Chapter 2
"There you are!"
Hermione looked up from the chart she was reviewing to see her brother-in-law, Andres Duran, standing in the doorway of her office with a large smile on his face.
"Here I am," she replied, returning his smile.
"How was yesterday?" Andres asked, walking over and sitting on the edge of Hermione's desk.
"Horrible," Hermione said, tossing her reading glasses and quill down on the parchment in front of her. "I was a blubbering mess when I got home."
"I've no doubt you were a pillar of strength in front of Daniel," Andres replied.
"Yes, well I've gotten rather good at that act, haven't I?" She pushed her chair back from the desk and turned to face him. She crossed her legs and leaned her head back on her chair, staring up at the ceiling.
She had done an excellent job of keeping her mind off of the fact that her son was starting his first day of wizarding school 1000 miles away from her. The morning shopping excursion with her mother had filled what would have otherwise been a solitary morning at home in a quiet house. Once she arrived at work, she had been insanely busy with grand rounds, a brief lecture to her students, visiting her patients and the mounds of paperwork that were required even in a wizarding hospital. She knew that Andres meant well, but seeing him was not helping her. His face, so much like his brother's, was a reminder of what she had lost two years ago and the absence of the little boy that had been her anchor in the time since.
She felt the tears trickle out the corner of her eyes. She bowed her head and buried her face in her hand. She felt Andres grasp her hand and pull her out of her chair into a strong embrace. "I'm sorry," he whispered as she buried her head in his neck.
"I'm usually not this weepy," she said with a loud sniff.
"I know," Andres said. "You do an admirable job of putting on a brave face whatever travesty comes your way."
"I'd hardly call my son going to boarding school a 'travesty.'
"Yes, well you know what I mean," he replied.
"Yes, I do," she whispered. His arms were wrapped around her shoulders, one moving in comforting circles on her back, the other stroking her shoulder length hair in a decidedly sensual way. She could smell a hint of his after-shave and the tonic that he used in his hair, the same tonic that Miguel used. Hermione stepped back quickly, averting her eyes from his.
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a long moment before he murmured, "I remind you of him, don't I?"
"No, no," she said. "Daniel leaving has just brought everything to the front of my mind. You know me, thinking too much." She gave him a smile that, even to her, felt forced. By the expression on his face, he saw right through her.
"I've always hoped there would come a day when you wouldn't see me and think of Miguel."
She felt his direct stare on her but couldn't bring herself to look straight at him, instead choosing to fiddle with the parchment on her desk. "That will never happen, Andres. You've only to look in the mirror to see why."
"Yes, yes, I know," he replied. He walked around her desk and sat in one of two wooden chairs. He fidgeted in an attempt to get comfortable and said, "This is new."
"Oh! Sorry about that! Don't want to encourage the students to ask too many questions," Hermione said with a sly grin. She waved her wand at the wooden chair's twin, turning it into a squishy armchair. "Better?"
"Much," he replied, settling into the red chintz. "Have you heard from Daniel yet?"
"Not yet," Hermione sighed, as much from the admission that she hadn't heard from her child as from relief that Andres changed the subject. "I expect to get an owl from him today."
"Let me know when you do."
"Of course." Hermione looked at the heap of paperwork on her desk and let out a fluttering sigh. "I don't feel like doing this at all," she said, waving her hand at the pile and dropping into her chair.
"Then don't."
"But, what if my boss finds out?"
"I'll put in a good word for you," he smirked.
"Please, everyone knows you carry no weight around here," Hermione laughed, picking up her quill.
"Watch it, or I'll give you all nightshifts from now on, Healer Granger."
"Idle threat," Hermione replied, focusing on the chart in front of her once again.
"True," Andres replied. A few moments passed with only the sound of her quill scratching on the parchment breaking the silence. "Which is your done pile?" he asked.
Hermione placed her left hand on a large stack and her right on a short stack. "Guess."
Andres made a face. "Thank Merlin I'm important enough to farm all of my paperwork out to my underlings." Hermione glared at him over the rim of her glasses. "Oh, right. That would be you, wouldn't it?"
"Yes, it would, Chief Healer Duran."
