A/N: After a few great review suggestions, I changed a few things about this chapter and have uploaded it again. Thanks to all, and happy reading!
Disclaimer: Don't own nuthin' but a pair o' Bermuda shorts and a bag o' peanut M&Ms…the Mischief and Mayhem kind….roooowwwff!
Chapter 2: The Voyage In
She continued to stare at him, immobile; her shoulders started shaking and her face screwed up as though she had just eaten a lemon. Feeling a familiar sense of alarm, Harry tensed, gripping the bag on his shoulder for support. Like when he had been a teenager, he seemed again to be at a loss at what to do whenever a female began crying. The rare smile from moments before had fled from his face; he looked uncertainly at Hermione, who, it appeared, was attempting with all her might to dam the flood of tears just behind her eyes, fists clenched and knuckles chalk-white in her effort.
Harry shifted uncomfortably; he wanted to go to her, but she looked on the brink of losing such control over herself that he, with no small amount of doubt, sensed that if he were to touch her, she would either run from him or else haul back and punch him a good one. She had, after all, been known to pack quite a lot of power, as evidenced by Malfoy's face in their third year. `Merlin knows, I deserve it,' Harry thought to himself before moving towards her, hesitating after each step as though stalking a doe which might bolt at any moment.
As he came around to the other side of the kitchen table, he looked at the broken mug now in shards on the floor, and then at Hermione's bare feet behind them. Taking out his wand, he hurriedly muttered, "Reparo," and stooped down to pick up the newly whole mug, now inches away from his childhood best friend.
Hermione had followed Harry steadily with her eyes, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from spilling; she had watched him walk cautiously towards her, had watched as he said the spell and picked up her mug.
As he straightened to face her, he paused, drinking in her face like a man who had just crossed the Sahara, before tentatively holding out the cup to her.
He looked so lost and yet so determined that Hermione's resolve broke, and taking the cup, she seemed to fall towards him.
Nonplussed, he moved to catch her, but she simply threw her arms around his neck and sobbed unabashedly into his chest.
"W-W-" she cried into his robes, though her lips were pressed so far into the folds of his fabric and her words so truncated by her hiccups that it came out unintelligible.
She tried again, clutching onto him as tightly as she could in order to stop shaking, "W-We-".
Her breath came in a succession of staccato gasps, and she stamped her foot on the ground in frustration. She exhaled once as slowly as she could, and finally whispered, "We would have gone with you."
Harry felt two distinct strands of warmth and disappointment intertwine themselves within him; warmth because she knew him like no other did, and disappointment because she failed to see him in the light which she had apparently bestowed upon his best friend. Of course Hermione would have been the only one to understand his need to disappear from the public eye after defeating Voldemort, to maintain his sanity, to remain himself, but how could she have known that his reason for leaving centered on her and Ron? Of course she would have thought that they all could have supported one another in the aftermath of the second war; Harry had given no indication that the trio's changing relationships were the root of his troubles.
Harry closed his eyes, his chin resting on the top of Hermione's bushy head. He felt the distinct urge to tell her he would never abandon her again, but he could not, so instead, he concentrated on matching the fall of his chest with hers. They breathed quietly in unison, holding each other in the middle of the Weasley's kitchen.
The Weasley's kitchen. A disturbing thought entered Harry's mind, `Why was Hermione in the Weasley's kitchen, washing dishes no less? It was as if she had usurped Mrs. Weasley's place as matriarch of the family. Did that mean that Hermione was-` but at that moment he heard a familiar voice jerking him from his speculations.
"Hermione! Is the cake ready yet? Ginny's-" Ron's voice called from outside, halting abruptly as Ron himself banged open the back door. Harry saw his oldest best friend standing with one foot in front of the other, his hand still on the door handle and his mouth hanging open, as if to catch flies. As when Hermione had first seen him, Harry again felt the urge to laugh out loud, but upon realizing the rather intimate position in which he was engaged, quickly let go of his other best friend and stepped back.
At the same time Hermione jumped away from him as if she had been scalded, though kept a hand at the crook of his arm, as if afraid that were she to let go, he would vanish again. Turning to Ron and wiping her cheeks, she said haltingly,
"Ron! Harry's come home!"
But Ron was already striding across the kitchen, and for a split second Harry lost his head and sincerely thought Ron was going to hit him for hugging Hermione. But the redhead simply enveloped him in a hug, nearly bowling him over like a wriggling puppy, his laugh bouncing off the walls.
"Harry, where've you been, mate? Why didn't you write? Mum nearly went bonkers!"
