Attention: Hello, my lovely readers. This story used to be known as "Heaven's on Fire" that I started writing years back but eventually let it go. After several messages of people asking me to pick it up again, I decided that I did want to finish it to say that I did and that I pleased you guys. But since this story was originally one that I started when I first began writing, it was complete shit.
I've revamped it now, got my plot settled, and where I want to take it. So without further ado, I give you the beginning of the old story. I hope you all like it. (:
Lover of the Light
"I have done wrong so build your tower, but call me home."
From outside of her open window the night was missing the moon. The sky was a blanket of black with the tiniest hue of deep purple. Both colors mixed together from light to dark, like a perfect blend until it faded to a murky grey somewhere over the horizon; disappearing through the shadow-like figures of the many trees. And though there was no moon to give that silver light of guidance to those that walked the night, the stars invaded the sky like it was their time to shine. They twinkled, twinkled, twinkled without a single worry of being upstaged by the moon and its full magnitude, for it was their night to glitter like dimonds. Not even the wind blew to indicate the possible mischief of a storm or the smell of drizzle.
Alas, it was an ordinary night.
"...But of course she doesn't want me to leave. I reckon she thinks I'm going to take her baby boy with me."
Holding on to her silver cell-phone with her shoulder and cheek, Hermione stopped folding her pair of favorite jeans to roll her eyes and sigh. "Well of course she doesn't want you to leave, Harry. It's been three months since the final battle, everyone is still exhausted. Besides, what are you going to do all by yourself at Grimmauld Place? I agree with her."
On the other end of the phone, her best friend snorted. "I've dealt with exhaustion for years, Hermione. These past three months of sleeping late and getting breakfast in bed has done wonders to my health and energy. She doesn't need to worry. Besides, I don't have to be alone. You can come and live with me—with Ron too, of course."
A little smile tugged on Hermione's lips. "Why do you really want to leave the Burrow, Harry? You've been there since the war ended. What's making you leave now? I think you'll just hurt Mrs. Weasley's feelings if you take off so fast. You know she wants you to see it as your home."
Though she felt extremely content at the prospect of actually living with her two best friends, at the idea of peace and a normal life, she needed to ask the question left hanging in the air. She wouldn't be Hermione Granger if she didn't know what exactly was going on inside Harry Potter's head. He thought he destracted her, but, really, his mind couldn't hide from her curiously brilliant one.
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. Hermione didn't stop organizing and folding her clothes while it lasted; she knew he was thinking over her question and was trying to come up with the perfect answer. Something that was the truth but didn't give away too much of what he was actually feeling.
She bent slightly at the knees, her shoulder and right cheek still keeping the phone to her ear, and she stacked various jumpers over one another. With a simple use of wandless magic, she made her clothes shrink in size so she could have more room to fit her other belongings into her trunk.
Once she turned back to her computer desk to pick up her case of quills and ink pots, she heard a throaty sigh on the other end of the line. "I think I need to be alone now," Harry said in a murmur.
"If you need to be alone why do you want Ron and I to live with you?"
Another pause. She placed her school utensils in the trunk then went back to her mattress, which happened to be scattered with more clothes, books, and other trinkets.
"It's different," he replied.
"No, it's not Harry," and so she spoke with her Hermione-ish tone. "You want to desperately leave because you feel like you're intruding. You want to leave because you can't handle the guilt of Fred missing, despite the fact that you had nothing to do with that. You want to leave because you can't even look the girl you love in the eye without feeling like you've messed up her life." It was her turn to pause as a few rolled-up socks and stockings fell to the ground and she picked them up. "Well you know what, Harry James Potter? You're being a silly little boy. Grow up."
There was static noises on the other end of the phone-line, and Hermione knew perfectly well that they were caused by mumbled curses that Harry was letting out. He never really did have it in him to insult her face to face, and not even via phone. She knew that she'd hit the truth over the head with her thickest book. (He really couldn't hide anything from her.)
"...It hurts, Hermione," he finally muttered after he let out his string of insults. "They all act like nothing's happened, but Mrs. Weasley still calls out for Fred and George when supper is ready. They need to heal, and I can't be in the middle of that."
Remembering quickly about her books, Hermione went back to her trunk to make sure she'd stored her Hogwarts: A History among her personal effects. "You're their family, Harry. And that entire family needs to heal—as do you. You need them to get over your absurd guilt." She sighed, standing still for a moment. She lowered her shoulder and used her right hand to hold her mobile. "You didn't kill those people, Harry. You are not responsible for anyone's death. It hurts, yes, it does, and incredibly so, but the pain doesn't go away by hiding it."
