Title: With Love
Author: Seiryuu
Rating: PG.
Summary: It is the year 2012. Harry Potter is now a famous actor in the Muggle world, and also lectures at Hogwarts. Hermione Granger is a doctor in both the Muggle and magical worlds. They haven't spoken to each other since a rough breakup ten years ago. Then one day, Harry receives a note from Hermione… Can they forgive each other and rebuild their friendship (or their love)?
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: I thank Vlada for helping me with this idea. Now updated to take into account Book 5 (which, luckily, doesn't take much).
Chapter 1: From Hermione to Harry: January 5, 2012
Harry Potter walked through the doors of the Hilton Hotel in Los Angeles quietly, trying to keep a low profile. It was hard for him to do so, even in the Muggle world: he had an acting career that had exploded, keeping his calendar quite full. Though he made frequent trips to Hogwarts to guest lecture on Defense Against the Dark Arts, his day-to-day work consisted with mingling and working with Muggles.
He walked quickly through the room, trying to reach the receptionist without being recognized, but luck was not with him. A trio of teenage girls who had been chatting loudly near the entrance immediately recognized the movie star and surrounded him. Harry looked at the many sheets of paper directed at him and paled. He was too nice, however, to reject any person who called him or herself a fan of his works. Smiling at the girls (though he felt quite beat inside; he was still a master at hiding his true feelings), he signed all of them and excused himself. The girls were beside themselves with joy; Harry Potter was a lot more dreamy and polite in real life than he had been in any movie.
He reached the reception desk without further incidents. The receptionist, a young lady named Linda, looked up and gave him a smile. She was used to seeing famous people in the hotel, and the fame no longer interested her. (His looks, however, were something else.) She held up his mail and said, "Hello, sir. Here's all the mail you received today while you were out. You've had two phone calls, I believe. They've been recorded onto your voice mail."
"Thank you, Linda," Harry said, smiling, and took the mail. "Linda, about those girls. Are they staying for long?"
Linda checked the guests list quickly. "Considering how long you've stayed here, not relatively, sir. They're staying through the week and checking out Saturday."
Harry let out a fake moan. "It'll be the longest four days of my life," Harry said dramatically, holding his hand up to his head. "How ever will I survive?" Linda chuckled.
"I can call to let you know exactly when they leave the hotel, sir, so you can leave in peace. Or perhaps you'd like a more drastic measure be taken? We could forcibly throw them out, and never let them enter the hotel again. Or even better, how about calling Léon to the scene?" Linda said, smiling. It was a sight not frequently seen in the Hilton; jokes were far too easy to misconstrue, and so the workers at the hotel had been instructed to never be sarcastic with the guests.
Harry shook his head and smiled. "No, it's all right. However tempting as it may sound, the paparazzi would eat it up. I can see the headlines now: Famous Actor Hires Hitman, Offs Three. Though I must thank you for offering, Linda." He turned his head towards the stairs, where a group of reporters and photographers had assembled. "It's one of those days, isn't it?"
"I'm afraid so, sir," Linda replied. "If it helps ease your mind at all, sir, they're all going to roast in hell for this."
Harry nodded. "Call me Harry. You're right, of course; I'll just have to bear the pain and wait for karma to hit them. You have an excellent choice in movies, by the way. Have a lovely evening," Harry said, and with a wave he left to force his way past the crowd.
Linda sat for a moment, dazed; a smile slowly crept onto her face. It seemed Harry Potter had charmed another into his fan club.
Harry walked as quickly as he could without running; it wouldn't do to be seen as running scared by the papers. It was such a little detail, but it was sure to be the first thing printed by the many trash magazines that lined the checkout lines at supermarkets. It was bad enough that he was tired; it was printed his face, and Harry could see tomorrow's newspapers, all with headlines talking about 'Potter's Clubbing Days in LA'. Oh well, he'd just have to bear it as well as he could.
Even before Harry met the crowd, cries of "Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter!" reached him. He smiled graciously as the mob reached him, but didn't slow down. Photographs were taken in a flurry of flashes, resembling strobe lights. Questions were thrown at him from all angles, but Harry was used to this and wouldn't give in. Dozens of tape recorders were thrust in his face.
