T H E . C O N S T A N T
Summary: One famous birthday, ten expensive tickets, eighteen candles, thirty guests, and innumerable
teenage angst.
Timeline: Post-Seventh Year future fic.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various
publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc.
No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
It was to be a birthday to stow away in our memories, a celebration of the transition not only into adulthood but to a life of normalcy as well.
Hermione had been arranging all the details for months, since the beginning of the year and up until now, the last remaining hours before the festivities were to begin. At seventeen, the confidence I had seen during her first visits to our house had matured to an elegant grace, and though I knew she undoubtedly felt nervous and excited (and everything in between), she carried herself with lovely poise.
It would become, she had announced to me the previous Christmas, one of the happier days of Harry's life - a birthday party (his first) to introduce his eighteenth year.
I do admit that I had been wary of the idea at first, both for her sake and his. No ward could have concealed all of Hermione's energy that she placed in the party, and I worried it might not be as wonderful as she envisioned. For Harry, he had always been so secretive and avoided overt attention, and I didn't know how well he would react to this sort of shock.
Or perhaps I had taken too much liking to them both, and should have given them more confidence. But I had grown to see myself as their surrogate mother, and oftentimes my husband Arthur needed to squeeze my hand or tug fervently on the back of my dress to prevent me from scooping them - Harry, Hermione, and Ron - into my arms, even though they all had much more experience than I did at healing cuts and bruises.
But for matters of the soul, they knew they could forever turn to me for a soothing bowl of soup or a handkerchief to dry their tears. They would forever remain my babies, whether by birth or by love.
"Ron," I heard Hermione say severely from the room underneath me. "If your silly rat doesn't stop pulling down the streamers, I'm going to put a paralysis hex on him."
"Don't you dare!" Ron shouted. Through our thin walls, I could hear the sound of heavy but quick footsteps across the kitchen floor. There was a soft squeak - I guessed Ron had removed his pet away from Hermione's casting range - and then: "Your decorations have been falling down on their own! Don't blame anybody else for it."
Apparently, their differences over each other's pets had yet to be resolved.
A sharp humph followed this accusation. I crept downstairs just in time to see Hermione turn towards the foyer, long brown hair frizzier than usual. She was heading for the front door, and as I continued to inch along behind her, I watched her open the door to greet the newest spout of guests.
Bill had arrived, and to my amazement he appeared to have been taking care of himself. He kissed me on the cheek as I remarked on his hair - which he had allowed to grow longer again - and told him there was a new batch of cookies waiting on the counter.
"Bless you, Mum," he said cheerfully. "You certainly do know how to keep your children rooted at home. Still spying on the kids, I see?"
I gave an indignant sniff and straightened. "Only making sure everything is ready. In any case, the walls needed checking as well. You know how concerned your father was last month that perhaps there was a crack in one of them."
He grinned. "Right, Mum. Where do I stow Harry's present?"
I told him about the secret chamber his father had conjured up for the occasion in our bedroom upstairs, and he sprinted off to see this new creation. A "treasure chest," as Muggles called it, and the named seemed fitting, although all the chests Arthur had found in the non-magic world were ridiculously small and could hardly hold our present. So, using the Muggle framework and a soft dip of the wand, it had been transformed into a bottomless trunk for the steady stream of gifts guests had brought with them.
My attention was redirected when I heard the faint words, "-- Draco! I'm glad you're here."
To my chagrin, I felt the hairs on my skin tense involuntarily, as if a great blast of wind had hit me full in the face. This was ridiculous, of course, because it was a former classmate just like Seamus or Neville or Parvati; but at the same time, none of those students had the last name of Malfoy.
I could say freely now that I was extremely pleased with how well Draco had become friends - or at least strong comrades - with Harry, Hermione, and Ron. After all the incessant teasing and crude remarks during the first five years, there had been an unexpected acceptance and silent pact formed during their sixth. I had never learned the full details except from a breathless Ginny, and for that reason I was still waiting for one of the older teenagers to explain what had occurred. All I was sure about was that Draco had stood up defiantly to his father, refusing to go along with one of his plans to malign Harry and instead had offered his own help - and his Slytherin standing - to the trio.
Oh, I doubted the confidence was completely there yet - after all, there was Hermione's status as a Mudblood and Draco had been raised to loathe her "kind."" Comfort probably still came in sporadic bits - like all Weasley's, Ron didn't have the utmost opinion of Draco and I knew it worked the other way around as well.
But I was assured that they had been through enough together to know whom and how much to trust.
I wanted to believe that Draco's presence today was a small indication of how much he truly cared, despite his thin veneer of distaste and snobbishness. A part of me wondered exactly how he had escaped his father's clutches for the day to be seen in both the company of our home, Harry Potter, and a Mudblood, no matter how respected of a witch Hermione was.
Handsome like all Malfoys, Draco was dressed impeccably in khakis and a white button-down shirt that would most likely stay untucked. The casual ways of teenagers, I mused, heightened to appealing limits by wealth and charm. He noticed me as soon as he entered the room, and with well-bred ease he greeted me.
Realizing I was in my most downtrodden of cleaning attire (I had appointed myself of cleaning the house to a luminous shine), I offered my hand gingerly to him.
"It's awfully kind of you to host this for Harry," he said smoothly. "I'm sure it must have been very hectic these past few days, getting ready for everything and everybody."
Feeling ridiculously self-conscious, I snatched my sooty hand away and laughed nervously. "Well, I've had the most knowledgeable of hostesses to order everyone about and to make sure no chandeliers come crashing down."
Hermione smiled sweetly and slipped her arm through Draco's awaiting one. "Oh, Mrs. Weasley, you do know how much I appreciate you and Mr. Weasley agreeing to this. I'm terribly sorry for having everyone barging into your house like this, and making the two of you do all this work."