"As your boss, I can say to leave it until tomorrow. Tonight, I am taking you out to dinner and a film to alleviate the symptoms of your empty nest syndrome," he announced, rising with difficulty from the low chair.
"Oh, Andres, I'd love to…" Hermione started before being interrupted by a pecking on the window of her office. They both turned, Hermione with an exclamation of glee as she darted toward the window to allow the owl access to her office.
A large barn owl hopped onto Hermione's desk and waited patiently for Hermione to remove the letter from his outstretched leg.
"This isn't Daniel's owl," Andres stated.
"No, it isn't." Hermione removed the parchment from the owl's leg and unrolled it. She gasped as she recognized the handwriting.
Hermione,
Are your surprised to hear from me? I've no doubt that you are. How are you holding up without Daniel there? It is abnormally quiet around here, so much so that Dobby has taken to bounding up and down the stairs in an effort to mimic the sound of Jo and Katie chasing each other around the house. Seeing as Dobby weighs about 30 pounds soaking wet, he still doesn't make much noise, but I appreciate the effort anyway.
As it turns out, I am going to be in Barcelona on Thursday for business. This is normally a trip that Ginny would take, but since I'm the one without kids at home, I offered to take this one for her. She was rather disappointed (I get the impression she enjoys the business trip side of her job a bit more than she should) but I insisted. Not because I enjoy visiting orphanages, but because I hoped that we could meet and catch each other up on our lives. Seeing you and Ron today at Platform 9 ¾ made me…well, nostalgic, I guess. Is that a sign of old age? (Don't answer that!)
My meeting is in the early afternoon. Would you like to meet somewhere for dinner? I apologize for the short notice, but I do hope you can make arrangements to meet. I'd love to see you.
Send your reply back with the express owl, if you would.
Hope to see you soon,
Harry
Hermione stared off into space, disappointment that the letter wasn't from Daniel replaced with…what? Confusion? Surprise? Excitement?
"What is it? Everything okay?" Andres asked with concern.
"Fine, fine. Just an old friend coming to Barcelona for business. Wants to meet for dinner."
"Anyone I know?"
She shook her head to clear it and looked at Andres. "No, you haven't met," she replied, giving him a warm smile. "I'll see you later?" she asked, returning to her desk.
"We were making plans for tonight?" he asked tentatively.
"Oh! I'm sorry, Andres, I can't. I was saying I'd love to but my Mum is in town for a few days."
Andres clapped his hands together. "Even better to be seen with two beautiful women! I'll pick you two up at eight."
"I don't know. Mum might be tired and want to stay in."
"Nonsense," he said, walking toward the door. "Elizabeth has a slight crush on me. Mark my words, she'll want to go." He turned at the door and gave her a smile. "I'll see you at eight."
Harry rapped his knuckles on the doorframe. "Knock, knock," he said.
Hermione looked up from the large medical book she was reading and gave Harry a large smile. "Hi!" she said, tossing her glasses on the open book and walking around the desk to give Harry a hug. "Didn't have any problems finding me, did you?"
"No, not at all," Harry lied. He'd been walking around the maze that was her hospital for an hour and had asked no less than 10 people where to go.
Hermione looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Liar. Sometimes I even get lost in this place, and I've been here 15 years. Sit down. I'll just be a minute."
"Sure, take your time," Harry said, choosing to sit in a deep comfortable looking chair instead of the wooden straight backed one. He looked around her office while she tidied up her desk. The entire wall behind her desk was covered in dark wood shelves bulging to capacity with books. Two arched windows took up most of the wall to his right, offering a panoramic view of Barcelona with the Mediterranean Sea in the distance. The wall to his left contained her degrees; certificates framed identically and tacked on the wall in an organized, symmetrical manner. The walls were painted an earthy yellow, which gave the office a warm inviting appeal which the sterile environment of the hospital didn't have. Her desk, which was meticulously clean despite the fact that it was covered with parchment, files and books, was a large mahogany affair that made her appear smaller than she actually was.
"How was your meeting?" she asked, closing a file and placing it on a small pile.
"A bit depressing, to be honest."
"Were the conditions horrible?"
