You Were Mine
Part Two
It has been a year now since the party at the Burrow and I have not seen you since. I was right in believing that you were leaving. Just a week later, you had left to travel the world, instead of entering Auror training with me, as we had planned. It didn't really surprise me, as you had never been out of Britain before and now that you were no longer under the Dursleys' rule and you no longer had to look over your shoulder, worrying about psychotic dark lords, the world welcomed you and you welcomed the world. You welcomed new adventures, adventures you had only dreamed about whilst at Hogwarts. I was happy you were given the chance to explore the world freely, but I wanted so badly to share that experience with you.
Still, soon after you left, I moved on. That August, I entered training, which served as a welcome distraction from the memory of you. In a matter of months, I was numb to the thought of you. I poured all I had into training, and, six months later, I entered the Ministry with honours. As an Auror, I traveled far and wide. My travels, I'm certain, were just as exciting as yours, though in a very different way. I was capturing the last of the Death Eaters, and various other black magic patrons. It was exhausting work, and fulfilling to a degree, but I could never feel fully accomplished… not with you gone.
It was odd, going off and having my own adventures. Without my boys, they weren't the same. They didn't often feel like adventures, though the rush of fear-induced adrenaline was still there. Still, it wasn't the same. I was - and still am - plagued by nostalgia. It will never be the same without you. I need to accept it, I know, but part of me refuses to. That part of me is convinced that you'll be with me one day, insisting that that in an unnatural state must eventually return to its natural state. It's not natural, fighting dark witches and wizards without you by my side.
I know I must be mad to think you will give up your obviously happy life to be with me and return to the way things used to be. We're not at Hogwarts anymore. Voldemort is dead. The only adventure you want now is freedom… life. I know that. Accepting it, however, is another story.
The last time I saw the Daily Prophet, you were in India. There was a nice picture of you, touring the Taj Mahal. You were with the Indian Minister of Magic's daughter, Ananda. I remember being struck by envy. I envied you for being able to take your time when you traveled. When I was in India a couple of months ago, I was only there for three days and did not have the chance to stop and explore the country on my own. I envied Ananda for being able to experience that with you. I should have been at your side, not her.
But that was two weeks ago and you could be anywhere now. I'm currently in Brussels, Belgium, wasting time until my Portkey is ready to return me to London. I was working in Elsenborn, trying to find and capture Rodolphus Lestrange, the last of the Death Eaters. I was there for a week before Tonks and I found him in one of his ancestral homes, driven mad by the deaths of his master, his wife, and his brother.
Tonks escorted him to the Ministry of Magic in London this morning. I would have accompanied her, but I overslept and missed the Portkey. I'm going to be reprimanded when I arrive later today. Kingsley, who is now Head Auror, will not be pleased at all for my irresponsibility. I will, without a doubt, be placed at a desk for a month or so to do paperwork as punishment, but it will actually be a relief. For six months I've been on the go, determined not to rest until every Death Eater was captured. Now, I've done my job, and for the first time in years, I can breathe properly.
I sigh, presently, as I stare into my coffee cup, oblivious to the people who pass the coffee shop I'm sitting outside of. It's foggy and cold, and for the first time in ages, I'm terribly bored. Checking my watch, I realise I still have a couple of hours left. On a whim, I decide to go into the Wizarding part of town, Hekserij Vierkant, and find a Daily Prophet. I finish my coffee, stand, adjust my long black coat, and take my leave.
It's weird, really, not keeping up with the Prophet, but my job rarely permits me to. I often have much more urgent things on my mind. But I like to find it whenever I can. It keeps me updated on you and Ron, who has yet to set a date for his wedding. I still write to him when I have the chance, and he's very happy to be Keeper for the Chudley Cannons, as I'm sure you know. I have written to you several times… but I cannot bring myself to send those letters. They never seem right.
I am risking being noticed, entering Hekserij Vierkant, but I can't help myself. I want to know where you are and how Ron's team is doing in the league. I may also find the Quibbler, as Luna is now the editor. Anything to feel more connected with everyone I love and miss.
Hoping I won't be spotted by photographers, who have hounded me ever since the final battle, I duck inside the Blauwe Maan. Normally, I disguise myself when I go out, but today, it wasn't really necessary. I'm not working and I really hadn't planned on going out into Wizarding public. Trying to keep a low profile, I make my way through the dimly lit pub, to the back door. I enter the alley and begin searching for a newsstand as I walk through the crowded street.
I tried to hurry; it would not be wise to remain here if I didn't want my picture showing up in the tabloids. I can see it now, "Heroine of the Second War, Hermione Granger - Continuing Her Search for the Elusive Harry Potter in Wizarding Belgium." That's almost exactly what Witch Weekly's cover proclaimed six months ago, on my first assignment in France. Ron got a good kick out of it, though he threatened to Floo the journalist, Parvati Patil, and tell her to get it right. I'm working and searching for you.
I scoff loudly, making passersby stare, as I make my way to the newsstand in the heart of the square by the enormous Unicorn fountain. I may keep an eye out for you, but that doesn't mean I'm searching for you. I, much like you, have more important things to do.
Picking up the Prophet and the Quibbler, I am struck by a peculiar feeling. Instinctively, as I pay the clerk and take my purchases, I reach for my wand in my coat's inner pocket. I act as casual as possible, smiling and thanking the clerk, turning and walking away.
It isn't exactly a bad feeling, but an uncomfortable one. Figuring it's just a photographer, I do not look for the eyes that are following me. I keep my hand clenched on my wand, ready to strike if necessary, and I dodge people on my way back to the pub.
The feeling isn't waning and the familiar thrill of an anticipated dramatic encounter fills my stomach with something rather similar to butterflies. It grows even more intense as I pick up my pace… this isn't a photographer… the feeling is too familiar… I can't place it… I don't really want to place it… but then…
"Hermione."
I turn abruptly, pulling my wand out, only to find your harmless face staring back.
I drop my hand, as well as my jaw. I move my lips, but no sound comes out. The strange feeling in my stomach intensifies even more as the reality of what I'm seeing sinks in. Your eyes hold just as much intensity, and as I gaze into those emerald orbs, a light switches on inside them. They're sparkling as they gaze into mine, and I'm struck with a sense of familiarity. I have seen that twinkle before…
And as another hundred butterflies start flying about in my stomach, I realise when I have seen those eyes twinkle like that: At the end of fourth year, when I kissed your cheek… when I made the Galleons for Dumbledore's Army… over Christmas break in fifth year, when I found you in Buckbeak's room… when you told me I wasn't ugly after your disaster of a date with Cho Chang… when you met Rita Skeeter, Luna, and me at the Three Broomsticks for the interview… when I agreed to go with you to Umbridge's office to find out if Sirius had left Headquarters… when I woke up in the Hospital Wing after the battle at the Ministry… when we first saw each other that summer…during those long nights in the library in sixth and seventh years… during the final battle, just before we faced Voldemort…
What could it mean? Why didn't I notice it before? Do you mean to look at me that way?
How long have we been standing here? It seems like an eternity, and at the same time, just a moment. I'm drowning in your shining eyes, Harry, and I know I'm looking at you the same way. Do you see it? Do you feel it?
I open my mouth to speak, but what do I say? Then you raise your hand to cup my cheek and smile that nervous smile of yours, and I realise that it doesn't really matter. Words don't matter. My heart melts, the numbness disappears. You were mine, not just in dreams. You are mine. You always have been.
A smile curves my lips as you pull me closer, despite the distant sound of a camera clicking away madly. I can see it now… "Hero and Heroine, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger - Reunited at Last."
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