"Nonsense." I brushed away the compliment with a wave of my hand. "It was the least I could do."
It was the least any of us could do. Harry had waited for too long for this, but I was grateful he had such wonderful friends to give him all the experiences he had lacked for the past eighteen years.
With another smile, Hermione wheeled Draco off to the family room, where she had been trying to create a beach-themed atmosphere for the party, complete with palm leaves protruding from the wall and glistening sand strewn across the floor. I could only guess from her frequent shrieks and loud splashes during the morning that the underwater life was becoming a bit too realistic for her fancy.
I was starting for the stairs when Ginny ran straight into me. We were both jolted by the impact, but reacted quickly enough to steady each other before we fell. As I helped Ginny to her feet, I couldn't help admiring once again how beautiful she had grown during her time at Hogwarts. Whereas in her first year she had been miserable and unbearably shy - and also completely enamored by the famed Harry Potter - she now possessed inner composure and had become comfortable with her own manners.
Her vibrant red hair, the color of tree leaves had their richest in autumn, her sparkling eyes, and sharp tongue had flooded in silently, and it was apparent she had attracted a decent share of admirers. I was only grateful she had Hermione to look up to with reverent eyes.
"Mum!" she hissed, gripping my arm with slightly damp palms. "Was that just Draco Malfoy?"
I wasn't sure by her expression what exactly she was implying. "Yes," I answered slowly, "he just went off with Hermione."
"He what?" she exclaimed.
"He went off," I repeated, accenting this preposition, "with Hermione. I think they're in the family room, working on the decorations."
"Oh." The literal meaning of my response sunk in and her panic disappeared.
A light flush had crept from the neckline of her sea green blouse, although I doubted she knew it was there. Now this was rather a surprise, if I could believe there were still surprises left to be uncovered after all that had happened since my first fateful meeting with Harry at the 9¾ Platform so long ago.
"Were you looking for him?" I asked innocently.
"No!" Ginny flushed to a deep fuchsia and whirled hastily to block my view of her face. "Definitely not. Why would I want to talk to Draco? I need to finish tidying up the boys' rooms; you know how impossible it is to walk from wall to wall through all the clothes and other litter. Let me know if anything important changes."
I did believe my daughter had a slight crush on the youngest Mr. Malfoy. I wasn't quite sure what to make of it, although I wasn't as displeased as I imagined I would be. Naturally, nearly the entire wizarding world knew of her past fixation of Harry, especially when she would walk in an agitated daze whenever they were in the same building, but eventually her initial awe of the history behind his name settled into simple respect and friendship. I also was inclined to believe that Harry valued his friendship with Ron too much to invest in a relationship with his best friend's youngest and only sister.
Draco, however, was an entirely different matter. I would have to watch that carefully. Not suspiciously, of course, but…as any proper parents should.
The front door barged open for the umpteenth time that day, this time inviting in Fred, who barreled in laughing with his long-time girlfriend Angelina, along with Percy, solemn as ever in his Ministry uniform. Fred was demonstrating to the others how he had created an object to look like an ordinary balloon, but on command it could explode, only to shower all those in a five-meter radius with a thick covering of flour.
I made a mental note to stand as far away from the decorations as possible that evening.
At the mention of the word 'evening,' I became conscious of the time. The clock behind me indicated it was already one, and that Harry would be arriving in a short two hours. Ron had been given the crucial task of making sure that his best friend - who was out testing new brooms with George - didn't Apparate himself into the house any sooner. George had been given the second crucial task of making sure Harry didn't Apparate himself into the house any later, or else we'd also be caught off guard and the surprise would be mostly on our part.
There was a giant sploosh from the family room and I hurried over to see what had befallen the duo. Hermione was standing on one of our more tattered sofas, looking crestfallen as water poured from the lamp on the coffee table. So far a decent amount of water had pooled over the carpeted floor, and it was spreading quickly into the adjacent rooms. Draco stood, unnerved, as the clear - and most likely cold - liquid splashed against his pants, creating an ever-growing dark line on the well-pressed khakis. Instead of sharing Hermione's horrified expression, he simply laughed in a highly unreserved, un-Malfoy manner.
I reminded myself that we were not defined by our last names. Not Granger, not Weasley, not Potter, and certainly - from recent developments - not Malfoy.
"I'm venturing that this is not supposed to happen?" He was smirking, a very common expression for him, with his arms crossed and water lapping at his shins. "I can imagine it now - Harry opens his first present and oops, he's swallowed by a whirlpool. Hoping to drown him in your charm?"
The pun was obviously intended, crude as it was.
"How immensely clever of you," Hermione glared, tugging at the ends of her untamed waves. "I hope it didn't hurt to come up with that. Perhaps I can summon a charm to make your brain the size of your mouth, and you'd be ready for the world. Honestly Draco, can you please be serious for just a minute? I don't want Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to soon discover that their house has been immersed. Do you know how to stop this before it causes further damage?"
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you the one who knows all the charms ever created?"
"I can think of several," Hermione sighed, "but it doesn't look like I have my wand at hand, do I? It's upstairs in Ginny's room. Yours is already within grasp. It would be so much simpler if you -" She sighed again. "Simple and Draco Malfoy in the same sentence? Whatever was I thinking?" She stepped down from her perch and primly inserted a foot into the water. "I'll just do it myself."
Rolling his eyes, Draco uncrossed his arms, retrieved his wand from the coffee table, and waved it lazily at the mess. Moments later, the water had stopped gushing, and I stared, amazed, as it all appeared to seep into the floor without leaving so much as a stain. Even his expensive shoes and Hermione's leg had dried, although they were a bit sunken into the soft sand grains.