"Oh, no. It's very well run. Nice and clean. But no matter how many brightly coloured rooms you have, it doesn't change the fact that these are kids that no one wants. And you can see in their eyes that they know it." He was surprised to realize that when she looked at him he knew exactly what she was thinking, just as he did when they were in school together. Her gaze told him that she remembered that, for all intents and purposes, he had been a child like that also. He stood up and walked to the window. "Nice view. Is it real?"
"Yes, 100%. I can even open the window if I like."
"That's nice." He turned back to see her placing files into a briefcase. "I hate to admit this, but I have no idea where we should go for dinner. I was hoping you might be able to suggest somewhere. That's incredibly rude, I know. Invite you to dinner and then expect you to make the plans."
"Don't be daft," she said, walking to her door and removing her white lab robe as she went. She closed the door slightly and hung the coat on the hook on the back of the door. "I wouldn't expect you to know where to go. This is your first time here, right?"
"Right. But still."
"As a matter of fact, I had an idea," Hermione said. "It's been a horrible day here and I honestly don't want to be around people. I was hoping you wouldn't mind if we went back to my house and had dinner there."
"That's fine with me. We can pick something up on the way."
"No, I'll cook," she replied, picking up her briefcase.
"Absolutely not!" Harry cried. "I invited you to dinner. Cooking would be too much of an imposition, and you just said you've had a terrible day. I'm sure that is the last thing you want to do. We'll pick something up."
"No, I'll cook," Hermione said with finality. "I enjoy cooking. It helps me unwind. You being here will just mean I won't have leftovers for days, which is a good thing."
"Hermione…" Harry started.
"Are we going to stand here and argue when you know in the end that I'll win?" she asked with a twinkle in her eyes.
"Some things never change," Harry said, a lopsided grin on his face.
"Good boy," Hermione replied with a wink.
Harry pulled the door open completely and stepped aside for Hermione to walk through. He was pulling the door closed behind them when he heard someone call her name.
"Andres, hi!" Hermione said.
The man returned the greeting, but his eyes never left Harry. Harry was stunned into silence, staring at the man that if he didn't know better, he would swear was Hermione's dead husband.
"Andres, this is Harry, a friend of mine from Hogwarts. Harry, this is Andres Duran." At Harry's quizzical look, Hermione added, "Miguel's brother."
"Right," Harry said, feeling extremely foolish for forgetting that Miguel had a twin. He extended his hand to Andres and said, "Pleased to meet you."
Andres nodded in assent, but said nothing, his eyes glued to Harry. "How long are you in town for?" he asked.
"Just today," Harry said.
"Your business is finished?"
Harry got the distinct impression that Andres wasn't talking about Harry's business meeting at all.
"Almost," Harry said, glancing at Hermione before returning his gaze to the man that was emitting a protective aura.
"We best be going since we don't have much time," Hermione interjected. "See you tomorrow, Andres."
"Nice to meet you," Harry said, placing his hand at the small of Hermione's back briefly as they walked away, a gesture specifically meant to irritate the other man. He looked over his shoulder and was greeted with a steely gaze, which he returned.
"Do you mind if I change?" Hermione said after they apparated to her home.
"Of course not."
"First, let me get you something to drink," Hermione said, leading him to the kitchen. "Would you like a glass of wine? Ale?"
"Go change. I can fend for myself for a few minutes," Harry said.
"You sure?" To Harry's nod she replied, "I'll just be a minute."
She walked around the corner and disappeared, giving Harry the chance to take in his surroundings without interruption.
He was standing in the entry hall, which in reality was a large hallway connecting two wings of the house. Straight in front of him was a wall of floor-to-ceiling arched windows that looked out onto a courtyard. Shrubs and flowers adorned the open space with four large palm trees at the corners of the quad. A stone walkway cut through the center of the courtyard, ending at a door that led into another part of the house. Directly in the center of the walkway was a large stone tiered fountain.
Harry found the kitchen easily. In a few minutes he had found a chilled bottle of wine and two glasses. He had just removed the cork when Hermione entered, dressed casually in faded jeans and a crisp white cotton blouse open down the front. Underneath she wore a fitted white tank that, Harry was surprised to note, accentuated the fact that she was tan. He tried to remember what her skin tone had been like in England but couldn't. He was sure, however, that it had never been that particular shade of brown.
