Nothing Is Like Heaven

Authornote: I would like to thank Nia for her assistance and betaing.

Nothing is like Heaven

At 5 o’clock in the morning when her alarm went off, it was still dark, and only the barest hint of the rising sun suggested the coming dawn, yet Hermione was already up and ready for work. It was this way most days. Owning a successful bookshop meant there was always lots of paperwork; inventories and orders, shipment manifests and sales records. She always took care of the paperwork in the morning before she opened the shop herself.

She stepped outside into the damp chill of the autumn morning and pulled up the collar of her coat as she made her way to the London Tube Station. Sometimes she wished her shop was connected to the floo network so she could avoid the frustrations of muggle mass transit. Most mornings, however, she was out so early that she avoided the crowds that would come later as the daily rush began in earnest. Since the war, Diagon Alley had become a restricted “non-apparating area.” Only Aurors were allowed to apparate in Diagon Alley; all others had to rely on more conventional means.

Autumn weather in this part of Britain was particularly dismal. If London wasn’t playing host to a thick fog, then heavy rains chilled its inhabitants to the bone. This was a wet morning, with a dampness so absolute that it penetrated down into the Tube, giving the subway a dank, depressing smell. Not a moment too soon, she thought, as she exited at her stop, the first of the morning crowds were beginning to pour down the stairs into the station.

Hermione shivered a bit as she walked the short distance from the Tube stop through the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley and gratefully opened the door of her shop with her wand. Her coat wasn’t able to protect her against the creeping dampness of a London autumn. The shop seemed to embrace her as she stepped inside. Here was her own haven, her place apart, her personal heaven, and she felt at peace here.

She walked back to her office, made herself a cup of tea with a murmured spell and conjured a roaring fire. She was thoroughly warm within moments. The dancing flames of the fire made her smile as she recalled chilly and damp Scottish days and evenings spent by the fire in the Gryffindor common room.

She missed it. Not so much the castle, but the days and evenings—every day and every evening spent with her two best friends in the world. Hermione hugged her arms to her chest in a gesture that had nothing to do with the cold and walked back through the shop to the front window. Her footfalls echoed loudly through the empty shop. In the mornings, when she was alone like this, the shop felt so empty.

People were beginning to move along the walks on either side of the street as coffee shops and eateries opened their doors. The rain had turned everything to shades of gray. How she missed them—Ron and Harry. She would never have guessed that the day would come she would miss the almost daily arguments with Ron about nothing in particular, but she missed them now. She took a few sips of the steaming tea enjoying the way the steam warmed her face and she sighed audibly. More than anything, though, she missed Harry. His absence left a hollow echoing place inside her.

Following Voldemort’s defeat, Harry had announced that he finally wanted to see the world and to live free from the burdens of being Harry. It had been difficult for Hermione. There had been tears, many of which Harry never saw, but she had accepted his decision to leave England and put on a brave face as she waved goodbye.

Harry seldom wrote, and when he did, his letters were about landscapes, or landmarks or people he’d met—never anything personal. It was almost as if he had detached himself from her too when he’d left. She did not permit herself to think about it—the thoughts were too painful—like a damp London autumn that never ended. It had been worse that first year after he’d left and she coped by plunging into her work on the shop; creating a network and building up an impressive clientele. She had made quite a name for herself in the Wizarding World—not that she wasn’t famous already.

By the second year, business was so good, she needed an assistant. With some difficulty, she’d found a young woman who seemed to belong any where but in a bookstore. In Hermione’s opinion, Lydia would look more at home as a model in Witch Weekly. She had never before seen a girl so beautiful who didn’t have veela somewhere on her family tree. But, in spite of Hermione’s initial misgivings, Lydia proved to be excellent help.

Hermione took the now empty teacup back to her office and cleaned it with a wave of her wand, then picked up her shop inventory manifests and began to stroll the shelves as was her daily custom. With a smile and a shake of her head she noticed that they would have to restock the Gilderoy Lockhart titles very soon. All these years and people were still attached to him. Like she was attached to Harry, she thought ruefully, then quickly shook off the thought. Here was her life and her present, Harry, like Ron, belonged to her past.

Her eye rested on a book about Harry, Surviving Voldemort, and she tried to reason away the gray thoughts that had suddenly returned. This was her life now and her present life had no famous Harry Potter in it who needed her knowledge and her help to stay alive just one more year. Ron, bless him, seemed to understand her unspoken longings, because he obligingly bickered with her about anything and everything when they met for coffee once a week for old times sake.