"How about you let me take care of this part," he said wryly, "and you make sure Weasley doesn't pull out the entire front yard. If I didn't know better, I'd bet he couldn't tell the difference between gnomes and grass."
"Goodness, I've forgotten about the lawn! I was supposed to put a charm on the gnomes to make them behave for tonight." Alarmed by this consideration, Hermione hopped off the couch and headed for the door. "You better make this perfect," she whispered fiercely, spinning to face him. "No jokes on Harry tonight."
Draco tweaked one of her curls in jest. "Me? Purposely make Potter's life abysmal and awkward? What gave you such an idea?"
I could almost see Hermione bristling as I stood from my perch by the doorway, and I'm sure Draco could sense it just as well from his position only inches away.
"Alright," he acquiesced suddenly, "he deserves a few hours. I'll give him that much."
A dazzling smile bloomed. Standing on tiptoe, she planted a quick peck on Draco's cheek. "Thank you."
He appeared to be caught off-guard by this action - a very rare state for him, I guessed - and this consequence caused Hermione to grin wider before running outside.
I watched this all unfold and found myself chuckling rather than feeling concerned.
From another one of Ginny's famous "Condensed Files of Hogwarts Rumors and News, Part XI," I learned that a slight rustle had arisen between Hermione and Draco during their sixth year. It had never progressed past the insurmountable rumor mill, though it did create quite a stir amongst other students when the two - one a Gryffidndor and the other a Slytherin, no less - spend so much time in each other's company. It was possible to consider them together (they did manage to match each other, wit for wit and charm for charm), imagining them as anything more than platonic caused me to fall into a fit of hysterical laughter.
Ron had moaned endlessly after Ginny's emission, griping about the horrors of spending non-classroom time with Draco. Secretly, however, he looked awed by the notion more than anything else.
Walking quietly up the stairs, I wound my way into Arthur's study, which had a spectacular view of our decidedly unspectacular lawn. It was a general family admission that this room overlooked the ruddiest part of our house, and because no one wanted it to be their bedroom, it was given by default to Arthur. Wiping listlessly on a windowsill, I was far more interested in the conversation below me, where Hermione and Ron were hurriedly chasing after the pesky gnomes and attempting to throw them into a plastic tub.
They looked to be failing miserably.
"How are things faring inside?" Ron asked.
Hermione bit her lip, or I thought she did, as tree branches had cast shadows over her profile. "Fine, I hope." The upward breeze carried their words straight into my inquiring ears. "Ginny's all but readied the upstairs, your mother's been an amazing help preparing all the food, and Draco's putting finishing touches on decorations." She blew out a breath, sending her bangs flying. "I gave up on the streamers."
"Are the guests arriving when you told them to?"
She began to list off the names of those who had already come, current and former Quidditch players, Head Boys and Girls, classmates, and other friends met along the journey. I didn't know how she managed to keep all this information organized in her head.
"I'm impressed you decided to invite Cho Chang," Ron said, pulling distractedly at the tip of a scuttling red hat. "Very dignified of you, I must say."
Despite his innocent tone, I knew - as did Hermione - there was no a trace of the quality in the question. At his age, and up until the day he was to be married, innocence in Ron would be few and far between.
"Why wouldn't I?" she asked, with equal naïveté, although hers was brimmed with honest confusion.
"Of course you would." His tone was placating, but amused nonetheless. "But simply considering her past relationship with Harry, and your past relationship with Harry…" He trailed off, leaving her with narrowed eyes and me with immense curiosity.
"What past relationship with Harry?" Hermione was now neglecting all other objects, animate and not, on the lawn and was blinking furiously at Ron.
"Did you just suffer from sudden amnesia? I thought the whole wizarding world knew about Harry and Cho Chang's famous affair two years ago. Witches Weekly couldn't get enough of the story, trailing them around Quidditch games, dances, and other activities. You hated it, remember, all those interviews they wanted us to give about him." Ron peered at her. "Are you the real Hermione?"
"Of course I am!" she cried, exasperated. "And of course I noticed. I'm sure anyone the gossip about them was audible all the way at Azkaban or Timbuktu." She shook her head. "It's a Muggle place. I meant, what about my past relationship with Harry?"
"Ah." A mischievous smile flickered over Ron's face; his freckles had begun to blaze in the sunlight, their color slightly less russet than that of his hair. "Has there been one?"
"No," she replied hotly.
He shrugged. "My point precisely."
Hermione gaped at him, mouth slack, until she pursed her lips firmly. "I'm going to check up on the food. Please tell me you'll be done with this during this millennium."
I nearly screamed as I felt a hand brush up my elbow.
"I see now where Ginny has retrieved her snooping abilities," a familiar voice said teasingly.
I swallowed a curse. "Arthur Weasley, don't you dare frighten me like that again!"
"And horrify your son to one of his oldest friends?"
At this, I peered worriedly below me, where Ron was hunched over a bush. "Do you think I should talk to Hermione or Ron? They have been sniping at each other so much today."
"No more than usual."
"But -" I blew out a breath. "This is Harry's birthday, Arthur, and they both want to make it perfect, more than anyone else. Don't you think it's a bit troublesome that today, of all days, they can't seem to agree on one single thing?"
My husband looked at me with dancing eyes. "Oh Molly, I assure you, there is nothing to fret about."
"No?" I asked, not quite as confident.
"All I know is that today is one of those in which our son does know something the magnificent Hermione Granger does not. And from the looks of it, he is using it wholly to his advantage." Off my raised eyebrow, Arthur elaborated. "Her true heart's desire."
