The Next Great Adventure

The Next Great Adventure

By; Vicarious Leigh

There are some memories that seem to permanently imprint themselves in the fabric of one’s soul. Hermione smiled inwardly as several of them floated across the palette of her psyche. Of all the memories, all the visions of her life before, one memory persisted as the one, the most, special in her heart.

Throughout the years, she had heard people discuss the “greatest moments” of their lives. Doting parents invariably talked about the birth of their children. Enamored coupled mused over remembrances of their wedding day. Scholars reflected on their discoveries. Artists fondly rejoiced in their masterpieces. Hermione couldn’t help but feel a bit doltish whenever she was faced with this question.

She had children, but the moment of their birth was not what she thought of. She had a wonderful and loving husband, but their wedding day was not her fondest memory. She had achieved great things in the mediwizarding community, but her discoveries were not what she remembered.

She remembered one kiss.

The kiss.

And she remembered every second of the day that preceded it.

From the age of eleven onward she lived her life as a witch, but in all her time of magical studies, she’d never experienced “magic.” Not until that day on the Quidditch pitch.

***

Thank the gods it’s Saturday.

The spring sunlight spilling through the window warmed Hermione’s bedcovering and gently invited her to open her eyes. She gave a deep sigh and rolled onto her side not truly willing to give up a peaceful night’s rest quite yet.

But they were giggling, again.

Do they ever stop acting like third year girls at a slumber party?

Hermione opened her eyes as Lavender Brown and Pavarti Patil snapped their gaze back to the issue of Witch Weekly that they obviously had not been reading.

“You might try turning the magazine right side up if you intend to make me believe you’ve been reading any of it,” Hermione said rolling her eyes and throwing off the covers. Lavender and Pavarti scrambled for some approximation of an excuse but Hermione’s attention was drawn to her bedside table before they could speak.

A beautiful red rose lay on her table. A note sat beneath it, enveloped in a gold and crimson bow. It was simply addressed, “My Hermione.” Hermione noticed the giggles had ceased and Lavender and Pavarti had given up the auspices of attempting to look disinterested. They were positively about to burst.

“Oh! For the love of Merlin, Hermione! What does it say?” Lavender squealed, seeming to be nearing spontaneous combustion.

Something is going on. They know what it is.

Hermione unwrapped the note from its Gryffindor ribbon and unrolled the parchment. The handwriting was unmistakable, if only because she’d corrected more of Harry’s history of Magic essays than she cared to count.

My Hermione,

You are as beautiful as the morning sunlight is warm. Like the first dawn of the sun, you renew me with every smile. You warm me with the simplest brush of your hand across mine. Your voice, like a songbird, raises my spirits among the clouds that float lazily along. I love the mornings, the promise of a new day, because I love you.

Your Harry

Hermione had to admit, the note was a bit circumspect. It was so unlike Harry. She knew he loved her, but he was not exactly known for his sentiment. She was clearly taken aback by the surprise, but smiled in spite of it. Lavender and Pavarti, who had leapt behind her to read the inscription, were nearly in need of medical attention. Hermione rolled her eyes at their nearly inaudible babbling and rose to dress for breakfast. She pocketed the note and set off for the Great Hall.

***

“Good morning, Ron,” Hermione said brightly as she took a seat at the Gryffindor table.

“Er, morning,” he replied groggily.

“Where’s Harry?” Hermione inquired in the most nonchalant voice she could manage.

“Quidditch pitch,” he yawned. “With the House Cup on the line this afternoon he thought it best to get out to the pitch early and work on a bit of strategy.”

“I wonder,” Hermione began. “Is there some spell cast upon Quidditch captains that turn them all into monosyllabic Neanderthals on game days?”

“Yes, now that you mention it. I believe the incantation is ‘Woodify,’” Ron added lazily.

They shared a chuckle and settled into a casual breakfast. Ron talked about the impending House Cup match against Ravenclaw, while Hermione determined she would follow her regular Saturday morning routine; studying in the library. They were nearly finished as the usual gaggle of owls fluttered in from the rafters.