"Is it true, Mr. Potter, that you are having an affair with the leading lady, Mrs. Kingsley?" A woman with a fierce expression yelled. She reminded Harry of Goyle: a face of a bulldog, and probably no smarter than one.
"Are you facing charges of sexual harassment from one of your former coworkers, a Mr. Marin? Are you going to settle out of court?" asked a man wearing a very fancy dress suit. Harry wondered if that reporter would love it if Harry turned out to be gay. He seemed to carry himself in a vaguely feminine manner, and Harry noticed a trace of nail polish in the hand holding the tape recorder towards him.
"Is it true that you're blackmailing the Prince of Wales with reports on his behavior at last year's New Year party?"
"Do you have an illegitimate son?"
"Aren't you a leader of a satanic cult of entertainers trying to subvert our kids through your work?"
Harry ignored them all, and finally reached the stairs. However, one loud voice cut through the other inane questions.
"Is it true," the loud voice demanded, "that the reason you have not had any successful relationships is because you are still in love with your old sweetheart, Miss Hermione Granger?"
Harry stopped. A question had finally managed to cut through his preset defenses and had shook him to the core. He turned around slowly, facing the mob. "What did you just say?" He asked, his voice shaking slightly. The questions all stopped immediately, even though the pictures kept on clicking.
The interviewer was standing near the outer edge of the crowd, and they all moved out of the way as she stepped forward, walking towards Harry. She was dressed sharply, and held a tape recorder in her hand. In her other hand she carried a large bag, and Harry wondered for a brief moment why any modern woman would carry such a thing. Her glasses were oddly familiar, and Harry's mouth dropped when he realized who it was standing in front of him.
"That's right," Rita Skeeter said nastily, "I've been re-instated as head writer of a newspaper. Now, will you please comment?" She didn't hold her tape recorder any closer to him, and Harry realized that the big bag must have held her Quick-Quotes Quill. Harry froze. Of course he had faced Wizard reporters before; however, Rita Skeeter had terrorized his past with exaggerated stories of his scar, his love life, and his 'atrocious' friends. It had taken years for Harry to receive trust from the general Wizarding public, what with her stories on his being a Parselmouth and about the pains in his scar.
Fortune seemed to finally pity Harry Potter, and sent him a reprieve from the incidents she had sent him all day. Neville Longbottom- Harry's old friend and agent- came down from the stairs at that moment, looking for Harry.
Although Neville still looked plump and jolly, with ridiculously small glasses perched on his nose, Harry had never seen a more welcome sight.
When Neville saw what was going on, he didn't hesitate; he rushed down and grabbed Harry by the arms from behind. He pushed an unresisting Harry towards the stairs, while speaking in a firm tone, "Mr. Harry Potter refuses to give any comments to any of your questions at this time. If you have pressing issues you'd like to discuss with him, you are free to join both Mr. Potter and myself in three days at the Marriott. He, along with other members of his current movie, will be holding a formal press conference where your questions will be addressed-in due time. Thank you, and good night."
With that, they left the crowd, ignoring further shouts for exclusives and scoops. Before the crowd mercifully disappeared from his eyes, he saw the cruel face of Rita Skeeter, her face twisted in her excitement at having started her revenge.
"I'm telling you, Nev, that woman hates my guts." Harry complained as they walked up the stairs. Although Harry habited the penthouse suite of the Hilton, constituting more than eighty floors of stairs, Harry did not trust Muggle elevators enough to transport him to his room. He had once spent four hours stuck in an elevator; although it would have been quite simple usually to just Apparate out, he could not without facing serious suspicion from the Muggles (and, no doubt, the Ministry of Magic). That had been, without contest, the most boring event of his lives, and he was loath to repeat the experience. Yes, it was irrational; yes, it was silly; yes, many gossipers commented on it, but Harry refused to give in to Neville's demands. Finally, Neville had simply given up, and followed Harry on his long treks. (Of course, he took the elevator when by himself.)
Neville let out a small burst of air, which Harry correctly interpreted as a retort. "I know as well as you do that you've tread on a few feet coming up," he said slowly, taking small breaths in between his words, "I check your hate mail. I can't remember the number of Howlers that were rejected by the firewall we set up. And I remember the stories she printed about you during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. But she was just doing her job!" He was huffing now; they had just passed the eightieth floor.
