Better Late Than Never
by cheeringcharm
Chapter 1
Hermione Granger had known heartache before. Never had her heart felt as broken as it did at this moment.
Platform 9 ¾ was awash in the usual activity that signaled the imminent departure of the Hogwarts Express. Tearful goodbyes of family and cheery hellos of old friends intermingled with the occasional hiss of the imposing red steam engine. A conductor walked along the platform, encouraging people to get aboard. Owls were hooting in their cages and cats were darting away from their owners in a last ditch effort to avoid captivity for the next few hours.
Hermione took in none of the commotion going on around her. Her focus was on the little boy standing in front of her struggling not to cry. He was small for his age, with large black eyes, olive skin and a nose he hadn't quite grown into. His heart-shaped face was framed with a mass of soft, brown hair that curled up slightly at the ends.
She knelt down until they were eye to eye. "Daniel?" She rubbed his arms while her heart constricted painfully in her chest. "You are going to love Hogwarts, honey."
"No, I'm not," he replied. "I don't know anyone there."
"Yes, you do. You know Katherine and Jo Potter. Katherine will be in your year." The watery eyes of moments before were replaced with the indignation of an eleven year old.
"That was five years ago, Mum, and she spent the entire time picking on me and making fun of my nose."
A flare of protective anger rose in Hermione. "Kids pick on other kids to feel better about their own inadequacies, Daniel. Just ignore it."
Daniel scoffed and rolled his eyes.
"Do you have everything?" Hermione asked with enthusiasm she didn't feel.
Daniel nodded silently.
"Let's get you on the train, then," she said, standing up.
"Hermione!"
With a large smile on her face, she turned toward the sound of a familiar voice calling her name. Ron Weasley was striding down the platform, his arm extended above his head in an attention-grabbing wave. Hermione waved back before glancing down at her son.
"I wondered if we would see you here," Ron said with a grin, giving her a brief hug.
"Wotcher, Hermione," the wisp thin witch next to Ron said. "Long time no see."
"Hi, Tonks," Hermione replied, giving her a hug. "Love the hair."
Tonks ran her hand through her spiky hair in an effort to remember what it looked like on that particular day. She gave a wicked grin and Ron rolled his eyes. "Ah, yes. The lime green spikes - Ron's favourite."
"This is how my wife tortures me. I obviously only partially pissed her off. If she's really angry, she turns into a frightening replica of my mum."
Hermione laughed and said in answer to Daniel's confused expression, "Tonks is a metamorphmagus."
Daniel's eyes widened. "I've read about those!"
"Like mother like son, I see," Ron chuckled.
"I guess so," Hermione replied with a proud grin.
Tonks knelt down in front of Daniel and said, "Want to see me do it?"
He nodded his head vigorously in reply.
"Any preferences?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Daniel squinted an eye closed and screwed up his mouth in thought. With a devilish grin he said, "Long hair in dreadlocks."
"Colour?" Tonks asked.
"Cerulean."
Tonks looked at Hermione with an appreciative grin. "Cheeky boy, isn't he?"
"He got that from his father."
"Okay, here it goes." Tonks screwed up her face and immediately her hair started growing and intertwining itself into long braids. The lime green color darkened into a beautiful, but equally bright electric blue.
"That's enough!" Ron exclaimed as Tonks's hair grew down to her waist. She grabbed the ends of her locks and looked at it admiringly.
"Nice," she said as Daniel looked on with a grin.
"Thanks Daniel. It's my new favourite," Ron said, slapping him affectionately on the shoulder.
"Where are your kids?" Hermione asked the couple.
"On the train already. They bolt away from us as soon as possible. No long, teary goodbyes for them."
"I can't decide if that is a sign of raising well-adjusted sprogs or more of an indictment on our parenting skills," Tonks mused.
"I'm sure it is the former," Hermione replied, watching Ron drape an arm casually over his wife's shoulder.
Even after almost twenty years it was still difficult to Hermione to accept that Ron had married Nymphadora Tonks. His infatuation with her had started between their sixth and seventh year. Tonks had tolerated the schoolboy crush with good humour, but didn't do anything to encourage his affection. Instead, she spent her time around Ron at Grimmauld Place with the countenance of the most unattractive features she could imagine. Hermione had thought that was an excellent tack for Tonks to take, knowing Ron's predilection for beauty in years past.
