Chapter Two Harry Returns
It was as if those two words released the room from a freezing spell. Slowly, people began to resume their conversations until the pub was once again humming with energy. Hagrid bounded up from the table, nearly knocking it over in his rush to embrace Harry. Neville, grinning broadly, shook Harry's hand and pulled him into a back slapping long-lost friend hug. Around the table it went. Professor Flitwick, afraid of leaving his precarious perch on his many cushions, lifted his glass in salute to Harry. Professor Sprout waved cheerily to Harry and scooted her chair around to make room for him. Madam Pomfrey, who had mended Harry's many injuries over the years, hugged Harry and dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief that was ever-present in the sleeve of her blouse. Madam Hooch gave Harry a couple of hardy pats on the back and ordered him a butterbeer from Madam Rosmerta, who had appeared to welcome Harry back to the Three Broomsticks.
The rest of the pub may have been reanimated, but Hermione was frozen in shock. This couldn't be happening. She was dreaming, fantasizing, having a nightmare; a million wild ideas streaked through her mind in a vain attempt to rationalize the appearance of the man before her. His appearance contradicted the only justification for his absence she had created over the years.
The warmth emanating from her companions didn't extend to her. Instead, cold fury at Harry's sudden appearance into her ordered world crackled through her, turning her fingers to ice and draining the color from her face, along with her good humor.
It was with a critical eye that Hermione watched Harry greeting the others at the table, failing to recognize her childhood friend in this unfamiliar person. She couldn't exactly say that he looked different, although there was the possibility that she could pass him on the street without recognizing him. But it wasn't the physical aspect of him that was drastically changed; rather a confident, easygoing demeanor had transformed him into a stranger. Harry, who had been stealing quick glimpses of Hermione as the welcoming continued, caught her eye and said, "I see you've changed your hair, too, Hermione."
Furious with herself for being caught staring at him, she flipped her hair over her shoulder, turned her back to him and said, "Yes, but it doesn't seem I'm making as big of an effort with mine as you are."
A flush crept up her neck, caused by what Hermione would say was indignation but in actuality was embarrassment. She was surprised that Harry had even noticed her hair. She couldn't remember him ever commenting on her appearance, save for the Yule Ball. She had to admit her appearance that night had been quite a departure from her usual look. But her hair had been cut in its current style for so long that her bushy, unmanageable curls were a distant memory…almost. Harry's hair, on the other hand, was very different. In school, Harry's hair had been messy and tousled. No matter what Harry did, it always looked liked he had just gotten off his broomstick. Now, Harry's hair was short, very short, but only slightly messy and spiked in a way that could only mean he was using, unbelievably, hair gel.
Hermione looked around the table and saw that the others were concealing grins by taking quick sips from their drinks. She took a deep breath and tamped down her indignation at the fact that her "best friend" thought so little of her that he felt it appropriate to surprise her in a room full of people after a five-year absence.
Hagrid beamed at Harry as he pulled up a chair for him placing it between himself and Professor Sprout. "'ere ya go, Harry. Sit down and catch us up with what you bin doin' with yerself."
Harry sat down and looked at the expectant faces of his former teachers. "Well, as I'm sure Dumbledore has told you, for the past few years I've been in the States," Harry started. "The first few months I drove a car across the country as a Muggle." A couple of gasps from the table greeted this revelation. "Americans call it a 'road trip.' Get in the car and go with just a general idea of where you are going and what you are going to do when you get there. Although for me it was called a driving-aimlessly-with-no-idea-where-I-was-going-or-how-I-got-there trip."
Professor Flitwick squeaked. "What on earth would you do that for?"
Harry shrugged. "It was nice not having anyone to answer to, no expectations. Plus, there are a lot of solitary stretches of road in Middle America. Gave me lots of time to think."
Time to think. That would be nice, Hermione thought, scrutinizing the label on her butterbeer bottle. She was studiously avoiding looking at Harry. She couldn't. She was afraid if she did her resolve to hate him would crumble under an avalanche of fond memories. She took a sip of her butterbeer and felt the warm liquid slide down her throat and settle in her churning stomach.
To keep her mind off of the bits and pieces of conversation coming from and directed to Harry, she tried to focus on the history of butterbeer printed on the label that she was peeling off of her bottle.
Butterbeer was first brewed in 1375 by a warlock in Bavaria…
"How on earth did you get money, Harry?" Neville asked. "I don't think Gringotts has a branch in the States."
