Amor Fati

Hester: Hast thou enticed me into a bond that will prove the ruin of my soul?
Chillingworth: Not thy soul...not thine!

-Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter

*

Silence from the peanut gallery, please. That's me, telling the voices in my head to shut the hell up.

Oh, come on, Hermione. You don't need to spend Valentine's day like this. Go out, have some fun, you're still young. That's Harry - but no, it's a voice from the past. He's dead, leaving me like this, damn him. He's gone. Gone. Gone...

Why am I so affected by this? Why? Why am I trapped in my own mind, thinking and dreaming and unable to leave this place? I'd tell you - if I could - I can. Yes, I can, I can, I think I can and that's the strongest magic in the world. I think I can. You hear me? I CAN!



This voice, the unearthly stranger that keeps me rooted here in grief and agony - he's the root of the trouble. A Soul-Bond goes deep, wrapping itself not only around the other person's soul but around their body and bones and very heart. It's not what I would've chosen - but it wasn't a choice, really, was it? It was the Soul-Bond or Ron's death.

So many years ago I made that decision; so many years it blurs in my mind. This tombstone is the only place I can think clearly, and here the tendrils of Bond that remain have much less hold over me.



Yes, they do. I can tell about it here. He-who-must-not-be-named...



...he-who-must-not-be-named tried to get Harry to come to him in our seventh year, kidnapping Ron and holding him hostage. He wanted a trade and would've exchanged Harry for Ron. It was a lose-lose situation, but we found one way to win. One incredibly dangerous way; one that could've made Harry and I share one body, one brain for the rest of our lives. I was willing to try. So was he.

He always loved the idea of fate, of scripted futures. Wouldn't he think this funny, that his precious fate gave me this? No. He'd think it sad, he'd be willing to fight it. I'm not. I've tried all these years.

We performed the Soul-Bond spell the weekend after we got the news, sneaking into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom late at night. We were lucky, as we had different blood types; all that needed to be done was to drink a potion and prick our lips with a pin, sealing the spell with a kiss and intermingling the magic. It was heavily romanticized, but undeniably the best-working version of the spell; though the potion's recipe was in the Restricted section, I had been made Head Girl and had free run of the school.

Maybe we should've used a different version of the spell. Maybe we should've made sure that we drank the potion at 12:01 AM on February 14, instead of Friday the thirteenth. But whatever it was, the spell worked well - too well. It still binds me today.

We successfully found our way to the point where He-who-must-not-be-named was waiting with Ron. Then Harry stood, walking over to You-Know-Whow, secretly whispering the spell necessary to transfer his soul from his body to mine. Until You-Know-Who figured out that Harry's soul was gone and cast away the body, he was to reside with me; for a few minutes as we ran from the cursed drop-off site he was there. The soul transfer had worked.

And then inside me, like a switch had been flipped, he was gone. You-Know-Who



had destroyed his body and he had died.

To allow someone to return to their own body after a soul - transfer, one must leave a small part of their soul in the body. Usually it's the part that controls autonomic functions: heartbeat, breathing, reflexes. This was the part that Harry left, as he wouldn't need it while he "shared living quarters" with me. And that was the part that was necessary for him to continue living; he was counting on You-Know-Who simply throwing the body away, not torching it in his anger.

After the body was retrieved and the funeral occured, I began to hear the soul-bond's remnants speaking to me. When Harry died, the tearing of his soul from my body had not been clean; some bits and pieces of the bond and of Harry's mind were left. Ron remarked that I was beginning to walk the way Harry had, that I was becoming less bookish; but indeed, I was spending more and more time sitting atop Harry's gravestone. The stone was simple: "Harry Potter, 1980-98. Rage against the dying of the light." A small lightning bolt was carved below the quote.

Soon, I began to realize that my thoughts were muddy, clouded away from Harry's final resting place. Venturing to the Hogwarts library, I became confused and worried - and the soul-bond spoke.



I realized that I was dealing with 'Fati', the backlash from the death of a Soul-Bondmate.



No. I won't shut up. I can do things without you there, I can deal. I'm not that sad, not as sad as people think me though I grieve...

You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Herm. Just remember that. Sometimes I think you're killing yourself, though. That was Harry again, his voice floating up out of memories of long ago.

The Fati was very severe, and could only get worse for I would forever be stuck here, trying to stay as close to what was left of Harry Potter as I could. The bond called me. The farther away from the tombstone I got, the more murky my thoughts became, and if I stayed away for any period of time I would get sick quickly, deathly ill, a broken-heart disease.