Harry reached his door first, and patiently waited for Neville before opening the door. "No," he said emphatically and opened the door. He entered and threw his jacket on a chair carelessly. He turned to face Neville, who was closing the door behind him. "You don't know her as well as I do, Nev. She holds my old friends and me personally accountable for her downfall in the reporting world. And-I must admit-she has reason to think that."
Neville walked to the kitchen, looking for a drink, and left Harry brooding in the living room. Harry followed Neville, still upset, but trying to leave the whole matter aside. He started shifting through the mail.
"Bollocks. It wasn't anything you did that buggered her. If anything's to blame, it's her decision to take a couple years off from reporting after the whole Tri-Wizard Tournament thing. She missed all the juicy bits, and that made her lose prestige."
Harry winced. Neville bent down to take a carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator, and missed his reaction. He stood back up, holding a carton in his hand, and deftly poured himself a glass. Harry shook his head, and shifted through the mail he still held in his hand.
"Horrible, just horrible… why can't I just get some bills, like every other person? Why, oh why do I have to receive these 'interviews' by these teen pop magazines, or whatever the hell they call themselves? It's embarrassing enough to be famous; now I have to answer questions like 'What was the most embarrassing moment you had in school' and-"
"'who was your first kiss', and 'what animal would you be'," Neville cut in, mocking Harry. He finished plastering mayonnaise on the bread he had taken out, and put his sandwich together. He sat down at the dinner table, pushing some magazines off the table. Harry looked at him, amused, as Neville took a big bite out of his sandwich and a long swig of orange juice.
"Well, you've certainly made yourself at home in my suite," Harry said, grinning. He stood up and threw the mail onto the table. He pulled up another chair and sat across from Neville.
"So," he said, reaching over and grabbing a piece of Neville's sandwich, "What new catastrophe requires my immediate attention and response?"
Neville swallowed. "Nothing big this time," Neville answered. "Just some promotion interview dates and stuff for the movie that I wanted to clear with you. Let's see." He brushed the crumbs off of his hands, and grabbed the briefcase that he had placed earlier under the table. He opened it, and took out some sheets of paper.
"Okay, Newsweek wants to do a full exclusive on you for their "A day in the life of…" series they've been having. That's scheduled for next Friday. People want to do an interview with you and the director and Keira-you'll be doing that on-set and so no problems there. And for the more wizarding news, Wizarding Today wants your opinion on wizards and witches leading other lives in the Muggle world-they said they're available any day before next Wednesday. Also, Daily Prophet will be sending Ginny to get an interview from you. I suggest you don't avoid her this time," Neville said, frowning, and put the papers back in the briefcase.
Harry smiled, a twinkle in his eye. "Not my fault I was off shooting in Switzerland when she came by my flat. Not my fault she tripped over my anti-thief system."
Neville tried to look sternly at Harry, but failed. He grinned. "And it's also not your fault, I suppose, that she was arrested by the Muggle police and held in custody for twenty four hours?"
"No, not at all." At that, both Harry and Neville burst into hysterical laughter. When Ginny Apparated into an empty room, with Harry out of sight, her investigative tendencies had overwhelmed her. She had gone into Harry's bedroom, looking for any evidence of long-term relationships. She had accidentally set off Harry's alarm, which in turn sent an alarm to the police. They managed to surprise her, and they locked her in a cell before she could explain that she was a close family friend. Harry had let her sit in jail for a day before setting her free, letting her brood about what she had done. Even a year later, it was still a matter of ribbing in their circles.
After a few minutes, they managed to get their laughter in check. Harry shook his head, and wiped a tear from his eyes. He stood up. He started walking towards the living room, calling out over his shoulder, "You can just place the dishes in the sink. I'll take care of it later." He heard Neville snort, and start to clean up after himself.
Harry sat down at the couch facing the porch glass door. "Recito espitulas!" He said into the air. His voice mail turned on.
"Good day. You have - 3 - new messages." A loud beep sounded, and a breathless voice filled the room.
