Disclaimer:
All characters and references pertaining to the world of Harry Potter are the property of J.K. Rowling, and are used here for non-profit entertainment purposes only.
Author Notes:
I apologize again for the posting delay. I've put my own writing on hold for the last month so I could devote the whole of my literary energies to the cause of helping a good friend whose Muse has been on holiday. Now that that pleasant but daunting adventure is done, I can once more attune my ear to the ramblings of my own Muse. My dilemma has been that I'm hearing so many voices of late, I don't know which one to heed. As a result, I am currently plotting at least four fics, one of which will (if I am successful) be my first novel-length work. That one is a post-HBP, semi-AU story that I am striving to complete before Book 7 is released in mid-2007. That seems like a long way off, but in J.K.'s words, time has a disobliging habit of speeding up when deadlines rear their ugly heads. A "between novels" story loses its validity if the following novel comes out before it's finished. I have certain theories I want to put forth before the final bell rings, after which all speculation will become moot.
I don't want to forget to thank everyone for the kind reviews of By Whatever Means Necessary. I should mention that the essence of that story, Ginny's illicit potion-making, is NOT what I truly believe. I merely used that for entertainment purposes to give the story a sharp bite (and to exorcise a few personal demons in the midst of my HBP funk). I'm saving my REAL theory for my novel, so you can see why I want to finish it before the truth is revealed in Book 7. I expect to emerge looking either like a genius or an idiot (Ludo Bagman can give you good odds on the latter).
Between now and then, I hope to put up some shorter stories to fill the gap, a mixture of old and new. Honey-Boy falls into the former category. It was plotted before OotP was released, and finished after. I held it back, being less than satisfied with it compared with my later works. I didn't want to abandon it, but I felt it needed some fine-tuning before I was comfortable turning it loose on fandom. I'm shooting for weekly posts so I can put the best face possible on each chapter before placing them at the readers' mercy. I hope the result is ultimately readable. I'm sure everyone will let me know, one way or the other.
A final disclaimer: I have never been comfortable writing Harry as an aggressive prat with a short fuse. That description is better suited to a certain redhead we all know. As a result, some have inferred that my Harry's lack of confrontationalism makes him a wimp. Since when is manliness directly proportional to aggressiveness? I prefer to write post-Hogwarts Harry as a mature adult who, having spent his youth in constant battle, now chooses harmony over conflict. That is not to say Harry is without passion. Rather, maturity has taught him to temper his passion with reason, allowing his emotions to serve him rather than being his master.
As for Hermione, I write her here as she has been portrayed in the first five books, a forceful personality composed of rawhide and steel, but with a heart full of tenderness and love. Faced with a challenge, she responds as she ever has, with determination and tenacity. If that is the Hermione you prefer (as opposed to the ridiculous characture we endured in HBP), this story should be up your street.
Thanks for being here. I hope you will find the journey worth the effort. I have nine chapters in which to convince you that your valuable time has not been wasted. Let's get started, shall we?
Hermione's shriek of surprise was so sharp and piercing that it sent a peacefully sleeping Hedwig exploding from her perch in a chaos of wildly thrashing feathers and hoots of alarm and indignation. The point of Hermione's quill snapped, sending a spray of ink over the parchment on which she had been writing and making a long rip down the center. Her head shot up and back with the ferocity of a bullwhip, her dark eyes spitting flames and her bushy brown hair fairly crackling with electricity.
"Harry James Potter!" she spat venomously. "What in the bloody hell is wrong with you? Look at this mess! I've been working on this report for over two hours, and now it's ruined! Well? Say something!"
"All I did," Harry said weakly, sounding like a child caught with his hand in the biscuit tin, "was put my arms around my wife and give her a hug..."
"Sneaked up on me, you mean," Hermione said accusingly. "No warning at all, just creep up like a bloody Death Eater and grab me -- "
"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly, his eyes not meeting his wife's. "I wasn't thinking."
"Too right you weren't," Hermione said as her head snapped back to her writing desk, which was wedged into a corner of the cramped parlor, there being no room in the small flat for a proper study. She flashed a disgusted look at her ruined report before crumpling the parchment savagely and pitching it in the waste bin. She opened a drawer and fumbled around for a moment, all the while muttering to herself in a manner not unlike Argus Filch, the sour-faced caretaker at Hogwarts. Her hand emerged at last, clutching perhaps a dozen scraps of parchment upon which tiny, hasty-looking scribbles were discernable. "You're lucky I still have my notes..." she grunted without looking up, "...but all that work...damn..."
