[Fic] "Restoration: Pause" -- Harry Potter
Aug. 9th, 2004 11:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
edenfallingI wrote this in longhand last night and revised it this morning, but I still don't like it much. Nevertheless, I consider it better than trying to write about the playwright Harold Pinter, which is the first thing the word conjured in my brain.
A post-war scenario:
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Restoration
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After the war, Ron and Hermione took a flat just off Diagon Alley. Officially this was because they were inseparable friends -- which was, of course, true. Unofficially, they had whisked Harry from his berth at St. Mungo's to recuperate among friends, and the flat was more of a fortress than a welcoming home, all things considered. Nobody save Remus Lupin was left in a position to protest this arrangement, and he, convinced Grimmauld Place was no fit place for human habitation in general, was perfectly happy to leave Harry in Hermione and Ron's capable hands.
The next year, Ginny and Luna took the flat upstairs, whereupon they proceeded to knock a hole in their parlor floor, run a ladder downstairs, and magically obscure the alterations from their Muggle landlord's eyes.
"You'd always be going up and down anyway," said Ginny when Ron protested the noise and mess. "We might as well make it convenient. And for God's sake, Ron, we're witches -- it'll all be cleaned up by dark."
The ladder did prove convenient. And private. But that last, as always, was left unspoken.
It wasn't as if they had no other friends and no lives outside of the flat where Harry recuperated away from the cheering, pressing mobs eager to see their hero. Ginny in particular had networks all through the wizarding world, in addition to her professional herbology and potions contacts, and spent many pleasant evenings on the town. Hermione was known to have lunch or tea with various intelligent conversationalists from time to time, and Ron, who alternated between the twins' shop and his father's Ministry office, had taken up a quest to attend every Quidditch match he possibly could without resorting to a Time Turner.
As for Luna, beyond editing the Quibbler, nobody ever knew quite what she was up to. But she was discreet and never brought her contacts or columnists home, so the others didn't inquire too closely.
Their lives might have pulled them apart, sent them down separate paths as the months passed, but they continued to gravitate back to their linked flats, drawn by Harry's bone-deep calm and his obvious content in a life of peaceful obscurity. He didn't talk much anymore, though Neville assured them that he was lively enough when he Floo'ed out to the Longbottom estate for walks, and Professor McGonagall mentioned that he seemed to enjoy brief and amiable arguments with Professor Snape during his occasional visits to Hogwarts.
"He seems happy," said Hermione a year after Ginny and Luna had moved in, "and of course I want him to be happy, but is it quite healthy for him still to keep so much to himself after all this time?"
Ron shrugged from where he sprawled on the sofa. "He isn't shutting us out -- just doesn't have much to say."
"What I think," said Ginny, "is that he's resting. Think about it -- finally he hasn't got anyone telling him he's worthless or that he needs to save everyone from an evil lunatic. And if he stays quiet and private, he doesn't have people fawning over him either. Let him be, Hermione. The last thing he needs is for us to start pushing at him."
"We should buy him flowers," said Luna suddenly in her abstracted yet definite manner. "Or perhaps go hunting for a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. He might like that, and I'd like some photographs of one for the Quibbler."
"Maybe next year, Luna," said Ron as Hermione rolled her eyes. "For now, let's just enjoy having Harry around without those screaming idiots sending Howlers and love letters -- though I bet he wouldn't mind if I answered the girls instead of him."
"Wanker," muttered Ginny as she idly leaned over from her perch on the sofa's arm and smacked her brother's shoulder. "But honestly, Hermione, don't worry."
"Oh, fine," said Hermione. "Let Harry go on 'resting' or whatever he thinks he's doing. But I'm still keeping an eye on him."
"Aren't we all," said Ron, eyeing the private ladder, the owl-proof windows, and the Fidelius-charmed rooms. "Aren't we all."
And so they waited for the day Harry would be ready to step back into the world, the day they could finally step back, take down the walls of their improvised fortress, and watch him return to the sun.
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Inspired by the 8/8/04 15minuteficlets word #67: pause
Tomorrow we leave the island. I will be sorry to go -- I always am -- but the damp, gray weather makes the departure a bit less of a wound.
Oddly enough, when I'm away from home and family, I often feel more homesick for the island than for New Jersey. I suppose it's because the island is harder to reach, and because it's more of a special place. (This may be related to the way I miss my dog more than my family -- I can't talk to my dog the way I can talk to humans.)