"Perfect. You found the wine," Hermione said, pulling her hair back into a pony tail, twisting it and clipping it at the top of her head in a modified French Twist. "It's a little early for dinner yet. Are you hungry?" she asked, taking a sip of the wine he offered.
Harry looked at the clock on the wall, which read 7 o'clock. Early? he thought.
"I guess I should say it is early for dinner in Spain. We usually don't eat dinner until after nine."
"However do you survive?" Harry asked.
"We eat later lunches." She set her wine glass down and pulled a couple of potatoes out of a basket on the counter. "I didn't eat lunch, though, so let's eat now. It will take a bit for the potatoes to roast, anyway."
"What are we having?" Harry asked, moving next to her.
"In Spain, we call it a tortilla. You know it as an omelet."
"Yum," Harry said, his mouth watering. "How can I help?"
"You can wash the potatoes," Hermione said, handing three large potatoes to him.
Fifteen minutes of easy conversation and two glasses of wine later, the potatoes were roasting in the oven and Hermione was leading Harry out onto the terrace that was just off the kitchen. Harry stopped when he stepped outside the door.
"My God," he whispered. Below him, spread out for miles, was the city of Barcelona. The sun had just set over the horizon, leaving muted colors of pink, orange and yellow to fade into the darker blues and blacks of the nighttime sky. The lights of the city were winking at him, daring him to not fall under its enchanting spell. "This is beautiful."
"You'd better watch it. You'll never want to leave," Hermione said, sitting down at the terrace table.
Harry pulled out the other chair and sat down, still enthralled with the sight below him. "I didn't see any of the city in daylight, but seeing it at night has certainly piqued my interest."
"Did you apparate straight to the hospital from your meeting?"
"Yes, and then straight here."
"Next time you are in town, I'll take you on a tour."
"That sounds great," Harry said. "Have you heard from Daniel?"
"I have."
"And?" Harry prompted.
"He loves it!"
"I knew he would."
"I had my doubts, truth be told. Hogwarts is so different from the culture he grew up in. I was a bit afraid that it might be a bit of a shock for him. But he and Theo have become best friends, apparently."
"He is in Gryffindor?"
"Yes, thank goodness! Well, honestly, I wouldn't have minded Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. As long as it's not…" Hermione stopped abruptly and clamped her mouth shut.
"I guess Daniel told you, then?"
"He did. Harry, I'm so sorry!"
He waved his hand as if swatting a gnat. "There are worse things than your daughter being sorted into Slytherin."
"Of course, there are," Hermione said. "But I'm sure it is still disappointing."
"It is. Katie didn't even owl me; Jo did. She said that when Katie was sorted she burst into tears."
Hermione cringed. "Not exactly the best way to meet your new housemates."
"Um, no. Apparently though, by the next day she had made friends and was already ignoring Jo."
"That's just a sibling thing, I'm sure."
"Maybe," Harry replied, draining his wine glass. "Katie has always been different from Jo and Olivia. You saw a perfect example on the platform the other day. When I think about it, she is much more suited to Slytherin than any other house. Cunning, ambitious - those are two of her most prominent traits. Just like her mother," Harry mumbled.
"What did Bridgette think?" Hermione asked.
"She didn't see what the fuss was about. Being from Beauxbatons, she wouldn't, would she?"
"I guess not." Hermione fiddled with the stem of her wine glass, turning the glass around and around on the table. A gold band on her right middle finger caught Harry's eye. The ring hit the glass with a soft ding as she cupped the wine glass in her hand and lifted it to her lips. "I wonder what Snape thinks of having a Potter in Slytherin," she said before taking a sip.
"I don't even like to think about it. I'd be surprised if he doesn't expel her just to spite me."
"Minerva would never allow that."
"Maybe not, but since she's in his house, her fate rests with him."
"Let's just hope the threat of losing her trip keeps her in line."
