Title: With Love (3/?)
Author: Seiryuu
Summary: Harry is worried that Hermione will not answer his late reply, and he wonders if he finally has pushed things too far. Ginny finds him for the interview, and accidentally lets slip about Hermione's emotional break-up…
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. The Wheel of Time series is owned by Robert Jordan and Tor Fantasy Books. 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. I thank Leslie Ang for giving me feedback (yes, I will make this a happy story, okay?). Roger (Hecuba, Dumbledore, whatever your moniker is), thanks for being a great sounding board and friend to me.
Always feel free to approach me on AIM (SN: Akodo Brian) or MSN (seiryuu_avatar@msn.com). I'd love to chat with you, and answer any questions you might have about the series (or anything else).
Chapter 3- From Hermione to Harry: January 23, 2012
Monday: January 18, 2012
The hustle and bustle of the set went ignored by the star of the movie, Harry Potter. He sat in his chair, waiting for the moment when Jon Swift would call him in the spotlight once more. Only a week remained before filming for Still the One ended, and Harry would be leaving for the set of his newest project promptly after that. Of course, he would wait until after he met Ron (as he had scheduled), but after that he would go straight to Australia. Which was as far away from Hermione as he could get-whether that was good news or bad, he hadn't decided yet.
He still wasn't sure why he had written what he had written to Hermione. It was not in his nature to open his heart so vulnerably; she had emphatically told him that romance between them was impossible, yet he still told her he loved her? He shook his head slightly. You're just a fool, Harry told himself. But there was a small voice inside of his head that kept insisting that he had done exactly the right thing, being perfectly frank with Hermione; it would have hurt their tentative steps toward each other if he had not been so.
Of course, Harry thought wryly, telling an engaged person you love her is hardly the right thing to do. You'll be lucky if she sends you a note saying, "I was wrong. I don't want to see you again. Goodbye."
He forced his mind away from Hermione, trying to concentrate on the script. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the words that were printed on the paper.
RAND: [shouts] No! You will not kill her!
[RAND runs forward towards AGINOR and BALTHAMEL and MOIRAINE screaming loudly, hysterically. The camera focuses on his face; the sound of battle, the sound of the Forsaken laughing slows down. We see RAND'S flushed face, and we see a flash of gold pass through his eyes. He has grabbed saidin, the magical force. The camera shifts back to the overhead view. RAND is surrounded by golden light as he stands in front of the Forsaken; they turn to him, surprised. MOIRAINE falls to the floor, exhausted.]
RAND: [breathing hard] You… will… not… harm… ANY of my friends!
[He raises his hand, and the camera shifts to face him. His hands suddenly are surrounded by fire.]
Harry closed the script abruptly. The similarities between the main character, Rand al'Thor, and him were a bit too many to be comfortable. Both had inherited a legacy that neither had known; both had two close friends that followed him through all his crazy adventures. And he had been told Rand also lost his childhood sweetheart, with her marrying into a position that almost put her at odds with him…
Harry winced. Also, he thought ruefully, Rand doesn't seem to have any problems with throwing himself directly at the main bad guy. Though I can't say that's a good trait, really. It's gotten me more trouble than it's worth.
"Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter!" A young voice shouted at him from far away, and he looked in that direction, eager to keep away from darker thoughts. A young intern ran towards him in a huff, more than happy to carry instructions from the director. He paused in front of Harry for a moment, trying to talk through his heavy breathing.
"Mr… Mr. Swift says that Set … 4A… is ready to start… filming, Mr. Potter. Everyone's… there, so they're just waiting for you, sir."
Harry smiled at him appreciatively. "Thanks for the heads-up. I'll be there in a minute." The intern nodded, and ran off towards another part of the studio.
Harry looked at the boy wistfully; at least he was doing a job that was his dream job. For Harry, being a Muggle actor had not even registered his ideas when he was young. Before he had learned of his wizard heritage, he had wanted to be a policeman or fireman; afterwards, the only thing he had really wanted to do was survive Voldemort's numerous attacks.
He shook his head, berating himself for his foolish thoughts. Don't dilly-dally; he said that everyone was waiting for you, so what are you doing standing around? He didn't run, exactly, but he quickly made his way to Set 4A, the 'interior of the house' set.
When Harry arrived, he knew that the intern had been telling the truth; everyone was standing around waiting for him to come to the stage. Jon Swift, the director, walked towards him frowning.
"Harry," he said, even before he reached Harry, "we've been waiting for a good fifteen minutes. Did that boy not get to you? I sent him out a long time ago. You know that we're set up to do the first argument scene again, right? When the editors looked over the footage, they figure we need to film it in another angle or two."
