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. I'm just borrowing them for a wee bit.
A/N: Again, props go to my betas, Sierra and Molly. Your support has meant a lot to me. Who could sail away with no wind, ladies?
To my readers: Thank you for your warm response for chapter one! I only hope you enjoy chapter two as much!! And so, I present:
Only Once: Chapter Two
The days at St. Mungo's following Harry's visit turned out to be some of the most distracting and frustrating for Hermione since she started work there three years ago. For starters, a patient in her wing died early Thursday morning. She had been in the war against Voldemort, and though deeply afflicted by a retching curse, she managed to weakly tell the junior healer on duty that passing through the veil would be a cake-walk compared to all that she'd suffered. Hermione understood that dying was a part of life, and she'd once heard tell that it was the next great adventure. However, it was difficult to watch a once-youthful woman die bit by bit over a stretch of time. From a purely academic standpoint, her inability to undo Voldemort's damage frustrated her to no end. Most of the patients on the fourth floor these days would turn up out of the blue, with a time-lapsed curse with no precursor, almost like a virus. She'd seen enough of dying to last a lifetime, and yet somehow she found it necessary to stay at St. Mungo's.
Apart from work, Crookshanks got into a fight with the neighbor's pit bull, doing some damage to his ears and, Hermione thought, spraining his poor bottle-brush tail. She felt so swamped at work that she couldn't take him to the magi-vet herself. There was no way her mother could take him to a Muggle vet, and Mrs. Weasley was always busy watching her grandchildren. So, her poor Kneazle-mix was on a pain-killing kibble until further notice. He was all right, but Hermione wanted to get him a check-up. He was at least 16 years old, after all.
Personally, Rob Brownbeck, a thirty-something wizard from the board of directors there at St. Mungo's, was finding more reasons to stop by her office again. They'd tried a few dates a couple years ago, but at the time Hermione felt uncomfortable dating someone who was in a position to fire her. She liked him well enough; he was perfectly amiable and intelligent. Part of her wondered if she ought to take him up on his hinting… The more she thought about it, the better it sounded, actually. If she were to itemize what she wanted in a wizard, he pretty much fit the bill. He was intelligent, talented, and had pecan brown eyes that sparkled. It was the first thing she noticed on a man. Maybe she should take a little break and try having a social life for a change…
By Friday night, her head was swarming with her life, and she realized she'd not thought of Harry or ring shopping with him at all. This was another straw on her proverbial camel's back, and she spent half the night curled in her armchair in front of the fireplace. It was perfectly normal to assume that Harry and Ginny would marry. He was what she'd wanted since almost the beginning of time, it seemed. Hermione once heard Harry say that he felt normal with Ginny, and if she knew Harry like she believed she did, that was what he wanted most of all.
The hard part for Hermione was trying to imagine Harry and Ginny being married. Yes, they'd been together since Hogwarts, everyone just understood that they'd be together forever. And, yes, it made since. Everyone, it seemed, was married. Ron was married. Luna: married. Neville: married. Parvati: married. Lavender: married three times! Goodness, even Harry was going to take that plunge. Hermione knew marriage was a special case, but Merlin! She hated being last in everything, and yet, there she was. She was single, twenty-seven, living with a temperamental Kneazle, prematurely gray, and though Rob seemed to be interested, she couldn't imagine being married to him. She couldn't imagine being married at all, so where was all this dissatisfaction with being single coming from?
She finished her chamomile tea and ran a hand through her tangles, pulling her hair before her eyes. In the firelight, her hair did not appear streaked with gray at all, but rather ethereal, if she thought about it. Her graying literally happened overnight during their Horcrux hunt. Hermione had the misfortune of touching Hufflepuff's cup without protective charms, and her hair had streaked right then and there. It was an easy price to pay considering the lesson they learned in the process. Voldemort's bits of soul were volatile, and precautions were taken after that point. Her scalp burned for days, large pieces of hair even falling out. Ron was horror-struck for a while, but Harry, bless his heart, tried to tell her it was still beautiful, even though she knew much better. It grew back in time, and as far as she could tell, it hadn't gotten much worse, though this week deserved a few gray hairs.
