A Trip Down Memory Lane

Bambu

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 16/04/2006
Last Updated: 16/04/2006
Status: completed

Hermione waits for for her companion to bring her sundae in Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, and thinks about her life after the war.

Chapters

1. A Trip Down Memory Lane

1. A Trip Down Memory Lane

A Trip Down Memory Lane

By Bambu

Spoilers: Post-HBP

Disclaimers: None of the characters or the setting are mine, belonging in their entirety to the marvelous JKR. The choice and arrangements of the words, however, are mine alone.

~o0o~

I wend my way through the populated tables and chairs at Fortesque's, taking a seat at a small table for two in the front of the ice cream parlour. The sounds of happy chatter rise and fall as I squeeze past a rather large wizard hunkered over what appears to be a mountain of frozen pygmy puffs. I know better, but I shudder just a little as I pass. I'm not real big on eating anything shaped like a creature. A number of people gave me curious looks when I passed them, their expressions were first recognition and then puzzlement. It was as if they realized that they knew me but couldn't remember the circumstances. I didn't pause to enlighten them. Five years have passed since I've been here, and, I've hopefully outlasted my fifteen minutes of fame.

While I wait for my ice cream, I idly watch the passersby through the large plate-glass window overlooking Diagon Alley. It's my birthday, and the weather still carries a trace of the summer's warmth so there are a number of witches and wizards strolling along the sidewalks. There are mothers with small children, businessmen on some errand or other, and the occasional couple who are so caught up with one another they're unaware of their surroundings. The smile that curves my lips happens before I'm even aware of it, but I see its reflection in the window next to me.

Renovated store fronts and display windows gleam in the afternoon sun, and it's gratifying to see that the reconstruction of wizarding Britain is almost complete. It seems all our efforts weren't in vain after all. Once, I'd thought never to leave Britain. After the war, I was wrapped up in my ill-fated relationship with Charlie, and I'd hoped that we would have a chance at a life together. I couldn't have been more wrong. The sex was amazing, almost consuming, but in the aftermath I felt like a charnel-house, the burnt embers of my self-esteem were more than I could bear.

After I'd broken things off with Charlie, I'd fled to Beauxbatons, where I've spent the past five years teaching Ancient Runes. That first year, the only people I knew were Hagrid and Madam Maxime. They were very kind and I was a little reserved. All right, Hermione, be honest, I chastise myself. In that first year, I was about as friendly as Snape. But after the initial pain of leaving Charlie and most of my friends behind, things got better.

Accepting that position was the very best thing I could have done. Who knew then that I'd be sitting here now, today of all days? Or that I'd have such reason to be joyful.

A loud shriek draws my attention across the street, to a little boy waving a child's-sized broomstick in his hands and his rather harried mother trying to catch up to him. I laugh. I'm sure some day it will be my turn, but not now… not yet.

As I glance further down the street, toward Flourish and Blotts, a pang of nostalgia tightens my throat, and I smile at all the happy moments I'd spent there as a girl and teenager. Maybe we'll have enough time for a quick browse through their recent arrivals section before dinner at my parents house. I haven't seen them since the holidays.

Behind me there's a loud titter followed by a rapid-fire conversation. It's too low to make out, but I think I've been recognized. I glance over my shoulder to see if my sundae is coming yet, and notice several people looking in my direction. I nod politely, and a young woman waves a little before biting her ice cream cone. Even from my seat I can see the chunks of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum in the pink-tinted treat.

My mouth salivates as I imagine my sundae, but when I look, I realize the line has lengthened since we've been here. It will be a few more minutes before I can enjoy the creamy taste of Mr. Fortescue's specialties. I look back out onto the cobbled street while I wait.

Of all the shops that my companion and I visited today, we were in agreement about not putting Weasley's Wizard Wheezes on our `to do' list. For a moment, I imagine Molly Weasley's response when my presence or the reason for my visit to London is reported in the Daily Prophet. It's not arrogance, just a hard-won realism. She won't be happy at the news they'll print, and I know that she'd harbored fantasies of planning my wedding to one of her sons. But Charlie isn't her only child to have commitment or fidelity issues.

At that moment a cloud shifts in the sky and a ray of sunlight streams through the window in brilliant golden light… only to bend as it intersects with the facets of the stone on my ring finger. It's a beautiful light display, and I decide to think it's a positive omen. Sybill Trelawney no doubt would have found something horrific in the color of the refracted light as it bounces around the domed ceiling of this cheerful place. Happiness wells in my chest and I turn my left hand to look at the gemstone. It's the exact color of my fiancé's eyes. How he managed to choose one that so closely matches I'll never know, even if it's just like him to remember that I love the color of his eyes.

After I ended things with Charlie I'd never expected to fall in love again. I'd honestly thought that he had stolen the last of my romantic courage. I'm quite content to be wrong.

I drop my hand to the cool tabletop and trace one of the dark veins running through the alabaster stone. Some of the veins slant in odd directions, ending abruptly, while others seem to stay the course from beginning to end. Whimsically, I think that's what I've found in a relationship… someone who will be with me from our beginning to the very end. It's a comforting sort of feeling, and I feel a deep wellspring of happiness bubbling just beneath the surface of my emotions.

I'd certainly never expected to fall in love with the wizard who was now so inextricably intertwined with my life that I had reasonable doubts as to whether I could function without him. I actually snort at that, the sound a little bit like a Hippogriff in heat. My cheeks flame, and I quickly look around to see if anyone has heard me.

No one's looking in my direction. Instead, several witches and wizards are engaged in conversation with my companion. He really knows how to charm people when he makes the effort. When he came to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Beauxbatons, he was a welcomed addition to the staff, who were, for the most part, in their mid-fifties.

