A/N: Ladies and gentlemen, we're approaching the station. Please make sure you have all your belongings with you. We thank you for choosing us for this journey, and hope you enjoyed the ride. *waves goodbye* I have had such a lovely time with this story, and want to thank you all for making my first portkey experience such a memorable one! The reviews have (quite literally) overwhelmed me, and I'm very grateful to everyone who has shared their feedback with me on this story *big hug to Jane in particular*. I hope the conclusion lives up to your expectations! Oh, and to anyone who only saw the teaser for the last section, it's been switched out for the full chapter 17, so be sure to go back and read that first.
Section 18:
"State your name, please."
"I've been stating my name for the last bloody hour!"
"State your name, please."
"Harry Potter, you blasted little overgrown twig."
"State the name of the person you are here to see."
"Hermione Granger. Or the administrator. Or the person in charge of putting together the approved visitor lists. Or the *janitor*, for crying out loud. Anyone who is an actual human being and not a bush!"
"You are not on the list of approved visitors for any of the people you have named."
"I know that!"
"Entrance is only allowed to those who are on the approved list of visitors."
"Look, if you'll just *ask* someone if they'd be willing to let me in, I'm sure that anyone would tell you-"
"Entrance denied. Have a pleasant day."
"I'm not here to steal state secrets for crying out loud, I just want to talk to the woman that I love! Is that so unreasonable? Well? Is it? Hello?"
"State your name, please."
"Argh!"
If anyone had asked Harry what bothered him the most about life in the wizarding world, he would have answered without a moment's hesitation that he hated being famous. For as long as he had known what it meant to be considered 'The Boy Who Lived,' he had hated the title and everything that it represented. He hated that people he had never met recognized him on sight. He hated that people always tried, for better or for worse, to give him special treatment and single him out from everyone else. His most fervent and habitual wish in any public situation was to be treated just like anyone else, with no privileges or special consideration given to him just because of who he was.
But really, was it too much to ask that the fates (who were, no doubt, laughing their arses off at him at that moment, just as they had been for most of his life,) cut him some bloody slack and let him make use of his famous name *just this once*? It was torturous to know that if it had been a person reviewing admittance through the entryway instead of a bush (charmed to communicate in dozens of different languages, but without the ability to think or comprehend outside of the limited sphere of admitting anyone on the approved guest list and turning away anyone who was not), he would have been admitted in a flash, and probably given a grand tour and a feast in his honor. He was Harry Potter, for crying out loud. He had defeated Voldemort! Didn't they *appreciate* what he had done? Didn't he deserve for them to make just a *tiny* exception in his case?
But no, the wonderful and illustrious people of the Bankhead Institute (represented by that bloody *nuisance* of a bush that guarded the entranceway) had decided that the world would come to an end if anyone was allowed on the sacred, hallowed grounds without being on the pre-approved guest list. Harry was not on the guest list, and here was the result:
He had been arguing with shrubbery for the past hour.
It was a warm day and it had been a long walk from the station (manageable, as Malfoy had said, but long, nonetheless), and Harry was hot, tired, excessively aggravated, and rapidly reaching the end of his less-than-stellar patience. From the moment he left Hogwarts, his excitement had mounted to a practically unbearable pitch. He spent the entire train ride to Switzerland seated on the edge of his seat, practically holding his breath for the hours that it took while he reminded himself over and over again that every second that passed was bringing him that much closer to Hermione. It seemed cruel somehow that after all he had gone through to get to this point, he would be stopped by something so inconsequential as a bush.
"State your name, please."
With a teeth-clenching smile, Harry acknowledged to himself how much better Hermione would have handled this situation than him. If *she* were trying to get in to talk to herself, she'd know exactly what to do. She'd have read up on the Bankhead Institute and studied the spells used to charm the bush in the first place. She'd know how to convince the bush to allow her entrance, or summon a real *person* to talk to, or even how to get in without using the main, bushy entrance at all. She'd probably pull a spell out of thin air that would make the bush open right away and lay out a red carpet for them. And then, when Harry tried to praise her for it, she'd simply smile at him and roll her eyes a bit while telling him it was nothing, downplaying her contributions and ignoring the fact that she was brilliant and amazing and that Harry would be utterly lost without her uncanny knack for always knowing just what to do.
"State your name, please."
Harry began contemplating whether blasting the bush to kingdom come would leave the entrance open and exposed. Rationally, he knew that the entrance to something as illustrious as the Bankhead Institute would probably be better protected than that, and that blowing up the entrance bush would most likely result in all entrances locking down and the Swiss version of Aurors coming to arrest him… but the thought was still tempting. Productive or not, eviscerating the bush would certainly be *satisfying*. He almost felt it would be worth getting arrested if he didn't have to listen to that nasal, annoying, utterly unmovable voice asking,
"State your name, please."
"Harry?"
Eyes wide with shock, Harry spun around in the direction of the voice, wondering dazedly if arguing with a plant for the past hour in the hot sun had somehow managed to addle his brains. Didn't people start seeing mirages when they got overheated? And mirages were supposed to look like things that you wanted to see, right? He couldn't think of anything he wanted to see more than Hermione at that moment, which made it hard to believe that that was really her, approaching him on the path from the town.
His Hermione. It was the first time he'd laid eyes on her in person since realizing that he loved her. Gods above, she was beautiful. All he had done on the train ride to Switzerland was look through the album at photographs of her, but she still managed to absolutely floor him just by standing there.
"Harry?" she asked again, hurrying down the path while her stomach twisted into knots. Was someone hurt? Had something happened? Was that why Harry was there when he was *supposed* to be in Scotland, knee-deep in wedding preparations? "Harry, what are you doing here? What's wrong?"