Hermione placed a few knuts in a tawny owl’s pouch and spread the Daily Prophet out on the table.

“Anything interesting?” Ron asked, furrowing his brow at the upside-down paper.

“Ron, must we do this every morning? You could just get your own subscription you know,” Hermione replied without raising her eyes from the paper.

“Right! There’s a battle I’d rather not fight with Luna. Besides, you summarize the highlights for me anyway, so why put forth the effort?”

As she did every morning, Hermione perused the paper for any stories of interest. Not finding anything, she flipped the paper shut and returned to her toast and marmalade. Ron, as was his habit, snatched the folded paper and flipped through it lazily. After a few minutes, he looked at down at his watch and grimaced.

“Well, I better be off. I promised Luna I’d take her to Hogsmeade this morning before heading out to the pitch. I swear Harry’s hexed this watch to shock me if I’m not there on time.” Ron gathered his things and rose from the table.

“You might take a better look at page three,” Ron said as he quickly kissed Hermione on the top of the head and swept from the Great Hall.

Befuddled, Hermione scanned the page for an article of interest. Not seeing any headlines that drew even the slightest concern she made to shut the paper.

What is he on about?

As it was flipping closed she saw the name. It wasn’t his name per say, but it was obviously a reference to Harry. She took a sip of her pumpkin juice and began to read the advertisement for the children’s shop in Hogsmeade. It carried on about discounts for children’s spell books and reduced prices on consigned robes. But it was the end that caught her attention. Every ad Hansel’s ran in the Prophet ended with a poem or song reminiscent of her muggle childhood. Today’s ad seemed a bit more personal. It was printed over the backdrop of a blooming rose.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,

You make me happy when skies are gray.

You’ll never know dear how much I love you,

I love you more each and every day.

-Snuffles, Jr.

Hermione looked incredulously at the signature to the verse.

It couldn’t be.

Noticing a familiar fit of sniffling coming from the far end of the house table, Hermione gathered her things and swept from the Great Hall, shooting Lavender and Pavarti a questioning look as she passed.

As she walked to the library she began thinking, as she invariably did too much, about the happenings at Hogwarts. Something was going on and at this point, she was only clear on one thing; Lavendar, Pavarti, and Ron were all conspiring with Harry.

Lost in thought, she entered the library and set off for her usual table. Madam Pince had nearly decided to engrave the table as the property of Hermione Granger. It was the only table she ever occupied. It was near the window, allowing her to bask in the natural light of day, but not too close to provide a consistent distraction. It was out of earshot of most other tables, and closest to the section concerning arithmancy. As she flopped into the chair, nearly conformed to her body, she laughed quietly. Madam Pince had already set her most often referenced texts out on the table. Perhaps she just never put them away. In any case, all the materials she required were already at her fingertips.

Wonderful! Without having to waste time getting these, I’ll have enough time to finish my Arithmancy homework and finish Snape’s essay before the match!

So she set off to work. She’d spent nearly three hours completing the tasks on her agenda before she’d ever opened the final text on the table. Feeling it contained the, rather obscure, reference to ground snopweed she was searching for, she flipped the book open.

This was getting out of hand.

Inside the book was a pressed rose sitting atop another note. As before, it was addressed, simply, to “My Hermione.” Skeptically, she unfolded the parchment and read its contents.

My Hermione,

I can see you sitting at that table. You’ve done it for seven solid years. I’m half inspired to believe you’ve jinxed the chair for you and you alone to occupy. I have to confess, I’ve silently watched you study at this table before. You have this endearing way of twisting a lock of your hair around your index finger when you’re contemplating something. If you’re truly befuddled you chew the right side of your bottom lip. You nibble at the end of your quill when you’re trying to find just the right adjective for that insufferably perfect essay. I love every bit of it. I love every habit. I love every involuntary mannerism. I love every part of you.

