Simple Druid Togas

If I had my life to live over I'd like to make more mistakes next time. I'd relax.

I'm long overdue for a good bout of relaxing. I never gave myself a chance to just sit by the fire with his arms wrapped around my waist, my socks holey and mismatched, a pen cap in my mouth, and an open bottle of Jack Daniel's at our side. But I never gave me, us, the chance to do that. For one thing I didn't have any socks that weren't fresh sparkling white and none of them had holes in them. For another I never had the time for something sweet and relaxing like that. There was always too much to do, too much to learn, mysteries to solve, tomes to dust off...

I would limber up. I would be sillier than I have been this trip.

Being more limber probably would have made the sex better, and if I had giggled a few times while we laid there under the covers things might have been less tense between us. There would have been more chocolate dipped strawberries and champagne for breakfast, less understanding silences, and as many volumes those silences spoke I would have given five of them for a good pillow fight in only his over grown shirt. Still, every one of those silences told a different story and with one missing our story might be too different...too bold.

I would eat more ice cream...on a beach at night, the moon full and bright, the sea restless and the wind throwing a gentle bath of sand about our feet. Fred and I would be together, hands entwined, eating ice cream. His swirled as is his character and custom, mine vanilla, as plain as I am. But I'm licking mine suggestively...and the rest can be left to imagination, just as the whole scenario is actually nothing more than my imagination regretting.

I would perhaps have more actual trouble, but I'd have fewer imaginary ones.

There would definitely be more solid trouble and discourse on my record. I would have less mythical duels with the Musketeers and more full-fledged rows with Snape. Less time questing with Arthur and more time actually drinking my cup of tea, more time writing my story and less time planning those memoirs.

You see, I'm one of those people who live sensibly and sanely hour after hour, day after day.

Not every day was so perfect; Harry and Ron made sure of that. And later in my life so did Fred, and now I'm wishing I could have instigated some of the imperfections. I had every moment written into my planner, but when Harry and Ron would embark out to save the world those plans burnt and I'd have to mend the timetables later. When Fred started to spontaneously send my heart pounding he began to send my plans to hell too, and now I'm glad they did. I needed more disorder in my life.

Oh, I've had my moments, and if I had to do it over again, I'd have more of them.

I'd have hit Malfoy round the face a few more times, yelled at Ron for a couple more minutes, gossiped with Ginny more often, staked more vampires, and danced with the skeletons in my closet on a more regular basis.

In fact, I'd try to have nothing else.

No, that would just be impractical. There I go again, Hermione Granger's being practical, now there's a big surprise. I'm sick of being the steady, reliable one, tired of being the strong pillar of sanity. I want a straight jacket too!

Just moments, one after another, instead of living so many years ahead of each day.

There could have been more Halloween costumes, I could have dyed my hair blonde and have danced like Marilyn Monroe. I could have had a dangerous affair with Draco Malfoy. I could have screwed Oliver Wood in the broom shed. But I never did any of those things, they were far too outlandish, not my style, not part of my great and supreme master plan. They were too spontaneous. A little spontaneity probably would have been good for my system.

I've been one of those persons who never goes anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a raincoat, and a parachute.

Too true. Anyone could always ask me for something. 'Hey Hermione, can I borrow a quill?' 'Hermione, may I please use your text book?' I was always prepared, and Mum and Dad wondered why they had to mail me book bags. I was carrying supplies for an army; did they expect me to supply my troops with out snapping a seam or two...or thirty-nine?

If I had to do it again, I would travel lighter that I have.

Just the Daniel's and me.

If I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall.

I would do that. Dance in the wildflowers starting in early spring showers. Whirling through the rain, catching colds, and slipping in the mud, my bare arms flecked with water droplets and my lips greased in a damp smile. In the summer I would put little umbrellas in my drinks. In the fall I would let the wind whisk me back to the hill with the flowers, this time my dress blowing indecently high above well-tanned legs, and my hair a tangled mess of fallen leaves. A druid, not wearing shoes until the snow, and maybe not even then.

I would go to more dances.

I have been to dances. Fred and I danced at Harry's wedding to Ginny; we danced one night in the Gryffindor common room when we thought nobody else was watching. At Harry's wedding I was decked in Maid of Honor garland, but in the common room I was wearing a bed sheet toga and Fred's plaid boxers. That was one of the moments I got to smile in life, it was my Cinderella ball, with my prince. It was one of the moments when I knew I loved life.

I would ride more merry-go-rounds; I would pick more daisies.

But I don't have my life to live again, and the only daisies I'll be seeing are covering my grave, you see, I'm dead.