Waiting for You

WAITING FOR YOU

And then she waited.

Hermione would never know how long she sat in that chair waiting for something she knew might never come. It could have been minutes, possibly hours, but it had felt more like years in her mind.

Time didn't actually exist where she was, she knew, but that was probably what made it seem like such a large amount of it had passed.

Her father was the first to leave her. It had been quite unexpected when he suddenly surged to his feet, and just walked off into the darkness, his chair fading along with his retreating back. His chair had faded along with his retreating back. She had called out to him, but it had been in vain. She had cried then, but that was nothing knew to her, and in a way she found the familiarity of tears comforting.

Crying was all Hermione ever did while she was waiting. She had cried when her mother had suddenly risen from her chair and followed the same path into the inky darkness that her father had, deserting her. She'd cry when a particularly sad memory would replay itself to her, and she cried out for Harry every time she felt the void of nothingness crushing in on her. Tears were only a habit for her now.

It hadn't been so bad with her parents sitting beside her. She could bare the emptiness and the blackness because she knew she wasn't alone in it, but they weren't there anymore. She was alone in the cold, dark, unfeeling room.

Hermione knew inside that it wasn't essentially a room. There were no walls, no doors, and no windows to trap her into the area or to provide her an escape. There was only the thick blackness that, to her, was more effective than any wall.

Hermione would often talk to herself, just to feel as if she wasn't alone. Then she would remember that she was dead, and that she was alone. That thought always seemed to sober her, but it was also that thought that made her sit just a little bit straighter, and caused her chin raise ever so slightly. Even in death Hermione was still very stubborn.

That was probably why she was still locked within her own imprisonment. Some part of her, deep down was still living. Something in her refused to be ignored, or forgotten, and that something was Harry.

The thought of Harry could still make her breath quicken, could still bring that sad, sorrow filled smile to her face. Harry made her feel alive, and she held onto that feeling as if it could save her from drowning in her despair.

Hermione could be very persistent when it suited her purpose, and she absolutely refused to forget the man she loved. And that was why she was still waiting for that something, because she was still, in some sense, very much alive.

And all the while Hermione's life replayed itself before her. She had seen her surprisingly uneventful life many times now, and was growing bored of it. One could only see a specific movie so many times before it became dull and predictable. She remembered everything by heart and every time she'd close her eyes, her life would flash throughout her mind before they were opened again. This, over time, began to confuse her.

Her parents had told her that she had to forget, but she wasn't. She remembered every last detail of her life, down to every word she had said and every feeling she had felt. Her memory wasn't fading with the continuous viewing of her life, but growing. It was a welcomed confusion, though; anything to give her some semblance of life was welcomed.

The only thing that had really changed was that she no longer had any motivation. She seemed to have developed the same air of indifference that her parents had showed her, and that frightened her deeply.

But there wasn't anything she could do about it, really. All she could do was wait for that something she was missing; that nameless something that she could feel, but not name.

So engrossed in her task of waiting, Hermione never once noticed the empty, metal chair appearing beside her own.

~*~

The small pinpoint of pure white light was growing. Whether he was moving towards it or it towards him, Harry wasn't sure of.

He bravely stood his ground, though, when the light seemed to engulf him. It was a funny feeling, being surrounded by this light. It didn't necessarily hurt, but it still felt a little strange. It felt almost detached, or impersonal.

Harry was taken by surprise when the angelic radiance suddenly burst, exploding around him. He started as he watched the shards of the broken light, shattering and falling into nothingness.

When he looked up from the nothingness, it was only to find it surrounding him. Everywhere he turned, the same sticky, thick darkness was there. He couldn't escape it. It was everywhere and nowhere at once, and it felt as though it was reaching out to him, calling to him.

Shaking his head in an attempt to erase this sudden fear, Harry took in his surroundings. There was a dull, yellow light shinning in the center of this new place and under the light was a girl, sitting with her back to him. Beside her was an empty, steel chair. Harry frowned at the chair. Was he meant to sit there? Who was this girl and what was she doing there? Where was he? What was he doing in this strange place?

Harry gave an inward shrug; he'd never know unless he asked.

Cautiously, he made his way towards the girl, but stopped halfway in utter disbelief, but also with an underlining glimmer of hope. He'd know that adoringly (in his eyes, anyway) bushy hair anywhere. His heart beat raced and his breath caught in his throat. It couldn't be though, could it? Hermione was dead, he watched her die. And yet still, there was something achingly familiar about this person.

Harry threw caution to the wind, or he would have if there had been any wind there for him to do so. As the case may be, he gathered up what courage he possessed and strode to the front of the girl in wide, calculated steps, and then proceeded to drop to his knees.

"Hermione! I-I, I saw you... you're..." he trailed off, tears running down his face as his eyes hungrily took in her face.

She wasn't even looking at him, he realized with a start. She seemed rather interested in that black void in front of her.

"Hermione? Hermione, can you hear me?" he thought to ask, taking her hands in his. He frowned as his skin made contact with hers. She was bitter cold.

Not a blink of an eye, no small twitch at her lips, no sudden change in breathing, nothing; nothing was given to indicate if she could, in fact, hear him. Harry smiled sadly, coming to terms with the fact that she probably couldn't hear a word of anything he said.

That was when she looked down at him, tilting her head to the side in curiosity. "Are you dead, too?" she simply asked.

Harry frowned. Was he dead? That was a very good question, he admitted to himself. The last he could recall was Voldemort's killing curse connecting with his own. The bright green light had exploded around them both, seeping into their skin, hungrily spreading throughout his entire being. Then there had been a scream, whether his own or someone else's, he wasn't sure.