This past year has been more than I’ve ever asked for. I know I’ve told you these things before, but I feel the need to say them again. I never labored under the delusion that I didn’t love you. I’ve always loved you. I will always love you. I can’t imagine what my life would be without you, and frankly I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know a world without your companionship or compassion. I’ll see you this afternoon.

Your Harry

He was acting totally out of character. Harry and Hermione had been together for the entirety of their seventh year, but an unsuspecting onlooker would rarely be able to tell. Neither Harry, nor Hermione, would subject themselves to regular public displays of affection. Holding each other’s hand was likely as close as they came to allowing people to know they were more than friends. Not that everyone didn’t know, Harry and Hermione just didn’t make it a point to remind everyone. Needless to say, the Boy-Who-Lived attracted quite a bit of attention and the farther they could stay hidden in the shadows the happier they were.

This unending flow of surprise sentiment was not like Harry.

There was no way her Potions essay was going to be completed now. Hermione quietly gathered her things and wandered back toward the common room.

She meandered the corridors lost in thought. Why was Harry acting so strangely? Today was such a big day for him. He was playing in his final Quidditch match at Hogwarts. He was playing for the House Cup. In a few short weeks they would be leaving Hogwarts to start their adult lives. Why would he go to such trouble to set up everything he’d done already today?

She stopped.

She chucked her books to the floor and pulled out the note she’d just read in the library.

“I’ll see you this afternoon.”

Oh, gods! Is he planning to do what I think he’s planning to do?

Her heart couldn’t decide if it wanted to leap or sink.

He’s going to ask me to marry him!

The prospect of this purely terrified her. Marriage? He can’t be serious. Her infernally logical brain spun into overdrive as she picked her belonging up and rushed to the common room.

We’re too young to get married. We’re only 17, well, almost 18, but still! I have plans for my life. I want to attend the University and pursue my academics. I don’t know that I want to be “Mrs. Harry Potter.” Is he going to expect me to change my name? What if I lose who I am in trying to be “his wife.” Gods, “wife” the mere term scares me to death. The expectation! Does he want me to sit in the house and have his children while he valiantly “provides” for the family?

The more she thought about it the more reasons she thought of to refuse the idea. She began to firmly entrench herself in the mood Ron dubbed as “Granger-overdrive.” She didn’t even notice she’d been pacing back and forth in front of the fat lady for the last several minutes.

“Good heavens child, you’re liable to make me queasy!”

“Oh, sorry,” Hermione said embarrassedly. “Apple Dapple.”

As she climbed through the portrait hole, she was surprised to see Ron lying on the couch. He snapped his gaze to her confused expression and rose from the couch.

“It’s about time,” Ron said exasperatedly. “I thought you’d have been back an hour ago. If I wasn’t here on Harry’s behalf, he’d likely hang me from the center hoop.”

“So he is plotting something!”

“I’m surprised it took you until the third note to figure that out Hermione.”

“Ron…this is, he can’t…what’s he thinking?” Hermione stammered.

“Hermione, sit down,” Ron commanded. “I told Harry I was going to stay here until you got back. Neither of us doubted for a second that you would figure out what he’s doing today. You’re far too clever. He knows that and so do I. You’re too damn smart to let the guy have a surprise romantic moment before the entire school.”

Hermione buried her head in her hands. “I can’t believe this.”

“You know Hermione, I haven’t proposed to Luna yet, but I would certainly hope she smiles a bit more than you are.”

Hermione was about to let into a dissertation of the reasons she and Harry should not get married when Ron stopped her with a frantic wave of his hands.

“Hermione, I don’t want to hear it. Listen to me, and listen well. I am only capable of finite amount of sincerity and you’re getting every drop right now. What I’m going to say, I’ll only say once. I’ll likely not get through it without retching all over the floor. I’m not good at this.” He took a deep breath. “Harry loves you and you love Harry.” He reached out and took her hands in his. “My mom says that marriage is just the next great adventure.”

