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“Um…Harry?”
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“Harry, could you please stop?”
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“Why?”
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“Because it is very distracting.”
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“Harry…”
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“Yes Hermione?”
Sighing, Hermione put her book, down, turning to level a look at Harry. He was lying, somewhat lackadaisically across his makeshift bed, tossing a ratty tennis ball against one of the support beams of their tent.
“Why are you doing that?”
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“Harry?”
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“Because I have nothing better to do.”
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“You could help me study these books.” Hermione gestured to the small pile of volumes she had brought with her. “I would really appreciate a hand.”
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“Is that a no then?”
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“This is a general no to absolutely everything.”
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“Um…what?”
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“This is me, telling pretty much everything, to fuck off.”
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“Harry, why are you telling everything to fuck off?” Hermione bit back a smile, and attempted to sound as though she was not consoling a child.
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“Because I hate my life.”
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“I am not sure how to respond to that.”
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“Think about it Hermione. My life sucks. I am trapped here in a tent, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but this tennis ball. I am going to play with this tennis ball, because I have absolutely nothing better to do.”
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“Harry, your life doesn’t suck, and you have plenty of better things to do.”
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“Hermione
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I
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Don’t
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Think
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You
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Get
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It.
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Life
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Sucks.
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I
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Don’t
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Want
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To
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Be
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Here
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I
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Don’t
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Want
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To
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Be
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Out
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Here
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Killing
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Death
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Eaters
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For
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Merlin’s
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Sake
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I
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Would
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Rather
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Be
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Sitting
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In
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My
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Cupboard
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Back
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At
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The
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Dursley’s
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Making
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Dudley
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Breakfast
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Than
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Sit
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In
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This
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Tent
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For
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One
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More
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Day
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And
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Study
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Old
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Books
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And
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Stare
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At
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Walls
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And
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Wonder
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What
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The
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Hell
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I
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Am
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Doing
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Here”
Harry dropped the tennis ball, letting it roll into the center of the floor, crossing his arms. Hermione bit her tongue.
“Harry, you know exactly why we are here.”
“Because it’s what my parents would do.”
“No, because we need to stop Voldemort.”
“Hermione, it is because it is what my parents would do. We would be as far from this position as possible if not because of that life motto. ”
“Harry, it really isn’t fair for you to pin this all on your parents.”
“It is though. 1st year, I am just trying to prove that I am good enough to be their son. 2nd year, I am running from the person who tried killed me, because I was their son, and am nearly killed. 3rd year, I spend the entire year scared of my father’s best friend, until I finally meet him and he instantly marks me as my dad. 4th year, I do nothing but-"Hermione held up a hand, quieting his whining.
"You realize you were responsible for all of those actions, right. Not your parents.”
“So? If I wasn’t James and Lily Potters golden boy, I wouldn’t be the Chosen One, I would have a semi normal life, wizard or not, and, just maybe, I wouldn’t nearly die every year.”
“Harry, it’s not every year.”
“It is every year, and you know it.”
Hermione groaned, glaring at her infantile friend.
“Harry, you are your own person. Even if you weren’t the Chosen One, you would be getting in so much trouble on your own you might actually be a bigger problem to wizarding society than you already are.”
Harry rolled over, sitting up to give Hermione a look.
“But if I was not Lily and James Potters son, I would not have this awful of luck. I am this bizarre mixture of my parents and Voldemort tossed into a gawky teenage boy’s body. Take away the 3 ingredients, and you might get something normal, but no, I just had to be special.”
Hermione leaned forward snatching the tennis ball from its resting place on the floor. Smirking at Harry, she raised the ball, tossing it directly at his head.
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"Are you going to help me study these books or not?”
Grumbling, Harry nodded.
“Thank you.”