Harry grunted in response. He knew that it was only a matter of time until he received an owl about Katie. He hoped it happened sooner rather than later. After Christmas he wouldn't have anything to hold over her head to keep her in line.
Hermione reached for Harry's glass and stood. "Let me go get us another and stir the potatoes. Back in a mo."
She returned a few minutes later and set a fresh bottle of wine on the table. "Why pretend?" she said, with a chuckle.
"Are you trying to get me drunk, Hermione?"
"Goodness no," she replied. "This is the last bottle anyway."
"Good. Don't want to splinch myself when I leave."
She wrinkled her nose. "That would be messy."
"And most likely painful," Harry rejoined with a laugh. "So, tell me about Andres."
Hermione choked on the wine she was drinking. She patted her chest a few times and swallowed, before emitting a couple of weak coughs. Harry grinned and took a sip of wine.
"Andres? What about him?" she asked, when she finally recovered.
Harry shrugged. "I don't know. He seemed rather protective of you, is all."
"It's not like that," Hermione said firmly.
"Like what?"
"There is nothing going on there. He is my brother-in-law and colleague. That's all."
"You think so?"
"I know so. Why are you so interested?" she asked, twirling the ring on middle finger around and around.
"I wanted to know if I read the looks he shot me correctly. Obviously I didn't since you say there is nothing going on."
Harry studied Hermione for a moment as she gazed at the view, periodically taking a dainty sip of wine. He wondered if she was being deliberately obtuse or if she honestly didn't see what was so obvious to Harry. Twenty years ago, he would say the latter. After all, he and Hermione had spent almost two years harboring feelings for each other without realizing they were reciprocated. But for him at least, with maturity came a bit of intuition. He was sure that, based on the signals he received from a two-minute encounter with Andres, there was no way Hermione could not sense that her brother-in-law harboured stronger than familial feelings for her.
She caught him staring at her and said, "What?"
"Is it hard?" Harry asked before checking himself.
"Is what hard?" she asked playing with her wine glass again, a hint of nervousness in her voice.
"Seeing someone that looks so much like Miguel on a daily basis."
She took a deep breath and held it, waiting. Harry imagined she was composing her response in her mind.
She released the breath and began, "There are times when it is very difficult. But, for the most part, no. Not anymore. They may look alike, but they are very different people. Andres is much more like me, with only a hint of the charm that just oozed out of Miguel. Miguel was creative, carefree, and absolutely engaging. He made friends with an ease that I've never seen before." A wistful look came into her eyes as she stared into the middle distance. She looked at Harry and continued. "Andres is much more reserved with people he doesn't know, which you saw today. He's old fashioned…the type that wants his wife at home, not in a profession. But he has high standards for people and would never date a woman that wasn't intelligent and successful. Which probably explains why he isn't married. The women he dates don't want to be housewives," she said dryly.
Harry frowned, wondering why a sense of relief was flowing through him at her words. He wouldn't have taken the time to analyze his motivations for taking this trip, even if it had been in his nature to do so. In his mind, up until the point when relief flowed through him, he was here merely to catch up with an old friend. The fluttering in his stomach told him otherwise. He absentmindedly rubbed his stomach and tried to remember the last time he'd felt this particular sensation.
"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, looking at his stomach.
Harry's head shot up in alarm and his hand stopped the circular motion on his abdomen. Why was she asking that? he wondered, looking down. With a sheepish grin he said, "I'm fine. Just hungry."
She stood and gathered the wine and her glass. "Let's feed you before you waste away," she said with a cheeky grin.
Harry followed her. "Are you being sarcastic?"
"No, never."
"I think you are subtly implying that I've put on weight since Hogwarts."
Hermione looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. "Harry, you were too skinny at Hogwarts. Any weight you have put on - and I'm not saying you have - was well needed, trust me."
"Oh, so you are saying I looked bad then?"
"No, no. You are just as handsome as you always were."
Harry puzzled over whether that was a compliment or not as Hermione pulled eggs out of the refrigerator. She waved her wand and the eggs began cracking themselves into a metal bowl. "Want to get the potatoes out of the oven for me?" she asked, grabbing a skillet from the pot rack above the island in the middle of the kitchen.
"Sure," Harry said.