"Harry? It's me, Sachi. I just called to tell you that I met this really cute guy at the club today! It's what, 4 PM over there? It's really late here, and I should be sleeping, but it was so fun and so wild that I had to call you! His name's Patrick-he's a bit like you actually, Harry, polite but fun to be with-and he doesn't mind working with Muggles neither! Oh, he's a DJ at Wizard Top Hits 5k7 WM-and-he's sleeping in my bed right now!" Her infectious giggling made Harry smile. "Oh, I'm such a tramp, but he was so fun to be with! And good in bed, of course. Well, call me when you get this-if it's a respectable hour, of course. See ya!"
Harry shook his head. Sachi was a short, cheerful, pretty girl he had met when doing a scene in London. They had hit it off perfectly well, but never dated. She had been, along with Neville and some other, dependable people, part of the group he had clung to when he had broken ties with his old group.
Harry checked his Muggle watch. It was a bit too early to call decent in London, and Harry reminded himself to call her later. "Next," he said.
The next call had been from his favorite director. "Hey, Harry," Jackson's gruff voice said, "I'm starting another project next month in Australia, and I was wondering if you could join in. I've sent the script to Neville, and he told me he'd relay it to you. I'd really love it if you helped me on this. Call me after you read it-I want you for the lead, name's Rand. Bye."
Harry leaned over the couch and shouted towards the kitchen, "'ey, Nev, you got a script from Peter?"
Neville shouted back over the sound of the running dishwasher, "Yeah. I brought that over too, just forgot about it for a moment. Be with you in just a sec."
Harry smiled. He always loved working with Peter-he was a Muggle that had hired him for his first movie, and they had established a friendship that held strong, despite Harry's having to keep secrets from him. Peter had no idea, same as half of his fans, that Harry was more than just an actor.
Harry yawned, and said "Next," sleepily.
The next voice was unrecognizable, and Harry wondered briefly how she had gotten past his anti-stranger wards. "Mr. Potter," her stiff, British voice said, "Mr. Ronald Weasley asks for a piece of your time, if you can fit it into your schedule. The Cannons will be in Los Angeles on February 2, and he wishes to meet you after the game. Thank you, and I'd appreciate it if you send any proclamation declaring your intent or lack thereof to see my client. Have a nice day."
Neville came into the living room, washing his hands with a towel. "Who was that, Harry? Your new flame?" he said, smiling, and jumped on the other couch facing Harry.
"Very funny," Harry said, frowning. Ron Weasley… he thought, another old chum I haven't seen in so long. I wonder what's up? He looked over at Neville, trying not to dwell on it. "So where's the script?"
Neville groaned. "It's in my briefcase," he said, not budging. "Accio it, I can't really use magic without my wand yet."
"Accio Briefcase," Harry said quietly, and Neville's black leather briefcase jumped into his hand. He clicked the right combination-31184-and opened it. He shifted through Neville's many papers, searching for a thick script. (Peter had a penchant for directing movies based on long books in a long series.)
Neville studied Harry's face, but Harry studiously ignored him. "Not going to tell me who that was, eh, Harry?"
"Nope," Harry grunted, and finally took out the script from Neville's briefcase. "Ah hah! Here it is!"
"Fine, fine. Whatever," Neville said, and turned on the TV.
Harry sighed. "I hate it when you do that. Neville, it's Ron. He wants to see me for some reason."
Neville turned to Harry. "If that was Ron, he's taken some drastic changes since two weeks ago. As far as I could tell then, he was still male."
Harry smiled half-heartedly. "Don't be an idiot, Neville, that was his publicist, I think. I wonder why he suddenly decided he wants to talk to me again?"
Neville grew serious. "I think it would be so perfect if you and Ron got to talking again. You guys were so great at Hogwarts, and to see even a shabby version of that would be a sight for sore eyes. I know I've been filling in as your best friend ever since-"
Harry cut him off. "Enough of that. Neville, you're my best friend and you're not filling in for anyone. You've helped me through a lot of the worse moments in my life. I'm proud to be able to call Neville Longbottom, agent and lawyer extraordinaire, my best friend." He grinned.
Neville's answer was cut off by a series of sharp taps on the balcony glass door. Harry stood up from his couch and opened it, letting a beautiful Winking Owl fly into his room, a message tied to his leg. Harry knew immediately whose she was, and his breath stopped. Neville stood up and petted the owl, who had perched on the couch Harry had been sitting in.