My mouth formed an interested little 'o' as the implications dawned me. I remained in a pensive stupor for some time, thinking about this.
In my heart of hearts, I suppose I always knew there was no way to avoid this - for Harry and Hermione to realize that they would never be satisfied with the love of friendship. There was a time when I had so hoped for Hermione and Ron to take notice of each other, which did occur for much of their fifth year. They attended functions together, creating quite a flurry of activity at the thought that the trio had been broken into a "couple and the third wheel."
Harry had never mentioned a word about it, of course, but from my outside perspective it wasn't difficult to notice the shift in his gaze whenever she walked in the room, or the white lines of strain in his neck if she was with Ron. But that relationship had not lasted for long, as by the beginning of their sixth year much of the passion had faded, if it had been there in the onset.
So the two settled to being simply the best of friends, and the balance of the three was set again. Ron had written a letter to me very soon after this all took place, probably to make sure I didn't throw a fit, knowing my disappointment after Ginny had announced she was no longer infatuated by Harry.
"We were talking one day about a movie Hermione had wanted to see, one of those mushy love stories. I was surprised Hermione even gave it consideration, and she became quite livid, crowing about finding true love and gazing into another's eyes and all that. It was sickening, really.
You know that Hermione is too smart for her own good, and noting my reaction, she asked me what I wanted for myself in the future, about families and all that. I gave the best answer that I could - considering I hardly ever thought about this subject - and asked her this question in return. It turns out Hermione is an utter romantic, hoping for the entire 'soulmates' thing. Sounds a bit like Ginny, doesn't it? Must be why they're such good friends.
The more we discussed this, the more we realized how different we were. About everything - interests, dislikes, fears, hopes, ideals, academics. We realized how often we bickered; in the beginning, maybe it was us being thick or whatnot, but I don't think I'd want to spend the rest of my life doing that.
That night, we decided to call things off. Our relationship, I mean. No more boyfriend and girlfriend. You can imagine how much clamor it caused at Hogwarts, since we had somehow become the star couple of the school. Actually, I'm sure Ginny has owled you about it already.
Don't worry Mum, she didn't break my heart. It's just…I wasn't in love with Hermione any more than she was with me, and in the long run, we'll both we happier as staying friends. I love her dearly, and I know she loves me unconditionally, nothing will change that.
I'm guessing Hermione will be writing to you soon as well. In the meantime, miss you lots."
Looking back, I had been terribly bitter, perhaps a little cruel to Hermione for throwing away Ron's caring heart. Even then, however, I knew Ron's heart had never been broken because he had never truly given it to her initially, and it was the same the other way around; Merlin knows they tried and love always came easily…but there was always something missing, for both of them.
Despite being Ron's mother, and thus being naturally inclined towards his position, I could acknowledge truthfully that they didn't deserve better than each other, but they just needed something different than what each had to give.
It had never consciously occurred to me to think about Harry with Hermione, because instinctively they were always matched together, whether in intelligence, wizarding skill, or their unique humor. Oh, I knew Ron was an equal in their eyes, but there was just some inexplicable understanding between them.
A part of Ron would forever see Harry as 'The Boy Who Lived,' not the boy who just wanted to be ordinary with a chaotic home, siblings to squabble with, and parents by whom to be dreadfully mortified.
Hermione, bless her, recognized that yearning from the very beginning. There were no pretenses, no need to show off their brilliance or fame. As teenagers, they were insecure in their own rights, and thus had their own means of impressing each other, but when all façades were shaved away…
The grandwizard clock downstairs brought me once again to the present, being an hour before Harry was to appear. I gave a quiet hum below my breath. Tonight would certainly be one to remember.
. . .
From that point on, the front door never stayed closed for more than five minutes before another guest flew in.
Hermione was in absolute hysterics, unable to cast any sort of spell, until she locked herself in the bathroom and remained in there. Ginny carefully avoided Draco whenever possible, but at other times walked past with her head high, oblivious to the dab of pink at the nape of her neck. Draco easily maneuvered through the crowd, ever so often dropping gazes on Ginny with the most perplexing sort of smile on his face. Ron was watching Draco and Ginny with flashes of disgust, fury, and amusement, until he was finally distracted by Neville's accident with one of our antique tables. Charlie succeeded in sneaking past twenty cookies for the party until I finally caught him in the act and forced him to bake another batch right away without using magic. Fred and George were alternately exploding balloons around the house, until their girlfriends ordered them severely to stop or they would be required to find alternate sources of kisses goodnight. Bill was busy tinkering with a toy Arthur had brought him, a "disco ball" it was called, and was so fascinated by it that he had conjured up several more and had them floating around the house.
With fifteen minutes to spare, Hermione reappeared to a reception of a rapid hush. From her original slacks and sweater, she had changed into a knee-length chiffon skirt, pale violet, and a soft peach-colored blouse that did wonders to her skin tone. Somehow, she had tamed her unwieldy hair into sleek, auburn waves that tumbled neatly to her elbows. I was grateful she had not applied any make-up, or none that I could see, because her own natural beauty was able to permeate.
I could not wait for Harry's reaction.
She went up to every guest, requesting their wands to spare the party of any unneeded magic. When she stopped before Ron, his sharp intake of breath was audible amid the chattering. I wondered if he was reconsidering his opinion of her and was regretting all those chances he had passed while at Hogwarts.
Girl at fourteen, woman at eighteen, I mused.
In her classy sandals, Hermione climbed atop the kitchen counter. "Ladies and gentlemen!" she yelled, gathering their attention. "It's time to get into your proper places. Harry should be here at any minute."