The evening drizzle doesn't bother me, not as I sit here ten years to the day after Harry and I drank that potion. Valentine's eve. As I perch on the skin-warmed marble of the tombstone, I lose track of time and watch the night flow by. Soon the moon is at its apex in the sky, and I turn my face up to it.



I fear that the Soul-Bond has grown into a living entity or that I have gone insane. I don't know what to believe. It's just not tallying up. There's something missing in this equation. There's something I can do to ease the Fati agony. But what is it? It's gone. It's there, it's slipping between my fingers...

::Hermione::

I think it is the Soul-Bond come to torment me again, at first. I snappishly turn around, planting my feet firmly on the earth beneath which Harry's remains lie. But it's not the soul-bond, and a will-o'-the-wisp floats before me. But it's not a will-o'-the-wisp, either; I'm not on marshy ground, and I'm carrying a charm that ought to protect me against all Dark creatures. The thing seems to be made of smoke and mists, and it slowly floats in front of two evergreens, giving me a better background on which to see it.

Are my eyes decieving me? Have I really gone mad this time? I can see the lightning-bolt scar, the unruly hair; he's wearing the same robes as his body had when it was destroyed - but surely if he had not appeared by now, he would've never surfaced -

::You have questions. I know. Not even the bookworm Hermione could know that this was the day I was given. I'm in Purgatory, Herm, waiting for the rest of my soul to be released from the Soul-Bond. We each have one day to make things right. Mine is February 14th.:: I look at my watch. Indeed, it's past midnight - it's St. Valentine's Day.

::Listen, Herm, because it's important. You have to accept your fate for what it is, all right? Love it. Know that you'll be sitting on this tombstone forever. That's the only way I can move on, to Heaven or Hell - whichever. I think Heaven, but who can be sure?::

What? I say. How can I accept this? I will be here for the rest of my life? Might as well die... kill myself right now...

::NO! Hermione, the Spell-Bond won't let you! It'll make life a living Hell if you try it! So come on, just accept it, take my word for it...::

Fine. I'll have to. He disappears, presumably paying another visit - and I put my mind to it, trying to accept the fact that I was going to be sitting right here for the rest of my life. And the world would continue to turn around me, and my life would go on - but it would also stay stationary, right here in the graveyard.

Night melts into sunrise, and I'm still sitting, just thinking and trying to accept it. I try to stand up, getting off the tombstone - and a wave of dizziness hits me. I see Ron picking his way through the other stones as I blink and try to clear my eyes, reseating myself on the stone - and something snaps. A rubber band is pulled to its breaking point inside me. I am going to stay here for forever, and it's not really that bad. I'll never have to worry about the complicated issues of life...

Ron is up to the stone by now, and tries to get me off of it. Come on, Hermione, he says. We've got to go. You've got a doctor's appointment with Madame Pomfrey, remember? Have you been out here all night? I mutely nod, holding on to the tombstone with both hands. Nobody will drag me away, because it's where I can think for myself...

Then I notice that the Soul-Bond is gone.

And Ron has decided I wouldn't've moved if he'd just asked, so he's picked me up and set me gently on the ground a couple yards from the tombstone. The reality sinks in. The Bond is gone - it must be. Otherwise, how would I be able to get off the stone? A laugh bubbles up through vocal cords long unused; it comes out tinny and weak, but it's a laugh. A laugh. How long has it been - ?

Are you going to go, asks Ron. Are you feeling all right?

I'm feeling fine. I'm feeling better than I have in ages. I've been in a prison for so many years, and now I'm finally free in the fresh air and glorious choice as to where I go and what I do. No more of the Soul-Bond's voice, insinuating itself into my very thoughts. I'm free! Free! Free!

As I twirl in pirouettes on Harry's grave, Ron looks at me strangely. But I know it's all right. I know Harry doesn't mind.

I can see him. He's free from purgatory. He's smiling, floating up, up, up in the sky.

*Finis*

Note: I'm sorry if someone will complain because of the lack of punctuation. Anyone who's read my stories knows that I know better; it's for the feeling that I'm doing this. If you didn't understand it, I apologize. I know it was tough. I'm sort of flashing back to my early fanfic-days here. Email me if you don't "get" it - please no flames! I know it's part of being an author, but I don't LIKE flames.