She scooped Crookshanks up and took him to bed. She needed to get a few hours' sleep before Harry came to get her to go to Diagon Alley. She couldn't give very good advice if she were sleeping through the whole ordeal. The chamomile hit the spot; she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
~*^*~
Crookshanks was kneading Hermione's stomach-an absolute demand for attention. Hermione barely opened one eye in protest of the ray of light that shone through the split in her bed drapes. She turned that one eye to Crookshanks and interpreted his look as three things. First, that he was hungry and that she had no excuse sleeping when he was in such a condition. Secondly, that she had morning breath, judging by the wrinkled nose featured on his squashed face. Third, that it was a quarter to nine, and that she had, indeed, overslept. How Hermione garnered the time from the look on her cat's face was beyond her, but he was such a clever thing.
Hermione groaned and threw her legs over the side of her bed, her toes barely touching the floor in a blind search for her slippers. Upon finding them, she walked equally as blindly to her bathroom, picking her robe up along the way.
Halfway through brushing her teeth, she heard her door buzzer. Poking her head out of the bathroom, she checked her alarm clock. It was 8:50. Harry was early. She considered leaving him out there in the cold chill while she got presentable, but the human part of her told her she couldn't. She buzzed him up, conjured some tea, and shuffled back to her bathroom, toothbrush still at work in her mouth.
"Oversleep much?" Harry called from her living room. Hermione heard him help himself to some tea. She grunted in response.
"Stuff it, Potter. Morning isn't my forte," Hermione grumbled from her room.
"Oh! And don't I know it!" he laughed, voice now alarmingly close. "Don't think I could handle Scary Hermione Granger?"
Hermione whirled around, clutching her robe around her throat. Harry looked nonplused at her bedraggled appearance. At least I don't have morning breath anymore, she thought with some reassurance.
"Why don't you wait in the living room like a good boy while I shower? I promise I won't be long. You're the one who's early, after all."
"What, and miss this? You got up five minutes ago, didn't you?" Harry asked, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Hermione started the shower and came back out to grab a towel and retort, "For your information," she glanced at her alarm clock, "seven. Go sit down, or go feed Crookshanks; he's not eaten yet… But be careful of his tail, I think it's bothering him."
Harry just stood there, eyes twinkling, but at what Hermione had no clue. She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.
"All right!" Harry cried, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Keep your shirt on." He laughed and walked toward the kitchen.
Hermione emerged not ten minutes later, completely scrubbed clean, hair dried and Sleekeazed into ringlets rather than shocked frizz, and dressed warmly for the weather. She walked into the living room to find Harry in her favorite chair, petting Crookshanks in his lap and gazing at the various Muggle and wizard photos on her walls. He smiled when he saw her.
"Ready?" she asked, grabbing her satchel.
"Yeah. Sorry, Crookshanks. Time to go," Harry said apologetically, slowly standing to give the cat time to escape.
As Hermione grabbed her keys, Harry held the door open for her. She walked past him onto her landing, looking at him expectantly to shut the door. Sunlight was reflecting off the lenses of his glasses, so she had no idea what he was looking at.
"You know, the gray in your hair-it's really cool like that, like you meant for it to be there," he said with admiration.
Hermione scoffed. "I most certainly did not mean for it to be there. I look like Dumbledore. Believe me, Gin and I tried everything in the book to get rid of it," she shook her head exasperatedly, unknowingly showing her hair off more to her advantage.
Harry laughed and pulled the door to. "Well, I don't think you look like Dumbledore. I mean, look at this," he reached for a curl near her cheek.
Hermione stiffened as his fingers brushed her jaw. Her skin felt like it was on fire. He held the curl out for inspection, and she found she wasn't looking at her hair at all. "See how it's striped, with brown and almost white? I think that's great. You know, even Tonks would have trouble changing her hair to look like this."
Hermione swallowed, forcing her heart to beat slower. She shook her head again and Harry dropped the curl. "That's probably because my hair is cursed, and she wouldn't want that. Come on, now," she said, going down the stairs. "Don't you have an appointment with the jeweler?"
"At 9:45."
"Then we better get going, Mr. Potter."
~*^*~
As Hermione was catching her breath from their half-sprint through the passageways of Diagon Alley, she lost it again when they stepped inside Bandy, Borks and Tuttle. She thought she'd had some kind of inkling just how up-scale Harry would be shopping--after all, he was an heir of some consideration. She had thought wrong, however. They were the only people in the shop. She thought she might go blind from all the glitter, and she felt markedly underdressed for the occasion in a turtleneck sweater and jeans.