By that time, I was more receptive to any friendly overtures. Hagrid once told me that during my first term I'd reminded him of a Blast-ended Skrewt. He'd patted me on the back, almost knocking me off my chair at the staff table, and said, “I shouldn't a' told yer tha'.”

It seemed that Hagrid had a soft spot for those of us who'd been crossed in love, and he was responsible for my position as well as the new professor's. My colleague was suffering in the same way that I had the previous year. In his case, infidelity had been the cause of his final break-up of an on-again-off-again relationship.

We naturally gravitated toward one another, and our shared experiences bound us in a way that nothing else could have. After three months, he was my first waking thought in the morning and the last before I closed my eyes at night. Over the course of that first year, I found myself telling him things that I'd never thought to share with another soul. Things I'd never even shared with my childhood friends, or spoke of even during the height of the war.

He did the same, and by summer term, we spent much of our free time together, exploring the small villages of wizarding Europe. He'd never traveled much, and I loved taking him to Marseilles during the Easter holidays. We wandered the streets and found a lovely little restaurant by following the aroma of fresh bread and bouillabaisse. We'd eaten a baguette and shared a tureen of soup, and had told each other about our mended hearts. When we'd returned to the school that night, I don't think either of us realized that we were holding hands.

In June, we celebrated the advent of the summer holidays with a very good bottle of Bordeaux. It was enough to lower our inhibitions, and as he got up to leave my sitting room, he bent to kiss me good night. He customarily kissed my cheek; however, as kismet would have it, I turned at that second to say something and our lips met.

First kisses are usually awkward, bumping noses and adjusting angles. But this one wasn't.

It was like coming home.

As soon as he broke the kiss, he sank to his knees, cupping my face in his broomstick-callused hands. His eyes searched mine for any hint of revulsion or avoidance, but all he could see was my heart.

I initiated the next kiss, and the rest… the rest is history. We've been together for three years now, almost inseparable. When he asked me to marry him last month, I'd laughed and cried as I said yes.

He'd then asked, “Are you sure?”

I'd never been more sure of anything in my life. I answered him in the only way a wise woman could.

Today we'd Portkeyed to the Leaky Cauldron, stopping long enough to greet Tom behind the bar, and then after a quick dip into the depths beneath Gringotts, we'd gone to Mithril Jewelers. He'd already had the ring made to his specifications, and we were met at the door of the tiny store by the smallest witch I'd ever seen. She had been expecting us, and led us to a private room.

Thinking about it now, I finger my ring, twisting it to catch the sunlight as I remember him slipping the ring on my finger in the store, declining to have it placed in a clever little box. He'd said, “It stays put.”

It sparkles so beautifully, and my heart is in my throat remembering the intensity of his eyes as he'd raised my hand to inspect the workmanship of the ring. It's simple, elegant, and perfect.

Suddenly I have to blink furiously to keep from crying. It's been a month, but I'm still taken by surprise every now and then. I look outside again, needing that little bit of privacy to regain my composure.

I can't wait to tell my parents. Mum will say that she knew it from the moment I wrote to tell her who was teaching with me. Maybe she did. I do come from a long line of know-it-alls.

A flash of auburn hair draws my attention to a stocky wizard across the street. It's Charlie Weasley. I'm astonished. I haven't seen him since I left Britain. He looks the same. Same cocky smile, same nonchalant walk. He's got his arm wrapped loosely around a blonde witch, but his head is turned as he appraises a brunette walking in the opposite direction.

A actually laugh a little. He hasn't changed at all, and my heart doesn't even flutter as I watch him stroll past. He hasn't seen me in the window, and that's just as well. We really have nothing to say to one another. That part of my life is closed.

From behind me, I hear a welling susurration of sound, as whispers precede my wizard across Fortescue's. His name is whispered and spoken until it reaches me before he does.

A glass sundae dish is Leviosa'd to the table in front of me, and the heated caramel smells heavenly. His dish of pistachio ice cream, sans condiments is just like him. Complex and subtle, but right there to see if one looks. I'm so glad that I looked.

I turn in my seat to look into serious eyes the color of my square cut engagement ring. He has seen Charlie through the window, and it's obvious that he's worried about me. I love this man, I think, as my lips curve in a smile reserved exclusively for him.

“All right, `Mione?” he asks.

Somehow I've never minded when he uses that horrid nickname. Coming from him it's a term of endearment.

“Never better,” I reply.

He leans over to give us some privacy, his body blocking the surreptitious glances in our direction, and, in some cases, the more blatant stares.

“Are you sure?” His voice is low, a caress.

“Positive.” I reach one hand to brush his fringe off his forehead. He no longer hides the scar.

He catches my hand with his, pulling it to his lips where he bestows my palm with a kiss. “Here's one to keep.”

Tears brim in my eyes, and I stand abruptly, and he backs up a half-step. I don't care that there is a whole room full of spectators, or that we will be dinner conversation at a dozen tables tonight. I only care that my beloved knows that he is the only wizard for me.

“I want more than just a kiss to keep.”

His eyes never waver, and I lean forward to kiss him. Just before I brush his lips with mine, I whisper, “I want all of you, Harry. I love you.”

His arms pull me close to him, possessively, protectively. The kiss isn't as salacious as our audience might hope, and we hear the titters and giggles in the background.

When we part, we're both blushing a little, and he runs one hand through his perpetually tousled hair. “Happy?” he asks, even as he holds my chair so I can be re-seated.

As I take my seat and pick up my spoon, I meet his eyes, and he knows that I am. But I say the words anyway, “More than I ever dreamed possible.”

~o0o~

~Fin~

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