A/N: I know that these chapters are coming out pretty fast; that's probably because the story is already written (at least up till chapter four) and all I'm doing is formatting them as I go. I hope you like this chapter, and please review. Thanks.
Chapter 3: There's Still Time
Hermione ran her fingers through her wet hair, stepping lightly out of the warm shower and onto the cold tile floor of James' bathroom. Hermione always thought of everything in the house as belonging to James- after all, wasnt it she who'd moved into his house? Hermione shook her head, spraying water droplets from her sopping hair onto the mirror above the sink.
She looked into the fogged-up glass of the mirror, then began to slowly trace a word onto it with her finger: friendship. It was a concept she'd been thinking about a lot lately; Hermione had always been much better at dealing with concepts, ideas, and theories than at dealing with actual people. They just made more sense to her.
She'd thought and come to the conclusion that a friendship is a very valuable and precious thing, but to find one with perfect love and perfect trust is pretty damn near impossible. As far as she could see, every relationship had a few secrets; those little white lies swept under the rug and so often forgotten. No one person was perfect and therefore no friendship could ever be without a flaw or two. No union of two people could ever be without its bumps in the road.
Hermione wiped the mirror clean and padded down the hall from the bathroom to the bedroom she shared with James. She began rifling through her half of the closet, trying to decide what to wear to dinner, all the while continuing to contemplate the abstract concept of friendship.
Ten minutes later Hermione sat heavily down on the foot of the bed, having despaired of finding anything suitable to wear. She heaved a sigh, not really caring about her lack of a chic ensemble. It was just another one of the Daily Prophet's boring press parties, the kind where she stood by the buffet table all night while James circulated. Hermione did not have the best of reputations with the reporters, due to her having imprisoned one Rita Skeeter in a jam jar when she was fourteen, and so she was usually ignored. She hated those parties, but went to please James. Maybe if she cuddled up to him and asked in her very sweetest voice, they could skip this one...but no, James would just say that it was his responsibility to go, and couldn't she please come to keep him company? He would win; he always won.
Hermione lay back on the soft cream-colored bedspread, closing her eyes. All she really wanted to do tonight was heat up a bowl of soup and retire into the study with a good book. James could go it alone this once, she decided.
Having made up her mind, Hermione stood up, dropped her towel onto the beige carpet, and put on a pair of flannels and one of James' old t-shirts. She pulled her long hair into a messy ponytail and lay down onto the bed once more. Looking around the room, her eyes paused on her old Hogwarts yearbook, sitting innocently on the shelf between two of her own text books (Study Tips and Potion Tricks: a guide for beginning potions students and How to Make Something from Nothing: A Conjurers Guide.)She knew she shouldn't, but she just had to flip through it.
She opened the book to the very first page, on which appeared the Hogwarts crest in the center, with each of the House crests filling a corner. She turned the page and found a list of all the graduating seventh years, sorted according to Houses. Next came the picture pages- these held pictures of every student in the school, grouped by House and then put into alphabetical order. Hermione didn't even realize she was crying until a tear splashed down onto Neville Longbottom's black and white face, smiling cheerfully up at her from the yearbook. All of the memories were flooding into her mind and gushing out of her eyes in the form of tears- but there was no stopping now.
She kept turning pages until she reached the final section of the book, where each of the graduating seventh years got their own page. A color photograph was in the center, with quotes, ambitions for the future, past accomplishments, and lists of clubs and activities on the bottom. The sides and top were for signatures. Hermione knew what she would find here, in a way it was what she had been looking for when she first picked up the old yearbook.
There, on the page opposite Parvati Patil, was Harry. The seventeen year-old Harry Potter grinned up at her, waving from the page. His hair was all mussed up, falling into his eyes the way Hermione remembered it always had. She traced her finger over the jagged lightning bolt adorning his forehead. Her breath caught in her throat as tears continued to roll down her cheeks. The desire to snap the book shut was strong inside her, but for some reason she just couldn't make her hands obey. Instead, she looked down to the writing just below the picture.