A frightful clamor arose as all thirty guests scrambled to their positions in our house. We had people hidden in the oddest places, and the noise was impossible to stop until the chime of the clock warned us of the impending event.
Arthur dragged me down to prevent me from peeking about the room. Good thing, too, because just as my head was ducked behind the chair, a faint flash of light arose. It was followed by the sound of rustling pants.
"Odd," I heard Harry murmur in a voice that hardly reflected his age, "there seems to be no one home. I don't think I've -" There was another shuffle, probably Harry turning about to inspect the space around him. "George? Where -"
He gave a cry as George Apparated in with dramatic flair, and as he turned from the poof of light, he was blinded by another bit of a jolt when all of us popped out from behind the furniture.
"SURPRISE!"
I had never seem Harry so flustered in his life, not even when he had been coerced into kissing Hermione on the cheek two Christmases ago because they had both stopped under the mistletoe. He stood, unnerved, with a long black box tucked under his arm and his unruly dark hair looking even more askew from his travel.
Taking this as her cue, Hermione emerged lightly from the kitchen, a large, rectangular cake in her arms. With deliberate steps, she stopped before him and looked him straight in the face, her own wide brown eyes steady while his emerald ones were not.
"Happy eighteenth birthday, Harry," she said softly.
He pushed his glasses farther up his nose, although the slight trembling in his fingers hindered this action. This done, he simply gawked at her, and I couldn't tell whether he was staring because of the entire shock, or because Hermione looked so different from her normal robes and scarves at school.
I preferred to think it was the latter, although perhaps a sliver of the former could be thrown in as well.
"Wow," was all he could utter. He ran a hand through his hair. "Wow."
She grinned impishly and set the cake on the table beside them. "You didn't think we would forget your birthday, did you?"
"No," he answered immediately. "Well, no, I didn't believe you'd forget, because you've always been so good at sending me presents through the summer. But this - a party - I've never -" He looked around the room, crammed with old and new friends, and back at the girl before him. "Thank you."
And for a moment, I thought neither would last another second before they were in each other's embrace, either hugging or crying, or both, from his joy. I felt Arthur squeeze my hand and he gave me a crooked smile; I drew a tremulous sigh, feeling really ready to weep myself.
To lighten this rather personal and emotional moment, Ron squeezed through the masse and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Come on Harry," he said cheerfully, "can you please start opening the presents so that we can eat? We're absolutely starved, considering how hard Hermione has been working us all day."
Laughter whipped over the guests; Harry nodded, any visible signs of sadness vanished.
"Hermione, eh?" He skimmed his fingers down her arms and gently grasped her slender wrists. "You haven't been frightening away my friends, have you?"
"Naturally. Practically had to charm them to the ground in order for them to stay."
Harry moaned good-naturedly. "You are going to be the ruin of me one day," he sighed.
I wondered what he meant by that comment. Certain fascinating changing points in history had come about over the love of a woman.
He glanced at his feet, paused, and bent down to slip his palm into the granules at his feet. He raised his arm back to his face, allowing the crystals to fall through his fingers. "Is this sand?"
"We thought you could some sun," Draco remarked; he was propped against the television set, one ankle crossed lazily over the other. "You're looking a bit pasty these days, Potter."
"I thought that look was in," Harry shot back.
"If you're a polar bear, maybe."
Hermione ruffled Harry's thick mass of black hair and motioned to the eighteen iridescent candles that lined the edge of the cake. "Have you ever seen this done?"
He nodded. "Every year. There were always birthday parties, from my cousin's schoolmates to Uncle Vernon and also Aunt Petunia. Blow out the candles and make a wish. Dudley managed to take out the candles and knocked over several unfortunate vases in the process with one mighty gust. Never tried it myself, though. I guess I always had a lack of wish-making opportunities." His eyes, light green with orange flecks from the flames, flickered up. "Can I really do this?"
"Of course." She positioned an absurdly gaudy birthday hat to his head. "It's your cake, your birthday, your wish. Just make sure you get every flame in one try. That's the hard part; even without practice, wishes come almost unconsciously."
Ever so thoughtfully, Harry shut his eyes, his dark lashes fanning against his pale skin. We all watched him ponder his heart's desire, and he gave the smallest hint of a nod before opening his eyelids and letting out a powerful whoosh of air. All that remained were pitiful wisps of smoke.
A resounding applause arose, and within seconds his body disappeared under that of the younger children. With eager cries, they begged him to open their presents first. Harry obliged willingly and I took over the responsibility of cake cutting. Unbeknownst to Hermione, I had put a tiny charm on the cake to make each piece taste exactly how the eater wanted it to.
As I created thick, wide slices of this desert, everyone ushered Harry to the backyard, where other food and refreshments were arranged. Fred and George had dragged the treasure chest to the patio and opened it to the 'oohs' and 'aahs' of wizards and witches who had never before seen such an apparatus.
In her invitations, Hermione had noted explicitly for each gift to cost less than five galleons; handmade presents were preferable. I didn't know if she'd be able to follow her own requests; according to Ron's recounts, her presents for Harry tended to be very well thought-out and expensive.
Ron made me promise long ago that I wouldn't give Harry another sweater, so this time I knitted him a matching set of gloves, hat, and a scarf. Arthur decided on an alarm clock, his newest conquest from the Muggle world, which he thought was the most inventive creation since toothpaste.
With Harry seated at the head of the table, Hermione by his side and everyone gathered around, he started his long trek into the treasure chest.
Neville brought along a pet toad, to commemorate their first meeting on the train to Hogwarts.
Ginny's gift was a blank journal, a nod to the adventures with Tom Riddle and the basilik during their second year.
Fred and George gave Harry a trial version of their 'Finite Floo Powder,' which was sure to transport only a designated body part; the last time they experimented with it, I threw a raging tantrum at seeing their heads bobbing in the fireplace.