"No, no, he reached me quickly enough," Harry said quickly, waving his hands. The last thing he wanted was to make someone lose his dream job. Even if the boy hadn't reached Harry as quickly as he could have. "I got it. First argument-are we starting with Leslie's line?"
Leslie Kingsley, who had been standing in her cued spot, shook her head. "No, we're starting where I pace. You come into the scene in about ten seconds. Easy enough, right? Still remember those lines?" she offered. Harry smiled at her.
"Of course! All right then, let's get cracking." He walked up quickly, and went out of the 'living room', standing outside the fake door. The rest of the crew set up as well, focusing their lights and setting up the cameras. It was only a minute after when Jon Swift gestured to a man holding the cue.
"Scene 25, Take 1. Action!" He shouted, and the scene began.
In the beginning of the scene, Leslie paced the living room, holding a hand up to her mouth in anger. When the 'doorbell' rang, a noise set up by the prop master of the set, she ran towards the door and flung it open. Beyond it, Harry stood, wearing a somber expression.
"Sarah, we have to talk." He said quietly, not moving an inch. Leslie frowned at him, the frown perfectly captured by the camera angled behind Harry's shoulder.
"I agree, you bastard!" Leslie shrieked, and grabbed Harry by the shoulder and yanked him inside her house. She slammed the door closed behind him, and the camera behind Harry stopped rolling, having taken a beautiful shot of the door slamming closed on it.
Inside the room, Leslie stood directly in front of Harry, getting in his face (even though she was a good three inches shorter than him). She poked him hard in the chest with her index finger, and Harry stepped back a bit, a frown on his face appearing to match the one on hers.
"Who the hell is Elayne, huh? What the hell is her relation to you? Why has she been leaving messages for you at three A.M.?!" She started without preamble, without bothering to lower her voice. Her arms flailed wildly, gesturing her surprise at him.
"Why won't you just give me your trust, huh? When have I ever betrayed you, Sarah?" Harry shouted back at her, losing his temper. His eyes narrowed, and his face flushed with anger. He stepped forward again, putting himself once again in Leslie's face. She stared up at him without cowering.
"Why won't you just answer my fucking question?" She screamed in his face, then moving quickly, slapped Harry in the face.
He kept his face turned away for a moment. When he faced Leslie again, it was with a bright red mark on his cheek, imprinted exactly with the shape of her hand. He visibly took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Elayne is just a friend. Nothing more, nothing less." He answered quietly, the volume of his words belying the anger shown in his eyes and his posture.
Leslie raised her hand to slap him again, when Harry grabbed her by the wrist. She yanked furiously, trying to get away to slap him again. "Why," she said, her voice close to hysterics, "didn't you tell me about her in the first place? If she's just your friend, why did you answer her messages before you answered mine?"
Harry's mouth was left open with surprise. "How… how did you know?" He stammered, letting her wrist go. He stepped backwards, mouth working; it was apparent that he could not explain himself satisfactorily. Leslie waited a few moments, glaring at him, before speaking once more. She, too, tried to take a few deep breaths to calm herself down, but it had as little effect as Harry's attempt.
"If you can't answer me," she said, tears starting to gather in her eyes, "Perhaps you should go." Harry stared at her, shocked. He made a movement as to step forward to put his arms around her, but Leslie stopped him with a raised hand. She wiped the moisture from her eyes quickly, and met his look with her eyes.
"I meant what I said. Leave, now. I don't ever want to see you again, Robert. You and I are through forever." She said softly but firmly, her eyes watering despite her wishes. Harry opened his mouth to object, but he only nodded when he saw the resolve in her eyes. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them once more, tears were falling down his cheeks. He pressed a finger to his lips, then reached forward to press them on her cheek. When she moved out of the way, he flinched as if physically hit.
He retreated slowly, not turning his back to her. He reached the door, the door handle digging into his back. He hesitated even then, a step away from leaving her house. He looked at her one last time; her posture told him all he needed to know.
"I still love you, Sarah," he said softly. When no response came, he turned and left the room, the door closing quietly behind him.
Leslie let her emotions loose when the door closed, walking unsteadily to the wall, and leaning against it for support. She took big gulps of air, crying audibly. She continued to cry until half a minute later, when Jon Swift leaned forward in his chair and yelled, "cut!"
Once that word passed his lips, everyone exploded into movement. An intern immediately rechecked the connections from his laptop to the main editing computer that sat across town. The scene that was just shot was quickly digitized, processed and downloaded for later scrutiny. An intern ran onto the set to Leslie Kingsley, handing her a bottle of water and a towel. Leslie smiled, took the water that was offered to her and wiped her tears off with the towel. She handed both back to the intern, and walked toward the director who was busy talking to a tall redheaded woman.
