the graduates

A/N

This is something I cooked up when I got home from a graduation I'd just attended. Only the vaguest of plotlines have been sketched. I have no idea where it's headed, only that there will be loads of angst ahead, be warned. This chapter's actually pretty happy though.
sit back, relax, and, as always, I only WISH I was JK Rowling.

“The Graduates”

It's been years since their own graduation. More than she cares to remember. It wasn't the last good night they had; far from it. It was, however, the last night of photographs. She doesn't like them and never lets them be taken. But that night was special; she'd made an exception.

She had sobbed the entire day. It was a tradition that the graduating class be totally packed. Their last day was spent quietly roaming the grounds, going to their favorite haunts, and getting applauded at breakfast. The younger students left on the trains early in the morning, and the campus was empty.

She and Ron and he had gone to their favorite place by the lake. They had sat and talked and, at one point, their hands had brushed: she and Harry. She liked the sound of that. They played truth. After a few silly questions, Ron, with a gleam in his eye, asked something unexpected…

“Harry, if you could date any girl in our year, any at all, who would it be?”

Harry thought for a minute. Hermione held her breath, and then he began to speak.

“You know…I think it would be Hermione.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he answered simply, “She makes me laugh. And because we're good friends already. And because she knows me really well.”

She could have fainted with joy. He noticed, and asked if the heat was maybe too much for her. She shook her head and smiled. And then she cried some more. And then, again, he asked if she was alright. All she could get out between wracking sobs was an “Of course not. Do I look fine?”

He held her. His arms were warm, strong from years of quidditch, huge, forgiving, tender, gentle: anything one could want in arms that held. And oh he did hold on to his Hermione, rocking gently with her until she calmed, whispering sweet-nothings in her ear.

********

They reconvened in the common room, with only a little time to spare. The graduating class wore robes of their house's colors (for the boys) or white (for the girls). It was a time-honored tradition, and one that wasn't offensive. Harry wore red, Ron gold, Hermione white (with red and gold ribbons in her hair). Neither boy told her she looked beautiful. Neither looked shocked to see her. She wasn't hurt. She smiled for the first time that day.

-->

I fixed up this chapter. It was uploaded in a fit of 3am insanity, and was barely coherent. The fight is much more realistic and even if you read this chapter already, read it again if you don't want to hate my writing.

This chapter's a little longer than the first, and maybe you'll get a better idea of whose daughter the summary talks about. Their daughter had red hair, but laughed like him.

Reviews are like, the coolest things ever! And I do read and use the constructive criticism.

Chapter 3 will hopefully go up tonight!

And without further ado…chapter two!

The ceremony itself was quick and to the point. They received their diplomas and awards (she got best in all subjects, Harry got best troublemaker, and Ron was best Weasley). There was one thing she did remember, however.

It was a simple gesture: A high five and a phrase. For some reason, though, it lifted her spirits in a way nothing else could have. Harry said, “We're out, Hermione! We did it!”

***

The parties were a whirlwind of butter beer and something stronger. And then it was off to a flat in the middle of muggle London with her boys. They were young and impetuous and ready for anything. And they were legal. Oh summer would be fun.

It was. They spent the long, lazy days at the pool, in museums, anywhere they liked. Voldemort was gone; it was safe to be….alive. Their tans were impressive, the blonde streaks in her hair were brighter than ever, and Ron's freckles became so dark that everyone assumed they were flecks of dirt. They had never looked more beautiful, any of them, and they had never been closer.

Hermione and Harry, in particular, had grown almost inseparable. They took long walks and had long talks. They stared at each other during dinner and tried to hide their secret smiles when others were around. They had always been best friends, but now it almost seemed like they were something more.

The three graduates visited the burrow often. Mrs. Weasley fussed over them (Ron made faces and complained, Harry loved it, Hermione laughed); Mr. Weasley wanted to know everything about living in the muggle world (they brought him a flashlight once, he was delighted); and Ginny, couldn't take her eyes off Harry.

It was the last of these that worried Hermione. It was almost as if…no….it couldn't possibly be. He had broken up with her after sixth year. Ginny must be over him by now. She had to be. Yes. She was only curious about the now-apparent constant closeness. Or at least, Hermione could believe that until the 27^th of July.

***

Mrs. Weasley had asked her to help with the cooking, as they were the only two not playing quidditch in the yard, she did, and somehow Ginny and Harry were alone for a few minutes.

She didn't know what happened between them, nor did she want to. All she did know was that, when they came home that night, Harry was glowing. He asked her to take a private walk, and once they were alone, he spilled his guts.

“I think I like Ginny,” he told her quietly, beneath the starry sky.

“What?”

“I think I like Ginny, love her, maybe.”

“No you…you can't!”

“Why, Hermione? Why can't I? It's not as if there's anyone else.”

Oh that one stung. She visibly winced.

“Harry…I…”

“Hermione, honestly, what now?”

“It's just…sudden. You don't love her.”

“Yeah I do, she's beautiful and smart and funny and I need her in my life, why don't you accept that?”

“Harry, are you sure you're all right? Did she maybe put a love potion on you? I mean you guys broke up…”

“But I loved her the whole time. I realized that today.”

“You…you did?”

“Yeah…I could never care about anyone the way I care about her. Just like you can't care.”

“Harry I don't understand!”

“HERMIONE I LOVE HER! PLEASE, WHY CAN'T YOU JUST ACCEPT THAT?”