“Dumbledore says the same thing about death,” Hermione interrupted.

He glared at her and continued, “You should think of the end of this life as the beginning of a new one. This is the next great adventure for you Hermione.”

“But, what about you?” Hermione added, voice shaking.

“Hermione, I love you. I always will. I know that you love me. But we were never in love with each other. I know that now and so do you. You are in love with Harry.” He raised her chin so their eyes met.

“You and Harry are forever. Go to him, Hermione. It’s okay.”

It was the first time she’d truly smiled all day.

Realizing his work was done; Ron returned the smile and pulled her into a warm embrace. Reaching the limits of his sentimental capacity he stood up and turned toward the portrait hole muttering something about Harry owing him his Firebolt or an even division of his Gringotts account.

Hermione laughed quietly and reminded herself to thank Luna. For all the years they had been friends, or more, Ron had never had more than 3 minutes of sustained sincerity. She was afraid the fault with lie squarely with her if he was too knackered to properly defend the hoops this afternoon.

I guess she’s a better girlfriend to him than I was.

Hermione and Ron had tried their hand at a relationship in the beginning of their sixth year. The old cliché that “opposites attract” was the mantra of their strained relationship. They fought as heartily as ever, but the subject of their arguments deteriorated. Harry frequently refereed the screaming matches between them. He also remained a steadfast sounding board for Ron and a shoulder for Hermione. By December, Harry was more sick of their relationship than they were. One Christmas Eve meltdown on Harry’s part was all they needed to realize they were far better friends.

However, Hermione didn’t kid herself. Returning to “best friends” from “boyfriend and girlfriend” had not been easy. Many an uncomfortably silent breakfast went by before they learned how to relate to each other again. It wasn’t until Ron found Luna that things finally returned to their original state. No one was happier for Ron than Harry.

Some months later, Harry confided in Hermione that he had conspired with Luna to get Ron to notice her. He knew she was taken with him and thought they would make a nice couple. He set off as a clandestine matchmaker right under Ron’s nose. Incredibly, it had worked and Ron finally saw beyond her reputation and saw her for who she was. They’d been inseparable since.

That opened the door for Harry.

He, rather sheepishly, admitted his matchmaking efforts were done with one goal in mind. Harry wanted to ensure Ron was happy before he acted on the feelings he’d had for Hermione. He was thoroughly concerned Ron would be livid if Harry and Hermione grew into anything beyond friends. Harry wasn’t entirely incorrect. It did take Ron several weeks to get used to the idea. That was part of the reason they refrained from overtly displaying affection for each other in front of him. This is not to say they didn’t enjoy a heated snog-session of two, or perhaps forty-five. But they always ensured their privacy before engaging in such activity.

Until today, Hermione had never really had a conversation with Ron about her and Harry’s relationship.

Perhaps we should’ve had this talk sooner.

“Hermione!” Lavender’s voice rang out from behind her. “The match starts in five minutes!”

*

It never seemed to take Harry long to find it. However, he seemed even more focused on catching the snitch today than ever. Her fellow Gryffindors were utterly impressed at the resolve he was showing in attempting to beat Ravenclaw so quickly. Hermione had a feeling his motivation lie elsewhere.

Hermione had never been a great fan of Quidditch, but she certainly was a great fan of Harry and Ron. She generally cheered longer and louder for them than any other cardinal clad fan in the grandstand. Today was different though. Today, she was fixated on the Gryffindor seeker.

It struck her as funny. While alone, she could easily conjure 320 reasons to not accept a proposal from the most famous young wizard in the world. Not here. Watching him fly around the pitch, catching his eye nearly every time he tried to sneak a glance at her, she couldn’t remember a single reason at all. She knew only one thing. Ron was right.

He loved him desperately and he loved her. That was all they needed, the rest were just details.