He placed the pan of potatoes on the trivet Hermione provided and stepped back out of her way. He watched her efficiently move through the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients and utensils necessary to complete the meal, performing very few tasks with magic. He took special interest when she bent down to remove the makings of a salad from the bottom bin of the refrigerator and remembered why he enjoyed seeing women in muggle clothes so much more than wizarding robes. If only the tail of her shirt wasn't quite so long…
"Harry, would you make the salad?" she asked, closing the door to the refrigerator with her bare foot.
"Er, sure," he said, a bit embarrassed with where his mind had drifted. The fluttering feeling returned when she gave him a warm smile and replied, "Thanks."
He was standing at the island with his back to her, she was standing at the cooker with her back to him. As he chopped and diced, he considered moving to the other side so he could face her and glimpse at her without her knowing. He reckoned that it would be rather obvious to switch sides for no apparent reason at all. He did the only thing he could think of.
He had never made a salad so quickly.
"Done," he said, standing beside her at the cooker to watch her.
"Really?" she said. "Wow, that was fast."
She gently shook the skillet containing the egg and potato mixture to loosen it. When the edges were set she placed a plate on the top of the skillet and flipped them over, so the plate was on the bottom. She returned the pan to the burner and slid the omelet, uncooked side down, back into the pan.
"I'm impressed," Harry said.
She smiled, keeping her eyes on her cooking. "You can't be married to a chef for 13 years without picking up some skills."
"Obviously not." Harry leaned against the counter by the cooker. "OW!" He said, jumping away from the still hot pan the potatoes had been in. He shook his burned hand and grimaced.
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione said. "Are you okay?"
Harry studied his hand and saw that the bottom part of his palm was red and beginning to throb painfully. "I'll be fine," he replied, feeling exceedingly stupid.
"Let me see," Hermione said, grasping his hand gently. He could feel gentle puffs of her breath on his fingers as she bent her head to examine his hand. "That's a nasty burn," she said, softly touching his palm with her fingers. He was barely listening; instead he was staring at the hair on the top of her head, which was an only inch from his face. Her hair was lighter than he remembered, with streaks of blonde running through tresses that were more wavy than bushy.
"We need to get something on that," she said in a businesslike manner. She grabbed her wand and with a flick upward levitated the pan to just above the flame. With a shake of her wand the pan began imitating her gentle shaking movements from earlier. "Follow me," she said walking out of the kitchen.
"I just need a bit of ice. It will be fine." He stared at the pan containing their dinner and his stomach gave a large rumble. The last thing he wanted was to be the cause of dinner burning. He was certainly willing to suffer a bit of pain to settle his hunger.
"Don't worry, dinner will be fine. We'll only be a moment." Harry tore his eyes away from the pan and saw that Hermione was struggling to restrain her laughter.
Down the hallway, around the corner and through her bedroom she led him, ending in the ensuite bathroom. She patted the marble countertop and said, "Sit," in a tone that brooked no refusals.
The bathroom was, of course, perfectly ordered, just as the bedroom they had passed through was. She opened a closet door to reveal that her life was organized under the surface, also. Neatly folded towels and washcloths filled the top three shelves. The fourth shelf, the one she was currently rummaging through, held potion bottles of all sizes, colours and shapes. The shelf below contained what appeared to Harry to be common Muggle toiletries.
She turned to him holding a squatty orange bottle, a muggle q-tip and a roll of bandages. "I hate to tell you this, but it's going to sting a bit," she said, unscrewing the cap. A disgusting odor of rotting fish met his nose and he leaned back.
"Surely it can't feel worse than it smells." When the wet q-tip touched the burn, he flinched and inhaled through gritted teeth in a valiant attempt to not yelp in front of a woman he was trying to impress. "And yet, it does."
"It only stings for a minute." For the second time she bent her head down close to his hand. This time, the air he felt was intentional as she blew gently on the medicated palm of his left hand. Whether from the medicine or the warm feeling he got watching her care for him, the stinging subsided to a tolerable level and he immediately began to feel better.
"How's that?" she whispered, meeting his eyes.