When Hermione gave no indication of turning to speak to him directly, Harry left the parlor without a word, certain that his absence would likely not be noticed for a while, if at all. He paused in the doorway, looking back in a last, forlorn hope that Hermione might turn her face his way. But she was already bent over a fresh roll of parchment, her quill scratching noisily -- angrily, Harry thought. Sighing heavily, Harry walked the short distance to the front door, took his cloak from the peg above the umbrella stand, and walked out into the drizzling rain.
Hermione sat at the small kitchen table, her head bent over the steaming cup of tea cradled within the circle of her clasped hands. Lifting the cup, she took a small sip and immediately grimmaced. Without looking up, she reached for a small earthenware pot at the center of the table. Lifting the lid, she dipped her spoon inside and transferred a large dollop of honey to her cup. She stired mechanically for a few seconds, the spoon ringing melodiously against the inside of the cup. She inhaled the sweet pungency for a long moment before taking a large gulp and expelling a deep, satisfied sigh.
A soft whooshing sound burst without warning from the parlor, followed by a voice announcing, "Call for you, my dear."
Rising from her chair, Hermione entered the short hallway, still stirring her tea. The wall on her right was broken by two doors, opening onto the loo and her and Harry's bedrom, respectively. A small door on the left concealed a utility cupboard, and beyond that, shouldering the front door, was an open archway leading to the parlor. Passing the hall mirror as she entered, Hermione said, "Thanks."
"Not at all," said the mirror cheerfully as Hermione passed through the doorway. "Happy to be of service."
Hermione made straight for a low table around which were gathered two upholstered chairs and a small couch. At the center of the table, surrounded by a scattered assortment of magazines and folded pages torn from the Daily Prophet, was a small fire grate. It was cleverly disguised to mimic the appearance of a metalwork dish, such as might be used to display flowers or candy in a Muggle house. Now, it was filled with magical flames that bathed the room in a warm, friendly glow. In the heart of those flames, entirely unaffected by the heat spilling out to fill the center of the parlor, was a face that broke into a smile as Hermione approached. Though the rippling waves emanating from the grate tended to obscure a caller's features from any mean distance, there was no mistaking the soft brown eyes, the freckled nose, and the halo of long, red hair which seemed part of the very fire itself.
Hermione planted herself on the small couch, setting her cup upon a well-thumbed copy of Which Broomstick, and smiled wanly at the caller.
"Hi, Ginny. What's up?"
"Not you, that's for certain," Ginny said, arching an eyebrow meaningfully. "Even through the flames, I can see on your face that something's wrong."
Hermione let her eyes fall from Ginny's and onto her cup, which she began to stir indifferently with her spoon.
"Do you feel like talking?" Ginny asked tentatively. "I can pop straight over. I promise, you won't be interrupting anything."
Hermione sat perfectly still for a long moment before nodding. "Hang on."
Banishing her cup to the kitchen with a wave of her wand, Hermione promptly Summoned a small wooden box from the nearby mantel and set it before her. Tilting back the lid, she surveyed an assortment of tiny crystal phials arranged in neat rows. Most were open and empty, but a select few were magically sealed with glass stoppers. Hermione extracted one of the sealed phials from its niche and held it before her. It contained a single human hair, quite long, which reflected the flames of the fire-com like burnished copper. Hermione tapped the glass stopper with her wand, and the phial began to glow softly after the fashion of a Muggle light bulb, the long hair acting the role of the filament. Almost instantly Hermione heard the familiar soft popping sound that announced the Apparation or Disapparation of a magical being, and she looked up to greet the new arrival with a welcoming smile.
"I have got to learn that Charm so we can use it at the Burrow," Ginny said as she seated herself in a chair so that she was facing Hermione across the table. The flames had disappeared from the fire-com so that, to the uninitiated, it was once more indistinguishable from the simple decorative centerpiece it was designed to imitate. "This is so much handier than Apparating to the door and knocking -- especially on a day like this," she added, nodding toward the rain-splattered window with a pantomime shudder.