Ron had made a picture frame out of extraneous supplies, including a photo of Harry with us last summer when we visited Greece.
He seemed mystified by the picture, and I could have sworn I heard him mutter, "It feels like I'm part of a family."
But I was surrounded by noise, so I wasn't too sure. Next came my hastily wrapped box. Harry accepted my gift with enthusiasm, wrapping the scarf around his neck in spite of the unspoiled sunlight.
"Thanks Mrs. Weasley," he praised, "my Gryffindor scarf was beginning to get frayed at the ends. This will be perfect for autumn."
As a slim package was handed to Harry, I watched Draco's expression change from fascination to indifference. Feigned nonchalance, no less.
"Blimey, Draco," Harry said, clearly awed. In his hands were several thick sheets of paper. "2008 Quidditch World Cup tickets! How did you get a hold of these? Didn't they sell out in two minutes?"
Hermione was glaring furiously at Draco, hands fisted on her hips. Setting one foot into the World Cup auditorium, whether watching the tournament or not, cost several times more than fifty galleons. He caught her eye, smirked without qualm, and shrugged. It was impossible to keep the look of satisfaction from his expression; even so, I could not detect a trace of smugness, and knew he no desire to flaunt his wealth.
"I don't think it made it past one minute," he said. "Wasn't too hard finding them, though, if you know who to ask. And stop drooling on them, Weasley. There's ten passes in there, Potter, so feel free to invite whomever you want."
"Thanks." To prevent them from becoming wrinkled, or possibly misplaced, Harry tucked the tickets into the pocket of his cloak and draped it securely behind the back of his chair.
Oliver Wood, having played Quidditch professionally since leaving Hogwarts, had brought with him autographed equipment and photographs from the Bulgarian and Irish teams. This time even Cho Chang felt the inclination to peer over his shoulder.
"Hey look," Seamus teased, "it's Victor Krum. Heard from him lately, Hermione?"
She blushed deeply, looking none too pleased at the comment. Noticing her distaste, Harry seized her hand and planted a cheerful kiss on her knuckles.
"He's just envious," Harry laughed. "Not many people who earn millions doing what they love and winning the girl of their dreams. Hermi - own - ninny."
At this memory, Hermione couldn't stop herself from grinning. For an excuse to turn away, she picked her present from the chest and set it in front of Harry.
"I'm afraid I wasn't very original this year," she apologized. "Or very outstanding, considering what everyone else gave you."
He was already in the process of pulling away the wrapping paper. I felt the faint shift in bodies as we all leaned forward to see what she had gotten him.
"Hogwarts: A History." His mouth twitched. "Light reading, I dare say." He turned to the title page and found an inscription written in small, neat cursive. "Not entirely the history of Hogswarts, but rather of Quidditch - while you were playing, that is." Intrigued, he flipped casually through the book, his mouth falling a fraction wide with each subsequent page. "Hermione!" he finally exclaimed.
"Yes?"
"It's me…in the very first game I ever played," Harry sputtered. "And pictures, and interviews, and -" The list continued; indeed, she had amassed yellowed cut-outs of articles from Hogwarts Herald regarding each Quidditch match Harry had been involved in, originally as a Seeker and later captain. Also included were photographs from commercial papers and other paragraphs about 'the greatest Seeker of his time.' "How long did it take you to make this?"
Hermione shrugged delicately. "I've been working on it since the very beginning. It was fairly obvious from the moment you stepped onto the field that Quidditch was bound to be something incredibly important to you, and you were no doubt going to excel in it, and I decided at that first match that I'd make a collection for you. So that when you're old and gray and can no longer wreck havoc on your broom, you'd always be able to look back. And, if all else fails, you can always impress your children by it."
Harry ran his fingers lovingly over the leather-bound cover. "Persuade them that I was once sophisticated and popular?" he murmured.
Draco snorted. "It's going to take a lot more than newspaper clippings to convince them of that."
They launched into playful banter, with other guests and classmates joining in.
. . .
Evening crept in with stealthiness, basking us all in rich, humid warmth. To alleviate the heat, Bill had started a water balloon fight with grapefruit-sized balloons made the non-magical way. Harry was the first unlucky victim, having been pelted smack in the abdomen when as soon as the gifts were cleared away. Draco, naturally, had been given the privilege of throwing this crucial point, and a full combat was thereafter declared.
The game somehow transcended into a battle between males and females. As the adults observed from a safe distance, these teenagers launched flimsy balloon after balloon at their opponents. For such talented wizards and witches, they had abysmal aim without a wand in their hands.
Out the corner of my eye, I saw Harry wander back into the house; he had regained the bewildered expression on his face, as if he still couldn't believe this was his birthday and his party. It seemed that he was relatively dry; it was probably a combination of the staggering sunlight and his effective sideline participation in the game.
Several minutes later, I followed him in, carrying with me a stack of bowls that had been emptied nearly immediately after they were set on the tables. I glared at the enormous pile of dishes, pots, utensils, and other containers before me in the kitchen, arranged neatly in columns that reached the ceiling.
This would certainly be a bother to wash.
As I refilled a plate with bread rolls, I heard a quiet crackle from the room beside the kitchen. Curious, and imagining it was Harry shuffling through his gifts, I snuck my head through the doorway to see if my prediction was indeed true.
Not surprisingly, I recognized the back of Harry's dark head. To his very near right, however, stood Hermione, bent over the disorganized heap of gifts and oblivious to his presence; in the utter chaos outside, I had lost track of who was where, and I only vaguely recalled not seeing her for some time. They appeared to be starting a new conversation, and although I knew I was being a terrible snitch for eavesdropping, I couldn't help but remain right where I was.