Harry had written his past accomplishments himself, he hadn't wanted a big deal to be made out of him. He'd said that he won a few Quidditch matches, and would that be enough for the yearbook? Hermione's tears flowed, and she was heaving great sobs. Harry had been so much better than any of them, he'd been kinder and braver and, now that she took the time to read this, he was infinitely more modest than any of them had ever suspected. Hermione kept reading, looking down to Harry's list of clubs and activities. It was impressive; Seeker on the Gryffindor House Quidditch team for seven years, captain for three.
Underneath that was the section called Ambitions for the Future. Hermione's sobs became even louder when she read this; it was just so unfair that a boy this innocent and good didn't get to have a future. Harry had also written this one himself: "I want to make a difference in the world. I dont know how Ill do it, though. Maybe that can be my ambition, to find out how to make the world better, and then to go out and do it."
"You did...you may not know it, but you did," Hermione whispered to the page, the tears still flowing down her face. She kept them from spattering the page though; she didn't want to disfigure the picture of Harry as she had the smaller picture of Neville. The last part of his write-up was something she'd always been curious about, but had never had the heart to look up. What was his quotation? What did Harry Potter, one of her best friends in the world, put down that he felt summed him up as a person? She read it and then burst out laughing, despite the tears.
"Courage is the art of being the only one that knows youre scared to death," by Harold Wilson.
Harry Potter may have been a wonderful person and a great friend to me, but right about now I'd love to sock him, just once! Hermione thought to herself bitterly. She was curled up in her favorite armchair in the study, glaring into the dying embers of the fire she'd made for herself an hour ago. Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes, but she didn't let them fall.
James had left for the party a couple of hours ago, and things had not ended well. Hermione thought back to the fight they'd had right before he'd stormed out of the front door.
"What do you mean you're not going?" he'd asked her incredulously when he found her curled up in her armchair wearing pajamas.
"I mean that I am going to stay home. I hate those parties and right now I just don't think I can deal with it."
"And why's that, Hermione?"
"James, I just want to stay in tonight. What is the big deal?" she'd asked, wondering why he was getting so angry over a stupid little party.
"The big deal is that you told me you'd go, last night, remember?"
She had remembered. They'd talked about it over containers of Chinese food last night. She'd said she would go, but then again she'd also made it perfectly clear that she didnt want to. She thought he should be more understanding. He thought she should be more supportive of his career. The couple had found themselves locked in a stalemate.
"I found the yearbook open on the bed," James had said, his voice softening. It was open to...him. Oh no Hermione had thought. James had never understood about Harry, and now he'd try to psychoanalyze her. He'd tell her that grief was fine, but not when it ruined one's life.
"Honey, you can't sit at home every night. You can't shut yourself away from life because of this kid," he'd continued, stepping closer to her as he took her into his arms. Hermione'd rested her head on his shoulder, but her eyes had looked angry. This kid? "Just forget about it, okay? Okay honey? Just go get dressed."
"Dressed? For the...party?" Hermione'd asked, hardly believing her ears.
"Well, yeah. We'll be fashionably late."
Hermione had then lifted her head and pulled away from him. "You don't care if I'm upset, you only care if I look good for that damn party!" she'd snapped. "It is bad enough that you don't even let me grieve for him, that you refer to the best friend I ever knew as this kid. Now you dole out fake pity just to hurry me into getting ready for a party I don't even want to go to? Well, I guess it sucks to be you then, because I'm not going anywhere." With that she'd sat down on a kitchen stool and crossed her arms over her chest, a childish gesture- but then again, she'd just made a very childish statement.
"But you have to go!" James had said, sounding slightly panicked.
"I see no reason to," Hermione'd responded, not looking him in the eye.
"You're my fiance!"
"I think that you've confused the term 'fiance' with the term 'female escort'. I am the former, and therefore not paid to do your bidding. Harry would have understood..." she'd mumbled the last part, trailing off into silence as she chewed on her lower lip. She hadn't meant to say that, it had just slipped out.
"What?" James had asked, looking slightly hurt.
