Distorted Reflections

CHAPTER ONE

Harry was sprawled out comfortably on the sofa in his miniscule living room, trying not to think about anything. It was midmorning. Daylight was slanting through the large, round window in the entry hall, hitting his eyes in such a way that he was forced to close them to avoid the glare. That didn't help much, though, because what he saw behind his closed eyelids was far worse than any sunlight. Her face.

Harry shifted positions, and threw his arm across his face, his brow furrowing in irritation.

Damn the stupid sun, he thought angrily. Damn the sun and the sky and the grass and this bloody cottage.

He sat up, feeling restless, and ran a hand through his thoroughly untidy hair. Why couldn't he escape from her? She haunted his dreams, prowled about in his thoughts constantly, never giving him a moment of peace. It had been years since they had met. He had heard about her, of course - heard about her many accomplishments. Her face graced The Daily Prophet at least once a month. But he hadn't seen her since ... he couldn't remember, and it bothered him. Why did she torture him so? Hermione, Hermione, Hermione.

Harry shook his head, trying to banish his thoughts, but they remained, weighing him down. Get away, he told them furiously. And then, aloud,

"Get away from me."

Ha, you thought you could get rid of us that easily? Was the immediate reply. Disgusted with himself, Harry stood up hastily; leaving his memories crumpled in a heap on the cushions he had just been sitting on.

I need to pull myself together, he told himself. I do not love her. She is not my friend; she has left me. So why am I still thinking about her? I don't know. I don't know anything anymore, except that I'm going to go mad if I don't find someone to talk to.

He crossed to the kitchen, a clean, bright little area, with a rectangular island in the center, sat down in one of the cheerful wooden chairs surrounding a smooth oak table, and buried his face in his hands. He remained that way for a long time, halfway between sulking and weeping.

After some hours had passed, during which he had hardly moved from his position at the table, Harry felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He gave a yell, and jumped up, his wand clutched beneath trembling fingers. Sirius Black raised his arms in surrender.

"Oh, it's you. Sorry, Sirius." Sirius half-smiled.

"Forgiven, Harry. Not a problem. How've you been managing ... recently?" Harry shook his head gravely, his face solemn.

"Terrible. I just can't seem to stop moping about. I just need to see her ..." Harry trailed off, sorrow prevalent in every line of his face. Sirius put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Harry, come on. Look at you! You're falling apart. If you want to see her so badly, go and find her."

"No." Harry shrugged Sirius' hand away and strode across the room. Sirius sighed. Harry's infatuation with Hermione was rapidly becoming dangerous - to both Harry and those who knew him. If this kept up ... well, he didn't want to think about that. He could see that if he didn't do something now, Harry would ... he didn't want to think about that either. I've got to help him, he realized, and stepped up to Harry's side.

"Harry Potter,"

"What?"

"Look at me." Harry turned slowly, his eyes blazing with frustration. His mouth was turned down slightly at the corners, the way it did when he was upset.

"Fine, I'm looking at you. Now what do you want?" he spat angrily. Sirius was astonished. This wasn't the Harry he knew. Harry was gentle, and willing to listen. Hermione, I'll kill you for what you've done to him, he thought.

"Harry Potter, have you looked in the mirror recently? You're dying. You're dying because of some girl you haven't seen in five years. This is Hermione, for God's sake! You think you can't talk to Hermione, of all people?"

"I can't,"

"Why not?"

"You don't understand!" Harry exploded, and shoved Sirius away. "I can't talk to Hermione. Don't you get it? I loved Hermione. From my fifth year, I loved her. And I told her so, two weeks before we all graduated. And she told me - she told me -" tears were brimming in Harry's eyes; now one spilled over his cheek and ran past his chin.

"- She told me that she didn't feel the same way. She told me she was in love with someone else. And she's probably married to that someone else by now. She's forgotten me. She's cast me off. And you think that I could just come around to her doorstep and say, 'Hello, Hermione! Remember me? Harry? Your old friend, who let slip to you that he loved you and got crushed in the dust? Could I have some tea?' She'd shut the door in my face. Bloody hell, Sirius, why did you come here?"

Sirius' face-hardened. "I came here to help you sort your life out, because the way you live is shameful. You had such potential, Harry. You could have been great. And then you threw your years away because one girl stomped on your heart. Now you have two choices. You could either get over Hermione and move on, or you could find her and make amends. Because I won't let you waste away for her any longer."

Harry found that he was speechless. He privately agreed with Sirius, but wouldn't give his godfather the satisfaction of being right.

"Sirius, I really can't find her,"

"So let her go!"