"I used Muggle money."
The recipe soon spread throughout Europe, undergoing adjustments to fit the taste of the surrounding communities…
"Traveling and staying in motels, even in small towns, isn't cheap and I ran out of money quicker than I expected…"
The drink soon became a staple at wizarding pubs and inns across Europe…
"…I had to find a way to make money. I held a few odd jobs, my favorite was as a caddie at a golf club in Phoenix."
Felix Huber opened the first commercial butterbeer brewery in 1759 in Devonshire.
"I was a quite popular caddie. Somehow it seems that whomever's bag I was on shot the best round of their life. It always helps to have a little magic on your side to make sure the ball goes where you want it to go," Harry laughed wiggling his eyebrows up and down and nudging Professor Sprout in the side. Professor Sprout giggled and took a sip of her gillywater. "Needless to say, I made a mint in tips."
In modern times, the desire for individuality has spurred a new wave of boutique butterbeer flavors, with mixed results.
"I played a bit, too. Americans love to bet, so I obliged them. I would lose a little and win a little. I never won so much as to arouse suspicion. Well, there was this one close call…but it was a good way to earn some cash without getting a real job."
At this statement, Hermione's head shot up to find Harry looking directly at her. He gave her a grin, going for boyish charm, she was sure. She bolted up from her chair and grabbed her bag.
"Well, I would love to stay and hear all about the great adventure, but I have some work I need to finish before tomorrow. Madam Hooch, will I see you tomorrow before you leave?" Hermione asked.
"Of course, I'll see you at breakfast," replied Madam Hooch.
"Great. Good night, then."
Hermione turned and quickly left the pub without so much as acknowledging Harry. Her irritation grew as she muscled through the teeming pub, furious that the crowd didn't part as easily for her as it had for Harry. She lurched out the door, the cool night air relieving her flushed face of its warmth. She hurried down the street toward Hogwarts, the events of the night swirling through her mind. She was almost at a run, when she heard someone calling her name. She stumbled but caught herself before she fell and continued walking.
"Hermione! Wait up!" Harry called.
Harry caught up to her and grabbed her arm to turn her around.
"LET ME GO, HARRY POTTER!" she shouted. Stunned, Harry let her arm go and put both of his hands in front of him in surrender.
"Okay. Calm down."
"Calm down? Calm DOWN? I haven't heard a word from you since Ron's funeral. For FIVE YEARS! Then you stroll into the Three Broomsticks like you never even left? What did you expect me to do, Harry? Jump up and down, give you a big hug and say, 'Ohhh, I've missed you so much! Welcome back!'"
Harry gave a sheepish smile and said, "Well, that would have been nice."
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "You've got some nerve," Hermione growled as she turned and stalked away.
Harry trotted along after her. "Wait, Hermione, really. I just want to talk to you for a minute."
She stopped so abruptly that Harry almost fell over his own feet when he tried to stop.
"What could you possibly want to tell me that you couldn't have written to me in a letter?" She snapped her fingers in the air and continued, "Oh, that's right, you never wrote to me like you promised, did you?" She leveled a challenging stare at him for a moment before she turned to continue on to the castle.
Harry ran around in front of her. "Hermione, will you stop being angry for a minute and just listen? Please?"
Hermione stopped and stared icily at Harry, her arms folded across her chest. "Why should I listen to you? What have you done to deserve my attention?"
"Nothing at all," he replied. "But we were friends once, and I want to be again."
"Friends?" she laughed bitterly. "Friends? A friend doesn't leave without a word. A friend would write occasionally, as promised, and keep in touch. You abandoned our friendship a long time ago, Harry."
"You're right, of course. I understand why you hate me."
"I don't hate you. That would imply that I have feelings for you at all. Sorry to disappoint you, but I haven't thought of you in months, and only then when someone else has brought your name up."
Hermione was surprised at the ease in which the lies slid off her tongue. She felt a twinge of satisfaction when she saw the pain flicker in his eyes from these comments. She continued to stand in front of him, her head raised high, defying him to disagree with her, to challenge her.