He had surprised everyone with his single-minded pursuit of Tonks after they left Hogwarts. She finally went out with him, mainly with the intention of turning him off and directing him to witches more his age. She had been shocked to realize halfway through the date that the idea of him dating anyone else made her stomach churn. They were married a year later.
"Have you seen Harry?" Ron asked Hermione, popping her out of her reverie.
"No, I haven't," she replied, looking around.
"I'm sure they are running late. Three girls will do that to you."
"Let's get you on the train," Hermione said to Daniel.
"Here, let me help," Ron said, grabbing Daniel's trunk.
Hermione knelt down once again and gave Daniel a hug. "I love you," she whispered, trying to keep her voice from trembling.
"I love you, too," he said.
"The holidays will be here before you know it. You will probably make so many friends that you won't even want to come home."
"Yeah, right," Daniel said, apprehension written all over his face.
"Hey, Danny!" Tonks said cheerily. "Let me take you to find Theo. He's a second year in Gryffindor. He'll show you the ropes. Plus, I want to show him my hair. He'll be over the moon."
Hermione watched her only child walk away from her with Tonks, who turned her head and gave her a wink. Daniel turned and waved from the steps of the last train car and was gone.
"He'll be fine, you know," Ron said from behind her.
"I know," Hermione sniffed, wiping her eyes. She turned to see concern written all over Ron's face.
"You all right?"
She nodded and gave him a half-smile. "I'll be fine."
The train gave a long hiss and the conductor cried, "All aboard!" just as a clatter of trolleys and shrill exclamations reverberated through the emptying platform.
"Ten fifty-nine," Ron said. "That's downright early for them."
"Them" was a group of five people - a man, a woman and three young girls, each of varying heights and hair colour, but clearly sisters. The oldest was in the lead, obviously trying to distance herself from the other four people as quickly as possible. Her prefect badge gleamed on her jumper and her long strawberry blonde hair was clipped at the nape of her neck. She walked to the first compartment and boarded the train without a backward glance at the other four people.
Not that they noticed. The two younger girls were in a shouting match, which their father was trying valiantly to mediate while the older witch looked on with a bored expression.
"How many times do I have to say that I did not draw the goatee on your Oliver Wood poster?" the youngest girl said without sincerity.
"And who else would do that, Katie? NO one! You are the only one demented enough to destroy someone else's property!"
Katie shrugged her shoulders. "Don't believe me. I don't care, Jo."
"I'll get you back, you just wait," Joanne replied. She turned on her heel and stomped up the steps into the first available car.
The wicked gleam in the beautiful little girl's eyes disappeared into a look of innocence as she turned to her dad. "Did you draw on her poster?" he asked in a grave voice.
"No," Katie said innocently, throwing her blonde hair over her shoulder. Her innocent façade crumpled a bit under the stern gaze of her father. "I painted on it."
Harry rolled his eyes and knelt down. "Katie, you can't be causing trouble at Hogwarts. You know Snape will be searching for any reason he can to expel you. Promise me you will stay out of trouble."
"But, Dad…"
"Promise me."
"Okay."
"Right. Just so you know, if I get one owl from Snape about you, you will not get the trip you want for Christmas."
Her reaction to this news left no doubt that she thought Harry was overreacting to the entire situation. "DAD!"
"Don't you think that's a little harsh?" said the woman who had been standing a couple of steps back from the scene.
Ignoring the woman and her comment, Harry kept his attention on his youngest girl. "You need to stay out of trouble. That is more important than a shopping trip to Paris."
"Fine," Katie said, and she too turned and stomped up the stairs of the train.
Harry stood and watched the train shift forward bit by bit. His weak "Bye" was lost amid the sound of the steam engine releasing a heavy sigh of resignation as it began its laborious job.
"You know, she is really looking forward to Paris."
He turned his attention to the woman behind him for the first time. "Yes, I know. That's why it will hopefully keep her in line."
The blonde witch rolled her eyes before glancing at her watch. "I have an appointment," she said, and disapparated.