An oily man with a comb-over and out-dated dress robes swooped down upon them. "Ah, yes, Mr. Potter," the jeweler said with the requisite glance at Harry's forehead. "Welcome. Please, come inside. My name is Gerard Mickelwaite," he said, offering a limp hand to Harry. His goatee did little to disguise his nearly missing chin. He turned to her and, upon noticing his gold teeth, Hermione shuddered.
"And, who is this flower? Is this…?" Mickelwaite trailed off, obviously believing Hermione was his fiancée.
"I'm not-" Hermione began, only to be cut off by Harry.
"This is Hermione Granger." Harry turned to her and smiled. "She's my best friend."
"A pleasure to meet you, my dear." Mickelwaite clapped his hands twice. "Well, now, let us begin, shall we?" He led them through the display room full of choker necklaces, and up a narrow staircase, the entire time muttering security incantations. Hermione could feel anti-burglary wards go up behind them as they passed. At the top of the stair, they were ushered into a showroom, the likes of which Hermione had never seen, and was likely never to see again. Walls of stones and gems glittered, making it appear as though the room were composed of pure light. She heard Harry gasp beside her. She was glad she wasn't the only awe-struck person in the room. Afraid to brush up against anything, she stuck by Harry's side. She resisted the deep urge to grab his hand, as if to anchor herself in such a dizzying room.
"A nice effect, isn't it?" Mickelwaite tittered. He snapped his fingers, and the room dimmed a considerable bit. Now it was filled with merely a million twinkles, something Hermione felt she could handle.
For the next hour, the man droned on about the qualities of each gem, of each cut, the charms one could have inlaid in a stone or band, and the kinds of insurance one could purchase. Hermione knew she should be fascinated, considering gemology and its implications on everyday magic, especially alchemy and medicine of old… There was so much history to it. Concentration was not with her that morning, however.
"Miss Granger? Miss Granger?" Mickelwaite was trying to get her attention.
"Hermione," Harry nudged her softly.
"Oh! I am sorry, there's just so much to look at," she said sheepishly. She was there to help Harry, but instead she was collecting wool. She gave him an apologetic look.
"I was just about to suggest to Mr. Potter here that we do an element-to-skin match test, to see which alloy will compliment both your skin complexions. You want matching sets, I am assuming: bands and the engagement ring?"
Hermione's eyes got as round as saucers. It was a good thing she was looking into Mickelwaite's greedy eyes, because she didn't think she could look at Harry. She could feel a blush burning on her cheeks.
"Mr. Mickelwaite, sir, I believe you misunderstood Harry. I'm not his fiancée. I'm just his best friend." She swallowed. "He's going to marry Ginny Weasley."
Mickelwaite blinked in slow motion, absorbing that piece of information. "Oh! Well, I thought…" he shook his head. "No matter, no matter," he said. He cleared his throat and turned his full attention to Harry. Hermione could tell that the jeweler would not be paying her any mind for the rest of the appointment.
"Mr. Potter," he simpered. "We can do the same process with a photograph. Do you carry a picture of your beloved in your wallet, sir?"
Harry's brow furrowed, as though he didn't know the immediate answer to that question. He leaned into Hermione to remove his wallet from his back jean pocket. Flipping it open on the table, Hermione saw the obligatory bank notes and a bank-draft book. On the other side, was a photo portfolio in the Muggle style. The first photo was of Ron's eldest baby, Molly Jane. She gurgled from a swath of blankets. Harry flipped that over to reveal one of Ron and Hermione in fifth year at a DA meeting. Colin must have taken the picture. The two of them were laughing-Ron had just used Rictusempra, sending her into a fit of giggles. The next was a miniature of his parents on their wedding day. Lily looked radiant with flowers in her hair, and Harry looked so much like James that Hermione had to do a double take.
That's what Harry and Ginny will look like on their wedding day, I imagine, she realized.
He flipped the next page, and she saw a blotch of red. The members of the Weasley family were all crammed in front of the fireplace, each with a requisite Weasley sweater, and each looking very happy. Facing that was picture of Hagrid, his face filling the paper. He was smiling, and his bushy beard a snarl of knots. Harry turned the last page, and Hermione was surprised to see a snapshot of herself. It must have been taken at Hogwarts, because she was in a squashy armchair, over-large book in hand and, she thought with regret, her hair was still all brown. Why Harry carried that around with him was beyond her. She looked up at him quizzically.