Quietly Harry said, "I guess I overestimated the strength of our friendship." He slipped his hands in his pockets, leveling a steady gaze at Hermione. "If you don't want to be my friend, that's fine. I have to live with that. But would you just give me a chance to explain? Please?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fine. Clear your conscience. We want to make sure you have no lingering guilt, by all means," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Harry looked at her as if she was a complete stranger. He shook his head as if to clear it, took a deep breath. "Have you ever wanted to tell someone something so badly that you just don't know quite what to say? You start a letter, then another, then another. Then you decide, I'll write the letter tomorrow, I'll know what to say then. So you try the next day and the next, but it never sounds right. You go over it in your head and it sounds good but on paper it sounds stupid. So you try again the next day. Soon those days become weeks, months and years."
Hermione looked away, understanding all to well what Harry was talking about.
"That's what happened with you, Hermione. I wanted to write you so many times and tell you what was going on with me. Not just where I was or what I was doing but what was going on emotionally, why I left. Why I hadn't returned." He said the last so softly that Hermione almost didn't hear him. "It got to the point where I had waited too long and I knew that you wouldn't understand anything I would write in a letter. I suspected that you might even burn my letter without opening it."
"You were probably right," she said, turning to look at him.
When he did not continue, but only stood staring at her, Hermione asked, "So?"
"What?"
"I'm listening. Tell me what you were trying to write to me for all these years."
Harry paused and kicked at the ground. He looked up at Hermione and opened his mouth to say something and stopped, staring at Hermione with a perplexed look on his face. He had been looking at her for at least a minute without saying anything and her patience was wearing thin.
"Well?"
"It's complicated. I…I…can't," Harry sighed, defeated.
Giving Harry a cold look, she pushed passed him and continued walking to Hogwarts.
Harry stood in the middle of the street and watched Hermione walk away. He considered going after her, but didn't.
Not quite the homecoming you imagined, eh mate? Ron's voice said inside his head.
Well, what did you expect? It has been five years, Hermione's voice tartly replied.
"Okay, shut up already!" Harry cried out loud. He was so sick of warring with himself inside his head. It was even more frustrating since the bickering voices were Ron and Hermione's. Some things never change, he thought.
He rubbed his hands across his face and started walking back to the Three Broomsticks, replaying everything that had happened in his mind. An hour ago, walking into the Three Broomsticks knowing he was about to see Hermione again had filled him with dread and excitement all at once. How would she react when she saw him? He hated to admit it, but part of him had expected her to jump in his arms with a big hug as she had done so many times before. Even though he thought she might be angry with him, he hadn't expected the indifference she displayed in the pub, nor the open hostility evident on the street. At one point in the Three Broomsticks, Harry looked at Hermione and found her picking off the label of her butterbeer as if it was the most important task in the world. She didn't seem to be listening to a word he was saying. And on the street, he could tell she had enjoyed hurting him with the hateful things she said. For a moment he had wondered to himself if this was even the same person he had known, if it was even worth it to try to explain and rebuild their friendship. No. If they couldn't be friends again it wasn't going to be because of him. He was going to do whatever he could to make things right. The rest would be up to Hermione.
He was certain that she would come around eventually. In the past, their fights or disagreements never lasted long. For some reason, he could never stay mad at her, and vice versa. However, he couldn't shake the impression that this Hermione wasn't the same person he had known in school. The look on her face when he confronted her on the street had been pure loathing - a look that he had seen her give frequently to Malfoy. Never in his life would he have imagined that she would direct that stare towards him. That he deserved it was not in question. He knew that he did. That knowledge still didn't change the fact that he wasn't prepared for her reaction. He had naively expected a warm homecoming from her, had expected to return to the Hermione that he left and to restart their friendship without missing a beat.
What an idiot I am, he thought. Of course Hermione had changed, as had Harry himself. Suddenly, a frightening thought occurred to Harry that made him stop dead in his tracks. What if they had both changed so much that their friendship wasn't salvageable? Harry knew without question that he didn't feel like the same person he was while at Hogwarts. The thought never crossed his mind, until now, that this new person that he had become might not appeal to Hermione. That she might get to know him again and realize that she didn't want to be friends with this Harry, or he with her.
He rubbed his hands across his face vigorously, willing that idea away, only to be replaced by the one thought that kept repeating itself over and over in his mind for years. Why did I stay away so long?
He turned around and stared at the Three Broomsticks debating if he wanted to return to Madam Hooch's party. The door to the pub opened releasing a cacophony of sound, dousing Harry's desire to rejoin the festive atmosphere. Harry watched a couple of drunken wizards spill out of the open door and stumble down the street. He followed them at a safe distance, deciding to reacquaint himself with the village before he returned.