His throat constricted and he struggled to talk. Instead, he nodded his head vigorously in response. She smiled and patted his knee. "What a brave patient you are," she said with a grin.
"Do you really think that is necessary," he said, as she began to roll the strip of cotton material around his hand. She stopped when she turned his hand over and ran her finger over the light scarring from his fifth year detention with Dolores Umbridge.
So much had happened in the twenty-two years since Hermione had last helped him relieve the pain in this hand. Were they the same people they had been then? Or had their experiences changed them to a degree that they would never have a relationship close to what they shared as children? At that moment, Harry wished fervently that he was back in the common room of Gryffindor Tower, his hand in a bowl of murtlap essence, his eyes wide open to see that all of the little things that Hermione did for him added up to much, much more. He wanted to shake some sense into his younger self who for the seven years following continued to make mistake after mistake until Hermione returned from her sabbatical head over heels in love with an adoring husband.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
His voice jolted her back into action, her fingers leaving the back of his scarred hand to continue wrapping the bandage around his palm. "For what?" she asked in her best nonchalant voice.
"For being such an idiot. In school."
She didn't look at him, instead choosing to focus on her task. "We were young" was all that she said in reply.
"It doesn't change the fact that I wish I could change what happened."
"And what would you change?" she asked, her eyes still averted from his.
"I would have told you as soon as I knew how I felt about you, when my feelings changed, instead of waiting two years like a dolt."
He saw a hitch in her chest rather than heard her intake of breath. He knew this information, that he'd harboured feelings for her for so long, was a revelation to her. True to form, he hadn't realised until years later how that tiny bit of information told at the right moment could have changed the course of their lives. He decided to push forward now, releasing all of his regrets whether she wanted to hear them or not.
"I wouldn't have let you talk me into 'focusing on school' so soon after we finally got together."
"I don't seem to remember you protesting too terribly much at the time," she said, ripping the end of the bandage into two strips a bit more forcefully than necessary. She wrapped one end around his hand and tied them together into a knot on the back of his hand before turning back to the open cupboard.
"You're right. I didn't. I should have." Harry slid off the counter and stood behind Hermione, inspecting his bandaged hand before attempting to put it in his pocket. He dropped the bandaged hand to his side and stared at Hermione back. "In my defense, I was following your plan. Focus on Auror training. When we were both finished with school, we would give a relationship a go. I didn't expect you to fall in love on your sabbatical." Harry was impressed with himself that the last statement came out with no bitterness, which was in sharp contrast to how he actually felt about the situation 15 years earlier.
Harry could tell that she was just fiddling with the contents of the cupboard in an effort to keep from turning to face him. "Tell me something, Hermione."
She straightened her shoulders, closed the cupboard door and turned to face him. "What?"
"Was there another reason for the break? I've always felt like there was but I couldn't figure out what I did wrong."
She opened her mouth to reply and paused before saying, "You did nothing wrong. Come on, dinner is going to burn." She turned and walked out the door.
The conversation changed the mood of their reunion, replacing the comfortable companionship with an awkward, heavy silence as they sat on the terrace and ate their tortilla and salad. Harry watched as Hermione speared greens on the end of her fork, before glancing up at him and attempting a smile. "The salad's good," she said, before looking back down at her plate with a slight grimace.
"Thanks." He twirled his fork absently on his plate. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or embarrass you earlier."
"No, no," she said, waving her hand, but continuing to look away.
"It obviously upset you. You can't even look at me."
"Harry, it's not you," Hermione said, placing her hand on his forearm and looking at him for the first time. She removed her hand and continued. "It's just never fun revisiting the insecurities of my youth."
Harry didn't have much time to puzzle over that comment before she continued. "I didn't realise until…later, that focusing on our education was only part of the reason for the break-up."
"What was the other reason?" Harry prodded.
"Lack of confidence?" Hermione said as if unsure of the answer herself.
"Lack of confidence in who? Me or you?"
"Both."
"Hermione, forgive me for being rude, but would you just come out and say it already?!" Harry said, tossing his serviette on his empty plate. "I'm a big boy. I can handle it."
