Hoka Hey

This piece was inspired somewhat by the feelings expressed in the song 'Where Have All The Cowboys Gone?' by Paula Cole.


* * * * *

5pm. Time to prepare dinner ready for Ron's return home from work. He liked to come home to find a hot meal set out on the table before him, his three children neatly dressed, sitting waiting for him with innocent beaming smiles. It was a hard job working at the Ministry every day, but each evening he felt completed by the lull of home, his children, and Hermione's soft, gentle words and caresses.

"Kids, come back inside now! It's bath time!" Hermione called out of the back door into the garden, drying her hands with a tea towel. A skinny seven year-old scampered up to her and clutched at her skirt.

"But can't we play a little longer, Mummy?" he pleaded, his sticky hands grasping. Hermione sighed and smiled slowly: a motherly smile she had inherited from her Mum upon moving into her own home with Ron.

"No dear. Go fetch your brother and sister and come inside- Daddy will be home soon."

The small face's smile dropped a little, but obeyed and ran off to the bottom of the garden, where two other children were busy digging in the dirt. Hermione turned back into the house and went upstairs to run the bath.

As the hot water ran and the lightly scented pink bubbles floated upwards, she silently recited tomorrow's to-do list in her head: 6am, wake up. Sweep floor, clean bathroom. Wake up kids, dress them, feed them, and take them to school. Apparate to Hogwarts. Return at 3pm, pick kids up from school, and mark essays. 5pm- cook dinner, bathe kids. 6pm- Ron comes home, have dinner. 8pm- kids' bedtime.

And there her day ended. A day just like every other; the same routine day in, day out. Peaceful, stable, organized, ordered... Boring, dull, hellishly grey.

She loved Ron beyond measure. She loved her kids to bits. She loved her pretty house with its pretty garden, pretty layout, its kind, yet boring neighbours...

But there was always that one thing missing. Something she thought she had found when she married Ron and set herself up for a perfect, peaceful life.

Something she had dreamed of since she was a little girl, something she thought happened to all grown-ups.

Adventure. Excitement. Love that overthrows life. Danger. But adventure above all... Adventure. A Knight in Shining Armour who would ride into the midst of battle with her, who would take her on grand adventures and share them with her.

A Pirate King, cruel and charming.

A Peter Pan- an endless love pitched against life-threatening danger and overwhelming odds. A man who understood her love for life and adventure as much as she herself did. A man who would free her from society's cage... No! More than that! A man who would let her do it herself.

It occurred to Hermione that every woman has a special place in her heart for this long dreamed of love; a special kiss in the corner of her mouth for the one man she can never have: for she will always end up with a mortal, human, normal man.

And no matter how much she may love him and want to spend the rest of her life with him, he will never be her Pirate King, her Knight, or her Peter Pan. And that kiss will never be taken.

Not under normal circumstances anyway. But war is never normal, and has a tendency to bring both the best and worst out in somebody. War makes people do strange things... Because they know subconsciously, even if they don't want to admit it, that each new day may very well be their last.

* * * * *

Hermione had had her dream once... Her kiss had been taken; her Pirate King, her Peter Pan, had been a reality, if only for a short while. She had tasted that adventurous love she had dreamed of. She had experienced that heroic, black-and-white romance movie ending, where the guy gets the girl only in the last few minutes when you think all hope is lost... She had felt that-

"Can we all bathe together, Mummy?" a tiny voice trilled behind her, and Hermione was dragged out of her reverie back to focus on the bath. On autopilot she tested the water and turned the taps off, turning around on her knees to tug the dress off her daughter who raised her chubby arms over her head.

"Of course, dear," Hermione replied, and sighed when she saw the state of the clothes and child before her. "You've been making mud pies again, haven't you, Beth?"

The five year-old grinned and nodded, pulling off her socks and vest and jumping into the bath. Hermione laughed and, once again on autopilot, undressed the two boys who had come running in, red-faced from laughing. When all three children were happily splashing around in the bath, Hermione went to check on the dinner, her mind wandering back to the war, as it was so wont to do these days...

During the war you had nothing to lose and everything to gain, and each day was a gift to be celebrated and used to its fullest. Hermione vaguely recalled all the emergency weddings her friends had gone through... They would seem so rash and unpalatable these days, but back then it was the norm: you never knew when you were going to see your love again. If at all. And you took some pride in being a widow instead of merely the girlfriend he left behind. It occurred to Hermione that by normal standards this was disgustingly morbid, but she reminded herself once again that war imposed new standards upon people; it forced normal humans to become something strange and alien; each day was a good day to die; each day was dangerous, unpredictable, uncertain...

And Hermione remembered that it was the best time of her life.

* * * * *

As she stirred the bubbling casserole, Hermione happily let her mind sift through her painful yet joyful, long-treasured memories of the war... of Draco... of kisses in the dark, stolen whispers, frantic all-night lovemaking on the eve of each battle... Not caring anymore about reputations or gossip: the war and the ever-present threat of death had silenced such unimportant things. In the oppressive environment of the war-torn wizarding-world, there was to be found an unexpected, sweet freedom.