Harry shook his head. "Some boyfriend I make," he said with humor. He pulled the Weasley family portrait out and handed it to Mickelwaite. "I don't even have a snap-shot of the witch I'm going to marry." He gestured at the picture. "She's the one with red hair," he said, amused as though he'd made a clever joke.
Mickelwaite looked confused as he viewed twelve people, two of them blonde-Fleur and Luna, and one brunette-Penelope. Hermione took pity on him and pointed Ginny out. She was sandwiched between Fred and George, all of them smiling broadly. The jeweler smiled in acknowledgment. "She's lovely, Mr. Potter. Unfortunately, this specimen is hardly large enough…" he trailed off. Realizing, perhaps, that he worked on commission and it was in his best interest to make a sale that morning, he added, "However, we can do a general coloring for Miss Weasley."
Harry nodded and replaced his wallet. Hermione was distinctly aware of him as he leaned into her space. "That's fine. I know I can leave that in your hands." Harry paused. "I also hope I can trust that nothing of our meeting will be in the Daily Prophet-or any other paper. You see, I mean for the proposal to be a surprise. It will hardly be that if she reads about it in tomorrow's society pages."
"Of course, sir. Your privacy is our first interest." Mickelwaite cleared his throat. Hermione thought he might choke on his tongue. "Miss Weasley's eyes are green, then?" he asked, peering at the picture.
"Er…no, they're brown. Dark brown."
"And, is she very freckled?" he asked, inspecting closely.
Harry looked to Hermione for help. She could tell he had no idea what `very freckled' was supposed to mean. That kind of thing fluctuated with the seasons. Hermione gave him a non-committal shrug.
"No, not very. Average, I would say."
Typical, Hermione thought, stifling a chuckle.
The jeweler stood, Hermione and Harry standing with him. "If you would like to look over our gems and rings while I go and do the analysis… Yes. I think a pale yellow-gold will do nicely for the two of you, but it's always nice to be sure." He bowed deeply in Harry's direction and backed out of the room.
Harry whistled lowly the second the door shut and the odious jeweler was gone. "I had no idea someone could be that long-winded!" He regarded her carefully. "I didn't like how he ignored you after he found out you were `just my best friend.'"
Hermione brushed it off. "I wouldn't worry about it, Harry. I'm not the reason you're here today, and paying homage to me won't give him his commission." She shrugged. "Let's get started."
They walked over to the first display of rings, none of which were in glass, but Hermione knew they were heavily guarded just the same. Hermione moved a tag on one of them and almost fainted from the number of zeros she saw following the initial figure.
"These are all base prices, I assume. Each charm after that adds a price," she whispered, in wonderment of the gems.
"Yeah," Harry said, running a hand through his wild hair. "I had no idea this would be so complicated. Charms, clarity, carats, color… It's enough to drive a man mad! Wouldn't it be alright if I just got her one of these?" Harry asked, gesturing vaguely at the case of rings.
"Well, you could," Hermione said, thoughtfully. "However, if you have one made, it will be hers, and no one will ever have the same design. It will be individual."
"All our rings are unique, Miss Ranger," Mickelwaite said, practically sliding his way to Harry's side. "Mr. Potter, if it's not any inconvenience to you, the analysis will take a bit longer than expected," he apologized, casting his eyes down.
Harry looked at him as if he'd never seen anyone quite like him. "No, that's fine, Mitchellwhite. Miss Granger and I will browse some more, collect more ideas, if you will," he said with more than a touch of sarcasm. Mickelwaite had the good sense to leave them be.
After he left, the two of them burst out laughing. Harry sat down in a chair, took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. He looked quite different without his glasses on. Hermione stopped laughing abruptly and wiped the tears from her eyes as well.
Harry shook his shaggy head, replaced his glasses and stood back up. "Well, let's get this over with, shall we?"
They kept looking at stones, and Hermione could tell that Harry was getting edgy. She had to admit, she found it a bit tedious-after you saw one amazing gem, you felt like you'd seen them all.
Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair again. By this time, it almost all stood on end. "Hermione, I have no idea what I should get Ginny-what if she doesn't like it?"
Hermione resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. "Of course she'll like it, Harry, you'd be the one giving it to her, how could she not?"
