Title: Only Once
Pairing: Harry/Hermione, Ron/Luna
Rating: PG
Multi-Chaptered short-fic
Summary: There are some questions you should ask only once… and when you do, you should make them count.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended with this work. No profit is being made from this work. The characters involved in this fiction are the property of Jo Rowling. What she does with them is her own business. What I do with them is mine.
A/N: Many thanks to Mollywobbles. Your enthusiasm and general good sense have really made a real impact on this fic. Thank you for your gentle reminders to keep me writing. And to Sierra, your candor, grammatical prowess and overall thoroughness help me maintain the devotion I have to my work. Ducks and daisies, ladies.
To my readers, I hope that you enjoy! And so, I present:
Only Once: Chapter One
Hermione put the finishing touches on that day's stack of reports. She'd been there since seven that morning and she was quite ready to head home.
"Hermione, do you know where the file went on Jarryl Farker?" Sarah, her research assistant, asked.
"Remind me which one he is?" Hermione replied wearily, as she started rifling through the stacks of papers on her desk.
"He's the one on the first floor who has a terrible aversion to light, but isn't a vampire?"
"With or without the memory loss?" Hermione queried, closing in on some papers haphazardly perched on a filing cabinet.
"Without," Sarah replied, stooping to replace some papers that had just tipped off the edge of Hermione's desk.
Hermione looked up and brushed her hair out of her eyes, seemingly unaware that she had just smeared ink along her cheek and temple. "You know, I don't think he was bitten by anything." She sighed. "I sent that to Marcus yesterday afternoon. You'll have to check with him," she stretched tiredly and looked to the clock on her wall. "You should have been home two hours ago!" it said in no uncertain terms. "Look, I am going to send those time-loss cases upstairs and then I am going home."
"Go home now, Hermione," Sarah said, worriedly. "If you keep working so hard, you won't be any good to us. I can take them upstairs," she offered.
"No, no, don't worry about it. I still have things to clear up a bit, and I need to talk to Healer Fontane anyway." Hermione paused, looking Sarah in the eye. "I will go home. Crookshanks won't forgive me if he doesn't get fed tonight. I have to take care of the man in my life," she kidded.
"Alright, Hermione," Sarah chuckled, "just make sure you don't keep him waiting too long. If I didn't know better, I would think you transfigured your desk into a bed each night and stayed here."
Hermione's eyebrow went up in mock-interest. "Now, that's an idea." She rolled her eyes. "Please, Sarah, I already have a mother and Molly Weasley to make sure I take care of myself. I'll manage."
"Good night, then," Sarah said, smiling and calling over her shoulder. Hermione just caught the flash of arrow-straight hair as her assistant rounded the corner out of Hermione's office.
Fifteen minutes later, Hermione was packing up the work she was going to take back to her flat, when she heard a soft breath in her doorway. Startled, her head snapped up.
"Harry!" she cried in surprise. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Not too long, though you've been here long enough, by the looks of your clock," he said reprovingly.
Hermione groaned. "Not you, too. First, my mother, `You never stop by anymore, your father and I worry.' Then it's my assistant, and now you. The clock was a nice gift once upon a time, but I am thinking about sticking to a wrist-watch." She turned to look at the clock on the wall that Mrs. Weasley had given her as an office-warming gift. "Get home already!"
Harry gave a slight chortle and shrugged.
Hermione paused from packing her bag and really looked at him for the first time since she'd realized he'd been standing there. He looked nice in a wooly jumper fit for the fall season. She smiled.
"I'm sorry, Harry, how are you? I've not seen you in a while, and it seems ages since you stopped in at St. Mungo's. You look well."
Harry smiled and the deep-set dimple on his left cheek came out. Hermione felt less stressed immediately. She loved it when he smiled like that; he looked younger and less marked by the war.
"I'm pretty good, actually. I had a good day at the academy, and I ran into Lupin on my way home from the Ministry."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, it looks as though he and Tonks are expecting," Harry said with a smirk.
At this, Hermione did completely stop what she was doing. "Are you serious! This is wonderful news! Werewolves are supposed to be…" she trailed off.
"Sterile, I know." Harry said, as awed as Hermione seemingly was. He cleared his throat, perhaps uncomfortable talking about something so close to Lupin, but the next moment, she saw that he was smiling. "However, he said that if at first you don't succeed…"
"Try, try again? Oh, Harry," Hermione groaned.
He threw his hands up, "I'm sorry-it's what he said, and you can't expect me to keep something like that to myself!"