Harry appeared from behind the set, after having disappeared to wash the traces of tears from his face. His face was still a bit pale; although he had been acting for quite a while now, emotional scenes still got the best of him at times. It was unprofessional; it was not something that would be considered smart by any standards, but it was something Harry couldn't help doing. Part of the reason he was an actor was to become someone completely new. The trials of being Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, were many and harsh. There was a certain… joy… in being a person who did not have the complications that being Harry Potter had. Although many problems did arise for the roles he took, all were resolved and finished by the time the credits rolled.
He walked towards the general direction of Jon Swift, turning his head often to talk to the various workers on the set. He knew many of them, and he always had a friendly word for them when they passed. They always smiled and answered back. Thus, Harry didn't really see who was talking to the director until he was standing right in front of them.
"Jon, how was that take?" He asked, turning his head to face them. The question trailed off as he realized who had been chatting with his director. She turned to him, amused.
"Well, Mr. Potter, I take it you don't remember that we have an interview scheduled to happen in exactly five minutes?" Ginny smiled, and raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief. "Or should I be wary of the police here? Are you going to throw me in jail here, too?"
Harry threw back his head and laughed heartily. He smiled at her, then suddenly rushed towards her, throwing his arms around her and swinging her in the air. Ginny and Harry laughed delightedly as Jon and Leslie looked on in surprise. Harry's co-workers looked at each other, than simultaneously shrugged. It was apparent that Harry had had a history with the woman; they greeted each other with enough enthusiasm for long-lost brothers.
Harry set her down gently, and smiled at her. Looking at the other two standing near him, he spoke, the laughter apparent in his tone. "This little witch," he said, grinning, "once managed to get arrested in London for coming into my apartment. I wasn't in then, and she tripped off an alarm trying to snoop. Of course, she's still as voracious a journalist now as back then, and she'll probably make me say some stuff I know I'll regret saying."
Ginny sniffed. "Not so little, mind you; I'm nearly as tall as you are, Harry! And of course you're going to say stuff you're going to regret. That's my job." She laughed easily once more, then grabbed his arm. Smiling at the director and Leslie, she said, "Is there a room where I can set up my interrogation equipment? Bright lights, tape recorder, the like?"
Jon nodded. "Harry's trailer should be more than adequate. He's done the other interviews there, too, I believe. Harry?" Harry nodded, waved off Jon and Leslie, and started to lead Ginny away by the arm, animatedly talking. Jon and Leslie looked on for a moment, amused, before returning to their conversation.
"So," Harry said, smiling, "How've things been? Any new romantic entanglements I should know about? Any Weasley mishaps? How're your brothers?" They deftly avoided the hubbub of the movie sets as they walked toward his trailer, which lay as far away as it could from the sets. Harry couldn't stop smiling; he couldn't believe how good it felt to connect to one of his oldest friends. Suddenly, he felt as if he couldn't get enough of gossip.
Ginny laughed again. "Me? Romantic entanglements? Of course! A nice bloke named Patrick chatted me up at a club recently. A great shag, and my parents love him. It's near impossible to find anyone that fits both descriptions." She turned her head, flipping her long red hair over her shoulder coquettishly. "The Weasleys, as always, are going about our own businesses, doing rather well. Ron won the last game, against the Dragons, I think; Bill got promoted a couple months ago. Charlie's doing some groundbreaking work on the Welsh Dragon, and he's made some deal to write a book about it. Mum's overjoyed. Of course, Dad's blissfully continuing his work in the Ministry."
They reached the door of his trailer soon enough, with a bright green sign stating "Prongs Jr." above the door. Ginny threw Harry a questioning look as he opened the door, and he colored slightly. "It's a security measure," he mumbled, and quickly herded her to a table.
Ginny took a long look at her surroundings as she sat down. Harry groaned internally-he could just picture what was going through her snoopy mind. No sign of any romantic attachments, though he'd probably have it at his hotel room. No pictures; must think it risky to have moving pictures in any of his public places. Fairly neat, but it's likely he doesn't spend much time here. Oh, is that a pack of cigarettes? She quickly set up her equipment professionally, setting a Quick-Quotes Quill off to the side. She took out a more conventional tape recorder, and turned it on briskly, testing both with an ease that hinted at procedure. She pulled out a laptop, with a webcam attached, then checked to make sure Harry was in the center of the feed. Harry sat in a chair across from her, and silently waited the barrage of questions that were to come.
"Well then," Ginny said, finally turning towards him. "This is Ginevra Weasley of the Daily Prophet, here with the illustrious wizard Harry Potter himself-the Boy Who Lived. Currently, he's a very successful actor in both the wizard and Muggle worlds, and by God, handsome as the devil. Hello, Harry. How've you been?"