"Of course you do," Harry murmured.
An unreadable expression flickered across Harry's features when he spotted Hermione and Ron standing there, trying to act as if they hadn't witnessed the uncomfortable family scene. Shock followed by comprehension registered on his face before he shook his head and exclaimed, "Merlin's beard! Hermione!" He strode forward and gave her an awkward hug, much like the one Ron had given her minutes earlier.
"Harry," Hermione said, returning the hug. "Good to see you."
"You, too!" he replied, looking her up and down. "You look great."
"Thanks. So do you. Both of you," she said, including Ron in the compliment.
"Is your son starting Hogwarts this year? I thought he might go to the school in Spain."
"No. Miguel and I agreed long ago that he would go to Hogwarts."
"Best wizarding school in the world," Ron piped in.
"Too right," Hermione agreed.
"Is he excited?" Harry asked, his green eyes shining with interest behind his glasses.
"Yes. And no. He's a bit nervous about not knowing anyone. Thankfully, Tonks took Daniel to find Theo and re-introduce them."
"He'll take good care of him. I would offer Katherine's services - she's in her first year, too - but she would be more likely to get him in trouble."
They all chuckled in the way that old friends, now separated by time and distance, do. Hermione searched for something to say to break the uncomfortable silence.
"Your daughters are beautiful," she offered.
Harry lit up with a father's pride. "Thanks, although I don't take much credit for it. They got their beauty from their mother."
"Thank Merlin that's the only thing they got from her," Ron mumbled.
"I think the middle one looks quite a bit like you," Hermione said.
"She is the spitting image of Harry," Ron interjected. "And quite a bit better than you on a broom, I might add."
"You love bringing that up, don't you?" Harry said with mock severity.
"Hey, I've got to use any excuse possible to deflate that ego."
"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks said, sliding her arm through Ron's.
"Hiya, Tonks! Nice look," Harry said, staring at her hair with a smirk.
"Thanks." She turned to Hermione. "Danny and Theo hit it off. I reckon by the time they make it to Hogsmeade they'll be thick as thieves. Nothing to worry about."
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Tonks. Now let's just keep our fingers crossed for Gryffindor." Tonks raised her hand and crossed her fingers, giving Hermione a wink.
"How about we go for a pint at the Leaky Cauldron?" Ron asked. "Give us a chance to catch up."
"That sounds brilliant," Harry said, looking expectantly at Hermione.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I can't," Hermione said. "I have rounds at 1:00."
"Oh," Harry and Ron replied together.
"Well, I'm sure we will be seeing more of you now that Danny is at Hogwarts," Tonks said. "We'll plan something next time."
"Sounds lovely," Hermione said. "I really must go. Quite a ways to travel." She gave them each a hug in turn and disapparated.
Hermione lied when she said she had rounds at one. She had rounds at 1 o'clock the following day. Today, her day was filled with the task of sitting alone in her empty house crying for Daniel. The thought of sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, forcing conversation or worse, talking about the "good ole days," while she was dying inside made her nauseous. She wanted to be alone.
Holding a cup of tea, she walked through her home oblivious to her surroundings, her bare feet slapping on the ceramic tile floor. Sunlight streamed through the arched windows, revealing a stone courtyard anchored by a three-tiered fountain. Her mind directed her to the one room in the entire house in which she was most comfortable - the library.
She walked into the dark room and waved her wand at the fireplace. A fire erupted immediately, but gave off no heat. She had learned the charm for an ambient fire long ago, the real thing rarely needed in the mild climate of Barcelona, Spain.
She settled into her favourite armchair and stared into the fire, wondering what Daniel was doing. She looked at her watch: 3 p.m. She stood and went to the globe that was sitting on her desk. She gave it a whirl and stopped it on England. She stared at the tiny island she'd called home for 22 years, but had only returned to visit a handful of times over the past 15 years.
"York," she whispered, guessing where in his trip Daniel might be. Her fingers traveled lightly over the orb, circling her location roughly 1000 miles away to the south. The bright colors of the globe blurred as unshed tears pooled in her eyes.
She blinked, clearing her vision, her gaze resting on a line of framed pictures on the mantle above the fireplace. The tea in her hand was soon forgotten as the memories awakened by these pictures took over.