Harry had his hands shoved into his pockets, and I had observed enough crushes through my adolescence, as well as raised four impetuous boys, to recognize that as a sign of nervousness. I wished I had Arthur's hand to squeeze, although I doubted five second would pass before he cleared his throat and gave me a pointed look that indicated I was destroying his circulation.
He cleared his throat, kicking at a stray piece of shiny wrapping paper on the ground. At the noise, Hermione straightened deftly and spun to face him
"What are you doing in here?" she asked lightly, holding the remnants of a crinkled box. "Shouldn't you be outside, entertaining the guests?"
"I think they've got Draco to do that." He paused, and I imagined him smiling quirkishly. "Who would've thought? Draco Malfoy willingly spending time with me, time that didn't include blasting me into oblivion or criticizing my name."
"People change." No longer alarmed, Hermione returned to organizing the presents and shrinking them into smaller, maneuverable packages. "We grow up, discover who we are and what we desire in our lives."
"Indeed." The word was so quiet that I nearly missed it, and I think Hermione almost did as well, except she shot him an inquiring sideways glance.
"Are you actually cleaning up for me?" The change in topics was hardly subtle, but neither addressed it.
"Yes I am," she answered primly.
He watched her motionlessly, with his hands still crammed into his pockets. "You don't have to do this, you know."
"Well, I certainly don't want Mrs. Weasley to have to pick this up, and I want to get it out of the way before everyone tramples in and all over the ground." Hermione swept up an armful of ribbon and gift-wrap and walked closer to Harry. "If it makes you feel any better, you can throw this out."
"You don't have to do this," he repeated, utter seriousness in his words.
Even from where I was hiding, I could see Hermione swallow and her chin tremble ever so slightly. Several seconds passed before she finally whispered, "No, but I want to."
The verb tense was not lost on either one of them.
Harry gestured around him, spreading out his arms to envelop his surroundings. "This has been incredible. I can't fathom how much time and effort you have had to spend, through exams and all else that was spurting up in places, to give me this. The decorations, the beach, cleaning this house must have been a nightmare, inviting everyone and having them attend, the presents, and the food. It's everything I ever wanted growing up with the Dursleys. You can't imagine how much this means to me."
She smiled at him, wide eyes never blinking. "You only turn eighteen once, Harry." The rise and fall of her shoulders indicated a shrug. "Besides, Draco took care of the beach, poor Ginny was forced to tidy up everything, Ron can be very convincing sometimes and very stubborn all the time, presents have a way of manifesting themselves to perfection, and Mrs. Weasley took care of the food herself. All I can properly take credit for is the decorations - those that stayed up, mind you. Otherwise it was Ron's doing. And I should warn you beforehand that the balloons might spontaneously combust tonight, and as long as you're not wearing anything that's liable to be sticky, then you'll be fine."
"Mrs. Weasley did the food? Even the cake?"
"Of course. You didn't think I'd use a store-bought or magically-induced cake!" Hermione gave a slight giggle of surprise. "For birthdays, cake is always handmade from scratch. No magic, no cheating allowed. That was my parents' philosophy, probably because they're Muggles, and I've carried it with me ever since."
I felt myself billow with pride at the compliment, ignoring the minor detail that I had included a sliver of magic. The - well, not the - Harry Potter enjoyed my cooking, when even my family had had many evenings of chortling over my concoctions. That certainly showed something, did it not? I might have to take to baking more often.
His hands finally emerging, Harry carefully took the stash of trash from Hermione's grasp and set it on the floor with one hand while the other slipped expertly around her wrist. It came to a stop at the base of her spine, where his fingers toyed with the hem of her blouse. She was frozen in place, fingers gripping his arms; I guessed it was mostly to prevent her from crashing to the floor because she looked as if she were ready to melt at any second.
Only half of her body was visible, as Harry, who still was facing the other direction, blocked the other half.
"I think you got the 'perfection' part just about right," he said huskily.
"Just about?" she whispered, sounding oddly faint.
He nodded. "There's just one thing missing."
The romantic in me had lost all patience approximately five minutes ago.
A dreamy exhalation. "And what - oh!" Without notice, Hermione wrenched herself away. "Actually, I have something for you. Another present."
Harry was still recovering from the sudden break in attraction and realigned his glasses. "Another one? But you already gave me a gift."
"It's not from me. Not from just me," she corrected. "Think of it as a collective gift, to help you experience something, other than a party, than you've never had before. Stay here. I'll be back in a minute."
With that, she scrambled up the stairs, leaving Harry alone in the middle of the family room. He had begun to lower himself onto the couch when Hermione half-slid, half-ran down the stairs. In her hands was a rectangular box, not very thick, covered with elegant gold paper.
I knew immediately what it was and enjoyed my guilty pleasure in being able to see his reaction when no one else did.
He took it cautiously, and there must have been something peculiar about his expression because Hermione laughed in earnest. "I'll tell you right away that it's not alive, so don't worry that it'll take your fingers off when you're done with the box."
"Good to know." He carefully turned it over and slowly started peeling off the wrapping paper.
Hermione and I watched this for a few seconds, until she voiced my exact thoughts by hissing, "Oh, will you bloody hurry up and open the box? I can't wait much longer."
"You can't wait?" Joking aside, Harry ripped into the foil and threw it aside to reveal an ordinary cardboard box. With steady hands, he withdrew the top and looked inside. "It's a photo album," he said.
I couldn't exactly place his emotions at the moment, and though I was a bit disappointed he didn't sound more excited I also knew he had no idea what was coming next. I clamped my teeth over my knuckles to keep from shrieking out of anticipation.