"I love you," Harry stated on auto-pilot, barely even aware of the words coming out of his mouth.
Every last bit of color went out of Hermione's face, and a hurt look rose in her eyes that hit Harry like a punch to the stomach. "Don't say things like that," she reproached quietly before walking up to the bush.
"State your name, please."
"Hermione Granger."
"Present your wand hand for identification, please." Hermione started to reach her hand out, but Harry grabbed it before she could.
"Hermione, don't go," he pleaded.
"Present your wand hand for identification, please."
"Please don't do this," Hermione begged. "Don't hurt me like this. We've had this argument and there's nothing left to say."
"No, you don't understand! Things have changed; just let me explain-"
"Present your wand hand for identification, please."
"Will you shut the bloody hell up!" Harry screamed at the bush. There was silence for a moment, then:
"Identification failed. Entrance denied. Have a pleasant day."
"Quiet at last," Harry muttered. "Thank Merlin."
"Let go of me, Harry," Hermione ordered in a low, pained voice.
"No," Harry replied stubbornly. "Not until you hear me out."
"Everything's already been said-" she argued.
"*You* have said everything you need to," Harry protested. "*I* have not. And just because I love you, don't think I won't petrify you in place if that's what it takes to make you listen to me."
"Stop saying that!"
"Stop saying what?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"Stop saying that you love me!" Hermione answered, nearly in tears. "It hurts to hear you say that and know that you only mean it as a friend."
"But I *don't* only mean it as a friend!" Harry growled, cursing Hermione's stubbornness.
"Don't lie to me!" Hermione yelled. "I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry I walked away, and I'm sorry I didn't give you a chance to say goodbye, and I'm sorry that it's hard on you not to have me around. But that doesn't give you the right to show up here and tell me that you love me just because you miss having me as a friend. It doesn't work like that, Harry! It's not fair to either of us for you to say-"
Whatever words Hermione planned to use after that were lost when Harry yanked her into his arms and covered her lips with his. His main goal was to stop her tirade, but that became a secondary concern when he realized just how good it felt to kiss her. Shifting his arms around her body to hold her closely against him, he angled his head to deepen the kiss. She was too stunned to react at first and Harry pressed his advantage to wrap her firmly in his arms and in his kiss, but soon she came to her senses and began struggling against him.
"Don't you dare," she hissed, attempting (unsuccessfully) to twist her way out of his arms when she managed to pull her lips away from his. "Don't you dare kiss me when you're less than two weeks away from your wedding day."
"The wedding's been cancelled," Harry replied, biting back a groan at the feel of her body squirming against his. When she froze at this piece of news and her mouth dropped openly slightly in shock, the temptation was just too great too resist. He kissed her again.
As before, she pulled her mouth away from his when reality sunk in a few moments later, though this time, (as Harry noticed with mingled relief and regret,) she didn't try to twist her way out of his arms.
"Did you just say the wedding was cancelled?" she asked dazedly.
Harry nodded. "Lavender ended our engagement this morning. She told me that she knew that I was in love with you, and that it was time that we both admitted it. Then she gave me back the ring."
"She…" Hermione replied numbly. "But… why would she think…"
"Why would she think that I love you?" Harry completed for her. Hermione nodded. "Perhaps because it's true?"
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Harry cut her off with another kiss. This one lasted a bit longer, and Harry could feel Hermione's resolve weakening… though she still managed to pull her lips away.
"Harry, no," she protested. "You're… you're confused, and upset, and it's my fault for leaving, but that doesn't mean that you're in love with me. After all these years of… all this time that I've wanted… told myself that you never could, never *would*… but no. You haven't. You aren't. You *aren't* in love with me; it just isn't possible!"
"There's nothing impossible as long as I have you, remember?" Harry murmured against her lips before capturing them in another sweet kiss.
"Harry, you can't keep doing that!" Hermione protested when she pulled away, although Harry noted with a pleased smile that her voice sounded a bit breathless.
"Yes," he replied confidently. "I can." And just to prove it, he kissed her again. She was getting less steady on her feet now, which suited Harry just perfectly. He liked the way it felt for her to hold on to him to keep her balance. "I can keep kissing you for as long as it takes to convince you that I love you. I'm really that stubborn."
Another kiss.
"And annoying."
Yet another.
"And pushy."
One more kiss.
"And I can't for the life of me imagine why you love me, but I'm so glad you do."
Another kiss, and this one lingered a bit longer.
"Because I love you, Hermione. I love you so much."
"Harry, no," Hermione protested, very weakly.
"Yes, Hermione. Yes," Harry rebutted, kissing her yet again. This time, he didn't let her pull away, and he didn't release her lips until he was certain that he'd kissed her utterly, pliantly breathless.
"Please say you believe me," he whispered in her ear, peppering the soft skin below it with kisses. "I'm so sorry I hurt you, love; so sorry I made you think I couldn't love you, but I'll never do anything to make you doubt my love ever again; I swear it." He kissed her again.
"Tell me I'm not too late," he begged, his arms tightening around her. "Tell me that I haven't bollixed things up so badly that I've lost any chance of making you believe me. Please Hermione, please tell me you still love me."
He felt the warm wetness of tears spill from her eyes onto both of their cheeks and covered her face with kisses, kissing each tear drop away.
"I love you, Harry," she whispered brokenly.
"I love you," he gasped in relief, lowering his mouth to hers and feeling a rush of pure bliss when he saw her lift her lips to his.
They stayed like that for quite some time.
If the Mirror of Erised had happened to pop in front of the bush with them at that moment, it probably would have shown them exactly as they were: perfectly happy in each other's arms. But it's just as well that the mirror didn't appear. No mirror could have caught their eye at that moment. They were too busy being in love.
THE END