Harry nodded. He had gone through countless interviews in his years, and thus knew all the tricks of surviving through a vicious line of questions. He braced himself internally and externally, training his expression into one of happiness. "Hello, Ginny. It's been a great long time. And it's been great for me recently."
Ginny looked at a notepad she had in her lap before continuing. "Harry, before I ask you anything else, I have to ask you this. Any significant other in your life?" She leaned forward, smiling, but Harry detected a sort of eagerness in her eyes that seemed to have roots in something other than her journalistic motives.
Harry shook his head. "Of course not, Ginny. I hope your readers don't believe all the nonsense that's been published about Leslie and me getting together? Or anyone else, for that matter."
Ginny leaned back, and Harry had the odd feeling that she was satisfied. "Unfortunately enough, some of the writers at our own publications have fallen so low to spread those same rumors. But it's great that our dear readers get to hear the truth from your own lips." She was talking to the camera as much as Harry, and he had to admit that she was pretty good at this stuff. The Quill wrote furiously, the scribbling sound filling the silence.
Ginny asked, "So, Harry, what of all things made you decide to be an actor, which is predominantly a Muggle vocation, even now?"
Harry smiled. This was a tale he loved telling over and over. "Well, Ginny, part of the reason I didn't really pursue a Quidditch career was all the fame it brought. I hated it all, and besides, becoming a Quidditch player was so expected of me, it seemed that they had all enrolled me already onto the Cannons or some other team. My first choice of a job, an Auror, seemed moot; I was so famous, it would have gotten in the way if I had tried to go on any undercover jobs. I finally took a job as a consultant in the Ministry of Magic, Defense Department.
"But one day, I was in a pub in Greater London that I will not reveal the name of, because I love that place dearly and still go there frequently. I will say that it's a place where Muggles are given entrance, and about 9 years ago, I was entertaining fellow drinkers with an affected accent and an exaggerated pantomime when one of the Muggles asked me to step outside. I really did think that he was going to throw a few punches at me at the time, but I followed him out. I was slightly drunk, you see; I'm sure a good fight might have made me feel a bit better then." Harry chuckled. Ginny grinned encouragingly, and Harry continued his story without further prompting.
"Luckily enough for him, the Muggle didn't try to waylay me. His name was Peter Jackson, and he was a director looking for a villain in his film, Fire and Ice. I was fairly surprised, to say the least; I had never thought of acting before then, and I knew that the fame of being an actor is as bad as that of a Quidditch player. I said no, and he didn't press me further on the subject. He gave me his card to call him if I changed my mind, and we went back into the pub. We had a jolly good time that night, and we departed friends.
"I re-thought my position on the whole acting thing, and I wondered if the fame would get so horrible. I was sure at the time that I was going to play this small role, and it would be it for me. I finally decided to do it at about three in the morning, and I rang him up at more decent hours. I have to admit, Peter's lack of pretense had a lot to do with my decision, as well the fact that I hated my current job.
"So I rang him up, and one of the first things I asked him was 'will the fame overwhelm my life? Answer me truthfully.' I still remember Peter's answer." Harry stopped for a moment, smiling broadly at the memory. He leaned forward a bit for dramatic emphasis. "He said, 'my friend, you aren't that good.'" Ginny let out an involuntary burst of laughter, and covered it quickly with a glance at her notes. Harry nodded, happy at her reaction, and took a drink of water from his sports bottle before she continued.
"Well," Ginny said, "I think I'm not contradicting even the harshest reviewer when I say that Mr. Jackson was quite horribly wrong. You're an acting phenomenon, and you quite burned up the Muggle cinema scene with your debut as Mr. Stark. The film Fire and Ice was a critical success and a blockbuster in the box offices; you, Harry, were a very big factor in shoving the wizarding community towards film. Your next few films were also hits; need I mention the reaction on your award-winning performances in the Muggle films The Sword Edge, Enigma, Through the Fire, Le Mort d'Arthur and Bindings? Or your breath-taking portrayal of John in the wizard film Dancing Forever?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Nicely done," he said, smiling, "very nice indeed. You should be my public-relations manager. How much are you getting paid in this job? I'm sure I can give you a better deal." He pulled out his wallet and pretended to take out a wad of money. Ginny grinned. "By the way, was there a question in that lovely rendition of my filmography?"
Ginny shook her head. "You're quite the charmer, Mr. Potter," she teased. "Are you sure you haven't a lover? I'm sure there are many offers all around."