"Quick as your mum says it's okay, we'll have lunch in the back garden and I'll teach you the spell," Hermione said. "It was only recently approved by the Committee on Experimental Charms," Hermione said. "Being a Ministry employee, I was among the first to learn of it. It's not even in the textbooks yet, though it will probably be in the next edition of Advanced Charms. But you won't have to go to Flourish and Blotts. I learned the spell directly from the Ministry files. Quick as your mum says it's okay, we'll have lunch in the back garden and I'll teach it to you."
"Of course she'll agree," Ginny said. "Why wouldn't she?"
"She may not want to risk the Burrow's safety with a new Charm," Hermione said. "Nearly everyone in the family was a member of the Order of the Phoenix. You all had a part in the defeat of Voldemort, and with so many Death Eaters still on the loose, no one would fault her for being a bit cautious."
"Considering that you and Harry did more than anyone in the fight against Voldemort," Ginny said, speaking the name quite easily now that its owner was no more, "I think your example will convince her. Of course," she added with a grin, "I'll still have to learn the Charm."
"Oh, you'll get it easily enough," Hermione assured her. "Granted, there is more to it than just the incantation. There's a very tricky rune you have to etch into the air with your wand in order to place the Charm over your house. It took me three times before I got it right."
"In that case," Ginny laughed, "it'll take me about eight."
"Rubbish," Hermione responded with a throaty chuckle. "I saw your N.E.W.T. scores. You finished second in your entire year."
"But you finished first," Ginny grinned, at which Hermione smiled briefly before her face fell into a sort of expressionless neutrality. To Ginny, it was as if a book had been slammed shut before she could divine its contents, and she gave Hermione a searching look before which the latter retreated slightly.
"Um," Hermione said a bit awkwardly, "care for a spot of tea? The kettle's full, and I can have it on the boil in a moment. It's real leaf tea," she added as an incentive, "not bags."
Ginny seemed to consider for a moment before saying, "I have a better idea. Let's pop out, shall we?"
"Oh?" Hermione said curiously. "Where?"
"A little place I've been dying to show you," Ginny said with an evasive smile.
"A tea shop?"
"Um...no," Ginny said somewhat guiltily. "You remember my new beau -- the one I told you about a fortnight ago? He's from Toronto, and he's introduced me to coffee. I've kind of got the habit of late. Up to five cups a day now."
"Barbarian," Hermione sniffed disdainfully, trying her best to look reproachful. Unfortunately, the twitching corners of her mouth were her undoing, and Ginny chirped with laughter, Hermione joining her a moment later.
"So, um, where's Harry?" Ginny said without warning, catching Hermione completely off guard. "Down at the pub having a pint?" She added this last with a smirk. It was a source of constant amusement to their friends that Harry would not touch alcohol in any form -- not even a dinner wine -- and always declined to accompany any of his mates who might feel the inclination to "raise the wrist" at one of the ubiquitous public houses dotting the village. "Seriously," Ginny smiled now, "he having a lie-in? Good day for it...bloody rain...or is he out in the shed polishing his Firebolt and wishing Quidditch season would hurry up and get here?"
Hermione went very still, hesitating for a long moment before saying in a very soft voice, "He's...out." When she did not elaborate, Ginny suddenly remembered the reason for her visit.
"What is it, Hermione? Are you and Harry having...problems?"
"No," Hermione said quietly, her eyes not meeting Ginny's. But even with her own gaze averted, she could feel her friend regarding her with the intensity of a basilisk. "I don't know, Ginny. Merlin help me, I really...don't know."
"Talk to me," Ginny said in the imploring voice of the sister she had long since become in Hermione's eyes -- and in her heart. "I can't imagine anything coming between you and Harry. Why, he can't even speak your name without it sounding like a prayer of thanks. I've never seen anyone this side of my parents who love each other as much as you two. Unless...is there something I don't know about? Are you...have you..."
"No," Hermione said quickly, still averting her eyes. "I still..." Her hands were before her, hanging in mid-air as if trying to grasp something just beyond her reach. At length she curled her fingers into small, tight fists which shook slightly, frustratedly. Without warning she bolted up and began to pace the small parlor.