"Don't tell me this is a photo album of my pictures," he groaned, "because I certainly don't have the desire to stare at little snapshots of myself all day. As if your scrapbook isn't bad enough! I'm starting to feel like Malfoy, seeing reflections of me everywhere. I already prefer not to look at myself in the mirror -"
The sentence came to an abrupt stop, and an 'oh' replaced whatever word he had intended to come next. The bottom half of the box also fell to the floor as Harry ran his fingers over the inside panel of the photo album.
"These are from my parents' wedding," he gawked.
Hermione nodded happily. "That's right. It seems like it was absolutely lovely. There are the professional photos they had taken, and other pictures from friends and family that attended. It wasn't a very big wedding, which is why there aren't too many pages."
He glanced up quickly. "Where did you get these?"
"Sirius. He was best man, remember. He had his own set that he made copies of, and for the past half-year we've been owling everyone that he could remember to have been there about this collection. We were fairly successful and received hundreds of photos that other guests had taken during the wedding. I thought you might like to have them, at your fingertips." She rocked gently on her heels, hands clasped behind her back. "To witness the happiest day of their life. Or second happiest, I should say, after the day you were born. Today, exactly eighteen years ago."
I heard a strangled little choke - from Harry, I ventured - followed by a second one that was higher in pitch - Hermione's - as he wrapped her in a tight hug, the photo album crushed between them.
"Thank you," he said fiercely.
Although she was fully blocked by Harry's body, I could now see her face over his shoulder. Her eyes were shut tightly and two thin rivulets of tears glittered in the sunset outside.
"Thank you for everything. For all the times you saved my life, saved the world, really. Making sure Snape never took off my head in Potions. Watching every one of my Quidditch games, even though you hated the game. No, don't bother denying it. Keeping Ron and I from hexing each other whenever we had an argument. Sending me letters each week during the summer. Knowing exactly what presents I wanted every year. Staying up late so I could pass the O.W.L.s. Helping me find the right tuxedos or flowers for the balls." There was a shuddering sigh. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
Feeling too much like an intruder, and reeling from an absurd urge to cry, I retreated back to the kitchen. I was, however, wicked enough to charm the door - Hermione had been too trusting to take away wands from the adults - to stay a fraction ajar.
It didn't very much matter, because no noise came from the room next door and I was making a racket with my own pots and pans as one stack shuffled slightly. I was able to catch it before it toppled to the floor and righted it.
"I didn't mean what I said earlier."
"About what?"
"About you being the ruin of me." Harry laughed nervously. "It's quite the opposite, really. I'd be ruined if you weren't in my life. I can't fathom what I would have been like if we had never met that day on the train to Hogwarts."
A peaceful lull drifted across the moment, and I returned happily to my cleaning. At the sharp intake of breath, my ears perked again.
"Hermione?" The name was whispered with alarming urgency, too much for the tranquility of the moment before.
Nevertheless, despite my curiosity, I remained where I was; I already had an idea of what was occurring, and knew the two deserved their privacy.
"I'd very much like to kiss you now." I imagined a long stretch of silence, but instead it was disrupted as he continued speaking. "To thank you. Well, not really. I mean, I am eternally thankful for everything you've done for me, especially the party, but it won't be because -"
"Harry," Hermione interrupted, exasperation clearly betrayed in her tone, "if you don't kiss me right this instant, I'm going -"
She never had the chance to finish, and I suppose Harry would have a great deal of time to wonder exactly what Hermione would have done. Yet, for all the angst that would go into that, I had no doubt the alternative was much more pleasing.
Her truth heart's desire. And his, as well.
Of course, that alternative didn't have the chance to last long either. Upon this dramatic development, the under-twenty guests came streaming in through the back door, whistling and calling with youthful bliss and humor. I found myself being slightly annoyed by this disruption, although when I also wandered into the room - no longer shameful because I was apparently not the only nosy person in the house - Harry and Hermione were taking the repartee and banter with ease, and flushed cheeks.
I think they were too giddy to care, and they were amongst the best company. Even as they had shifted apart, I saw that their hands still lingered at each other's waists.
"You see," Ron cried triumphantly, pants plastered against his legs, "what did I tell you, Harry? Wasn't I the first to predict that you and Hermione would be snogging before either of you admitted you should have done it years ago?"
"Took you long enough," Draco drawled from the fireplace, the entire left sleeve of his shirt drenched. "For someone who's saved the world a few times over, you're unbelievably thick in some matters."
"That's rich, coming from you," Harry retorted. "Still a confirmed bachelor, no? Ever going to risk something that can't be created or cured by the magic we know?"
"Just waiting for the right girl to come along and notice me."
As we all laughed at the irony of this, my eyes swiveled to Ginny, who was leaning on the railing of the stairs and squeezing water from her hair. Her neck unusually pale, a sharp contrast to the speckled redness of her face. I followed her piercing gaze, pointed directly at Draco, and to my astonishment I discovered he was returning the look without so much as a blink.
Oh, how things did change.
I would also need to have a casual talk with Ginny soon.
I recalled a famous Muggle expression, about blood being thicker than water. I supposed it referred to family, and how the bond between them was infinitely stronger than any other relationship, even friendship.
As I pondered this quote and surveyed the scene before me - Draco, Oliver, and Cho Chang arguing over the newest release of the Nimbus line, Ron and Neville playing wand tag, Fred showing Angelina, Parvari, and Lavender how to summon dolphins out of the walls, and Harry on the couch with one hand in Hermione's and a smile on his face - I could only laugh to myself.
This moment, I thought with immense satisfaction, proved nothing could be farther from the truth.
-end-
May 08, 2003