Harry's smile definitely looked strained this time around. "I can't abide those types of women," he said, trying desperately to keep an angry tone out of his words. He covered his reaction by taking a long drink from his sports bottle. His smile looked friendlier by the time he continued. "I only want to fall in love with a woman who doesn't want the Harry Potter who is famous. I want to look into my lover's eyes and see her looking at me, not the Boy Who Lived or the famous actor."
Ginny had the odd look in her eyes again. She coughed once, and Harry fully expected her voice to be unsteady when she continued. It wasn't.
"Well, with a conviction like that, whoever you do end up with must be one lucky witch." She paused slightly before turning to her next question. "Or a Muggle, for that matter. Which reminds me. I'm sure all of our readers want to know: how hard it is for you to live in the Muggle world?"
Harry shrugged. "It's not too hard, actually. There's of course no spell-casting in public, and no Apparating, of course. I can't really carry my wand anywhere, as it might fall into the wrong hands. When I'm in my own flat, or my current suite, I use a lot of magic. But I have to say I've gotten used to the lack of magic." He paused, his face solemn, but his face cracked a grin before too long. "Who am I kidding? It's a bloody hell."
Ginny asked, "So I'm assuming it's hard to conceal your magical abilities? How many close calls have you had?"
Harry sighed. "More than I would like to have it, actually. I'm sure I created a Memory Squad for personal use in my earlier years. Back then, I made a lot of blunders, and left lots of evidence for crowds. Nowadays, I rarely make mistakes. It's been maybe two years since a Memory Squad had to compensate for one of my mistakes."
The interview continued without a hitch, with Ginny asking the standard questions and Harry answering easily. Finally, Ginny nodded and closed her notebook. "Well, thank you for your candid interview. I'm sure our readers will enjoy it as much as I have. Finit," she said, and the Quick-Quotes Quill stopped writing and fell to a stationary position on the desk. She turned off the tape recorder, and fiddled with her laptop. Harry stood up and occupied himself as she finished packing her equipment.
"Well, that's done with," she said after a moment. Harry turned to face her.
"Yeah, and believe me, I'm glad for it. Do you want to spend a bit of time at an American bar? Or if you want, we can go to a fancier restaurant. I'll pay, of course."
Ginny looked distracted, to say the least. "I'd love to," she said hesitantly, "but I really have to get back to England. I have a prior engagement with a friend."
Harry glanced at his Muggle watch. It was the middle of the day, which meant that it was bordering night in England. "I'd love to meet any of your friends, Ginny-or is this a more of a shagging deal?" He said casually, his face not betraying his mirth.
Ginny awarded his remark with a slap on the arm. "I don't think so, Harry James Potter. My sex affairs are none of your business."
Harry grinned insolently. He leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between them. "You weren't so prudish when you were talking of them thirty minutes ago," he whispered, earning a flush. Ginny lifted her head, almost defiantly.
"Well, back then I didn't mind, and now I do. It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind." Her expression took a more concerned look as she spoke again, this time more towards herself than to Harry.
"Besides," she muttered absentmindedly, "Hermione really needs my support, not to see you right now."
Harry's flirtatious attitude left him abruptly. "What?" He exclaimed loudly, grabbing Ginny's shoulders and shaking her slightly. "What do you mean? Why does Hermione need your support?"
Ginny looked up, startled. "Bloody~! Did I just say that out loud?"
Harry shook his head. "You're not going to just pass this by as nothing. What happened to Hermione?"
Ginny took a deep breath to steady herself. "That's quite a reaction about a friend whom you haven't seen or talked to in a decade," she said, stalling. She glanced significantly at the tight grip he held on her shoulders.
Harry started, as if realizing what his arms were doing. He let her go quickly, bringing his hands up to his head awkwardly. "Err, sorry, I didn't mean to do that," he said, flushing. However, his eyes met hers determinedly. "No more stalling. Tell me what happened."
Ginny spoke calmly, looking for Harry's reaction to her news. "Hermione was engaged to marry a Muggle doctor, and he flipped out when Hermione told him about her being a witch. They broke off the engagement a week ago. She's still shaken up about it… God, and she has to see him at work nearly every day! I don't see how she can stand it."
Harry's face crumbled with despair. When I wrote that letter, I didn't expect the sodding bastard to freak out on her! He thought desperately. He turned towards the wall of his trailer, unconsciously clenching and unclenching his hands tightly.
He heard Ginny step towards him tentatively from behind him and felt her hand fall gently on his shoulder. "Are you all right?" she asked softly. Harry nodded, silent.
"You didn't really expect her to not get romantically involved all these years, did you? I mean, I'm sure you've had your conquests, despite what you said officially to me."
Funny, Harry thought, she's mistaken my feelings completely. "I know, Ginny." He turned to face her, and gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm fine."
Ginny gave him a worried look-over. "Are you sure? I don't really have the time to dote on two lovesick friends, especially ones that have such a complicated history."