He ambled down street, thankful that the village hadn't changed much in the five years since his departure. He glanced from left to right, taking in the sight of shops he, Ron and Hermione had visited on their many excursions to Hogsmeade: Honeydukes on his left, the Post Office on his right, further down he could see Dervish and Banges, Gladrags, Shrivenshafts. Next to Honeydukes was a bakery that Harry didn't remember, but that wasn't a big surprise since he usually was so full on candy that regular food didn't hold much appeal for hours after.
He stopped in front of a familiar store whose light still shone brightly through the windows. He smiled at the sign above the door and walked across the street to find the door locked. He peered in through the window as he rapped his knuckles on the glass. He was about to give up when someone came out of the back room so loaded with boxes that their face was blocked from view. As the person walked around the counter and turned their back to the door putting the boxes on the counter, a long mane of red hair was revealed.
"We're closed," she cried as she set the boxes on the counter. "If you could just come back in the morning we will have lots of new…" Her sentence trailed off as she turned and saw who was standing outside her shop, framed in the window of her door, waving hesitantly.
"HARRY!" Ginny Weasley cried, running to unlock the door of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. She bounded into his arms and gave him a surprisingly bone-crushing hug for such a little thing.
"Now that's a greeting a bloke could get used to," Harry smiled as he returned her hug.
"Wow! Look at you!" she exclaimed, holding him at arm's length and looking him up and down. "No glasses, new haircut and you're taller. If it wasn't for those green eyes, I almost wouldn't recognize you."
"Well, it has been a while," Harry said tentatively as they walked towards the counter.
"Yes it has, Harry Potter," Ginny admonished, fixing him with a gaze alarmingly like her mother's. She continued to stare at him, and for an uncomfortable moment he thought she was going to throw him out of her shop. Then, Ginny started laughing and said, "You should see the look on your face! I don't care how long you have been gone! It is so good to see you," and she gave him another hug, this one not quite so fierce.
At that moment, a tinkling bell sounded announcing the arrival of someone new. They both looked up, arms still entwined, to see Neville strolling up the aisle.
"Hey, watch it Potter! That's my girl." Ginny released Harry and greeted Neville with a kiss.
"Hi, honey. Harry knows he lost his chance with me years ago," Ginny said, winking at Harry.
"And I'm still not over it," Harry laughed. "Molly told me in one of her owls that you two were an item and my first thought was, 'It's about time.'"
"Well, you know Harry," Neville said in a macho voice, "I had to play the field a little…OW!" Neville cried as Ginny punched him on the arm. "That is the second time a woman punched me on the arm in the last hour. I'm going to have a bruise!"
"Ponce," Harry and Ginny said in unison, and they all three started laughing.
"Who else punched you?" Ginny asked.
"Hermione."
"Oh, well then, it couldn't have hurt too much," Ginny giggled. "You must have been teasing her - what about?"
"Krum."
At the mention of Viktor Krum's name, Harry started and said, "He's still around?"
"Amazing, eh?" Neville said. "Hermione hasn't shown any interest in him in years, but he still has a thing for her. He's been trying to get a job at Hogwarts since she became a professor. Between us, I think she has threatened McGonagall with her life if she hires him," Neville laughed.
"What job does he want?" Harry asked.
"The only one available right now is Flying Instructor. McGonagall may have hired Krum this time. She is keeping close to the vest on who it is. All we know is it is a former famous Quidditch player."
"I wish Hermione would show interest in someone," Ginny said exasperated. "It's been years since Ron died and she has only dated a few guys. She doesn't seem to have moved on and she needs to. All she does is teach and work with the ABMB."
Neville, who had, evidenced by the roll of his eyes to Harry, obviously heard Ginny's thoughts on the subject before, tactfully tried to steer the conversation in another direction. "Speaking of Hermione, did she talk to you after you left the Three Broomsticks, Harry?"
"Wait a minute!" Ginny interrupted. "You've seen Hermione?"
"Yeah," Harry said cautiously, a bit alarmed by the tone of her voice.
"Did she know you were coming? What am I thinking? Of course she didn't, she would have told me." She narrowed her eyes dangerously. "Please tell me you didn't surprise her."
"Er…" Harry began.
"Harry! What were you thinking?" Ginny said, slapping him on the back of the head.
"Ow!" he said, rubbing the spot she hit. Harry looked at Neville for help, who shrugged his shoulders, a gesture that clearly said, "You are on your own here."