Perhaps he was dead. It was easy for him to accept. He wasn't particularly sad to have died, not when Hermione had died only minutes before him.

He held her gaze a moment longer, but saw nothing in her eyes. There was no warmth or kindness, not even a hint of a cold, detached feeling. The emptiness, in his opinion, was far worse than any hard, cold look. At least then he would know that she felt something.

"I am," he answered gently, as if she were a small rabbit he was trying to calm and soothe.

A small, sad smile briefly touched her lips. "My friend Harry used to take me up to Astronomy Tower to watch the stars when I was sad," she abruptly said, glancing up as if she were still gazing at the stars.

Tears streamed down Harry's face as he, too, smiled, remembering those special nights. "Did he now?" he asked in the gentlest of voices, sadness shooting threw him.

Hermione just smiled that sad, knowing smile. "Yes, he did. I remember that he learned the names of many stars and constellations, just so he could point them out and impress me."

A chuckle escaped Harry before it abruptly turned into a sob. He had spent nearly a month memorizing as many constellations as he could so he could point them out when they had their stargazing nights. "Is that so?" he asked, even though he already knew it was.

Hermione didn't respond, but he really didn't expect her to. She just sat there, staring at the imaginary stars only she could see. All Harry could do was to keep kneeling before her, watching her with a pure sadness and a desperate yearning.

"Harry was my best friend," Hermione spoke suddenly, destroying their oddly comfortable silence.

Harry blinked in surprise. He'd have thought that they were close, but he never knew she thought of him as her best friend. "Really?" he looked up at her with wide, lost eyes of a hopeful little boy.

A genuine smile stretched out across her face. "It was always him, Ron, and me. The Dream Team, some people called us. I remember they didn't really like me at first, but then they saved my life and a lied to some teachers for them. There are just some things that people can't go through without becoming friends; I guess fighting a mountain troll was one of them."

Harry closed his eyes, but the tears still came despite his efforts to block them. "I suppose you're right," he conceded.

Hermione's smile widened into that grin of hers that if a person were to blink, they just might miss it. "Of course I am," she smiled, "I loved, you know? More the anything in the world, but I never got to tell him," she finished sadly.

Harry began to cry harder. At once he tried to breathe and stop crying at the same time, resulting in saddened hiccups. He felt his heart wrench as he looked at her, wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms and tell her that he loved. God, how he loved this girl.

"They said I'm supposed to sit here, and forget, but I don't think I can forget Harry," she confessed unhappily.

Bitterness welled up inside of Harry, and for a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, he hated her. "You seem to be doing a good job," he choked out, hurt and betrayal shooting throughout him.

But Hermione only began to smile that radiant, carefree smile of hers. It was as if she held all of the secrets of the world and was just about to share them with him. Her fingers gave his hands a soft, comforting squeeze before she said, "I could never forget you, Harry, believe me, I've tried."

Harry frowned and sat up a little straighter. He must've misheard her, is all? She wasn't talking to him; she'd just lost the rest of her marbles. She didn't remember him, did she? He looked up at her, hoping even though he thought it useless.

Hermione looked back down into Harry's eyes, and in a quick instant, he saw something flare to life within her. Gone was that emptiness he'd seen before, and her eyes were filled with such warmth, such emotion that spoke more than any words ever could.

"I love you so much, Harry. I'm happy that I finally got to tell you," she whispered, cautiously reaching out to caress his tear streaked face, almost as if she thought her hand might pass straight through him.

It didn't, though. The moment her soft, kind hand connected to his face, the dam burst within him. Harry cried like he had never before cried. He was so relieved that she knew him, that she remembered him, and that she loved him. It was a surge of powerful emotions, racking his body with soul deep sobs. They were tears of reprieve, and relief.

"Why? Why didn't you recognize me at first?" he managed to hiccup.

Hermione smiled sadly. "I wasn't sure if you were a figment of my imagination or just another dream," she admitted. "I dreamed of you, every time I closed my eyes."

Suddenly, Harry realized that he hadn't told her that he loved her yet. He realized that this was his chance, the moment he had been waiting for. After six months of waiting, his moment had finally come. "Hermione," he began, gathering up an air of importance. "I love you. I love you with everything I have and everything I don't."

To Harry's minor disappointment, his declaration wasn't a total surprise. "I know, Harry. And I love you, too. They said I had to sit here and forget the life I lived so I could move on. They said I had to forget you, Harry, but I couldn't. I know now that I wasn't meant to. I only had to think I had to, so I could remember that I was dead, and not alive. It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry. I know this now. In a way, I think I always knew."

Harry, ever the gentleman, smiled and rose to his feet, offering her his hand. "Then what are you still doing here? Why didn't you move on if you knew? What were you waiting for?"

Hermione only smiled brightly, taking Harry's proffered hand and standing up out of her chair, not even noticing that it failed to radiate its cold detachment. Squinting up at him in thought she admitted, more to herself than to him, "I was waiting for you."

Harry just grinned stupidly, her statement making him retarded for her. Harry never knew that being dead could be so wonderful.

Curling his fingers around hers, Harry began to lead Hermione into the darkness that seemed to part for them. Not once did either of them glance back at the two fading chairs in the vacant waiting room. And as the darkness began to recede, a new room began to take form, causing the two of them to stop and look around.

Harry smiled when his eyes met with a pair that was identical to his own, and then his smile widened into a grin when they caught a pair of chocolate brown ones.

"Hi mum, dad," his voice echoed around them.