Carousel

Hermione didn't know why she stood there and watched Harry for so long.

He was casually sat on a bench, his face blank and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. His whole appearance was scruffy; so much so, that she couldn't understand how someone as pedantic as herself could have been friends with him. He looked like James Dean with his untameable black hair sticking out all over the place, brilliant green eyes, faded jeans that clung around his thin legs and a t-shirt that had the name of a Muggle band on it. But hardly a rebel without a cause.

It was an odd place to meet, she had to admit. The fair was closed, of course. The laughing children no longer rode on the carousel and no one queued for candy floss. There was cold silence hanging around like a thick fog and the ground was littered with the debris of the people that had been there that day. Hermione stood on the edge of the fairground near the entrance, a million thoughts flying through her head.

Finally plucking up the courage, she approached Harry. On the outside, she was calm and collected, but inside, she was trembling. It had been so long.

As he saw her approaching, his expression remained blank and he chose to light the cigarette that had hung from his cracked lips. He didn't know why or how he had come to smoke - it was a Muggle thing after all - but it felt good to inhale the harsh smoke into his lungs. He exhaled as Hermione reached him.

Neither made an attempt to speak, much less hug each other, even though it had been almost two years. She merely sat next to him and stared out into the darkness. After nearly a minute of bitter silence, Hermione spoke in a soft uncertain voice,

"Hi." It felt stupid saying it. Her cheeks flushed pink and she absent-mindedly pushed her hair behind her ears.

He nodded. That was all it was, a curt nod, nothing more. Attempting to break the awkward silence, she breathed deeply and continued,

"Look, I know it's dangerous for us to meet, but I had to see you. I mean it's been two years for God's sake! I haven't seen you since..." she broke off, choking back tears "...since Ron's funeral."

At this Harry looked at his feet and shut his eyes tightly.

'Of course she was going to bring that up,' he thought, miserably.

'Was it wrong to bring that up?' panicked Hermione wordlessly, but Harry understood somehow, and for the first time he spoke in a gravely voice,

"I...." But he couldn't continue, and she saw tears spilling down his pale cheeks.

Hermione finally understood. All those times when she would sob and scream, wondering why Harry had left, why he had just picked up one night and disappeared. He left her to deal with Ron's death because he blamed himself.

It sounded so stupid to Hermione, but that was Harry all over. He was stuck in a self-fulfilling prophecy, constantly told that he was going to be the hero of the wizarding-world. The-Boy-Who-Lived. It was a prophecy he couldn't live up to and it tore him apart.

Although it was not a conversation of many words, the two of them spoke constantly. The occasional cough, breathing deeply, it all meant something. It was the reassurance they had both needed for so long.

"Harry?"

Harry opened his eyes and focused them on Hermione. It made her uneasy. His eyes were so cold and lifeless; they were the windows to a dead soul. A soul that had died along with their friend.

"No one blames you for what happened to..." She cursed herself. Why was it so wrong to say his name? He had been their friend!

"But that's the thing, it was my fault! Everyone that comes close to me seems to get hurt. My parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Ron. It's like I am fucking cursed."

It stung. She couldn't help it. His name always hurt.

"I am still here." She lay her hand on his arm carefully, but he flinched and she quickly moved it away.

"You can't keep running forever. We need you. The prophecy-"

"Fuck the prophecy! Don't you see Hermione, it's all I am! What if I don't want to be the Boy-Who-Lived anymore? What if I want to be The-Boy-Who-Lived-A-Normal-Life? Every single bloody day I think about how close Neville came to being me. And every day I wish he was me. It's selfish; I don't want to inflict this on anyone, but I can't take it anymore...I just can't."

It was so surreal to watch him crying. He was always the strong one, the one who was in control. It was okay to see him angry. Anger meant passion; anger meant that he was still fighting. But tears meant insecurities and neediness. Tears meant he was broken. Seeing Harry so weak made Hermione's insides writhe in pain. She couldn't bear it. He was meant to make it all go away - the funeral, Mrs. Weasley's tired face shining with tears, Hermione's shaking body as she watched their best friend descend into his cold grave. He was meant to make the memories less painful, less unbearable, but he wasn't.

She leaned into him, her hand on his face, and her lips descended onto his. It was so clichéd in a way that it wasn't. It was so wrong that it was right. It wasn't passionate, it was longing and their salty tears mixed like they represented the hurt that had remained locked up inside their minds for all that time.

They broke apart, guilty and embarrassed. Neither said anything about it, there was no need to. All that needed to be said had been exchanged in the kiss.

After a minute of silence Hermione spoke,

"Have you ever been on a carousel ,Harry?"

"The Dursley's had trouble with the fact that they had to feed me; I highly doubt taking me out to the fair was one of their top priorities."

"I remember once when I was little, my mum and dad surprised me on my birthday with a trip to the fair. I was so excited." She smiled at the memory. "The carousel was so beautiful and I remember riding on this gorgeous white horse with a sparkly mane. It sounds so stupid, but I even named her - Tulip."

Thinking back, it was a ridiculous name. It was a ridiculous memory, so naïve. If only then, she'd known what would happen...if only. She looked at the carousel now, the only light coming from the moon, seeping onto the glassy eyes of the horses' cold heartless stares.

"Will you go on the carousel with me Harry?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"I...I know it sounds silly, but..."

Why did he have to make her feel like a child?

"How will we get it to work?"

She hadn't thought of that. She hadn't brought her wand, having been living in a Muggle area for the past year, she rarely used it. Harry of course, point blank refused to. He wasn't prepared to take part in something that had killed so many people so close to him.

"We can pretend." Again, Harry raised an eyebrow.

But before he could comment, Hermione grabbed his hand and ran towards the carousel. It was like reliving the memory. Pensieve or no Pensieve. Except this memory was riddled with grief, faces of those lost.

They reached the carousel and Hermione ran to the nearest horse, which was exactly like Tulip, pure white with a sparkly mane. Harry watched her as she closed her eyes and imagined the ride.

She opened her eyes, her cheeks flushing as she realised Harry was watching her.

"I feel stupid now." She laughed, climbed down and sat on a clam shaped seat that was usually occupied by couples or mothers with young children and looked up expectantly.

"I really should go."

"Please Harry." Her eyes pleaded with him.

He sat down and Hermione sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder, listening to his steady breathing, his occasional movement.

"I..." She paused and yawned sleepily. "I..."

"Shh." Harry whispered.

And without realising it, both fell asleep, wrapped in each others arms. It was the first time both had slept properly in 2 years. 730 days where they lay in their beds, a million thoughts running through their heads and only one wish - to forget.

* * *

Hermione stirred from her sleep, brushing her hair out of her face, and suddenly realised how bright it was. She stifled a yawn and slowly opened her eyes to reveal the fairground. It must have been early, because only the owners of the rides were around, picking up litter, preparing for the next hoard of tantrum-ing children and flustered parents. But the fact that they were there was not important, the fact that Harry was not plagued her more.

He had left her once again. But this time, she was strangely at peace with the whole situation. There were still questions to be answered, but they were not important. She knew why Harry had left. It was the same thing that made her wish she could up and leave every single day. It was the pressure of becoming someone people wanted you to be. Someone that you didn't want to be.

She got up and left the carousel, not looking back. There was no reason to; she only needed to look ahead.