"No!" Harry gasped, grabbing Sirius and shaking him. "Even after what I told you, you still don't grasp it, do you? I can't let her go - I tried. I tried every single day since I left her, but I can't manage it. Because I love her, Sirius! After all these years, I still love her. And I can't see her because I'm afraid. I'm afraid I'll look at her, and I'll betray myself and fall for her even harder than I already have. And I won't have anything to give her, besides myself, and she's already made it clear that she doesn't want that."

"Harry, you weren't placed in Gryffindor for nothing. You faced a basilisk, Dementors, Voldemort. And you beat them, always. What makes you think you can't beat this?"

"It's different."

"No it's NOT!" Sirius shouted. He felt aggravation and disappointment well up inside him, eating away at his insides like acid. He took several deep breaths. "This conversation has gone on long enough," He told Harry. "You choose now. Either you remain here and let yourself die, or you locate Hermione and tell her you've seen the error in your ways. It's your life, Harry. Don't let it all come down to nothing."

They stood there for a few minutes; Sirius' expression one of ire, Harry's unreadable. At last Harry spoke.

"Sirius, I'd rather have my life be nothing than have my heart be shattered even more. Please leave my house." Sirius nodded.

"Very well," he responded, and turned to go. Then he spun around. "Love hurts, but often it's worth it," he said. Harry stepped away.

"Not this time," he replied. Sirius bowed his head.

"Goodbye then, Harry," he said, and Apparated with a small pop! . Harry stared at the spot where Sirius had disappeared, then sat down on the floor. Why am I doing this to myself, he wondered. Sirius is right, of course. Why can't I just accept that? Because the old wounds haven't yet mended, Harry realized without shock. But then ... will they ever? Not if I stay here.

Harry looked about him at the interior of his cottage. Positioned on a high cliff over the sea and surrounded by acres of woods, no one really knew about the small hut he'd purchased a few months after graduation from Hogwarts. Many people thought he was dead, he knew. But everyone else who knew better recognized that Harry was hiding from the world and did not wish to be found.

The little lodge was pretty and colorful, and reminded him slightly of the Burrow, where he had stayed for the summer nearly five years ago. The living room and kitchen were mashed together, with only the difference of carpet and tile to display where one ended and the other began. Harry's bedroom was connected to the main house by a tiny hallway, off of which his bathroom branched out.

All the rooms were well decorated, but plainly furnished. Except for one. The guest room. In the event that someone in particular might show up one day, he had kept that one room neat and beautiful for over four and a half years. In the guest room, silk sheets adorned the bed, which was draped with dazzling emerald coverlets and blankets. The walls were a shimmering jade color. A towering armoire stood proudly in the corner, next to a beauty table with a green cushioned seat of rich fabric.

Though it was finely furnished, all the objects in the guest room had collected a fine layer of dust from misuse. No one had ever slept in that bed, or used that dresser, which was beginning to sag from lack of dignity. Harry doubted that anyone ever would, unless he did something about it. He stood up, brushed off his robes, and walked leisurely into the kitchen. A loud hoot told him that Hedwig had arrived, back from her evening hunt for food.

"Hullo, Hedwig," he greeted her lazily. She flapped forward and settled comfortably on his shoulder, nipping affectionately at his ear.

"Got anything for me?" his owl ruffled her feathers and shook her snowy head. Not today, she replied. Harry smiled in spite of himself, and stroked her back soothingly.

"I need to ask your advice, Hedwig," he said. She cocked her head at him, blinking her large amber eyes. What is it?

"I'm thinking - I'm thinking of going to visit an old friend. You know her, I think," Hedwig felt a burst of sympathy towards her owner - she knew how hard the past five years had been for him. Hermione, she answered. Of course I know her. Wasn't she the one who broke your heart? Harry looked at her indignantly, and pushed her off his shoulder. She gave a loud chirp about indecency of it, then fluttered to the sink and perched there, glaring at him. I was only trying to help.

"Well, you were doing a bloody bad job of it!" he retorted, resentment rising in his throat. He didn't know how he was able to communicate with Hedwig - it might have been from twelve years spent with her, or something else - but all he wanted right that second was to get Hermione out of his head, and Hedwig wasn't helping. He exhaled noisily, and slowly extended his hand toward Hedwig, who was looking extremely miffed.

"I'm sorry. It's just that, well, I've got a lot on my mind right now, and I'm trying to decide whether or not to follow through with contacting ... Hermione," Hedwig made a sound that sounded unmistakably like a snort. I'm not going to bite you, Harry, although it did occur to me at first. She twittered, accepting his apology, and flapped onto his outstretched arm. He grinned in relief.

"Okay, Hedwig, I really need your honest opinion. Should I call on Hermione or not?" Hedwig directed her unwavering amber gaze towards him. I think you should do what you feel in your heart is right, she told him. Harry remained immobile for a moment, contemplating. Then, gradually, a look of consciousness began to creep across his face, staining his cheeks and eliciting color to them for the first time in months.