"It's beautiful," Neville said, holding his breath in awe. "I've never seen this type of owl before. I wonder who owns it."
Harry stepped forward on shaky legs. "She's a Winking Owl. They're found only in Australia and surrounding islands. Her name's… Thalia."
"Oh?" Something in Harry's voice made Neville realize something important was going on. "And whose owl is she?"
"Hermione Granger," he said passively, finally reaching Thalia. He stroked Thalia underneath her beak, eliciting a coo from her (which oddly sounded like a dog's bark). He continued talking as he detached the note and opened it. "I gave her Thalia as an anniversary gift a couple years after graduating Hogwarts."
Neville was silent. He knew how much Harry hated talking about the old times-especially the times following graduation.
Harry read the note with trepidation, fearing what it would say.
January 5,2012
Dear Harry, (it started,)
Hello. Okay, I admit, that sounds horribly out of line after ten long years of estrangement, but it's the best I can offer at the moment. I debated with myself for a long time whether or not I should send this note. I really sat at the dinner table, quill in my hand, asking myself if time could possibly make the situation between us better. I'm not sure about the answer, myself, but I can't hold this off any longer. It's too important for us. So here I am, casually starting the letter with a "Hello", as if we didn't storm away from each other, never to talk again. If we are to have any semblance of a friendship in the future, might as well that I start it, right?
So there's my hello. Here's my 'how have you been?' I know you've been very famous in your careers so far; I've read a lot of articles that were about you. I have to admit, I've watched a lot of the BBC specials and awards nights you attended. You still look so handsome at 32. Perhaps you'll be like Richard Gere-just getting better and better with age.
You're wondering if I ever finished graduate school and became a doctor? Well, wonder no more, as you are talking to Hermione Granger, M.D. I work at the Royal Marsden Muggle Hospital and the illustrious London Wizarding Hospital. I work nearly every day; it's exhausting.
How is your career going? I've watched all of your films, and I thought they were all marvelous. It was hard for me to see you, at first; I couldn't see your face without having the memories crash into me harshly. I felt like weeping, laughing, and screaming at you, although you wouldn't have been able to hear me. I hear Still the One is going to be a great movie; it's a romance, right?
Enough trivialities. No matter how hard we try, I don't think either of us can pretend that we haven't had a long and tumultuous history. We've been through so much, suffered so much pain; yet we've shared some of the best moments of our lives. It's hard for me to stay impartial when it comes to my friend Harry James Potter.
But I'm pushing it to the side. I'm letting my pride go because I need you. I don't mean I want to date you again: far from that. I just need my best friend Harry again. I need someone to hug, someone to tell all my secrets; I need someone who'll stand by me and encourage me, no matter how over-my-head I've come. I need that connection we had so long ago. Ron talks to me, but he's always off doing his Quidditch thing.
Please? Please answer my letter. You see, I'm getting married. He's a doctor I met at med school, when we were still together; he comforted me when we broke up. We've been going out for a year now; he asked me to marry him last night, and I said yes.
But I don't think I love him, Harry. He doesn't know me too well; he doesn't know the fact that I am a witch, or the fact that I'm famous in that world. He doesn't know my past; we live right now for the passion and love of just… existing.
My heart is telling me I am making a mistake, and my mind is telling me I'm making a mistake in involving you in my life again. But forget what my logic tells me. Please, I'm begging you-become my friend again, and let me confide in you.
With love,
Hermione
"Well? I don't mean to pry, but…" Neville enquired softly.
"I don't know what this means, Neville. Not at all," Harry said sadly, and looked at Thalia. Thalia, the relic of their relationship. The relationship that had failed so miserably.
"It'll be good if you two talk again. With you owling Hermione, and meeting Ron, it'll be just like the old days." Neville said, smiling.
"No!" His vehement response startled Neville. "No," Harry said, more calmly, "I'm not going to answer her. It'll be a stupid thing for me to do. That part of my life has passed. No need to dwell on it." He nodded decisively, and got a look in his eyes that let Neville know not to pursue the subject further.
But Neville noticed Harry did not let go of Hermione's letter. It remained in Harry's hand, held delicately, as if he wanted nothing to sully such a precious artifact.