The first was a muggle picture of her and Daniel, skiing in Switzerland with her parents last Christmas. A grimace crossed her face as she remembered the crash Daniel suffered not two hours after this picture had been taken. His daredevil spirit, inherited from his father, had compelled him to test his mettle on an advanced slope, despite the fact that it was only his second time on skis. Hermione had quickly mended his broken arm before the Ski Patrol had a chance to arrive.
The next picture was of Daniel's 9th birthday party. His friends were surrounding him, watching him blow out the candles, cheering and waiting patiently as Hermione kissed Daniel on the head before doling out chunks of chocolate gateau to everyone. The wizarding picture reset itself and began again. At first glance, it appeared to be just like any other birthday scene. Looking more closely, it was easy to see that the adults in the background were valiantly trying to hide their grim expressions under their smiles. Their eyes gave them away, as did Daniel's.
The next picture, Hermione's favourite, was from years earlier. It marked no special occasion, unless you consider happiness to be a rare occurrence, which Hermione did not. She and Miguel sat on either side of Daniel on the beach at Vilanova. Granules of sand dotted their legs and arms, the remnants of a long day at the beach. Hermione's hair was windblown despite being clipped at the nape of her neck, forming a bushy halo around her face. Daniel's hair was plastered to his forehead, from sweat or the surf Hermione couldn't remember. Miguel was leaning toward his wife, grinning, his stark white teeth almost blinding in the black and white picture. He looked at Hermione with an expression she had become accustomed to, while she stared with pride at Daniel. Miguel leaned over, nudged her neck and whispered something in her ear - 'you're beautiful,' she remembered, hearing his soft voice in her ear once again. In the picture, her gaze shifted to him and her expression mirrored his. They kissed and were interrupted by Daniel, who made a face at their display before turning and wrapping his arms around them in a hug.
Another gap of years separated that picture and the one to its left. Miguel and Hermione, obviously younger, were sitting at a small table in a café, toasting each other with flutes of champagne. They intertwined their arms and drank, celebrating their marriage. Hermione ran her fingers across her lips as she watched Miguel give her a long and sensual kiss. Her younger image blushed and looked at the photographer in embarrassment. Miguel laughed good-naturedly and kissed her crimson cheek before the picture reset.
Hermione stood immobile before this picture remembering their improbable courtship and marriage barely three weeks after they met.
Fifteen years earlier she had been twenty-two and had just finished her five year training to become a healer at St. Mungos. She decided a short sabbatical was needed to re-charge after twelve straight years of 100% dedication to her studies. Much to her surprise, her request for two months had been quickly granted, a perk she was sure was due to the lingering notoriety she received from her part in defeating Voldemort. Usually loath to accept favours stemming from that part of her life, she quickly accepted and set out on a tour of Europe.
Her goal had been to travel the continent, focusing on places that were historically significant to the magical world. She arrived in Spain three weeks into her holiday and stopped in a café in Tres Leche Square, the Spanish equivalent to Diagon Alley. There, a chance meeting with a young, handsome Spaniard named Miguel Duran would alter the course of her life.
"How was your lunch?" a smooth baritone voice broke through her concentration.
Hermione smiled up at a man who, from the look of his attire, was the cook at the café she had stopped in for lunch.
"Very good, thank you," she replied, before returning her attention to her book. She knew it was best to be polite but brief to inquisitive men. She was a woman traveling alone, after all, and had had her share of propositions over the last few weeks.
"May I?"
And so it begins, she thought.
The cook nodded toward the book and reached forward to read the title. Hermione held the book up for his inspection. "The History of Magic in Spain."
"I thought that looked familiar," he said with a grin. "Required reading for students at San Benito's." He pulled up a chair and sat down next to her. "First time in Spain?"
"Yes," she said, burying her face in her book again.
He waited a moment for her to elaborate before continuing the one-sided conversation. "What do you think so far?"
Hermione struggled to restrain an audible sigh. "I've only just arrived," she replied, not looking up from her book.
"Talkative, aren't you?" the man said with a hint of mirth.
"I appreciate your interest, but I'm in the middle of something just now," she said, impatience clear in her voice.