Hermione laughed. "I should hope not! Though I bet he thought you could handle it. Besides, most fathers-to-be aren't thinking about much else besides the baby." She grabbed her satchel, wove her way through the papers and files to Harry, and with a wave of her wand, extinguished the lights and walked out the door.
As he reached to take her bag from her, she turned her face up to him, smiled brightly and said, "I guess this means that love can conquer all."
~*^*~
They walked down the nearly deserted corridor to the lifts. "So, Harry, what brings you all the way downtown? I would have guessed you'd be at dinner at the Burrow by this time." She glanced at her watch, which read a quarter to eight.
"Not tonight. Molly and Arthur had another engagement, Ginny is out with Lavender for something or other, and I learned the hard way you don't drop in on Ron and Luna without an invitation."
"You and me both," she said with something like disgust. "There are some things you just shouldn't be privy to." She paused. "So, I see," Hermione said as she bumped him playfully with her hip. "Consolation prize again, it seems."
"Yeah, I know," he said dejectedly. "I'm going to have to talk to the judges about the quality of the prizes! This is getting ridiculous!"
She laughed again as they reached the elevators. "So, you want to talk? What's up? I'm walking home tonight, as it's nice out-well, I think it is, anyway. It was chilly this morning."
As they were waiting, Harry tilted his head and smiled. The next thing Hermione knew, Harry had placed two fingers on her temple, and she felt the tingle of magic along the side of her face.
"Ink," he said simply.
There were other people in the elevator, so they were quiet as they rode down. As they stepped out of the hospital and onto a deserted street, Hermione zipped her jacket up and shoved her hands into her pockets.
They spent the first few blocks catching up. Hermione was doing some fascinating research in her department. They were seeing a lot of bizarre cases there in Diagnostics, all linking back to the Great War and ending after Voldemort's final demise about four years ago. She wanted to blanket the cases as Great War Syndrome, but St. Mungo's was reluctant to, for a number of reasons-namely, she believed, because they were still afraid of Voldemort, even though she had seen him die with her own eyes. Almost saw Harry die, too, she reminded herself, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, as if to reassure herself that he was still there.
Harry was busy tracking down Death Eaters for the Ministry-he had just gone out on assignment and gotten back the day before. He couldn't tell her a lot of particulars about his job, but she knew some, as several of her patients on the fourth floor fought with Voldemort rather than with the Order. They had to get them presentable for trial, and then they were going to Azkaban, which was now guarded by the Armored Ourusai of the north. Though Harry wasn't sure, he could feel something big coming down the pike. They weren't anywhere near the end of catching all the Death Eaters who had sided with Voldemort during the war, but progress was progress and Harry felt confident.
As they approached Hermione's building-to both Ron and Harry's pleasure, she was conveniently situated above a pizza parlor-they stopped. Harry handed Hermione her satchel and put his hands into his pockets. She tilted her head and looked at him questioningly.
"Do you want to come up, Harry? Crookshanks always loves seeing you."
"No, thanks, Hermione, maybe another time." He scuffed the toe of his shoe along the pavement. "Yes, I stopped by St. Mungo's to see you. I missed you, and I thought I'd drop in to surprise you."
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows together with slight confusion. "Well, you did, Harry. It's always nice to see you. I've been so busy lately; sometimes I forget what day it is."
"It's Wednesday," he said lightly.
"I suppose it is. What's the real reason you stopped by?" Hermione asked, her heart beating faster and stopping at the same time. "Is everything alright?"
Harry looked up from the pavement and stared frankly into her eyes. Hermione couldn't read the expression on his face. Then the look was gone. "Everything's fine," he said reassuringly. "It's just-" he shook his head. "What are you doing on Saturday?"
"I was going to sleep in and then head over to St. Mungo's, but I am not scheduled to. What's going on?"
Harry absorbed this information and then nodded his head. "I think I'm going to ask Ginny to marry me," he said matter-of-factly. "I want to surprise her with a ring and everything, and I thought you were the best person to get advice from on which ring to buy. You guys have talked about that kind of thing, right?" he rocked back on his feet.
Hermione felt as though she just had the air sucked out of her lungs. She stared at him blankly for a moment. I really am going to be alone, she thought. She shook the ridiculous thought out of her head. "That's really great, Harry!" she said with happiness that she somehow did not feel. "We talked about it a long time ago, of course, when we were at Hogwarts, before you started going out, actually. After that," she began.
"Life got a little busy, I know." Harry said. "So, will you go window shopping with me at the jeweler's in Diagon Alley? Is Saturday ok?"
