Disclaimer: The usual, one "I do not own Harry Potter" order please. What's more to say?
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry hasn't seen his love for years. How many years precisely? Seven. He hasn't heard from her for five. So what happens when she returns from her home in America after so long? I'll give you a hint…it's not that nothing changed.
A/N: I don't know if this fic will work so I'm just testing it. If you like it review…if you don't, well don't. I'll post this one chapter and if you're interested and want me to continue with it I'll do what I usually do: write out plot, characters, etc. and get the rest up bit by bit. Just to let you know…I don't speak the British part, too hard for a girl from the US.
Sour Love-Chapter One-Saying Goodbye
Dursley Household
A dreadful racket woke the sleeping Harry Potter outside his bedroom window. He pulled his glasses over his dreary green eyes and slipped out of the bed in the small room. The window had nothing on the opposite side besides the other houses and trees along Privet Drive. But below the window was another matter.
There, banging against the house, was a bird. Harry recognized it immediately as Hermes, Hermione's owl. He fumbled at the lock on the window and pushed it open, letting the frantic creature fly through and smash on the door. He scooped it up and placed it near Hedwig's cage while he read.
Dearest Harry,
I am sorry to inform you, but I had to say it. I am moving to America to be with my parents. They received letters and are being relocated to New York City. I hope to see you at the London International Airport on the day of my leave. The plane will be taking off August 8th at 11:00 AM in the terminal B23.
Hermes's getting on in years and isn't thinking straight much anymore. If you'd be so kind as to send Hedwig along with him to accompany the poor dear back to my house.
All My Love,
Hermione
P.S.-Please tell Ron for me. I couldn't bare it. I hope to see you both.
Harry nearly dropped the letter in shock, but forced himself to look at the clock instead. The red numbers flickered and changed 12:01. What a way to start his eighteenth birthday.
London International Airport
"Where are we supposed to meet her again?" Harry asked his best friend.
A downcast Ron Weasley looked up, "What?"
"I asked where we supposed to me Hermione." Immediately after he said it Harry knew he shouldn't have and he bit his lip.
Ron's face grew solemn indeed, "Hermione. I can't believe she's going away after all these years. We'll never see her again. I'll never fight with her again. Oh, how I miss those times."
Ron babbled on and Harry rolled his eyes. Ron and Hermione had been dating for two years and then she broke up with him when she said that a long-distance relationship wasn't any good. He, apparently, was still love-struck.
Hermione's bushy head popped over the top of the crowd of people and Harry waved. "What's the matter with him?" she asked when she was close enough to speak.
Harry sighed, "I'll give you one guess."
"Oh Ron. I've told you before that I just couldn't handle a relationship from so far away. Remember Viktor? I don't want to end up like that." Ron just slumped. Hermione had dated Viktor Krum for half a year when he dumped her for a person closer to him. She had been broken for three months before she got over it and asked Ron out at the near end of the fifth term. "Oh well. Goodbye Harry," she kissed him on the cheek and gave him a hug, "Bye Ron," she did the same. Ron ignored her.
"Hermione!" her mom called from the gateway into the tunnel that led to the plane.
Hermione gave each one last, quick hug and ran off. From the door Harry saw her wave and he nudged Ron, who managed a slight smirk. Harry shrugged and waved 'goodbye' to his best friend.
After Hermione was out of sight Ron seemed to miraculously get out of his mood and rushed over to the window. He eyed the aircraft with such love that you'd assume he would kiss it if he could. Harry leaned against the wall and watched the plane take off and out of sight.
"Can we go? We're going to be late," he asked and began pulling Ron by the collar.
"Alright, alright," Ron said and he wrenched from Harry's grasp. "Late for what?"
Harry eyed him with surprise. "For Quidditch tryouts, stupid."
"Oh yeah. Who are you going for?"
"I'm not going for anybody. I'm going to sit on the sidelines and watch you make a fool yourself." He smiled.
"Not funny."
Tryouts for the Wimbourne Wasps was that afternoon at Hogwarts. When they had reached it, by flight no doubt, it was over-crowded with people anxious for their turns. "I can't believe we're back here so soon," Ron said as he looked around the field.
"Me neither."
They waited…and waited…and waited. They waited until the sun sat high above their heads, cooking Ron in his uniform. Finally it was his turn. Harry watched the redhead zoom around and around, showing agility and speed. He watched dives and turns, goals and saves. He watched his life float away with the wind.
He eventually found himself with his other best friend on his mind. Hermione, the one who had saved him countless times, the one who was always there for him, the one who looked out for him. The one he would never see again.
"Are you trying out?" a voice broke his thoughts. Harry looked up; a middle-aged man stood in front of him.
"Huh?"
"Are you trying out?" he repeated, his tone impatient and annoying. Harry thought for a moment, deciding that the best way to keep his mind from surrendering to Hermione's reminder was to focus on something else. "Sure."
The air was warm and refreshing that day and Harry was glad he was up in the air, doing what he loved best. But he just couldn't seem to keep Hermione from his mind. "Hey Harry!" Ron called to him, "I thought you were going to sit and watch?" he flew up next to the lad.
"Changed my mind I guess," he said, confused as to why he was really up here himself. "I don't plan to going into the field though, I like Quidditch more as a 'take-time-of-the-world' sport."
"Whatever. You should at least try," Ron pushed.
"Fine. First one to score ten goals wins."
"Deal," he grinned.