Harry nodded. Trying to hide the eagerness in his voice, he asked nonchalantly, "Umm, where is she right now, anyway? Home? What's the address?"
Ginny's eyes widened. "Oh, no you don't," she said, raising her voice slightly. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but she cut in before he could state his mind. She thrust a finger in his chest, stabbing at each word to emphasize her point.
"You listen to me, you silly prat, you cannot see her right now! The last thing she needs is her ex knocking at her door in her state! Just…" Her expression softened. She smiled a bit at him, though she still gave off an indignant manner with her posture. "I promise to tell you how she's doing, and what she's been doing. I suppose it's a good sign that you still care for her. Maybe, you can finally get your act together and deign to be her friend again. Understood?"
Harry nodded, and Ginny stepped back. Surreptitiously rubbing his chest (where she had poked so much), he said, "I don't want to complicate her life; that's the last thing I really want to do." He opened the door to his trailer then, and Ginny stepped out, the perfect picture of composure.
Harry escorted her to a safe wizard spot, where she kissed him on the cheek and Apparated away. Harry stood for a moment, staring at the empty place she had just vacated, thinking of her words.
She's right, you know, a little voice in his mind said. Hermione will contact you when she wants to talk about it. All you can do now is wait.
But I'm best when I'm acting, not waiting!, he protested. The little voice snickered.
That's too bad, no? The famous Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, who single-handedly defeated Lord Voldemort, can't wait a couple days for a response from a girl?
Harry snorted (eliciting a few odd stares), and turned away. His conscience seemed to be able to phrase any situation in a manner that made him feel humiliated. He really didn't need to hear this right now from anyone, let alone himself.
Saturday: January 23, 2012
Well, this is silly, Harry thought, staring at the door firmly closed in front of his face. He balanced the bouquet of flowers in one hand, then the other, trying to find the courage to knock or ring the doorbell.
I still think this is a horrid idea, the little voice in his head admonished. Harry shook his head; the voice was becoming to sound more and more like Ginny's.
Well, sod off then, Harry thought back at the voice. It gave an audible sniff, and went silent.
That was easy, Harry thought, briefly amused. Then he returned to the situation, and the smile faded from his face.
He was standing on the porch of 56 Elm Park Road, wondering whether or not Hermione was even in the house! A modified Letter spell had let him learn her address, and after having tortured himself for the week that seemed so long to him, he jetted off to London, determined to see her. After a quick deviation from the way to her house-he dropped by his favorite florist, and picked up some daisies-he was finally standing there. And had been, for the last half hour. The sun had long since set, but he knew that Hermione, if she wasn't out, wouldn't have been sleeping.
I'm going to do it, he thought determinedly, ignoring the short laugh of disbelief expelled by his conscience. He raised his right hand, the one not holding the daisies, and rang the doorbell firmly.
He waited for a nerve-wracking minute, wondering if he had come all the way for nothing. But his fears were alleviated when the porch light turned on, and a voice he hadn't heard in a long time grumbling, "I'm coming, I'm coming!" The door opened quickly, and Hermione appeared, looking disheveled.
"No, I don't want to buy any bloody-" She stopped as soon as she saw who was standing there. She stood there in the doorway, mouth agape.
Harry knew how she must have felt; he felt the same way. His heart was in his throat, and his mouth parched up immediately. His eyes greedily drank in the sight of his former best friend, someone he had firmly trusted and loved for so long. Her hair was still bushy, and she still only came up to her shoulders, and she wore a bathrobe that was fluffy and pink. He couldn't move. They stood there for a good five minutes, before a sound of a Muggle clock bell ringing jolted both of them out of their daze.
Harry said the first thing on his mind. "Pink?"
Hermione flushed slightly, but set her jaw stubbornly in a gesture that was still familiar to Harry. "It was a birthday gift from my mother a couple of years back. I happen to think it's very comfortable." She turned from him, leaving the door open. "I don't believe it; the first words you speak to me after ten years are to insult my tastes. Come in, take off your shoes on the floormat." She shuffled off in the direction of what looked to be her kitchen.
Harry stepped in, head swiveling every direction, trying to soak in all the sights. He took off his shoes impatiently and left them in a heap near the door. He closed and locked the door behind him, and followed the path Hermione had taken just moments before.
He had guessed right; it was her kitchen, spotless and perfect as a magazine picture. It had the look of having recently been cleaned the Muggle ways, repeatedly. Harry could guess how she had been coping with her loss.