"Well, I…Dumbledore had mentioned about Madam Hooch's retirement party and I thought I'd stop by and say hi to everyone. I thought that Hermione might be less apt to hex me for the last five years if we were in a roomful of witnesses."
"She was furious, wasn't she?"
"Oh, yeah," Neville nodded.
"She seemed indifferent to me in the pub. Then when we got outside, alone, her anger became apparent."
Ginny studied Harry for a moment and said, "You don't know since you've been gone, Harry…I'm not getting on your case for not being here," she said as Harry opened his mouth to interject. "Hermione has had a very tough time. She puts on a good front by staying so busy. She lost everyone she loved after Voldemort was defeated. She lost her parents, Ron and then you when you left. Then you are gone for five years without so much as a word. She is angry with you because she feels you abandoned her when she needed you the most."
"Did she tell you that?" Harry asked.
Ginny gave him a withering look. "Honestly, men are so thick. Of course she didn't tell me. She is my best friend and I know her better than anyone. She didn't have to tell me. She absolutely refuses to talk about you at all, in fact."
The expression on his face reflected how completely taken off guard he was by the last comment.
Ginny laughed and rolled her eyes. "What did you expect, Harry? She waited and waited for the letter you promised. When it didn't come, she moved on. Can you blame her? You have to admit that it was incredibly insensitive to do that to your best friend. All I know is you better have one bloody good reason not to have written her."
"I do. It is trying to explain it that's hard."
"Harry, you don't have to explain it to us. I have a pretty good idea what your state of mind was like before you left." Ginny said giving Harry a knowing look.
Neville looked at Harry, then Ginny and exclaimed, "Well, I would like to know!"
They laughed at the look on Neville's face. "What? I would like to know," Neville said indignantly.
"So, Harry, what brought you back from the States?" Ginny asked, changing the subject.
"Well, after five years I had had my fill of the 'land of the free.' I liked it over there, but it was time to come home."
"So what is the wizarding world like in the USA?" Neville asked.
"The same, just more American."
Ginny and Neville looked at him quizzically. "What does that mean?" asked Neville.
"Americans are all about celebrity and self-promotion. Sort of like Gilderoy Lockhart with an Engorgement Charm." Ginny and Neville looked horrified at the thought.
Harry laughed and continued, "American wizards that aren't famous want to be famous and will do the most ridiculous things to get their 15 minutes of fame. It's rather disgusting, really."
"I guess they loved you! The Famous Harry Potter," Ginny laughed.
Harry looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Actually, no one knew I was Harry Potter," he said.
"What?" Ginny and Neville said in unison.
"The first year and a half I lived as a Muggle so it was easy to be anonymous. When I finally did get in touch with the wizarding world, I used a different name."
Ginny and Neville, astounded, stared at Harry.
Harry turned and walked over to the nearest shelf, which contained a new supply of Skiving Snackboxes. "The reason I left England was because I was tired of being the 'Famous Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Man Who Defeated Voldemort,'" Harry said with disgust.
Harry looked down and continued quietly, "I wanted to be a normal wizard with a normal life."
After a few moments, Harry turned around to see tears in Ginny's eyes and Neville looking down at the floor. "Harry," she whispered, "Did you tell Hermione what you just told us?"
"I tried."
"You need to try harder."
"I know," he mumbled.
In an effort to change the subject, Harry said a little too brightly, "So, why don't you show me around the shop? Did Fred and George put Zonko's out of business?"
While Ginny and Neville showed Harry around the shop, he marveled at what great businessmen Fred and George had become. All of their years of being the resident pranksters at Hogwarts gave them unique insight into what students wanted from a joke shop. Their first shop in Diagon Alley had started as a mail order business to serve the Hogwarts students. The discount that Fred and George gave the students was enough that Zonko's, who had been catering to Hogwarts students for 100 years, began to see its sales decline. Fred and George had been loyal Zonko's customers for years so, instead of putting them out of business, they made the owners an offer good enough that they could retire. And the second branch of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was born.
After a tour of the shop and a few more stories about Harry's life in America, Harry decided it was time to go.
"I better get going so you can finish up. I've got a house in town so you will be seeing a lot more of me," he said as he walked toward the door. As he was stepping outside, a thought occurred to Ginny and she called after him. "Hey, Harry? What name did you use in America?"
Harry paused, smiled and answered, "Ron Granger," as he closed the door.