He leaned over the table. "Let me guess, you are plotting your day, trying to squeeze in each and every attraction you can in the most logical and precise way."
Hermione finally looked up at the man sitting across from her. Through narrowed eyes she saw his sparkling black eyes full of good humor. "Not that you have a chance in the first place, but winding me up is not the way to win my favour."
He leaned back in his chair and arched an eyebrow, surprise and admiration written all over his face.
"Yes, I can tell by your expression, Señor…?" she paused, a silent question in the air.
"Duran," he replied.
"…Señor Duran, that this charming act works well for you. Am I right?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "I wouldn't call it an act. I am, in fact, a charming man."
"No need to waste that charm on me," Hermione replied. "I feel certain you'll find another unsuspecting lady to charm in no time at all. It's wasted on me."
"You think so."
"I know so."
Giving herself a mental pat on the back for rebuking him so well, she returned her attention to her book.
"I must warn you. Once Barcelona has cast her spell over you, you will never want to leave," he said.
"You think so?"
"Most assuredly." He leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial whisper. "You must also know that you will not see the true magical side of Spain if you follow that book."
Hermione stiffened at the perceived insult until she saw humour dancing in his dark eyes. Her breath caught when she saw the intensity with which he was staring at her, an intensity she had never had directed her way before. She felt a charge of electricity shoot through her. She had obviously underestimated her adversary. She was wholly unable to break his gaze. She cleared her throat and said, "What would you suggest as an alternative, Señor Duran?"
"A tour guide."
Hermione took a sip of her water and appeared to consider the matter. "I'm on a limited budget, Señor Duran," she replied, replacing the water. She was unnerved to find her hand trembling. "Can you recommend an affordable, trustworthy tour guide, Señor…?"
"Miguel. Call me Miguel." He held out his hand to shake hers. She stared at his outstretched hand as if it was covered in bubotuber pus. The thought of touching his hand was the most terrifying thing she could imagine at the moment. However, she knew it would be incredibly rude to refuse the gesture of friendship. She quickly grasped his fingers with a weak squeeze before returning her hand to her lap. The feel of his hand in hers didn't leave for hours.
He gave her an open smile devoid of cunning charm and turned in his chair. He called out to the elderly bartender who was wiping down the bar with a pristine towel. "Alejandro! Do we know any affordable, trustworthy tour guides?"
"Not a one," Alejandro said without hesitation.
"Who is the best tour guide we know?"
Alejandro looked up and grinned. "If the job is taking the beautiful young lady around Barcelona, then I am the best tour guide we know."
"Dirty old man," Miguel muttered good-naturedly. "You were supposed to say me," Miguel cried.
"But you aren't trustworthy," Alejandro replied, continuing to wipe the spotless bar. "I, on the other hand, am trustworthy and affordable."
"Sounds perfect," Hermione said, suppressing a grin at the crestfallen look on Miguel's face. "How about tomorrow?"
"What is tomorrow?" Alejandro asked.
"Tuesday," Miguel replied.
The bartender snapped his fingers. "I'm so sorry! I can't tomorrow. I have a date with the beautiful widow in 4C. I'm sure Miguel will do a serviceable job in my place."
Hermione leaned forward. "Why do I get the feeling you two have done this before?"
"I have no idea," Miguel replied with a mask of innocence on his face.
Hermione considered changing course at this point. She knew that this handsome man had done this before, and would most likely do it again. She knew the type. But something kept her in her seat. His unquestionable allure and the spark she felt when he looked in her eyes made all of her unwavering logic recede to the recesses of her mind. She did have enough prescience to try to keep the upper hand as long as possible. "Will Alejandro let you have time off of your job?"
"Oh! Good question." He turned again and yelled at Alejandro who had retreated through a door behind the bar. "Alex, can I take the day off tomorrow?"
"Why are you asking me?" was the muffled reply. "You're the boss."
Miguel feigned shock, mirroring Hermione's expression, and said, "I guess that's a yes. When and where should I pick you up, Señorita…?
"Hermione," she replied, and her course was set.
The shrill ring of the telephone roused Hermione from her memory. She paused and debated whether or not to answer the call from her mother. The shrill ringing stopped before her decision was made. Hermione took a sip of her cold tea and waited, mentally counting the seconds until the ringing would begin again.