"Fine," she replied. She looked straight at him. "I never knew where I stood with you. I wasn't sure of your feelings. Snogging and petting were fine and all, but I didn't know if that was due more to deep feelings or teenage hormones." Her shoulders dropped as if the weight they'd been holding had just been removed.
Harry cleared his throat. "It wasn't only hormones, Hermione."
"I didn't know that, and I couldn't bring myself to ask. I was terrified of the answer."
"Which answer?"
"Either."
Harry bent his head down and squeezed the bridge of his nose, displacing his glasses. "And of course I had no idea how to tell you how I felt." He replaced his glasses and shook his head in frustration, the result of the miscommunications of their youth weighing heavily on his mind. He wondered how different his life would have been - if happiness would have replaced regret and pain had he been able to say three little words to the woman sitting across the table from him.
"When you talked about us taking a break and focusing on school, it sounded so logical. It was hard to argue with it. Part of me thought that you didn't feel as strongly for me as I did for you and that this was your out. When you came back from Europe happily married, it confirmed my suspicions."
"I should have written you and told you before springing Miguel on you like I did. You had been so active socially, dating so many girls after you finished training, I rather thought your infatuation with me had ended."
"Remember when I came to see you at St. Mungo's on your last day of training?"
"Yes," Hermione replied a bit warily.
"The rose I brought you wasn't to congratulate you on your accomplishment, I was going to give it to you when I asked you out on a date."
Hermione closed her eyes. "And I was going on and on about my trip across Europe."
"You'd just gotten approval," Harry interjected.
They sat in silence, the weight of regret surrounding them as they each stared out at different points of the darkened night. Harry shifted his attention to Hermione, tracing the outline of her profile with his eyes, wanting more than anything to run his fingers across her cheeks and trace her lips with his fingertips. He stood and picked up their plates. "I'll wash up," he said, retreating into the kitchen before she could protest.
He stood at the sink letting what he had just learned sink in. He turned the tap on and began to rinse the dishes with a sponge in slow, gentle circles. There was no surprise in the revelation that miscommunication had cost him a shot at a relationship with Hermione. If there was one constant in Harry's life, it was dealing with the consequences of his inability to ask the right questions and articulate his feelings. He placed the clean plate in the empty sink and picked up the next one, which was not as lucky as the first. His hair flopped on his forehead and his glasses slid down his nose as his body shook with the effort of cleansing his mind of the pent-up frustration brought on by his past mistakes. The slippery plate slid out of his hands and shattered in the sink.
He stared at the broken plate and snorted a laugh. "I'm sure this is somehow symbolic," he said as he withdrew his wand and muttered, "Reparo."
He took a deep, purifying breath as the plate repaired itself. He lifted the plate to inspect it, searching for any sign that it had been in pieces only moments before. All he saw was his reflection in the bone-coloured china. He gave himself a confident grin and knew what course of action he needed to take.
He felt her presence in the kitchen a few minutes later as he stood at the sink rinsing the roasting pan. She stood there for a bit, saying nothing. He felt her eyes on his back. Adrenaline pumped through his veins much as it did before the pick-up Quidditch games he and Ron enjoyed every Sunday afternoon. For the first time in his personal life, he was going to go after what he wanted.
"I can't regret what happened," she said to his back. "To do that would demean my love for Miguel and Daniel."
Harry turned, drying his hands on a towel and stood on the opposite side of the island from Hermione. "No, of course not. I love my children too much for regret." He folded the damp towel and placed it on the counter. "But all the same, I hope it's not too late to fix the mistakes of the past."
Harry caught her gaze and held it, throwing down the gauntlet of his intentions. He felt a surge run through his body as she held his stare. He wanted to know what was going on in that brilliant mind of hers…whether she was composing columns of pros and cons and assessing the potential for success or disaster or if she, like he, was being driven by the emotions he felt when he looked at her.
Fear was evident in her eyes as he walked around the island to face her. "It's late. I need to get going. Thank you for dinner." Her eyes grew wide as he leaned forward. He paused and stared at her lips before switching course and kissing her softly on the cheek. He ran his hand down her arm and grasped her hand, squeezing lightly.
"You will never again doubt where my affection lies," he whispered into her ear before disapparating.