"I...snapped at Harry this morning," she said plaintively. "I was immersed in my Ministry report, and he sneaked up behind me and grabbed me."
"He grabbed you?" Ginny said, an edge of condemnation in her voice. "Men -- horny prats, the lot of them -- "
"No," Hermione said quickly, her shoulders slumping slightly. "He...he hugged me..."
"He hugged you?" Ginny said, more loudly than she'd intended. The disapproval in her voice was more pronounced, but Hermione sensed that it was no longer directed at Harry.
"And I think..." Hermione said softly, her words seeming to come without forethought, "...I think he kissed my hair..."
"You think?" Ginny said sharply, rising now to stand before Hermione, her eyes flashing. "Your husband of less than a year -- the man who worships the ground you walk on -- tries to express his love for you, and you're not sure if he kissed you?"
"I was busy!" Hermione said petulantly. "My work at the Ministry is important!"
"More important than your husband?" Ginny demanded quietly.
"That's not fair!" Hermione said defensively, rounding on Ginny. "Your dad's been with the Ministry for more than thirty years! Are you going to tell me that, in all that time, he's never been so busy that your mum's sometimes felt like she was wearing an Invisibility Cloak? There was never a time when he couldn't tuck you into bed and kiss you goodnight because he had something more important to do?"
"He's been busy," Ginny said evenly. "Loads of times. He's been called in at all hours of the day or night, more times than I can remember. But he's never been too busy to remind us how much he loves us -- or to let us remind him of the same thing."
Unable to remain stationary, Hermione was beginning to resemble a caged tiger. She paced the floor with short, jerky steps, her hands swiping at the air as if swatting at a cloud of invisible midges.
"If he wasn't always underfoot twenty-four/seven," she snapped exasperatedly. "Training interval for Quidditch season is six weeks away, and he's so restless, so full of pent-up energy! He bounces around the house all day, day after day, like a loose Quaffle. I swear, there are times when I just want to scream!"
"It sounds like you wish he'd gone on with his Auror training instead of chucking it all," Ginny said.
"No," Hermione said without hesitation. "I know why he did it. He'd seen so much killing by the end, he couldn't bear any more. In the last days of the war, it was like every Curse he uttered hurt him as much as the one he struck down. And the prospect of him facing Dark wizards in life-or-death situations for the next hundred years was hardly one I relished -- not after nearly losing him so many times in the past. I didn't want him to end up like Alastor Moody, scarred inside and out by what he'd seen and done. I was glad when he chose a career where the most dangerous thing he'd have to confront was a Bludger hit by an opposing Beater. And when he's playing, all the misery of those hard years seems to fall away and he looks happier than I've ever seen him. But when he's not playing," she grunted through gritted teeth (which action would have made her dentist parents wince), "he can be the world's biggest pain in the arse.
"And this report -- " she said with renewed defensiveness, " -- it's important -- the head of department needs it on Monday -- and it was almost finished when -- "
Hermione's hand swiped at the air angrily.
"I -- shouldn't have been so short with him, I know," she sighed heavily. "He was only trying to -- anyway, I got my notes out and started to write out my report again -- and when I got up later to make myself a cup of tea, I saw that his cloak was gone. I suppose he's gone off with Ron again, like last night and the night before that..."
"Come again?"
Hermione stopped her pacing and stared at Ginny, whose face now wore an expression of mild confusion.
"I told Harry straight off that I'd be busy with this report all week," Hermione said, her inner fire now noticibly dimmed. "I told him to find something to do with himself until I was finished on Monday. Anyway, he told me that Ron and Luna'd had a row, so he's been taking Ron all around Muggle London all this week, showing him the sights, trying to distract him -- Ginny, what is it?" For Hermione now saw that Ginny's face had gone white as parchment.
"Hermione," Ginny said slowly -- almost fearfully, Hermione thought, "Ron and Luna patched things up
ages ago. I haven't seen you in so long, I forgot to tell you. Luna's been at the Burrow every night this week.
Mum's teaching her how to make some of Ron's favorite foods, and he's been right there spot-on to sample
everything and pass judgment on it." Ginny paused, swallowing dryly. "I don't know where Harry's been
all week -- but he hasn't been with Ron."