"Hello, Mother," she said, picking the phone up on the first ring.
"How are you doing, darling?"
Hermione sighed, foregoing any pretense of ignorance or strength. "How did you do it, Mum?"
"I think I cried every day for a month," she replied. "The worst was when I broke down during a root canal a week after you left. I didn't stop crying for hours."
Hermione sniffed and looked up at the ceiling, willing herself to not break down. "It's so quiet," she whispered instead, her voice breaking slightly.
"I know, honey. I know." Elizabeth Granger put on a falsely cheery voice and said, "I was thinking of coming down for a few days to visit. Get some shopping done, maybe visit the beach. What do you say? A mid-week hols for the girls?"
"I can't, Mum. I have to work tomorrow."
"I'm sure they will let you have a couple of days off, all things considered."
"You know I don't want special consideration made for me."
Elizabeth sighed, exasperation clear in her voice. "Yes, well that's admirable, dear, but maybe you should accept some."
"No."
There was a pause. "What time do you go in?"
"One."
"We can get a bit of shopping in before you go to work. There's a flight at 6 p.m. I can be at your house by 10."
Her inherent independent nature acquiesced to the need to have her mother hold her and reassure her that everything would be all right. "That sounds lovely. I'll pick you up."
"Dobby, I'm back!"
"Dobby is in the kitchen, Master Harry!"
Harry walked through the entrance hall of his home in Godric's Hollow and into the kitchen.
"Something smells good," Harry said, lifting the lid of a pot on the stove.
"Beef stew, Harry Potter, sir. Would you like Dobby to make you a bowl?"
"Not right now, Dobby. Maybe in an hour or so."
"The package from Mrs. Longbottom is on your desk. It arrived not fifteen minutes ago."
"Thank you, Dobby." Harry grabbed a glass of water and headed to his office.
Harry -
A rather slow week, I'd say, only five groups asking for a handout. I'm sure it will pick up as the Holidays approach. Don't forget you have a meeting on Friday at Gringotts to discuss the foundations investment options. I'm sure the goblins have figured out that you are making entirely too much money and want to adjust your allocations to line their pockets.
There are some minor issues with expiring grants, but nothing that can't wait until you come into the office on Thursday. Floo me if you have any questions about the grant requests.
Ginny
Harry shook his head and smiled at Ginny's unique outlook on life. He couldn't complain though. Her suspicious mind and keen investigation skills had steered him away from many a disastrous decision. Harry knew what no one else did; he was a figurehead. The Black Foundation owed much of its success to Ginny Longbottom.
When he thought about it, there wasn't much credit he could take at all for the Black Foundation. It was started with Sirius's money, the money he had left to Harry, along with Grimmauld Place, in his will. Its conception had been Hermione's brainstorm when Harry had told Ron and her that he didn't deserve any of it since he had effectively caused Sirius's death. With Dumbledore's assistance and guidance, the Foundation had been created. The first recipients of the Black Family philanthropy were Frank and Alice Longbottom, whose hospital fees were paid monthly courtesy of the family who produced the witch responsible for destroying their lives.
The first ten years following its inception, the Foundation took in more money than it gave away, due primarily to Harry's indifference. Money was given to causes that he happened to hear about through the press or an offhand remark from people he knew. No one sought the assistance of The Foundation since no one save Dumbledore and Harry knew of its existence. The donations were always made anonymously with no stipulations on the use of the money and no requirements to meet to keep the money coming. St. Mungos was the largest recipient, followed by two orphanages - one Muggle, one magical - a scholarship fund for disadvantaged Hogwarts students, a summer Quidditch Camp started by Oliver Wood, and seed money to start a Global Magical Education Foundation whose mission was to educate the wizarding world on how to eradicate the discrimination and attitudes that led to Voldemort's rise to power.
While Harry's money was busy making the world a better place, Harry was in training to become an Auror. For three years he walked, talked, breathed, ate and slept (very little) Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hermione had been correct in her assumption that he would have little to no time for a social life while in training. Weeks went by when he didn't see the sun, whether he was waking before dawn and returning home well after dark or he was stuck inside at the secret training academy for Aurors. He rarely saw his friends and when he did, he was so tired and bleary-eyed that he didn't usually remember anything they did together, where they went or what they talked about.