Ah well. At least I won't have to split more wood! It can be quite a fight, bashing wedges through tough, green wood with a maul. (And good god, does it give me lower back pain...)
A post-war scenario:
-------------------------------------------
Restoration
-------------------------------------------
After the war, Ron and Hermione took a flat just off Diagon Alley. Officially this was because they were inseparable friends -- which was, of course, true. Unofficially, they had whisked Harry from his berth at St. Mungo's to recuperate among friends, and the flat was more of a fortress than a welcoming home, all things considered. Nobody save Remus Lupin was left in a position to protest this arrangement, and he, convinced Grimmauld Place was no fit place for human habitation in general, was perfectly happy to leave Harry in Hermione and Ron's capable hands.
The next year, Ginny and Luna took the flat upstairs, whereupon they proceeded to knock a hole in their parlor floor, run a ladder downstairs, and magically obscure the alterations from their Muggle landlord's eyes.
"You'd always be going up and down anyway," said Ginny when Ron protested the noise and mess. "We might as well make it convenient. And for God's sake, Ron, we're witches -- it'll all be cleaned up by dark."
The ladder did prove convenient. And private. But that last, as always, was left unspoken.
It wasn't as if they had no other friends and no lives outside of the flat where Harry recuperated away from the cheering, pressing mobs eager to see their hero. Ginny in particular had networks all through the wizarding world, in addition to her professional herbology and potions contacts, and spent many pleasant evenings on the town. Hermione was known to have lunch or tea with various intelligent conversationalists from time to time, and Ron, who alternated between the twins' shop and his father's Ministry office, had taken up a quest to attend every Quidditch match he possibly could without resorting to a Time Turner.
As for Luna, beyond editing the Quibbler, nobody ever knew quite what she was up to. But she was discreet and never brought her contacts or columnists home, so the others didn't inquire too closely.
Their lives might have pulled them apart, sent them down separate paths as the months passed, but they continued to gravitate back to their linked flats, drawn by Harry's bone-deep calm and his obvious content in a life of peaceful obscurity. He didn't talk much anymore, though Neville assured them that he was lively enough when he Floo'ed out to the Longbottom estate for walks, and Professor McGonagall mentioned that he seemed to enjoy brief and amiable arguments with Professor Snape during his occasional visits to Hogwarts.
"He seems happy," said Hermione a year after Ginny and Luna had moved in, "and of course I want him to be happy, but is it quite healthy for him still to keep so much to himself after all this time?"
Ron shrugged from where he sprawled on the sofa. "He isn't shutting us out -- just doesn't have much to say."
"What I think," said Ginny, "is that he's resting. Think about it -- finally he hasn't got anyone telling him he's worthless or that he needs to save everyone from an evil lunatic. And if he stays quiet and private, he doesn't have people fawning over him either. Let him be, Hermione. The last thing he needs is for us to start pushing at him."
"We should buy him flowers," said Luna suddenly in her abstracted yet definite manner. "Or perhaps go hunting for a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. He might like that, and I'd like some photographs of one for the Quibbler."
"Maybe next year, Luna," said Ron as Hermione rolled her eyes. "For now, let's just enjoy having Harry around without those screaming idiots sending Howlers and love letters -- though I bet he wouldn't mind if I answered the girls instead of him."
"Wanker," muttered Ginny as she idly leaned over from her perch on the sofa's arm and smacked her brother's shoulder. "But honestly, Hermione, don't worry."
"Oh, fine," said Hermione. "Let Harry go on 'resting' or whatever he thinks he's doing. But I'm still keeping an eye on him."
"Aren't we all," said Ron, eyeing the private ladder, the owl-proof windows, and the Fidelius-charmed rooms. "Aren't we all."
And so they waited for the day Harry would be ready to step back into the world, the day they could finally step back, take down the walls of their improvised fortress, and watch him return to the sun.
-------------------------------------------
Inspired by the 8/8/04 15minuteficlets word #67: pause
Tomorrow we leave the island. I will be sorry to go -- I always am -- but the damp, gray weather makes the departure a bit less of a wound.
Oddly enough, when I'm away from home and family, I often feel more homesick for the island than for New Jersey. I suppose it's because the island is harder to reach, and because it's more of a special place. (This may be related to the way I miss my dog more than my family -- I can't talk to my dog the way I can talk to humans.)
Ah well. At least I won't have to split more wood! It can be quite a fight, bashing wedges through tough, green wood with a maul. (And good god, does it give me lower back pain...)