He shook his head in exasperation. "It's just-I want to do this right, it's the kind of question you should ask only once in your life, you know?"
Hermione laughed, and Harry looked menacingly at her. "Oh, Harry. You don't actually think I am laughing at you, do you?" He gave her a blank look. "Well, I am not. I just don't think you understand. No unmarried witch in her right mind would turn you or your proffered ring down. You've got nothing to worry about. You could make her a grass ring-Ginny would wear it."
"So, what do you think she would like?" he asked, ignoring her last statement.
Hermione stuck her thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans, walking past a long display case. "Well, if I remember correctly, she wanted something sparkly."
"Check, we certainly have sparkly," Harry said glumly. "That really narrows it down."
"And," Hermione said with irritation at his response, "I think she said something that would change color, slowly shift, I guess. I think the only reason I remember that is because I had never seen such a thing, being Muggle-born. Lavender or Parvati had a catalogue that showed it, though."
Harry chewed on that thought for a while, wandering over to a case of rings that were indeed slowly changing colors. "Anything else you remember?"
Hermione thought for a bit. "No, but on a personal note, I don't think Ginny would want a stone so large that it would be vulgar. However, I don't think she would say no to a slightly vulgar ring," she teased.
Harry smiled at her comment, looking at the rings in front of them. The smile soon faded, however, and he appeared to be deep in thought. He turned to her, leaning on the case, regarding her thoughtfully.
Hermione looked right back at him, until she felt the color creeping up her neck. "Yes? I was teasing, you know."
"What?" he looked puzzled. "Oh, yes, I knew that. I was just wondering what kind of ring you would want."
Hermione laughed uncomfortably. "Well, we're not here to shop for me, now are we?" She turned to the case, looking at the rings but not really seeing them.
He turned back to the case as well, and edged close to her, their shoulders nearly touching. Hermione felt her skin start to smolder under her thick sweater.
"But, supposing we were," Harry began in all seriousness. "Suppose," he paused. "Hey," he laughed. "Lighten up. It's a hypothetical situation, after all."
Hermione laughed, but she didn't feel like joking anymore. Harry continued, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Suppose I wasn't me, but some other bloke wanting to marry you, whom Ron and I did not scare off, or maim, or chase away, or torture, then maim and then chase away…" Hermione laughed in spite of herself. "Suppose this guy was here now, and suppose," he said, "he wanted to pick out this fabulous ring just for you…that you that you were going to l-o-v-e," he teased, waggling his eyebrows at her.
Hermione wasn't amused. "Harry, this is ridiculous. There's no potential, no hypothetical anything! This is pointless; we should be looking for something for Ginny, not me."
"Hermione, there is no reason to get defensive. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, and you know it," he apologized.
She smiled weakly. What has gotten into me?
"But, really. If you were in this situation for you, what kind of ring would you want?"
Her mouth went bone dry. She swallowed and replied, "You know, I haven't really thought about things like that. It's not like I do a lot of dating, Harry, and the prospects don't look too good."
"I can't believe you don't know something." Hermione swatted him on the arm. "Why don't you think about it-and that will help me make a better decision, okay?"
Hermione looked skeptical, but she turned toward the display cases with a new eye. She tried to imagine actually being in this situation… some wizard shopping for a ring… for her…
"This one, or something similar," Hermione said after a bit, calling Harry over to her.
"Which?"
She indicated a white gold ring with a marquise-cut diamond. Harry leaned in to pick it up.
"Don't!" she cried.
"Why not? I have permission, I made an appointment. Try it on." He handed it to her.
Hermione's jaw dropped. "I don't think so," she said with unease. "It's bad luck to wear someone else's ring."
"Well, it's not anyone else's right now," Harry said easily.
Hermione couldn't think of any other reason to resist. She slipped it on; it was warm from Harry's hand. The ring went on and sized itself once it settled on her finger. That's clever, she thought. She looked at it on her hand, and wished that she had filed her nails before coming. Some clear varnish wouldn't have hurt, either. Harry held her hand in the light to admire the sparkle of the stone. Her hand went clammy and she resisted pulling out of his grasp to wipe it on her jeans.
"So, why do you like it?" he asked casually.
