Harry Potter One Shots

Glimmer of Hope

All rights belong to the author, Anna Scathach

I meet her in the library. I see her, sitting all alone next to a big table. And I always sit down next to her.

At first, she asked me why, but since I just shrugged and started working every time she did, she eventually stopped. I think she's grown accustomed to me. We're not actually working together. We're sitting next to each other, doing our homework. Always in perfect silence, in perfect peace. That's rare in these times. Especially for a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. Although, come to think of it, we could both belong in Ravenclaw.

She's smart. Sure, she studies a lot- even a lot's an understatement. But I study a lot as well. Nobody talks about me as the bookworm, though. Nobody notices me enough to talk about me in any way.

In my first years, I used to be friends with Draco Malfoy, but nowadays he wants to be a Death Eater. Personally, I think he has a death wish. Well, that's not my problem anymore. The rest of the noble Slytherin house is even worse than him. Take Pansy Parkinson for example. Or Crabbe and Goyle. Or Theodore Nott. They have all changed so much. Many used to be afraid of things as unimportant as spiders and lightning. Now they can't wait to join the followers of a mad serial murderer.

Now I'm nearly invisible to them. I'm sure even you have heard the strange rumours that claim I'm a girl. Being invisible has its advantages. Draco, who is fairly handsome, is always crowded by girls. I, on the other hand, would probably become depressive if I didn't enjoy being alone. I'm never lonely. How could I?

Son of the Black Widow, who changes husbands as often as most other women change robes, I lived a lonely childhood. I think the only thing I've inherited from her are my looks. Of course I can't be sure – I don't really remember my father. He died rather mysteriously when I was two years old, and left my mother a whole lot of money. My mother aside, everybody knows she marries and kills rich men to become even richer than she already is with their money.

Where was I? Loneliness. You get used to it. The Slytherins don't talk to me, the Hufflepuffs may sometimes sneak a look at me and giggle, the Ravenclaws ignores me, and the Gryffindors don't even see me. Besides her.

She sits down next to me and smiles at me. And I smile back at her. I think it is a sort of silent companionship we have there, maybe a strange friendship or something else entirely. How can I explain? I will tell you an example.

It's a snowy day, so all the others are playing outside, but I know I can find her in the library because it's nearly empty. I take my books, my bag, my quills, and let the mysterious stairs and hallways guide my steps to the library. I open the door, catching a scent of old books, dust and, somewhere below that, vanilla. I walk in there, smile and sit down across the table. She smiles back, although it's a rather absent smile because she's got her nose buried in an ancient book – Runes maybe, or Arithmancy. Her hair is hiding her face, but I know she's smiling because she always does. Today, she even mumbles a "hello, Blaise". And I answer: "Hello to you, too, 'Mione." After having looked me in the eyes for a split second, she already buries her nose in her book again. I get my books as well, and we work as we always do; silent, efficient, friendly.

That was last winter. Now it's summer. I have to act now. I have to do something. So, today, instead of my usual books, I've brought a song my last stepdad gave to me before he tragically fell down the stairs. He was German, and so the song's called Sonnenstrahl. He told me it means sunbeam in his language. I think the band's name is Schandmaul, disgraceful mouth or something. The song's different from what I usually listen to, though. Very different. The lyrics, well...

What Hermione doesn't know is that my stepdad taught me some German in the last holidays. I do understand the lyrics. But she silently takes the sheet from me, and starts working. Half an hour later, she sits up and smiles nervously. "It's not nearly as beautiful as it was in its native tongue," she says. "My German sounds so clumsy for translations."

I smile, taking the sheet from her hand, and begin to read it in a soft voice:

"I'd like to be
a small sunbeam,
a little flash of light,
ray of hope on the horizon.
Someone to bring a good mood,
a herald of peace and
a bringer of joy, sender of luck,
a smile without a reason.

I'd like to be
a little colourful fish.
A fin-waver, splashing about in the water,
full of joie de vivre.
A person who knows how to make the best of life, enjoying happiness,
living for the instant,
planned diversion
from your problem.

I'd like to be
a tall, green, strong tree.
A mountain, a rock, standing firm in storm and breakers,
warm and secure place.
The tough, strong shoulder,
donor of security,
the backing, safety,
trust for all time.

I'd follow you then,
always light your path,
banish all shadows,
fell all obstacles.
And when all is grey
in your lake of soul,
I will be the only splash of colour,
glimmer of hope only for you.

But to my regret,
I will be nothing out of all these,
for I'm perfectly ordinary
and have merely been dead lucky
that you see something in me,
that's why at least I try to,
of the sunbeam, of the fish, of the tree,
to nick a piece for you."

Then, hesitantly, I look her straight in the eye, and ask her.

"Do you want me to be all those for you? I'm perfectly normal, but I can try. And..."

The gorgeous bookworm in front of me laughs, and puts a finger to my lips. "Shh..." And then - I can't believe what I'm seeing – she leans forward and brushes her lips over mine.

Do you have to ask what happens next? I kiss her back; we get chased out of the library by a very angry Madam Pince, who's murmuring something strange about "hanky panky". We escape outside, laughing freely and joining our hands.

Afterwards, I'll kiss her again. And try to be the sunbeam, the fish, the tree, the one to light her way in the darkness. Me, Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger's glimmer of hope, her silver lining during this war, who'd have thought it? Her splash of colour. For as long as we want to.