Twelve years had not dulled Hermione's memories, nor lessened the pain, grief, joy, and bliss of those few, short years spent with her Peter Pan, her Pirate King, her Dragon...

She recalled the vision of his eyes... Their silvery-blueness; the way his pupils dilated with lust and desire; the long eye-lashes that lightly, teasingly kissed her cheek when he lay his face against hers; the way he was readable through those eyes, the way they gave clues to his most secret thoughts and emotions; the way his tears rolled down his pale cheeks like tiny, diamond drops, each containing an infinity of rainbows...

She remembered the taste of his skin: slightly salty with sweat, yet sweet... like chocolate. In her mind's eye Hermione saw his body again beneath hers, her lips ghosting over it, tongue teasing and teeth nipping... She saw every scar he owned, and kissed them one by one.

Vividly she recalled the many images of him wrapped around her, his strong arms holding her, his hips bucking into hers; she felt his skin brush her own, felt him glide down her body, roll her underneath him, kiss her, flick his tongue into her navel and over her breasts.

She felt once more his hair beneath her fingers, damp with sweat and tousled. Felt his breath on her neck and ear, listened to his rasped words- sweet, dulcet, erotic, teasing, sensual, pained, desperate, loving...

Hermione still wasn't sure if her friends knew and just kept silent about it or not. It wouldn't have surprised her to think that Harry was ignorant of her relationship with Draco: he had more important things to think about. Whoever knew said nothing, passed no judgement. War did funny things to people after all.

They had been comrades-in-arms, friends, and lovers. Only after the war did Hermione note that neither of them referred to the other as boyfriend or girlfriend. They had never even spoken about what would happen between them after the war. At the time it felt like the right thing to do- through each other they found strength to persevere, adventure, and excitement. When Hermione was in Draco's bed and arms she felt the war slip away slightly- through it was an ever-present possibility in her mind that tonight would be their last night together. The uncertainty was unbearable, yet in some strange way exciting...

Was it lust? Hermione knew it was that. Was it love too, though? In a way it was, though neither expected it to be enduring- death seemed to be a more likely conclusion to their relationship than a marriage, house, and children. They lost themselves in a world of sex, battle, death, swords, wands, Death Eater hunts, and more sex.

And as she remembered the post and pre-battle love-making, the united battles against dark wizards, the adventure and the completeness of being lost to each new day, Hermione's eyes swam and a fat tear fell.

* * * * *

Hermione knew that in her heart and memory Draco would never age, never grow old. He would remain forever twenty years old, forever her valiant comrade-in-arms, forever her passionate lover, forever her Peter Pan: her perfect, dream adventure.

But now her mind cast itself back to that last day, the day when the threat of death had finally been made real.

They had made love, as usual, as thought this would be the last they would see of each other. Hermione liked to think that if she had known, she would have lingered a few seconds longer in his eyes; would have inhaled his scent deeper, would have spoken the words they had never spoken to each other in all the three years they had been lovers.

They had fought, side-by-side, one covering the other. They had united their curses and hexes for double effect, and it had been a hard battle. The day was eventually won, but not for Hermione, who held in her arms her dying lover.

She remembered... The memory choked her and her face grew hot and red as more tears fell... She remembered how she had kissed his lips hard, almost drinking in the blood issuing from his mouth. She remembered how he clutched and wringed her hand in pain, how his eyes filled with tears, and how he could not form words through the fear and hurt... She liked to imagine the words he would have spoken if he could.

Hermione felt, once again, her heartbreak as her Knight, her Pirate King, her Peter Pan, left her to the dull monotony of reality. She felt the sudden limpness of his lips beneath hers as his final breath floated over her face, and felt the cry wrenched from her body...

He would always be her Peter Pan: he could not grow old. He had given her her dream, her wish, the adventure all young girls dream of but most never have. For only exceptional challenge, life-threatening hardship, can make for the true adventurous love. Only something as monstrous as enmity and war could bring out the best in each person; could drive people together; could cause them to treat each day with care, enthusiasm; could give them the courage to love each other beyond all possibility and still manage to rise up each morning with their love, don battle gear, grasp sword and wands, and look into each other's eyes- likely for the last time- and say with faith and without regret:

"Today is a good day to die."

Hermione felt again like she was in the war... Prepared with sword and shield to love, fight, and die. Her tears were tears of pain, yet also of pride and courage. When she focused once more on the casserole, those tears turned into frustrated, disappointed ones as the boring mundanity of her life came rushing back to her.

She had lost her dream, her adventure, her Knight. That kiss she saved for him as a little girl had grown back, but she could not give it away. Maybe, if there was an afterlife and she got to see Draco again, her kiss would find its rightful owner... But until then she was stuck with adventures in her mind, through knowledge and the new experiences of motherhood and teaching. She knew though, that some part of her would always yearn for the war years, the wonderful war years.

In her mind, Hermione strapped her sword to her side, raised her shield, and spoke to the breeze that felt so much like Draco's final breath,

"Today is a good day to die, my love."