"Nothing," she'd replied, a little too quickly. She was already regretting her words. Its just, well...I don't know. Harry just always understood what I meant, and he never forced me to do things I wasn't comfortable with. Like that summer when we were fifteen and he taught me how to fly-" Hermione'd stopped short, seeing the look on James' face.
"Did you love him?" he had asked, suddenly sounding small and far away. It was an odd question. Hermione'd never really thought of it....
"Yes, I think I did," she'd answered, sounding more sure of herself than she felt. It was strange, but for all of the time she spent with Harry on her mind, she'd never considered loving him or not loving him. He was just always there, always occupying some small space in her thoughts, and she'd thought that had been enough.
James' voice had come again, sounding like a small and frightened child, interrupting Hermione's thoughts. "More than you love me?" he'd asked, looking genuinely scared to hear the answer.
"Oh, honestly. I am not going to compare you to Harry, that's ridiculous," she had replied. She'd expected her answer to come as a relief to James. She'd even decided to forfeit and go to the party, she felt so bad for bringing Harry up. What happened next came as a complete shock.
James had looked at her, his eyes clouding over. "I thought as much," he'd said, walking to the hall closet and grabbing his coat. "I'm going to the party. Dont wait up."
"What? James-" Hermione had sputtered, but he was gone. He'd left.
Now Hermione sat alone in the rapidly darkening study, stroking Aurora, her calico cat. She found herself thinking about friendship again, about how every relationship has its bumps in the road. She was quickly discovering that her 'bump' was Harry. His memory was ruining her relationship with James.
Hermione just couldn't accept the fact that he was gone and never coming back. James apparently couldn't accept the fact that his fiance cared more for a dead person than for him. For, now that she actually sat down and thought about it, she realized that Harry really was a more integral part of her life than James, odd as it sounded even to her own ears. She also realized that she had loved him when they were kids. Not like friendship love, either, not like the love she had felt for Ron. No, she had been in love with him...and she didn't realize it until he'd been dead for five years. Great timing.
But still, it wasn't as though this meant that Hermione didn't love James. She did, she was sure of it. It was just...well, what their relationship had in sweetness and comfort, it lacked in passion and depth. They were so comfortable with one another that it was like they'd already been married for years, which wasn't really a bad thing, but it did mean that they hadn't made love in two months. For an engaged couple living in the same house, like it or not, that was abnormal. They did talk a lot, but their conversations were mundane and usually limited to books or the next of James' articles.
Despite these few complaints, Hermione should have been happy. She lived in a great house, she had a successful career, and she was getting married in less than three months.
The wedding was fast approaching. Her dress had already been ordered and paid for, a lovely white silk gown with spaghetti straps and a low back. The caterers, the hall, the church- they'd all been booked. James and Hermione were to be married in St. Roberts, the church where James' parents had been married twenty-six years ago. James had already been measured for his tuxedo. The invitations had gone out just last week. And Hermione had a lovely diamond engagement ring encircling her finger. She should have been happy. But one thought lingered in her mind, all the way at the back of her thoughts, all day long, every day.
There's still time....
Time for what she refused to even admit to herself. But the thought was always there, that there was still enough time left for...for what? Hermione couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't form the words, she was so scared of what they meant. But, when she looked into her heart, into the very recesses of her soul, she found herself wondering, considering breaking off her engagement with James. She didn't quite know what it was that she wanted out of life, but she did know that this wasnt it.
And so on that night, while James was at his party, Hermione decided to leave. She knew it wasn't fair to stay, it wasn't fair to James and it certainly wasn't fair to her. So, she packed up all her clothes and books, put Aurora into her cat carrier...and it wasn't until she was all ready to go that she realized she had nowhere to go. She couldn't call her parents; they loved James, and would never understand why she had to leave him. She didn't really have any friends of her own; the only ones she'd made since school were friends of James'. One name did enter her mind, but she couldn't call him. It would be ridiculous, she couldn't.... Nevertheless, she found herself scanning a phone book ten minutes later for the familiar name. She hoped that he would even have a phone; it wasn't that common for wizards to use the Muggle devices. Her prayers were answered when she found the name at the back of the book.