Upon completion of his training, his social life picked up considerably. His years out of the spotlight hadn't diminished his star in the wizarding world, and witches were more than willing to be seen on the arm of Harry Potter. After living the life of a monk for three years, he was happy to oblige them. That was how he met his wife, Bridgettete.
He sighed, remembering the scene from the train station earlier. Bridgettete's lack of interest in their children became more and more apparent during the past year, since their divorce had become official. She managed to squeeze in activities with the girls between appointments at the spa. How the woman could need to have her hair cut every week was beyond Harry. It was long and straight and never looked any different. He wanted to tell her she was getting ripped off but didn't have the energy. Bridgettete Smyth-Potter had become his own personal charity case. He was more interested in doing whatever necessary to keep her happy and away from him than he was in the money used to achieve the goal.
Harry felt ridiculous every time he thought of his failed marriage. It had lasted 13 years through his sheer determination to create a loving home for his children. The problem was, he got tired of pretending to love his wife, especially when she didn't even try to pretend that she loved him. Harry knew weeks after their first daughter, Olivia, was born that Bridgette had married his name and not the person. Three years into the marriage, he decided he'd had enough, took Olivia and left. Two weeks later, Bridgette informed him she was pregnant. Joanne was born 8 months later, followed 11 months later by Katie.
Bridgette's mothering instincts decreased with the birth of every child, until their three children were being raised exclusively by nannies while Harry worked odd hours as an Auror and Bridgettete was off doing something else (what exactly, no one knew). So it happened, that eight years into his career as an Auror, three in training and five as an Auror, Harry Potter retired to raise his children and run the Black Foundation. When Harry realized the potential for good the Foundation had, and his lack of ability to manage the day-to-day operations, he brought Ginny on board to help. He congratulated himself every day on that move, which had proved to be his smartest business move to date.
He flipped through the five applications Ginny sent over and stopped at one for a Muggle orphanage. Recently, the Foundation had been branching out into more Muggle philanthropy, specifically orphanages. Harry and Ginny thought it would be poetic justice that money from one of the oldest and most bigoted families in the magical world go to non-magical orphans. Harry knew that Sirius was smiling down on that particular decision. So the fact that an orphanage had applied for a grant to the mysterious Black Foundation wasn't noteworthy to Harry. The location of the orphanage, however, was: Barcelona, Spain.
Harry sat back in his chair and stared into space. When he saw Hermione and Ron at the station today, he felt, for an instant, as if the three of them were getting ready to board the train for Hogwarts. It was as if the last twenty years had melted away and they were the three most important people in each other's lives again.
"Dobby!" Harry called out, leaning forward on his desk.
Dobby appeared immediately in Harry's office on top of Harry's desk, his long nose only inches from Harry's.
Harry lurched back in his chair, grasping his chest with his hand. "Dobby, how many times have I told you to not apparate onto my desk? Just…somewhere in the room is fine."
"Right, sir. Dobby is so sorry." He climbed down and stood in front of Harry's desk, his eyes barely peering over the edge.
"Do you know where my trunk from Hogwarts is?"
"I believe it is up in the attic, sir. Would you like for me to bring it down?"
"No, that's fine. I'll go up myself."
"Oh, let Dobby sir. It would be an honour."
"It would be an honour to rummage around in a dusty attic?"
"Anything I do for Harry Potter is an honour," Dobby said shyly.
Harry shook his head and smiled. "Dobby, if everyone was as fond of me and as loyal as you are, I'd be the happiest man on earth." He walked around the desk and patted Dobby on his skinny little shoulder. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Dobby. You go have lunch. I'll do the rummaging for a change."
"But, sir, you haven't eaten lunch yet!" Dobby cried, the idea of eating before Harry abhorrent to him.
"I'm not hungry just yet. You sit for at least an hour and enjoy your lunch. That's an order!" Harry said with false sternness.
"An hour?! Dobby only needs five minutes to eat. There is much that needs to be done, Harry Potter."