“But…”

“The way you go on, it seems like you love me. But you don't, of course, we're just friends. Friends. We were playing a game.”

“Game?”

She sobbed.

“Yeah…FRIENDS. WELL GO BE HAPPY WTH HER THEN! SEE IF I CARE!”

“FINE, I WILL!”

***

He did. And they were. Hermione never really recovered from that night. He didn't make a move toward reconciliation and neither did she. And so they didn't talk for seventeen years.

-->

It's painfully obvious that I didn't update when I promised to. I think it's been a couple of weeks. Maybe three. Whoops. Blame personal drama, manic depression, a lack of inspiration, late-night phone calls. All of the above were reasons for my flakiness. Really, though, it was that I was trying to rush my story. I added in this lovely chapter, to make the next chapter make more sense. Originally, you would also have gotten the next chapter stuck inside this one, but it was just too much. This is a nice little interlude that I hope was worth the wait. Please review, I really do pay attention to each and every one.

And now on to the good stuff: heartbreak, angst, and unrequited love…

Seventeen years. Seventeen years ago her best friend had walked out of her life. She hadn't spoken to him since. She hadn't even seen him. A fit of anger had broken them. And the funny thing was…the extremely ironic thing was that it had all come out of the blue. It was almost as if Ginny had slipped him a love potion or something. He had just…yelled at her.

She hated him. Hermione had decided that after two months of not talking. She told everyone that it was his fault and his problem. They all nodded silently, and then remarked that they had always assumed she and Harry would…but never mind. To be honest, she agreed with them. And what she told herself at night, when there was no one around to fool, was that she still cared. She did, but she wouldn't show it.

That was the way things had gone for the last sixteen years and eight months. Every morning, her Daily Prophet was delivered to her door. Almost every morning, for the first four years, it was littered with references to “England's most eligible bachelor” and sightings of him and his “lasted beauty, Ginerva Weasley.” This only occurred until one intrepid reporter discovered that the two had been secretly married for over three years, and that they even had a daughter named Lily who had been alive for the majority of that time.

For the next eight years, page six of the Daily Prophet had been covered with pictures of the young Potter family, as photographed while going about their lives. Hermione would have found deplorable, but…it was hard not to look, and not to watch Harry's daughter grow up. She couldn't help but think it should have been her in the paper with the two of them.

And then the girl turned eleven. She was, of course, a witch, and was sent to Hogwarts. Hermione dreaded the day. As the defense against the dark arts professor and head of Gryffindor, it was obvious that she would have to see the girl and know her. And no doubt she would love her. The students arrived on a balmy day, more indian summer than autumn. The lake was clear blue, and the first two to trip inside the castle were whispering about their (almost) sighting of the giant squid.

The girl, Lily Virginia *gulp* Potter, was one of the last inside. She was unmistakable, with the vibrant Weasley hair. It was long and thick, luxurious and wild. It curled gently everywhere where it should have. (It was what Hermione's hair could have been, if only she'd spent a little time on it or had it done right.) The girl's eyes were a perfect shade of green: she'd gotten them from Harry, and her namesake. They were huge and stared at everything around her with awe, very child-like.

At first, Hermione dared to hope that everything would be alright. The girl looked more like a Weasley than anything. She could, possibly, forget she was Harry's. She didn't even wear glasses. But then she heard her laugh. Suddenly seven years of memories were crushing her, just as eleven years of pent-up emotions decided to become an unstoppable deluge. Hermione's lower lip quivered. And then the girl spoke (even her voice was like Harry's: sweet like honeysuckle with a smooth, rhythmic, low tone. It made her shiver):

“Aren't you Hermione Granger?”

“Yes, I am. And who, may I ask, are you?”

“You went to school with my Daddy. Uncle Ron says the three of you were best friends when you went here. And you're in all the books. So why have I never met you?”

“Oh so you'd be Miss Potter. Well you're up first for the sorting hat. Go on.”

Hermione caught her breath and thanked God for the break. When the sorting was finally finished, she sat down at the staff table and was about to take a sip from her goblet (they did get something a little stronger than pumpkin juice as teachers) when Lily got up out of her seat at the Gryffindor table and walked right up to her. “We're going to be friends,” she said.

***

They were friends. It killed Hermione to like the girl, but she couldn't help it. Lilly was smart, almost rivaling her. The girl was clever and popular and beautiful. She was good at quidditch (a chaser, and voted captain in sixth year). She had kept her boldness and stubbornness. There was no helping it: Hermione adored her.

As she grew older, Lily began to visit Hermione in her office more and more. They acted like sisters and talked about everything and everyone. Well, everything except Harry. Lily never talked about her parents; when she started to, she always cut off quickly. Hermione never talked about her school days. Lily probed, but Hermione couldn't.

But one day in seventh year, Lily went farther than just asking what Hogwarts was like “in the old days.”

“But why did you and Daddy stop being friends?”

“What gives you that idea, Lily, what makes you so sure it was sudden?”

“Hermione, you simply dropped out of our photo album. I know you used to be friends with both Mom and Daddy. But what happened to make you stop?”

“Nothing happened. We just, didn't see eye to eye on something and, well, we fought. He stormed off and we haven't talked since.”

Lily's eyes widened, a habit that had stuck with her. It suited her.

“What was your fight about?”

“It was about….I still don't understand where it came from. It was so sudden…for such a long time I thought that…it just didn't make sense, any of it…” Hermione's voice trailed off.

“I understand,” Whispered Lily.

The funny thing was, she did.

-->