Hermione had taken out a bottle of Pumpkin Juice while he had been ogling her house, and she was pouring it into two cups. When Harry approached her, she slid the cup on the counter to him, and he caught it easily. He took a small sip of the drink, trying to keep his eyes from watering; this had been a little ritual they had gone through many times before, when they had shared a flat. They had always gotten together at the end of the day, no matter how busy their schedule had been; Hermione fixed the drink (sometimes choosing odd combinations, making both of them laugh), and Harry would tell her everything that had happened that day. Then Hermione would take her turn.
He set his cup down on the counter. "Well," he said in a tone that was forcibly cheerful, "my day was just great. I talked shop with Neville for-"
"Harry," Hermione said quietly, cutting him off. "Don't worry about it. You don't have to try."
Harry nodded sadly. They sat for a moment, just enjoying each other's presence. Harry was happy to note that the silence that rose between them still was comfortable, not awkward. Harry broke it first.
"I've missed you, Hermione."
"I know," she replied softly. She stared down into her cup, but Harry could see the tears starting to gather in the corners of her eyes. "I've missed you, too."
Harry stood up from his stool, and walked around the counter to stand behind her. He smiled without happiness, to keep from frowning. "We've been such fools for so long," he said. "I've been working so hard, going from project to project to keep myself busy. I tried to block out the fact that I had destroyed such a great friendship, and I tried to block out the fact that I haven't felt complete since the moment we left each other."
Hermione pivoted on her stool until she faced Harry. Without lifting her face to meet his, she spoke quietly. Her hands twisted each other in her lap.
"It's been so hard, you know," she said. "When I entered the wizarding world when I was eleven, I immediately met you and Ron. You and Ron guided me through what I know of the wizarding world. I didn't know how I could have survived in the wizard world all by myself; Ron's been so busy lately, with such a sky-rocketing career, that we rarely see each other. I guess the thing that's kept my life moving was shoving myself into academics. I drifted more and more into the Muggle world, and that's kept me sane over these long years."
She lifted her face, and Harry's eyes met hers. Both were tear-stained, and they smiled at each other. Harry lifted a hand and gently wiped her tears from her face, and Hermione did the same for Harry. Harry leaned forward, and enveloped her in a firm hug. Tight in the embrace of a good friend, Hermione let her guards down, and let the pain and reality of the break-up hit her fully. She let herself weep, and once she started, it seemed as though she couldn't ever stop.
Harry cradled her, softly cooing reassurances that everything would be all right, and just holding her until she stopped crying. She sniffled a few times, and finally stopped crying. She hiccupped.
Harry let her go for a moment, and pulled out his wand from his pocket. "Accio tissues!"
Nothing happened for a moment, but suddenly, a stream of tissues came in to the kitchen, flying from upstairs. They started to bombard Harry, and caught him off guard enough to send him sprawling to the floor. Hermione giggled, hiccupping all the while, at the sight of Harry on the floor being attacked by tissues.
Harry stood up after he stopped the spell, and looked at the mess on the floor. He picked one of the tissues off the floor. "Uh… tissue?" He asked, offering it up to her. She smiled, and took it. Harry Accioed the bottle of Pumpkin Juice into his hand and poured her another cup. She drank it deeply, and placed it onto the counter when she finished.
This time, the silence was awkward. Harry didn't mind with what had just happened, but Hermione was embarrassed beyond measure. She cleared her throat a couple of times.
"Harry, umm… I'm really sorry for that. You see, my fiancé-"
"Shh," Harry interrupted. "I know all about it. Don't worry about losing your composure in front of me. After all, I've bawled while you held me many times. I'm just returning the favor." He shrugged. "No big deal. What is a big deal, however, is how you're handling the situation. Tell me, what have you done to let your emotions out?"
Hermione floundered for a moment, trying to think of an answer that would please him. She gave up trying after a few moments. "Nothing, really." She admitted. "I've thrown myself into my work- standard Hermione maneuver, huh? It doesn't help that Nelson works at the Muggle hospital."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Nelson, huh? What's his last name?"
Hermione frowned in exasperation. "Harry, you are not going to pull the angry-best-friend act on him. No beating anyone around here. That's the last thing I want."
Harry smiled radiantly. "So one day, I can get back to my spot as your best friend?"
Hermione caught his gaze. "Harry," she said solemnly, "you were always my best friend. Even when we weren't speaking to each other, I knew in my heart of hearts that we'd find each other again, and that we'd trust each other again."
"And do you think your heart of hearts was right?"
Hermione closed her eyes briefly. "I don't know," she said slowly. Harry nodded, grateful that Hermione respected him enough to tell him the truth, rather than telling him what he wanted to hear.
But that's how Hermione is, bless her heart, he mused. Maybe we can get back to where we had been.