"Well," she cleared her throat. "It's part of a set, the companion ring is right there. No, don't get it," she said, as Harry reached for it. "We're talking engagement rings, not wedding rings. No, please. I already feel uncomfortable, Harry," she pleaded. He squeezed her hand, as if to reassure her it was alright.
She took a breath and continued. "My mother wears a set like that, where it makes the look of one ring. When I was little, I would ask her, why not a band like my dad's? She said an engagement was a promise, and a wedding or marriage was the fulfilling of that promise, which she saw as the same thing, so she liked the idea of the one-band look." She sighed. "Um… I also like how simple it is, and I like white-gold." She looked at her hand, brown from the sun, and wondered if yellow gold would suit better.
"It glows on your skin, `Mione," Harry said quietly.
"I'm sure that's just the light in here. Everything is supposed to look appealing. Anyway," she said, extracting her hand from his and removing the ring to place it back among the others, "it's simple and non-frilly. When have you ever known me to be frilly? Frizzy, I would agree with." Harry laughed.
She adjusted the ring on its velvet stand. "You know, chances of me marrying someone well-off enough to frequent places like this are really slim. I could never expect something that amazing. It must be at least two carats, and the cut is exceptionally fine."
"You never know, Hermione," Harry said seriously. "I have found that it's good to be prepared. It's good that you have an idea in mind, for when the time comes," he said kindly.
She sighed, starting to wish for the return of the repulsive Mickelwaite. "I don't know, Harry. My life seems too busy right now, you know? And, I've always thought that when I married, it would be a marriage of true minds, like how Shakespeare wrote it. I don't want someone to change me, and I know I wouldn't be able to change him," she shrugged, staring at the ring that was just on her finger. "That comes from within. Love takes hurdles and struggles head-on, and never wavers. If I have to wait my whole life for something like that, I will."
She could feel Harry looking at her, and she wondered if she had said too much. She knew she had a problem with letting her mouth get the better of her. As if on cue, Mickelwaite came through the door.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, we have the results. I was correct when I said the light yellow would go admirably with both of you. Have you chosen a stone, a cut? We can have it ready for you in two weeks, sir."
He looked at Hermione for a moment longer before giving Mickelwaite his attention. "Yes, I believe I have," he said, walking over to the color-changing stones. Hermione stayed where she was, hopelessly staring at nothing at all.
~*^*~
They stepped back out into the noon sunshine. Hermione smiled at the change in atmosphere-glad to be out of the shop which ended up being very confining. Harry had signed all the paperwork and would return in about two weeks' time to pick up the ring.
Harry took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. "Remind me never to talk with that guy again. When I signed the bank draft for the ring, I thought he was going to pass out in ecstasy. You'd think he'd be used to working with people with a couple of galleons to throw around."
"Well, if it's any consolation, Harry, you don't carry yourself like you're worth half of Gringotts," Hermione said reassuringly, threading her arm through his.
"I suppose not," he said, kicking a stone across the alley. Diagon Alley, which had once been very prosperous-Hermione could still remember Florean Fortesque's flourishing business, how Eyelops Owl Emporium squawked from shops away, how street vendors used to peddle their questionable goods… was still picking up from the ruin it had endured throughout Voldemort's terror campaign. It seemed that everywhere she went, she was inevitably reminded to what Voldemort had done. Fred and George's shop, she noted happily, was as ostentatious as ever.
They walked along, watching the October shoppers as they bustled along with packages. They reached the Leaky Cauldron, and it looked fairly humming with business.
"Would you like to have a bite?" Harry asked. "I owe you, after you skipped breakfast and sat through all that with me."
Hermione thought the idea of lunch was very tempting and something she wanted to avoid all at the same time. Her stomach betrayed how hungry she really was. Harry's eyebrow shot up.
"That sounds really nice, Harry, but I think I'll pass on this one. I've been putting off taking Crookshanks to the vet-you might have noticed his ears and tail. Since I've got the afternoon to do it, I should go. Thank you anyway," she said, trying not to look guilty.
"A rain check, then? Maybe I can pull you away for lunch sometime next week?"
She smiled, "That sounds good."
They walked through the Leaky Cauldron on to the busy London street. Parting ways, Harry leaned down and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "See you later, then. Thanks for your help today."
On impulse, she hugged him. It had been so long since she'd really spent any time with him, and she was looking forward to their lunch next week. "You're welcome, Harry."
She turned and walked down the street, not feeling much like Apparating at all.
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