Harry caught Hermione's eye over Ron's shoulder; she was smiling, though her mind seemed to be elsewhere.
Ron pulled away, saying again, "So, where've you been?"
"A little bit of everywhere, actually," Harry said quietly, somewhat embarrassed by the other's exuberant display of emotion.
He could see Ron's dissatisfaction with his vague answer, and could tell he was about to ask again when Hermione interjected, "Why don't we go out back, Ron? So Harry can say hello to everyone else."
Ron looked from Harry to Hermione and back again as Harry glanced at her briefly, afraid of how much she might have deduced about his four year sabbatical. Hermione was looking him straight in the eye, but Harry could not perceive anything other than that she was saving him from an uncomfortable moment.
Silently thanking her, he responded, "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
Ron's eyes had narrowed at the wordless interaction between his two friends, but at Harry's response he quickly shook off his dark expression, punching Harry in the arm and tugging him towards the back door, "Yeah? Well, come on, we were just celebrating dad's birthday! They're gonna flip when they see you. You'll probably be sore tonight from them hugging you so much. Everyone's here, Bill, Fleur, even Percy, and Ginny brought Neville. Can you believe it? I never would've guessed that she'd fall for a bl-" but here, Ron stopped short, glancing over at Hermione worriedly, as if waiting to be chastised for his insensitivity. Hermione merely had a slight frown on her face and seemed to be looking at the floor as she walked beside Harry.
Ron looked back at his long-lost friend, "-I mean-er-well-anyways, mum's sick with the flu, so she's upstairs in bed. Said she wanted to come down and at least help clean, but Hermione wouldn't hear of it. Marched mum right back up the stairs and said she'd handle it. Fixed her a wellness potion too. Actually," Ron paused, looking over at Hermione again, "you're getting to be worse than she is."
"Ha, ha," Hermione said half-heartedly.
"So that's why you were in the kitchen, cleaning," Harry said to her. His heart thrashed around as he heard his voice, unnaturally high, emerge from a throat which felt as though a python were squeezing the life out of it.
This seemed to shake Hermione out of her reverie. She opened her mouth to respond, but Ron beat her to it, "A regular little housewife our Hermione is. Uh oh, spew better watch out! Before long the poor house-elves'll have to fend for themselves again; Hermione'll be right beside them, polishing the fine silver! Ow, ow!" He grinned as Hermione reached behind Harry and jabbed Ron hard twice on his side.
Satisfied, she held her head high, stating, "I'll have you two know that there is nothing wrong with doing a little housework. You should try it sometime, Ronald. Then maybe your room wouldn't look as if a herd of Blast-Ended Skrewts rampaged through it." She reached the back door and turned the knob, "And don't make fun of the house-elves. They work very hard and they deserve to get paid!" Her hand still on the handle, she looked back at the redhead, who was rolling his eyes at Harry. "And don't call it spew!" she admonished, rapping Ron over the head before opening the door and striding outside.
Rubbing his head fondly, Ron grinned at Harry, who mustered all of his resolve and grinned back. But as Ron followed Hermione out the door, Harry's smile slipped off his face, replaced with a look of deep dejection.
`Oh God, she's already moved in here and is cleaning house. Next week, they'll probably have chosen a wedding date, and the week after the number of children they want-unless…they're already married and have a whole brood of Weasley's running around out back...but wouldn't they have mentioned it to me already? And I didn't see a wedding band on either of their fingers.'
But then a creeping doubt trickled into his stomach and answered back, `Well, Hermione could have taken hers off while she was cleaning. And Ron might have just forgotten to wear his. Or maybe they eloped and Hermione charmed their wedding rings invisible in front of the family. And they wouldn't necessarily tell you about it the second you got here; they were both shocked enough to see you as it was. Oh shut up, shut up, it doesn't matter, I shouldn't have come. I can't do this, I can't go out there and face everyone.'
But one foot moved automatically in front of the other, and he headed out into the yard. After all Ron and Hermione looked happy to see him, and Harry did owe the family an apology and an explanation.
He took in the familiar sight of Crookshanks chasing after a gnome, who giggled madly and dived into a hedge. `This has been eleven years in the making,' he thought resignedly, `him and her. Still arguing after all these years. Now, they're even physical with each other.' Harry turned pale at the thought. `They're worse than Mr. and Mrs. Weasley!' But then, he sighed, almost immediately reprimanding himself for all his bitterness. `It's just jealousy. Stop being a prat, and go do what you said you would do," he told himself scathingly.
So, with a deep breath Harry walked towards the large group sitting around a long wooden table in the middle of the yard.
To be continued
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