glad they’re not in fifth or seventh year. I watched everyone and everything, it all made me angry.
I wanted to scream, How dare we act so normal when there are people dying in a war right outside these castle walls?! I saw Neville helping Dean with Herbology and I wanted to shake him by the collar, yelling don’t you care that Bellatrix is still out there? in his face. Two muggleborns in fourth year were playing Exploding Snap, and all I could think was how can you just sit there playing a game when you have large, red targets painted on your backs simply because your parents are Muggles?
But right on the heels of my righteous anger came a deep feeling of despair because, in the end, was it not my responsibility, my destiny, to save them all? The prophecy said it all, didn’t it? I was the only one who could stop Voldemort. In the end, it didn’t matter what anyone else did, because it would be up to me and me alone.
And what could possibly make me think that I had a chance of success? Besting a two-faced Quirrel and a basilisk? Surviving the duel in fourth year? Though I had “successfully” faced Voldemort in the past, it was never of my own doing. Whether it was my mother’s protection, a dungy old hat, or the blind luck of having the brother wand to Voldemort’s own, I had never managed to fight off Voldemort’s schemes by myself. And now with Dumbledore gone, did I really think that my six years of magical education really stood a chance against Voldemort’s lifetime of immersion in the Dark Arts? I couldn’t even touch Snape when we dueled, and yet somehow I’m supposed to beat his master? Hell, I probably couldn’t take Voldemort when he was a seventh year, much less the Voldemort of today.
But lest I forget, before I could even get that far, I first had to somehow find and destroy his Horcruxes, one of which was missing from where Voldemort had hidden it. I stared at my Potions textbook cradled in my arms, but all I wanted to do was to run away and hide. What has the wizarding world done for me anyway? Killed my parents, forced me to live with the Dursleys, alternatively mocked and praised me…was it even worth it?
But of course, I couldn’t very well run from my responsibilities, could I? No, brave little Harry Potter would run blindly to his fate, where he would no doubt find a slow and painful death to a much superior wizard. The thought of death was depressing enough by itself, but when coupled with the knowledge that my failure would mean Voldemort’s success, I was practically paralyzed with feelings of desolation. Seriously, who’s running this place anyway? Hadn’t fate ever heard of a back-up plan? Entrusting civilization as we know it to a 17 year old kid wasn’t the brightest of ideas. Not only do I have to save my own life, but knowing that I was the only chance that we had…
“It’s not that bad, really,” Hermione said, sitting beside me.
I looked up at her. “What?” Had I spoken my thoughts out loud? Could she read my mind? Was I that obvious?
She smiled encouragingly. “It’s not that bad,” she repeated. At my look of disbelief, she added, “Okay, I know it looks bad right now, but it’s all in how you look at it.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “How I look at it.”
She nodded. “Yes, you just need a different perspective.” She looked around the room briefly until she spotted a pair of third years playing Wizard’s Chess. “Take chess, for example. When you first begin, your opponent has what seems like a ton of pieces, right?”
I nodded slowly, not quite understanding where this was leading.
“Well,” she continued, “what do you do when you start playing? Do you begin by trying to take the king right away?”
I shrugged. “Well…”
Hermione laughed. “Okay, maybe you’re not the best person to ask about chess strategy, but normal people start by weakening your opponent’s defenses, taking pieces one at a time until the king is exposed.”
“Okay…but what does that have to do with anything?”
She smiled. “Right now, you’re just looking at the end goal, the last step, instead of focusing on all the little steps that you have to complete first. It can get overwhelming if you just look at the final objective. But if you break apart your problem into little pieces- and focus on succeeding with those first - then you won’t feel all weighted down by the enormity of the task. And while I know you feel pressured to make things happen right away, remember that it doesn’t all have to happen now. You have to wait until everything’s ready in order to move to the next step for it to work. It’s a process.”
I let her words sink in for a moment. Maybe thinking about the end goal - defeating Voldemort - was too overwhelming for me. Instead, I had to ‘break apart my problem into little pieces.’ And those pieces? Let’s see...essentially, find horcruxes, destroy horcruxes, and train. And then, only then when I’m ready, will I seek out Voldemort. And while it was still seemed a foreboding task, I still somehow felt much better. “Thanks,” I said. “That helped a lot.”
She grinned. “And don’t forget, you’re not alone here. I’ll always be there when you need help.”
I smiled gratefully. “I know. You’ve always been there for me, Hermione. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” she said, turning back to her own book. “Besides, even I think that the potion that Slughorn assigned is really tough, and I started looking at it a month ago.”
I looked at her curiously. “Wait...what? Potion? What potion?”
She motioned at the textbook in front of me. “The potion that we’re supposed to create tomorrow for class? You’ve been staring at for ages…that’s what’s bothering you, right?”
I looked down at the book, which listed the ingredients for the NEWT-level potion that we would be tested on tomorrow, and realized that she was having a completely different conversation than I was. I suddenly found myself smiling uncontrollably, and impulsively reached out to give Hermione a hug.
She was shocked. “What was that for?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. You’re...amazing, that’s all. Thanks Hermione.”
She blushed and mumbled something before burying her head back in her book. It really was amazing, and somehow unsurprising, that Hermione always knew the right answer even when she didn’t know the question. And with that kind of help, how could I possibly fail?