The competition raged on, each as good as their opponent. But Ron knew that Harry was holding back, he knew that Harry wanted Ron to have this job, not himself. "Come on Harry! Show me what ya' got!" He saw a small grin on Harry's part and began zooming around the stadium once more. They were neck-in-neck, both diving to see who would be better out this sort of thing. Unfortunately for Harry, his mind wandered to Hermione once again.
"Harry! Watch out!" he heard Ron scream from above. Harry shook himself from his disturbing thoughts and looked ahead, the ground was coming in fast. He pulled out of the dive, narrowly missing the green grass below.
"Thanks Ron," he said gratefully.
"No problem. What was with that?"
"Never mind." Ron shrugged. Harry was good at hiding his thoughts from his friends, wanting to be more alone in his life since having the whole wizarding world know your childhood is a little less than private.
They finished with their quick scrimmage and Ron headed into the locker-room to change. Harry, sweating in his regular clothes, decided to take a quick shower when he arrived home. "Mr. Potter!" a voice came from behind him. "Mr. Potter!" Harry recognized it as the voice of the man who asked him if he was trying out to begin with.
The stout man bounded to the youth, clearly exhausted from even such a short jog. Harry raised his eyebrows, wondering what he wanted with him this time. "We were reviewing your performance and…"
"Wait. I didn't even really tryout. I just went up in the air and flew around and…"
"And did a marvelous display of youthful speed and accuracy. As I was saying. We were reviewing your performance and we have decided to give you a shot at professional Quidditch. Would you like to or not?" But before Harry could even say 'no' the man continued. "Of course, it is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Not everyone is chosen right off the back to play Quidditch for a major team. I have to say you are quite the lucky youth. And we are looking for youths of your character to play for us." Harry took note of the fact that this man had a point. He was lucky that they had chosen him right off the back to play. He also noticed the man said 'youth' a lot.
Harry this time didn't let him babble on and on. "All right! I'll play. You've convinced me."
The man smiled, "Great! I'm Stanley Webber, the assistant coach of the Wimbourne Wasps. You can call me Stan." He walked off, smug of having the famous Harry Potter on the team.
Harry felt only partly bad. Stan hadn't convinced him off joining the team, though now that Harry thought about it he was excited, he had only gotten Harry extremely annoyed. He had realized that Stan would only shut up if Harry told him he would play.
But Harry's anxiety turned to doubt soon enough. What if Ron, his best friend and the only one who actually wanted to get on the team, didn't make it? What if they only needed one person? Harry sighed, his life just kept getting more complicated.
"Ready to go?" Ron asked, coming up in front of Harry.
"Yeah. I'm certainly ready to get out of here. I don't care if I've missed Hogwarts. Being here just to watch people tryout for Quidditch isn't much fun. Do you know if you're on the team?"
"No, not yet. They're supposed to send you a letter saying if you get in or not. I can't wait till mine comes." Ron jumped up and down with delight.
Harry laughed uncomfortably. "I hope I don't make it. I mean, I didn't even want the position. I just did it to get my mind off something."
"Really? Like what?"
"Oh…Just stuff. Ya' know, things."
"Mmhmm. Whatever. You know, you aren't very good at lying or hiding things, Potter. Spill it."
"Nothing, really. It's nothing." Ron gave him a disbelieving look. "Seriously. Look, I have to get home. I'm moving out of the Dursleys in a few days and I want to get out as soon as possible. You're going to help right?"
"Yeah, right. When should I drop by?"
"I'll owl you when I'm ready."
"Okay." Ron's face softened. Changing the subject had clearly worked and Ron had totally forgotten about what was making Harry so uneasy. But it wasn't going to be easy to keep up. Sooner or later Ron was going to find out and sooner or later Harry wouldn't be able to deny it anymore.
Dursley Household
Harry didn't bother saying goodbye to his foster parents. His aunt and uncle didn't bother either. He was finally leaving the wretched house, leaving his dreadful life on Privet Drive behind. He was about to burst from happiness; nothing was going to keep him from the wizarding world.
Brooms were obviously out of the question when it came to transportation. Harry had learned to drive a few years back and along with getting his license he was given a car (from who was not known). He suspected it was one of his other relatives, or a friend, or someone in either world. The car was new, a Lexus RX 330. The sports utility vehicle was nice, still smelling of new car. After this time it still had that spell, it amazed Harry.
All the suitcases, boxes, and anything else were shrunken. Magical moving was so much better than the Muggle way. Renting out a huge truck and then unloading it all. Why not just shrink it and save yourself the trouble?
Another perk of having the car was that Harry was moving to London. Plenty of Muggles there, that was for sure. His new apartment was not that far from the Leaky Caldron actually, this eased Harry. A few blocks from his favorite pub and from Diagon Alley is good.
"Ron?"
"Harry?"
They both grinned. It was the dawning of a new light. Sort of. The only problem with this picture was that Hermione was not there to share it. Harry felt himself frown for the millionth time since she left. But Harry was not going to let his best friend, who just happened to be in America at this very moment, spoil his day. Not the day that he was moving away from the Dursleys. But he still found himself frowning, somehow she always found a way to make the best of days seem bad.
The trunk closed, the engine roared, and Harry and Ron drove away from Privet Drive. From Surrey. From the Dursleys. Both found themselves singing, Ron getting in where he could, songs from the radio, happiness filling the room. Life was good.
Sort of.