She had to end this conversation. She had to get upstairs; she had to get to her cat. "Yes, that's fine, Harry. Saturday, then, is it?"
He smiled brightly. "I'll be here to get you at nine." He dropped a kiss on her forehead and started walking away. "Night, `Mione!" he called happily over his shoulder. The next second, she heard the tell-tale pop, and he was gone.
She stood there for a moment staring at the place where he had been and then squared her shoulders. Crookshanks would be worrying.
~*^*~
After a small dinner, a cup of tea and reviewing a few of the cases she had there on the fourth floor, Hermione settled into her four-poster bed, Crookshanks curled at her feet. She fluffed her pillows and turned over. She tucked into a ball. She tried her stomach; she tried her back. Nothing was working, though she was so tired. All she heard was Harry's voice, over and over again telling her with his intense eyes, "I'm going to ask Ginny to marry me." Why this was bothering her, she had no idea. The entire wizarding world expected it shortly after the fall of Voldemort. Over the course of their Horcrux hunt, there had been a few articles in the Prophet about Harry's flaming romance with Ginny Weasley while at Hogwarts. Hermione suspected that people had leaked information for money.
Hermione herself had wondered why it had taken them four years to get around to it. Ron and Luna barely waited six months. And, why did Harry think it was going to be a surprise? After so long, wouldn't Ginny be expecting it? Hermione certainly thought she was-at least that's what she had taken from their conversations together. In all honesty, it was the perfect end to a long fairy-tale. Harry had indeed saved the world from evil and had every right to claim his princess bride.
She closed her eyes and waited, willing her body to wind down. No good. This was getting ridiculous. She crept out of bed, so as not to disturb Crookshanks, and padded her way to the bathroom, flipping on the light. The soft glow accented her wild hair and--by this time, she thought nearly requisite-dark circles under her eyes. Hermione Granger: aborigine hair, always tired looking, always brilliant. She laughed in spite of herself. She started to gather her locks into a braid, in the hope that it wouldn't tangle through the night. Inevitably, it would happen, but it was worth another shot.
The sleeve of her robe slid down to reveal a long ink smear on her forearm. She finished her braid, which now rested between her shoulders and began to scrub her arm, wondering when she had managed to mark herself during the day. I am doing this a lot lately. She looked up and touched her cheek, looking for traces of ink. Her skin tingled, as if Harry had just Evanescoed! the ink away again. His wandless magic ability was exemplary; when she compared it with her own, she felt like a third year student, even though she had no trouble with it at all. She could to wandless magic, but it was more trouble for her than it was worth.
Harry's hadn't always been so good-it had matured out of necessity. She could still remember the night he finally mastered it. It was a stormy night, which matched his mood in an eerie way. The three of them had had a close call earlier that day when they stumbled onto a pack of Death Eaters in Hogsmeade, which was deserted at the time. Harry and Ron had lost their wands in the following struggle. A lot of curse-dodging and feeble wandless attempts ensued. They would learn near the end, a few years later, that Voldemort had ordered his minions not to seriously harm them-that was a pleasure he had reserved for himself. Lupin and Moody showed up almost immediately after Hermione sent her otter scuttling to find help. Hermione took their direct orders and Accioed the boys' wands. Ron had been injured-not badly, but they didn't know that at the time. Ron and Harry Side-Alonged to their safe house and after Ron was looked over, Hermione let loose on Harry as she never had before. She knew he was angry with himself for the sham of a defense they put up that day-he was pacing in front of the cold fireplace.
"Is this your idea of surviving, Harry Potter? Because it seems to me that you're not too serious about it!" she screamed, completely ignoring the fact that she had just given Ron a sleeping draught.
Harry looked bewildered. "What are you talking about?" He shook his head, as if he wasn't hearing her correctly. "I think we `survived' just fine, Hermione."
All she could remember was her terror at their helplessness. The three of them had been working on all kinds of defense tactics when they weren't searching for Horcruxes-the biggest one, Hermione had been pushing all along, was wandless magic.
"You can't use your wand against Voldemort, Harry," she had constantly reminded him. "You have to do this!"
"I know quite well that I have to do it, thanks," he would reply, as frustrated as she that he couldn't get the hang of it. Days of practice weren't sufficient.
Hermione was shaking with anger-the stresses of this grand adventure were finally getting to her. "Either you figure this out tonight, Harry, or you call it quits, as far as I am concerned! This whole thing has been a failure if you can't master this one thing!"