"You're right, Hedwig. You always are. I know what I have to do." Hedwig gave him an appraising gaze, and nipped his elbow gently, causing him to start and look fiercely down at her. "What was that for?" Hedwig looked annoyingly smug now - the favor gone from her round ocher eyes. You still have to write her a letter, she reminded him.

"Right. Accio Parchment!" he said, removing his wand from his robes and pointing. A drawer near the stove rocketed open, and several sheets of the stuff came soaring out towards them. He caught each leaf deftly, laid them on the kitchen table, and chose the least crumpled, upon which he scribbled:

Dear Hermione,

I'm going to be in your neighborhood for a few days, and I was wondering if maybe we could meet up somewhere? It's been a while; we could catch up. Please write back pronto, I'd like to see you.

~ Harry

Upon finishing the letter, he dug around in the cabinets above the sink, at last finding a bit of purple ribbon and some twine. He rolled up the parchment and tied it carefully, then attached it to Hedwig's leg with the twine.

"Go on now, as fast as you can muster. I have to pack, I want to catch the 3:00 train to London, and if I don't hurry, it will be dark by the time I reach the station." Hedwig, who was halfway out the open window, stopped in midair and whirled around. What? You aren't going to wait for Hermione's answer first? Harry slapped his hand on the table.

"Not a chance. I've made up my mind, and if I think about it, I'm going to change it. I'm going to see Hermione, whether she wants to or not." Hedwig did something that strongly resembled a shrug, and took off into the hazy afternoon. Harry looked after her until she was just a little white blob against the dark firs surrounding his squat cottage. Then he turned and went to pack.

* * *

Sirius sat at the old, antique desk in his large home library, thinking about Harry. The poor boy wouldn't survive much longer if he kept dwelling on that stupid girl, he thought bitterly. Hermione had once been a close friend, but after the way she had treated Harry, she deserved to be looked upon with nothing but with intense dislike. She'd stopped talking to him, stopped writing to him, broken all connections. She hadn't even spoken to him on graduation day, though God knows Harry tried more than once to have a conversation to her. She'd shut him out of her life completely, and he was still sore about it. In truth, he'd rather that Harry didn't visit Hermione at all - it would probably tear him up just to look at her. But Harry needed to conquer his one fear, and if facing it was the only solution, so be it.

Sirius sighed dejectedly, and rose. He smoothed his robes and moved to the fire, staring into it and thinking about a line he had once read: 'When love vanishes, often footprints are left behind.'

Yeah, Sirius thought, that's true. The footprints of Hermione's shoes are all over Harry's heart. He rubbed his exhausted eyes and yawned. I sure must be getting on in years if I'm tired in the middle of the day. He stretched his arms out and was about to flop into a nearby wingchair - when Harry's face appeared in the fire.

"Jesus!" he hollered, flying back onto the rug, now wide awake.

"Sorry if I scared you, Sirius," said Harry. Sirius noticed that his face and cheeks were looking healthier, and that his bottle green eyes had regained their usual roguish glint.

"Harry Potter, what in the blue blazes are you doing in my bloody fireplace?" he asked, almost amused.

"I just wanted to let you know that if you need to contact me, I'll be in London," Harry replied calmly, his face composed, yet with a hint of anxiety behind his cool façade.

"Why the hell would you be in London, especially considering that you rarely leave your bloody rustic house?" Sirius demanded, inquired, not daring to hope, or even to breathe.

"I'm going to see Hermione," Harry answered, his voice showing the apprehension that his face did not display. Sirius' heart left its chest and bounced up into his throat. He tried to say something back, but the stupid thing was blocking up all possible speech. At last he swallowed, and beamed at his godson.

"I knew my words would influence you."

"They didn't." Sirius' jaw dropped.

"Well, what did, then?"

"Hedwig convinced me." This was too much for Sirius to take. He sprang from his position on the floor, his expression on the verge of being ridiculous - it was a mixture of bewilderment, distress, and gratitude.

"Why the hell do you listen to your bloody owl and not to your godfather?!" Harry began to laugh - not the harsh, mocking cackle that he had recently taken to using, but a deep, rumbling, inviting laugh - the kind of laugh that made you want to smile and forget everything wrong with the world. Harry's laugh.

"She told me what I needed to hear. You didn't. That was some load of tripe you were going on about, Sirius," and he began to laugh again, this time with Sirius alongside him.

"You know, I'm finally starting to see the real you again. Five years of misery till can't keep you buttoned up, Harry," Sirius commented, once their hysterics were over and done with. Harry's face grew serious.

"I hope it doesn't wear off after I've been to see Hermione," he muttered, looking sad again. Sirius smiled.

"I don't think it will."