Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, it owns me. Well, this particular ship doesn't anymore, but you can't control your plot bunnies, can you?
Harry Potter was pathetic. He survived the killing curse when he was a baby, taking down the most powerful evil wizard there was while he was at it. He made his way through challenges concocted by some of the greatest minds of the wizarding world at eleven, defeated a basilisk at twelve, and helped a mass murderer who wasn't really a mass murdered escape from hundreds of swarming dementors by thirteen. By fourteen, he won the Triwizard Tournament and managed to escape from the clutches of the dark Lord Voldemort, and by fifteen…okay, so it wasn't his proudest moment, but he did manage to face the Dark Git and get away with all his limbs intact…mostly…
And now this. Now, faced with his ultimate challenge, he could only cower away. Yet this challenge was not, in fact, killing the wizard feared by all. It wasn't to find said wizard's horcruxes, or the good old fashioned 'stay in school and get good grades' either. It was simply the most miserable tasks of them all – a girl. A simple, petite, pretty – if you really cared about that sort of thing – girl.
And to think, people expected him to be their savior.
Well, it wasn't exactly his fault, per say. It was the way her hair shone in the sunlight, a vibrant red that spoke of happiness and forever. It was the way her eyes sparkled with something that he didn't quite understand but was willing to spend his whole life finding out. It was her tinkling laugh that sounded of promises, her crooked smile, and even the freckles on her nose.
Not that he noticed these things, of course.
So really, if you thought about it enough, Harry James Potter was completely, totally, and pathetically, hopelessly in love. And with his best mate's sister.
And one day - one short, clammy, humid day, where you wouldn't expect anyone, let alone a girl who owned any sort of air conditioning in her home (magical, of course), to come outside, she did.
And you would never, in your wildest dreams, expect this girl to be decked out in morbid black from head to toe, standing quietly outside with tears staining her pale cheeks.
It was, after all, summer, and it was, after all, merely a matter of hours before she could legally flick her want about and cause havoc among all things human – or inhuman, really – with any sort of charm, hex, or spell. She could try to control the world, if she wanted, and not have to answer to a single owl chiding her for not being of age.
It was, however, only a few hours after she received news that he was dead.
Harry watcher her sourly, his nose pressed up against the window. How could it come to this? No one was supposed to love a weakness, yet he adored his – and she didn't even return his feelings.
Hadn't she said so herself? He had walked through the door only moments before, broken limbs making it really rather difficult to reach her. His tattered clothing and bloodied scars would be alarming to anyone in their right minds.
She, however, had abandoned reason the minute she received the news.
"Get out of my house!" She had yelled. "Can't you see he's gone? Can't you see I'm breaking?" He was stunned, for a moment, as though she had just used a very efficient Stupfey against him…
He was too numb to realize that her tear stained face was snuggled against his shirt, creating an unpleasant stain of snot and tears – not that it was noticeable, what with his blood everywhere and all. She was convulsing, as though she was dying inside, and maybe she was.
"I loved him…I still love him!—and he goes and dies on me! How could he?"
She was talking about a lover, and it clearly wasn't him. Why did his life have to suck?
"Oh Harry, how could he leave me? Harry, he's gone! What the hell am I supposed to do with myself? How can I go on? Harry…come back…"
Bugger. How was he supposed to comfort her when she was breaking him? Literally and mentally – her hug was rather bone crunching. Bugger, bugger, bugger. He wasn't supposed to want to kiss her while she was crying her heart out.
And with that, she ran outside. Which was exactly where she was right now. Outside, that is, with his wretched heart out there with her.
And it was completely and utterly pathetic to be standing in an air conditioned room (magically, of course) when the girl of his dream was outside in need of comfort. Did he really forget his romantic side in the war, or was it that he never had it in the first place? Now that you mention it, he really didn't think he was ever really creative when it came to romance…but it wasn't possible that he was worse than Ron, was it?…
Think, Potter! You must have done something romantically creative in your life…
His redundant train of thoughts was interrupted by the sound of shuffling footsteps. It completely left when, as soon as he turned around, a bloodcurdling scream erupted from the throat of the figure in front of him.
"Oh my goodness, oh my, oh my, oh Harry!" Although a mane of bushy brown hair currently obscured his vision, it also told him exactly who it was that was currently hanging onto his already aching neck. But why, exactly, would seeing him make Hermione Granger burst into tears and add to the tear stain that Ginny had already created?
And Merlin, why must everyone be wearing black? Did some hero go and die on the wizarding world?
Hermione stopped her hysterical sobbing momentarily to look up at him with angry eyes. "How dare you, Harry James Potter!" She fumed, poking him in the chest as she went. "How dare you disappear for months with no news of where you are and then go ahead and get yourself bloody well killed!" Which made no sense to him, of course, as he was obviously alive.
"Do you have any idea how worried we were? Poor Ginny, went ahead and all but died of heartbreak –" Right, Ginny. Wasting away after some poor dead bloke, when he was right here and very much alive. And here was Hermione, oblivious to his pain, going on and on about how worried they were and how terrified and how –
"Are you even listening to me?" She demanded, hands on her hips and a dangerous glint in her eyes. "And what are you doing here anyways? Shouldn't you be out telling Ginny that, oh, I don't know, you're alive?
Well, why should Ginny care? It's not like she was sad about his being dead anyways…
Merlin's bloody knickers. Why didn't he think of that before?
"Ginny…she thinks I'm dead?"
"Well, bugger me, our very own Sherlock bloody Holmes! Of course she thinks you're dead, you dolt! Who else could she be mourning?" Now that he thought about it, she wasn't exactly in her right mind when she first saw him, bloodstained and frail…Maybe, just maybe, if he explained to her that it was all a misunderstanding…
And with that, he ran – rather, limped – out of the house. He had a girl to take care of. And who really cared that he had just defeated the Dark Lord – there might be snogging.
A/N: Flame me, love me. Reviews are more than welcomed.