"Well, I order you to take a break," Harry said, walking out of the room and making his way up the stairs to the attic.
Why am I doing this?
Ten minutes later, he popped open the lid to the trunk and stared at what was left of his youth: his Quidditch uniform, the fake galleon he used to summon the DA, a broken quill, the faulty sneakoscope Ron gave him for his thirteenth birthday, some old spell books, the two-way mirror from Sirius, and his very worn book bag, which contained a Potions essay from seventh year with the stellar mark of U. He dug to the bottom of the trunk to find what he had shoved there 15 years earlier in a fit of anger, and more than a bit of jealousy. He removed the picture of Hermione and collapsed down in front of the trunk, staring at the smiling face of his best friend at age seventeen.
She looks the same, he marveled. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure the image of her from earlier today. He could think of nothing to dispute his opinion that she looked as good today as she did when this picture was taken 20 years ago. The only difference was her smile. Today, her eyes had been rimmed in red and she was struggling to be strong and not cry. When she did smile, it didn't reach her eyes. That was to be expected, considering all she had been through over the past few years.
He hadn't expected her to accept Ron's invitation of a drink, but when she declined he felt disappointment anyway. He hadn't realised how much he missed her until she was there, and then gone so quickly.
He was amazed at how easy it was for he, Ron and Hermione to drift apart. None of them could have imagined the effect time, distance and life in general would have on their friendship. The three of them hadn't been together in five years and that meeting had included their respective spouses and could only be termed as uncomfortable. The easy camaraderie was there, underneath the surface, straining for release. Was it deference to their spouses that had kept their interaction shallow and strained? Or was it the knowledge that that meeting was destined to be like every other. The promises made to keep in touch and visit each other often were hijacked by life, if they were sincere in the first place.
He walked back to his office, picture still in his hand, and threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace.
"Ginny!" he called.
Ginny peeked over her desk into her fireplace to see Harry's head sitting in the green flames.
"Hiya, Harry! Good thing Neville just left or you would have gotten quite an eyeful," she said, rearranging her papers on her desk, half of which was suspiciously empty.
"You know, Ginny, you don't have to give me so much information, really."
"But it makes you so uncomfortable and I love watching you blush when I talk about mine and Neville's sex life."
"That's enough. Please."
"Fine. Killjoy," she said, coming around the desk. "What's up?"
"Could you call the Muggle orphanage in Barcelona and make an appointment for Wednesday?"
"Sure. I've got a few things going on Wednesday but nothing that can't keep. I'll use the normal cover story - I'm a single mum, wanting to adopt, blah blah." She wrote a note on a spare bit of parchment and smiled. "I might just call on Hermione, see if she can have lunch."
"Well, actually, I wanted you to make the appointment for me."
"Oh!" Ginny said, surprised. "Any reason why?"
"I just thought I'd give you a break from traveling. All my kids are at Hogwarts now, and yours aren't. I can pick up the traveling load a bit so you can be home at night with your family."
"Ah, Neville can handle it," Ginny said with a dismissive wave. "How was the scene at the train station? Lots of tearful goodbyes?"
"Hardly. Olivia didn't even acknowledge our existence after we passed through the barrier. Jo and Katie were fighting the entire time and Bridget was completely silent, anxious to get to whatever beauty appointment awaited her."
"Bitch," Ginny mumbled.
"Yeah, well…"
"Did you see Ron and Tonks?"
Harry started to answer when Ginny gasped as understanding flooded her features. "Daniel starts Hogwarts this year! You saw Hermione, didn't you?!"
"Yes, I did," Harry replied looking down, cursing the blush he felt creeping on his features. He knew what was coming and braced himself.
A moment of silence followed before Ginny said, "Okay. I'll call the orphanage. Any particular time you want?" She walked back around the desk and sat down.
Wait, where is the teasing? he thought. "Go on, say it. I know you want to."
"Say what?" Ginny said, engrossed in whatever she was writing and not looking at him. "What time do you want the appointment for?"
"Um, one o'clock?"
"Okay. I'll owl the details over to you as soon as possible."
"Er, thanks," Harry replied. "Bye."
Ginny waved dismissively and Harry pulled his head out of the fire before he could see the huge grin break across Ginny's face.