More alleged static on the other end was heard by her. "Do you ever consider a career in psychology after Hogwarts?"
At the light-feel that the conversation had suddenly picked up, Hermione snorted in a very unladylike fashion. "I'm aware I can be a bit of a sensitive person, Harry, but emotions aren't my forte. I can do more healing and helping with accurate and honest facts. Give me a potions set and I'll brew up a cure to anything."
Harry chuckled. "So, Miss Brightest Witch of the Age, I'm assuming you're not going to be taking anything easy this year, are you?"
"I spent my actual Seventh Year on the run, Harry; I have so much to catch up on! And don't you think for a second I'm going to let any of you slide by. You want to be an Auror, you're going to have to work for it."
There was a nasty scoff. "I could've already been an Auror, 'Mione. You forget that Kingsley offered us a direct entrance to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I'm finishing my education because you and Mrs. Weasley have nagged and nagged Ron and I."
"Someone's got to look out for you two children," Hermione said in a parental manner, ignoring the call of her own mother echoing from downstairs for a moment. "But anyway, Harry, promise me you'll stay for a bit longer. It'll give Mrs. Weasley some peace."
There was a grumble. "...I'll try."
"And Ginny?" Hermione pressed, still ignoring her mother's calls as she stood in the middle of her cozy room; a hand on her hip as she scolded her best friend via phone. "Don't let her get away from you, Harry. You'll never forgive yourself if you lose her by your own stupid thoughts."
"I'll try," he mumbled again.
"Honestly," she huffed. "Anyway, I've gotta go; my mum's calling for me."
"You didn't get to talk to Ron, though."
This time she was the one who grumbled. "...He went to go get a glass of water an hour ago, Harry. If he'd wanted to talk to me, he would have already."
"I'm sure he just—"
"See you in a few days, okay?" She interrupted him.
There was a resigned sigh. "Alright. See you later, 'Mione."
With a few more little comments passed, Hermione quickly pressed the red button of her phone and ended the call. And right as her mother started calling for her again, sounding a little annoyed and wary, she exited her room and decided to finish packing her trunk later.
They were probably having leftovers for dinner and the more she made her parents wait, the more her mother was probably scared the food would go bad.
She hummed a light tune casually, making her way down the polished, wooden staircase. There was a triumphant smile on her face, since she didn't trip on that long, emerald rug that danced its way down the narrow staircase, that always seemed to catch her by surprise every time she headed downstairs.
"Sorry, Mum. I was on the phone with Harry and—" Her grin and explanation faltered and died when she noticed two people sitting on the beige sofa across her mother's brown armchair. It was a couple, married—she concluded that much when she saw their clasps hands and a shiny ring on the woman's finger. And both were wearing robes, not typical for muggles.
They both stood instantly and Hermione caught a long look at them. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and with soft tanned skinned; almost like chocolate milk. His hair, which was styled in short and tamed curls, was pitch black, but with a few flecks of brown strands when the light of the living room hit it. He had incredible and striking emerald eyes, the type that made gems jealous. There was a gentle smile on his face that could look overpowering by the beard that he wore if he decided to do so. He looked intimidating yet approachable in an appropriate angle.
The woman was almost an opposite of the man. She was of average height, reaching around the man's chest. Though her skin was not pale white, it wasn't as dark as her husband's either; it just had the kiss of the sun on it. She had high cheekbones that were flushed with a creamy peach color, and her mouth was full, and her nose small and defined. Her eyes were the color of honey, pure, golden honey, and they were almond shaped. Her hair fell to her waist in waves, just as black as her husband's. She was rather beautiful and striking, especially with the way she presented herself at first glance.
Flushing a little with embarrassment that she had been staring at the strangers, Hermione turned to the simple, yet sweet-looking brunette still sitting on the armchair. "Mum?" Though her voice was leveled and neutral, Hermione put her hands behind her back; the fingers of her left hand touching the wand that was tucked in the hem of her sleeping-shorts.
Looking at the married couple and at the girl for a silent moment, Mrs. Granger sighed tiredly. "Hermione...sweetheart, there's something important I must tell you."
"Like who these people are?" Hermione offered, almost a little tactless as she now watched the intruders cautiously.
Mrs. Granger stood now, and as she took slow steps towards the others, Hermione could see the tears sparkling in her mother's eyes. "These are...This is Deon and Allegra Zabini," the woman said shakily. "They're your biological parents."