The phone rang and rang; Hermione had almost given up hope when a familiar voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Hi Ron. It's me, Hermione," she said, her heart pounding inexplicably. This was Ron; why was she so nervous he'd turn her away?
"Oh! Um, what's up?" he asked. It was such a simple question, and yet Hermione found herself at a loss for an answer. Instead, she burst into tears and just blurted it out.
"I'm breaking off my engagement with James!" she sobbed. There was silence on the other end for a few minutes before Ron's voice filled her ear again.
"You're engaged?" he asked, sounding dumbfounded. Then Hermione remembered that Ron hadn't been invited to the wedding; James had thought it best, since he would only remind Hermione of Harry. So Ron had never even known.
"Yes, I'm engaged-or, I was. Listen, I'll tell you all about it, I promise. But I need-oh God, I feel awful asking you for anything-" she trailed off, crying even harder.
"Whatever it is Hermione, just ask. m grateful you thought to call me, of all people. What is it you need?" Ron's voice was soothing, and it worked to calm Hermione down. She hiccupped a few times, wiped her cheeks dry of tears, and spoke.
"I need a place to stay, just until I can find a place of my own," she said.
"That's fine," Ron replied." I was getting worried; thought that with the way you were carrying on you needed a lung transplant or something."
Hermione laughed; it was good to hear him joking again. The last time she'd seen Ron had been at Harry's funeral, and he had been just destroyed.
"When would you get here?" he asked.
"I want to leave as soon as possible, before I change my mind," she replied. Ron gave her directions to his London apartment and said he'd see her soon. After she hung up with Ron, Hermione had one more thing to do before she could leave.
She sat down at the kitchen table, pen in hand, and wrote James a letter. It was one of the hardest things she'd ever done, mainly because she didn't know what she could say. The sheer craziness of what she was doing had struck her full force. She was leaving a successful man who loved her in the middle of the night, without so much as a goodbye- and she was actually happy about it. That was why she had sat down to write the letter; she couldn't wait until he got home to be free from the house that wasn't hers and the engagement that should never have happened. Plus, she didn't think she could stand the look in his eyes when he found out.
The letter was long, explaining what she was doing and why she was doing it. She said a lot of other things, too, but it was all the same message: goodbye.
Hermione took one last look around the house before she left. She paused in the all beige and cream bedroom, thinking that she'd never really liked that color scheme. In the bathroom, she thought about how James had always chided her for leaving wet towels on the floor. In the living room, it was memories of long, boring talks about books. And so it went until she reached the study, the only room in the entire house that she had truly felt at home in. One more time she wished she could take her armchair, all patched and frayed, with her. But, enough was enough.
Hermione left James letter on the kitchen table, placing her ring in the envelope before she sealed it. She picked up her two suitcases and Aurora's cage, turned on her heel, and left the house without a backward glance.
She arrived at Ron's apartment an hour later, still wearing the flannels and James' old t-shirt underneath her coat. By then she had composed herself, and was ready for the onslaught of questions, which she was sure would come from her old friend. But when Ron opened the door and saw her standing there, he just smiled and took one of her suitcases.
After Hermione had gotten settled, tossing her suitcases next to the couch where she would be sleeping, she had one more thing to get out of the way before she could relax. She called Ron to her, gave him a quick hug, and thanked him for giving her a place to stay.
"No problem, Hermione," Ron replied, smiling like a little boy.
"There's just one more thing," Hermione said.
"What's that?" he asked.
"I hope you don't mind, but I brought a friend." With that Hermione lifted the cat carrier off of the floor and opened it. Aurora leapt out of the cage and onto the surprised boy's lap, twitching her tail and purring in her happiness to be free." I remembered how much you love cats," Hermione said, smiling at the baffled look on Ron's face.
The two friends burst out laughing, Ron stroking the cat's head. Then they sat back on the comfortable couch and started to talk- not about Harry, and certainly not about James. They just talked about stupid things, talking like the seventeen year-olds they had been before Ron enlisted in the war and Hermione started off on her career. They just sat there talking until all hours of the night. And the next thing they knew, the sun had risen, blowing away the clouds to reveal a brilliant new day.