"Oh!" Hermione said suddenly. "With all this commotion, I forgot about it. Stay here for a moment." She got off of the stool and ran up the stairs. Harry couldn't tell what room she had gone to (having never been upstairs), but it was situated directly above the kitchen. While she was gone, Harry spent his time picking up the tissues by hand (and wondering whatever it could be that she was getting for him).
He was trying to decide whether it was a bowling ball or a shuttlecock when Hermione came down from her room upstairs. She ran up to Harry, and quickly handed him an envelope. "I added in a little part at the end, and changed the date, but I wrote this letter a couple of days ago. I just didn't know if I should have sent it or not." She looked into his eyes. "Now, I'm sure I should have."
Harry clutched the letter in his hands, touched deeply by her gesture. "Thank you, Hermione. I-I should go. But I promise you I will stay in touch, okay? I don't intend to let your friendship go this time around."
Hermione smiled at him, a sight that made goosebumps rise on his back; she was so breathtakingly beautiful to him. It made his mind go numb, and his senses wildly confused.
He said some mumbled goodbyes, and he Apparated back to the United States. When he finally stumbled out of his daze, he found himself sitting on the bed in his hotel suite, holding Hermione's letter with both hands.
I'm not going to read it right now, he told himself firmly. I'm in no state to try to sort out what I feel for Hermione. I'm going to finish reading that damn script, go to dinner, maybe watch a movie, and clear my head. When I can feel objectively towards the situation, then I'll read the thing.
He stood up and walked into his kitchen, leaving the letter on his bed. He fixed himself a martini, and watched some TV (since it was a Saturday afternoon, nothing worth watching was on, of course). He tried to read the script, but the hero kept reminding him too much of himself to enjoy reading. Finally, he gave into his desires after two hours of dallying.
He threw the script away from him, it landing somewhere behind the couch. He ran to the bed, flinging the door open, and almost ripped the envelope in half in his eagerness to open it.
January 23, 2012
Dear Harry,
I can't believe what's happened since I last wrote to you. It seems like the whole world has been turned topsy-turvy. I can't really seem to get a grasp of myself, and I find myself dazing off at odd moments, wondering if anything else could have gone any differently.
Maybe I should explain what I mean. When I received your letter, I have to admit that the clarity with which you saw my position shocked me. Without thinking more about the situation, I told Nelson, my fiancé, that I was a witch. He completely freaked out, broke off the engagement, called me a freak of nature, and everything ended with a nice Memory Charm by Mr. Weasley.
I just… I don't know how to deal with failure, Harry. Remember third year, when we had to face the boggart for the Defense Against the Dark Arts final? My worst fear was failing all my tests. Failing. God, even writing the word down right now in association with me is depressing. Silly, I know, but I've always equated success with happiness (as I'm sure everyone else in the world does). But the way I see it, failure means I'm not the best at something, and I need to be the best. I'm babbling, not making sense, and so I'll just get to the point.
I know marriage isn't a contest, or anything like that. Rationally, I know that I'm not trying to beat the record for being a good wife, or a good girlfriend, but I get to thinking. If that girl over there can make him happy, why can't I? Why can't I take care of someone perfectly, make them love me and do anything for me? I've had one relationship that I thought was going to be "Happily Ever After". We both know where that ended up.
Sometimes this past week, I'd wake up in the morning, sit up in my bed, and think "Ah, my nightmare's over. I'm fine, and I'll see Nelson later in the workshift, and we'll have a great dinner together." Then it all hits me again, in full force, and it nearly rips me in two every time. It's hard, Harry, and it's killing me. Then I have to go to work, and see Nelson, and I'm reminded of everything.
[At this point in the letter, the handwriting hurried slightly, and the ink was much brighter than before.]
You see now why I didn't send you this letter? It's awkwardly written, I don't think I know what I was really talking about. Don't spend too much time trying to decipher what I wrote; it's some stuff that I felt like I needed to release from my system. My letter to you seemed to be the perfect place to do that.
I can't believe how easy it was for us to connect like that. I have to admit, when I heard the doorbell ring, you were the last person I expected to see (well, perhaps other than Voldemort. Now THAT would have been scary). But we connected so easily, so quickly; you fitted into the role of my best friend as well as you used to back in Hogwarts days. You held me and let me cry; that helped me more than you can know. So thank you.
I'm not promising that we'll suddenly be the best of friends again. I'm sure we'll run into some snags along the way. But I promise you, I will be there to hold your hand when you need it. And I hope that you'll be there to hold my hand too.
With Love,
Your Herms
Harry looked up from the letter. Perhaps his life would now, finally, get back to where it needed to be. If he had Hermione to walk beside down the road, what need he fear? Suddenly, he felt more relaxed than he remembered ever feeling since the Hogwarts days. And he smiled.