Was it coincidence that he caught the golden snitch at the precise moment she’d had such a thought? If it wasn’t coincidence, it was fate. The entire count of Gryffindor burst into wild screaming simultaneously. The stands shook with their jubilation. McGonagall was entirely beside herself. Gryffindor had won. Harry had caught the snitch and claimed the House Cup once again. The Ravenclaws floated aimlessly about the stadium while the Gryffindor team landed in a triumphant pile on the pitch. One Gryffindor player was noticeably absent from the scrum.

Hermione’s attention was quickly drawn to Harry. Snitch still clutched in his hand he rose to the spot in the stands that Hermione occupied. Everyone was on their feet as Hermione calmly stepped to the front of the stands. She could hear Pavarti already dissolving into tears behind her.

“I’ve thought of a thousand ways to ask you this,” Harry began. “I didn’t think I could make it through a single one of them.” Hermione smiled, tears beginning to well in her eyes. “So, I asked for some help.”

Hermione looked down at the six remaining members of the Quidditch team. She realized instantly that the impromptu victory scrum was really a team effort to produce the floribunda spell on the Quidditch pitch itself. Ron, and the rest of the team, were looking on as the words, “Marry me, Hermione” sprung out of the pitch written in beautiful red roses.

For the first time in her life, Hermione was speechless. She raised her misty eyes to his and felt a chill invade her body as they connected with his emerald green stare. She leaned over the railing, wind at her back, and sealed her lips to his. She felt him grab the handle of his Firebolt to maintain his balance. Even though the stadium erupted in applause, she could only hear the soft moan that escaped his throat as they suddenly forgot their pact against public displays of affection. She wasn’t even bothered by the familiar snapping of Colin Creevey’s camera.

She was going to marry Harry Potter. That was the only thing that mattered in the world.

***

The memory of that kiss softened and faded into another. She remembered many other kisses of course. She remembered the one they shared as Dumbledore married them in the Great Hall. She remembered the sensitive, yet passionate, kisses they shared as they spent a perfect wedding night together. She remembered the tear-soaked kisses he’d lavished on her forehead after giving birth to their children. She remembered the kisses they’d exchanged when he’d return from an intense assignment as an Auror. She remembered the kiss he had given their daughter as he gave her away to be married. She remembered the flirty public kiss he’d given her at his retirement celebration as Headmaster from Hogwarts.

She’d remembered the final kiss she’d given him as he died.

That was six months ago.

She’d fallen ill shortly thereafter. Ron had rushed to her side. In fact, he’d not left their house since Luna died two years previously. She and Harry, although pushing 128 years old each, had supporting him with everything they had. When Harry passed on, Ron had done the same for Hermione. He’d taken care of her as she grew thin and weak. But nothing he did seemed to matter.

He took her to St. Mungo’s as a last resort. Needless to say, Mrs. Harry Potter received the finest care they could provide. But the mediwizards were at a loss. They even tried many of the potions Hermione had created in her earlier years. Nothing worked.

It didn’t slip Ron’s attention that today was the 110^th anniversary of Harry’s proposal.

Ron sat in a comfortable chair adjacent to Hermione’s bed. She had not opened her eyes in three days. He sat by her side, as he had done for the last week, and gently stroked her hand. His hair had since traded his trademark flame red for a soft gray. His professional Quidditch physique far behind him, he sat in this room, facing the reality of what he had to do, looking his age. Tears had come and gone several times today. But as the afternoon sun shone through the windows, he knew it was her time. It was their time.

He cleared his throat and clutched her hand in his own.

“Hermione, I know you can hear me. The mediwizards don’t know what’s wrong with you, but that’s because they don’t know you as well as I do.” His voice was shaking.

“Hermione, I love you and I always will and I know that you love me.”

He remembered exactly what he needed to say next, but his voice broke several times in trying to squeak out the words.

“You should think of the end of this life as the beginning of a new one. This is the next great adventure for you Hermione.”

He paused and finished at a whisper. “Go to him Hermione. It’s okay.”

With that said, he rested his head on her chest and sobbed quietly as the rhythm of her breathing slowed and softly fell into silence.