But Ron didn’t need her anymore either. He was married now and had a job outside London. And Hermione had her shop and her impressive clientele and a name for herself in the Wizarding World. Most of the time, it was enough. Sometimes, though, like today—on the damp, gray days, she wasn’t so sure.

She shook her head fiercely to rid herself of the unproductive thoughts, angry at herself for her silly sentimentality. Without at all meaning to, she pressed down so hard with her quill that the nib broke and left a spiky black blob on the record book.

Furious with herself, she strode back into her office and threw the broken quill into the dustbin. She didn’t belong here, she thought suddenly, her place was somewhere else. The realization seemed to shout and echo from that hollow place within her. Outside, a large clap of thunder announced another icy shower. Inside the shop, Hermione’s tears rolled silently down her cheeks and splashed onto the polished floor. She was grateful it was still so early she didn’t need to hide from anyone.

“Hermione?” a female voice called out to her from somewhere near the front door. With a murmured charm, Hermione banished the tears and repaired her makeup. She glanced in the mirror on the wall, she looked perfectly normal again.

“I’m back here, Lydia,” she answered in as steady a voice as she could manage and quickly walked out to greet her assistant.

“Is that your owl there?” Lydia came around the shelves to meet her and pointed back at the window.

Hermione moved closer to the glass trying to peer through the fogged glass. It was difficult to see much of anything outside the shop now as an autumn fog had begun to roll in. She had to move a book display to open the window and she felt an almost inexplicable expectation as she saw a movement of white wing though the foggy glass. When she’d opened the window proper, her heart gave a leap of joy as the snowy owl fluttered inside. It had been months since she’d last seen Hedwig. The eager drumming of her heart was echoed by Hedwig’s soft hoots. Hermione carefully detached a rather large package.

“Who is it from, then?” Lydia wanted to know. “Another publisher sample?”

“It’s from---Harry,” Hermione said trying hard to keep the breathlessness out of her voice.

“Oh, have I forgot your birthday, or…”

Hermione shook her head. “It’s not my birthday.” She had begun to unwrap the damp package as Hedwig watched from Hermione’s shoulder. It was a wooden box. Odd. She turned it over twice and stared at it a moment before Lydia got tired of the suspense.

“Oh, do open it, won’t you!” Lydia had the grace to look a bit apologetic as Hermione cast her a look.

Hermione held her breath without realizing she’d done so as she lifted the lid. Soft music filled the air and an unseen voice began to sing. The melody was beautiful and haunting.

I've been searching for you

I heard a cry within my soul

I've never had a yearning quite like this before

Know that you are walking right through my door

All of my life

Where have you been

I wonder if I'll ever see you again

And if that day comes

I know we could win

I wonder if I'll ever see you again

Hermione was so touched by the song’s lyrics, that it took her a few moments to realize that both the music and the voice were issuing from a tiny golden snitch hovering just above the open box. It was a perfect replica to every minute detail and Hermione was fascinated. Was it real or an illusionary charm? Very gingerly, she moved a fingertip to touch it and felt a familiar jerk behind her navel. A portkey. Almost before she could register what had just happened, she felt solid ground beneath her feet. Where had she been taken?

Fingers of warm sunlight reached through the trees to touch her face. The air smelled of an autumn forest, rich with the spice of turning leaves. Hermione whirled around, confused for only a moment. She was beside a lake so familiar she would have known it in her sleep and the forest that stretched behind her she knew too, but the turrets and towers gleaming in the morning sunlight and reflected in the lake made her sigh with joy. She was back at Hogwarts. Tears sparkled in her eyes at the sight of it.

“If you could see your face…” a voice, warm and gentle and slightly teasing and so dear came from behind her. She turned quickly to face Harry. “I missed you,” Harry answered her unspoken question, his eyes intent upon her face. She stared at him, not daring to breathe. “I missed you,” he repeated, his voice filling with emotion as he moved closer, answering another question she knew he could read within her eyes. “I missed you,” he murmured into her hair as he gathered her into his arms and hugged her tightly to himself.

She did not need to say anything. He knew. He understood. He would not be leaving again. Overwhelmed by joy, she pulled back enough to kiss him eagerly. In a burst of warmth and light, she felt the hollow place within herself fill and overflow as he returned her kiss. She had finally found it, she knew, beyond any doubt--her place, her haven and her heaven.