Harry had been so angry with her; she'd never seen anything like it, not even when she had his Firebolt taken away. Part of her had wanted to quail under his gaze, but she was so upset, she reflected now, that she could have hit him like she hit Malfoy in their third year. At that point, she had really felt as though they were at a crossroads-either he did it, and could defend himself, and attack the way he was going to have to, or he threw in the towel. In her mind, he had shown enough magical aptitude that he could do almost anything-as she had believed of Dumbledore.
Harry glared at her and ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. He shook his head and turned his back to her. He began to pace once again, but Hermione was not impressed. She put her hands on her hips and literally tapped her toe in impatience.
He stopped as if he was going to say something, but Hermione could tell he was trying to check his temper. Finally, he blurted out, "You think I don't want to be able to do this? You think this is some kind of game to me?! Believe me, Hermione, I am so sick of you nagging me about this day in and day out! As if I don't have enough to worry about!"
"Well, then!" she yelled in a great huff, "If you're so sick of me harping at you, why don't you do something about it! If anyone can do it, Harry, it's you! Or, was that some kind of fluke-like the Half-Blood Prince? Perhaps all the to-do about you is just for nothing! Harry Potter? Big! Bloody! Deal!" she practically screamed at him, now with angry tears running down her cheeks.
"You don't think I can do it!" he shouted back, the accusation sharp in his voice.
"I'm starting to have my doubts, Harry! What was that, today? I'll tell you what it was; it was too bloody close for me!" she pointed accusingly at Ron, who rested fitfully across the room. "Next time that could be me!" She took a steadying breath-she could feel her voice start to slip from all the shouting. "Next time, that could be you! And if something could have been done to save your arse, do you think I could deal with that? Now, either you get it together, or you don't, but I have to know now, Harry! You've got to get serious!" she brushed her tears away violently.
Hermione recalled how the room felt charged after that statement, and the next thing she knew, the room had grown dark-the candles had extinguished themselves. Outside, lightning had clapped down and ignited a dead tree not far from the house. Though startled, she had advanced on him, poking him in the chest. "This is not a game!"
"I KNOW IT'S NOT A GAME!" he shouted. Hermione was thrown across the room, the effect of Expelliarmus. She landed on her rear and skidded to the wall. Harry was next to her in an instant.
"Hermione? Hermione, I'm sorry! Are you alright?" he asked, his eyes glowing with worry, his face illuminated by the light of the flaming tree outside.
Hermione pushed herself up shakily on one arm. "Harry, I didn't have my wand on me, just now," she said weakly.
"I forgot," he said simply, helping her up.
"But you did mean to disarm me?" she said with caution.
Harry's eyes focused on hers in thought. "I did."
Hermione threw her arms around him in relief and started to cry uncontrollably. Harry didn't know what he did or said, besides the obvious: he disarmed an unarmed witch. He started to apologize, and she just cried harder.
"Don't apologize, Harry! You did it! You did it! I knew you could!" she started to laugh.
Harry pulled her back and looked at him for a moment. "You think I did? Really?"
"You thought about disarming me, and then it happened, right?" she asked, wiping her eyes.
A grin broke across his worried face, something Hermione had almost forgotten the sight of, it had been so long. "I did. I am sorry, but I did!" He wrapped his arms around her and gave a loud victory whoop. Hermione started to laugh and soon began to cry out of relief again.
Harry smoothed the tears away from her cheeks. "Don't cry, `Mione! Look!" He waved his hand, wordlessly Summoning a box of tissues for her use. Hermione laughed, and for the rest of the night, he tried to cheer her up with wandless magic. She, in turn, cried off and on throughout the evening, feeling freer than she had since before she found out Harry was the Chosen One. He stood a real chance against Voldemort. They stood a real chance of winning. Hermione, for the first time, felt like she had a right to hope.
Crookshanks slipped into the bathroom and rubbed his squashed face up against Hermione's hand, urging her to come back to bed. She had slid down to the floor in remembering that night, as if exhausted all over again from something that had been in all respects draining. She had slept well that night, something she wouldn't be able to claim again until after Harry was left standing alone in the ruin that was Godric's Hollow, and Voldemort was nothing but ashes.
Hermione stood and scooped her cat up. As she walked out of the bathroom, she caught her reflection again in the mirror and tilted her face, touching her cheek where Harry had proven once again that he could, indeed, do wandless magic. Her cheek tingled where he touched it. She smiled in spite of herself, grinned stupidly, really, and she flipped off the light, her reflection disappearing in an instant.
^^^^
To be continued.
-->