Hermione's fingers twitched involuntarily as she saw the clipping in the Daily Prophet.
Another Harry Potter sighting, she thought tiredly. Hardly a week went by without one. She should know; she had every single clipping cut out and plastered neatly into the magically enlarged and cataloged album.
Not this time, thought Hermione. Not this time... they're all just wild and baseless rumor. But her hands betrayed her by scooping up her wand to cut out the clipping.
"Ron does it too," she said defensively to the empty room. "I'm not the only one!"
With a last defiant glare at the unoffending walls, she summoned the album from the bedroom with a casual flick of the wand. The handsome, leather-bound book soared through the door and landed gently in front of her on the bar that divided the kitchen and living area.
For a minute, it looked as if Hermione had forgotten where she was. But then, with a sigh, she tucked a stray strand of bushy brown hair behind an ear and folded her legs up onto the upper rung of the bar stool. A moving, magical picture of her, Ron and Harry adorned the cover of the album; they were standing with arms around each other's shoulders in front of the lake at Hogwarts. Ron was laughing, Harry smirking, and she grinning.
Harry waved merrily at her as she flipped open the album. Article after article flashed past as she rifled through to the first empty page. When she found it, Hermione affixed the newest clipping with a Permanent Sticking Charm and closed the album.
Finished, another great sigh surfaced; the other inevitable half of the ritual was following the rumor to its source to see if there was any truth to it. Likely, she would do that today; it was her turn.
The sudden ringing of the phone startled Hermione out of her brooding such that she jumped straight off her chair. Hurriedly, she rushed over and picked up the receiver.
"Hermione?"
It was Ron. She'd finally managed to teach him how to use a "fellytone".
"Did you see it?" asked Hermione, without preamble.
"Yeah- listen, I'm sorry I can't go with you today. It's Charlotte's-"
"Yeah, I know. It's ok," Hermione assured him. "It's my turn anyway."
"Right-"
There was a long pause.
"Well, say hi to him from me when you find him," Ron concluded lamely.
"Yeah..." promised Hermione, keeping up the fiction. "I will. I'll talk to you later."
"Bye."
The receiver dropped to her side with her hand as Hermione stood silently for a minute, miles away. But with a sudden start, she came to and quickly dropped it onto the base station. The Saturday sunlight sparkled through the windows of her immaculate flat, mocking her.
It wasn't much, but her flat certainly wasn't a bad place. The kitchen was adequate (she wasn't much of a cook anyway), and the bar type separator between it and the living room ensured that she ate a great many meals standing up. The living area contained a shabby, but immensely comfortable, teal couch and armchair, half a dozen overflowing bookcases, a small table, and a tv.
Her bedroom was quite similar, but with a chair and desk rather than couch and tv. The same profusion of crowded bookcases were there as well, though. An industrial gray carpet lurked on the floor of the living area and bedroom; bland white linoleum in the kitchen and bathroom.
And everywhere, pictures of her, Ron and Harry.
All in all, not a bad place to live to go along with her not a bad place to work job as a healer. She had friends and pleasant co-workers, enough money, and a few causes, but... it just wasn't the same without Harry. The three of them had been inseparable for nearly seven years; they both missed Harry terribly, like a lost limb. Or going blind.
So they searched. They searched the trail of the great mystery of the Boy Who Lived turned The Chosen One turned the Boy Who Disappeared.
It had all been so frantic. So crazy. So unreal. Curses, hexes and bodies flying everywhere and nothing between you and certain death but, as Harry had once put it, your own brain or guts or whatever. And Harry; Harry everywhere. Harry killing Bellatrix, Harry felling countless Death Eaters, Harry saving Ron and Hermione's lives a dozen times over. And finally, Harry and Voldemort. He had even somehow, unbelievably, blocked the unblockable killing curse that Voldemort had sent after her.
A tremendous flash of golden light, a deafening explosion and then silence. When the survivors recovered their sense, Voldemort lay dead. Not only Voldemort, but every Death Eater in sight. But Harry was nowhere to be found. After all the bodies had been identified, still he was missing. It had been five long years since and no one had seen hide nor hair of him, the tabloids notwithstanding.
Most of the time, perhaps every other single instance in history, everyone would have assumed the hero dead. But this time people just couldn't bring themselves to do it. The vision of Harry Potter returning to save them when he was needed once again was just too strong. So he was immortalized and made into myth.
Hermione snapped back to reality, shaking her shaggy head to clear the memories.
Might as well get this over with now, she reflected resignedly. Swiftly, she gathered purse and wand. One last check re-assured her that the sighting had been in Hogsmeade. Two taps of the wand locked the door behind her and set the magical wards.
I'm on my way, Harry. Don't go anywhere.
* * *
Harry Potter froze, his shuffling step quieted as he stared at the back of a black-haired young man striding briskly down the street.
He looks just like I used to...
He was not the only one to notice the uncanny resemblance; a crowd had started flocking around the man. He waved them off feebly.
"No, no, I'm sorry," he was saying. "I'm not Harry Potter. Just a passing resemblance. No scar, see? Name's Ernie. Same guy as yesterday."
The crowd collectively examined Ernie's forehead and realized he was telling the truth. Disappointed, they drifted away. Harry's mouth twisted bitterly. If only Ernie knew... Absently, he rubbed the smooth patch of unblemished skin on his forehead where the scar used to be. He started forward again wearily, vague thoughts of setting up shop outside the Three Broomsticks tumbling through his mind. Madame Rosmerta was always glad to see him (or No One, as he went by).
"Harry!" called a breathless and desperately hopeless hopeful voice from behind. "Harry, is that really you?"
Harry turned automatically, as did Ernie.
"No, miss, I'm not..." Ernie began patiently, by rote. But Harry's heart lurched. For, unmistakably, there was Hermione dashing towards Ernie. He immediately turned away, hiding his features. Not that he had need to anymore; between the scar being gone, the bright white hair, several extra inches of height, and a wretched gauntness, he doubted anyone would recognize him now. No one had yet.
"Hey! Hey, mister No One!"
Harry's head jerked up and he spied a tousled-headed young boy running towards him.
"Hi there, Colin," Harry greeted the grimy child, trying to dredge up a smile. The boy's clothes were old and ragged and did little to conceal his thinness.
"Are you gonna play? Huh huh?" demanded Colin. "Can I have a song?"
"Um, yeah-" answered Harry slowly. "I am. I'll be ready in twenty minutes or so right over there." Harry pointed towards an area in front of the Three Broomsticks.
"Aw, cool!"
"Yes... yes, very cool," Harry echoed, then knelt by the boy. "Listen. Run along now and give this to your lovely mother. When you get back, I'll be starting."
"Thanks, Mister No One!" exclaimed Colin, eyes wide as Harry pressed a Galleon into his hand. "I'll be right back!"
Colin sprinted off, the Galleon clenched tightly in one small fist. Harry sighed and climbed heavily to his feet. Hopefully that Galleon would buy him and his mother some new clothes and a few square meals.
"That was very kindly done," a voice said quietly, directly behind him. Harry jumped despite himself and whirled to find Hermione behind him with an unreadable expression on her face.
"Oh... it was nothing..." he mumbled, casting his face down. "Nothing at all..."
"Well, then it was the kindest nothing I have ever seen," declared Hermione. There was a short pause, then:
"I'm Hermione."
I know, thought Harry silently. But he said, automatically taking her outstretched hand, "I'm No One."
"No One?"
"Yes, that's right," Harry confirmed.
"What an o- have we met before?" Hermione asked slowly, frowning at the back of Harry's hand. Quickly, he withdrew it and stuck it in a pocket.
"You look familiar," continued Hermione.
"I, er, don't think so. I wouldn't have forgotten someone as charming and lovely as you," Harry improvised. He wasn't exactly lying. But she kept frowning for another minute. At last, she shrugged.
"Is your name really No One?"
"Yeah..." Harry had thought it appropriate at the time. He had been the Chosen One. Now he was No One.
"Well, um, No One," Hermione coughed. "Did I hear that boy say you were, er, playing? Um, music?"
"Yeah, that's right. Madame Rosmerta kindly allows me to set up outside the Three Broomsticks here and gives me free drinks."
Hermione was regarding him thoughtfully, chewing her lower lip. Harry was gripped by a strange mix of emotions. On the one hand, he was glad that she hadn't realized it was him and nervous that she might. But on the other hand, he was stupidly hurt that she hadn't. What did I expect? I'm trying not to be recognized.
With a start, he realized Hermione was talking again.
"I- I could really do with some music now. Would you mind if I stayed and listened?"
"Um, n-no. Not at a-all," Harry stammered, taken aback. "I'll, um, just get my stuff ready.
Confused, and a bit throw by the turn of events, Harry hurried across the street. With a wave of his wand he conjured his instruments out of thin air; an acoustic guitar, a bass, a set of drums and a synthesizer.
* * *
Hermione watched, wide-eyed, as the man (No One, he called himself) picked up the acoustic and started playing a few random notes softly. He then looked at each of the other instruments in turn; the bass floated up in the air, unsupported, and plucked out a warm-up; the drumsticks twirled for all the world like an invisible drummer was there, and the keys on the synthesizer depressed themselves.
Disappointed as she was at yet another false Harry trail, Hermione couldn't but help being fascinated. The man had to know how to play all of those instruments to do what he was doing. And- no, surely not! He couldn't be meaning to play every part at once? He'd have to be a genius!
But it seemed that he did. Already, a crowd had materialized as if out of thin air and started cheering; obviously, he had played here before. He must really be good, thought Hermione. All subsequent thoughts were driven from her head as he started to play.
It was slow and mournful; it was faster and louder, then furious; it was soft again, with a heartbreaking strain of hopeless melancholy. The man made the crowd feel every emotion that went into his music.
When the first song was done coins showered at No One's feet. Hermione found herself throwing an unheeding handful. No One had an odd expression on his face; it almost looked self-mocking and a bit nauseated. But he bowed and gestured; the coins flew up and tumbled end over end to the poorest of the poor standing in the street. It was something Harry would have done, Hermione thought. He had never cared about money. In fact, the more things he had gained, the more he had shared. But without another pause, No One began playing once more and carried Hermione's thoughts away.
Hermione did not know how long she listened with tears in her eyes. The music was inside her, it knew her. It spoke of her whole trail, her and Harry and Ron, towards Voldemort. From the first day they met to the last day she had seen Harry and every adventure in between. Of the laughter and tears they had shared.
Finally, as it grew dark, No One finished. A moment of hushed silence followed, but was quickly broken by tumultuous applause. Ho bowed again, then vanished his instruments with a flick of his wand.
Hermione stood rooted to the spot for a full minute and saw him eye her sideways with a frown. She blushed, but stumbled towards him as the crowd dispersed.
"That-" she croaked. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "That was amazing! Beautiful..."
"Thank you," No One said quietly as he bent over to scoop up a few stray coins near is feet. "Thank you very much."
"How- how did you know?" whispered Hermione.
"Know what?" he asked from the folded up stance, puzzled.
"Know how I-" Hermione started, then her mouth shout with an audible click. Quick as a viper, her hand shot forward and fastened onto Harry's arm. Or, more precisely, the wrist above the hand she had frowned at earlier. Written in faint white scars on the back were the words I must not tell lies.
Slowly, she looked up, disbelief and joy etched in her face.
"Harry?" she whispered. "HARRY!"
-->