A/N: Here I am again with a new offering. ^_^ Some of you may have already read this on LJ. I've finished this story, so basically, I'm just going to post this daily until I post all chapters. This story has 10 short chapters, and it's a bit of old fashioned romance. ^_^
Thanks to Tome Raider, the most awesome beta in the world. She betaed this story and she did a brilliant job.
Chapter One
HERBOLOGY: The Properties of Daisies and Fluxweed
Hermione stood on the welcome mat of my two-story flat in London and said, "It's over."
I didn't even ask her to explain, nor did I doubt the veracity of her claim for a second. I just knew what she meant and I understood it to be for real, this time, and my heart gave a jump for the words I guiltily longed for and sincerely dreaded to hear.
Without a word, I took the overnight bag laid by her feet and ushered her into my house. She walked right in, closing the door behind her, and headed straight for my living room where she sat looking quite dazed and uncharacteristically confused.
I made her some tea and watched her from beyond the counter of my kitchen. The look on her face was strangely familiar. It reminded me of the time she, back in the dungeons of Grimmauld Place when the war was still happening, was unable to make a potion work.
When I had asked her what was wrong, she had said, "I don't understand. I followed all the instructions to the letter. Why can't I make it work?"
And I remembered how I answered it, too. "Maybe it's not you. Maybe it's the recipe."
My answer seemed to have troubled her, probably because the potion recipe had come straight from a supposedly credible book. Hermione Granger did not take errors in published print lightly.
Come to think of it, I never saw the book again, and it was about the same time the Daily Prophet stopped getting delivered to Grimmauld Place. I wonder if the two incidents were connected.
And so now, two years after the war and living our Voldemort-free lives in our early twenties, Hermione was on my living room couch, her hands twisting restlessly around each other, her brows knotting slightly, possibly at anxious thoughts.
I had tea ready in a bit and I had some of it for her in a mug, made just the way she liked it, with a spot of cream and one very small lump of sugar.
My own mug of tea in my hand, I sat beside her, waiting for her to speak of why she finally walked out of the flat she shared with Ronald Bilius Weasley.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I don't understand what happened. We tried. We really did, but it just-we couldn't make it work."
Those were her exact words when she told me her story the night before.
I remembered them as I sat at the bar of my pub-slash-restaurant, The Happy Gryff, with Ron, each of us with a bottle of 30-proof Butterbeer. He had flooed me from Fred and George's shop, his first words being, "Is she at your place?"
It was weird how my best friends could say something completely out of the blue and I'd know exactly what they were trying to tell me.
And so I told him to come on over to the Gryff so we could talk about it. Now we were talking. Well, Ron was. I wasn't saying a lot, and I brooded. Brooding was my thing, after all, and Hermione's words were-as usual-ringing in my head.
It was at that point I realized just how different their approach to things were. Hermione was a magus through and through. She began by stating the main problem, broke it down, and then wondered what could have been done to prevent it, likely to store it away in her mind for future reference.
Ron jumped right in and started pointing at things. "It was all that arguing, and the nagging, and the criticism… Merlin, Harry, it was just exhausting. I don't know how we made it six months! Was it always that awful? Are we really that horrible?"
"Well, daisies and fluxweed by themselves have excellent properties. Daisies are pretty and charming, mixing well with various helpful potions because of its inherently complicated properties. And fluxweed, while notably weird in appearance, is minty, harmless, and often pleasant for its usefulness in making everyday things, like toothpaste and footpowder. But when you put them together, they form part of the ingredients for a spot of Hate Potion."
Ten years from that moment, I still couldn't quite figure out why I said that out loud.
Ron stared a moment, then glared. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"I-I'm just saying there's nothing wrong with you two, individually, but maybe… you know-she's the Daisy and you're the… Fluxweed…" Now that I got to thinking about it, it probably wasn't the best example.
"And together we make Hate Potion. Fantastic analogy, Harry."
Ron stopped speaking to me after that, and the moment he got his sandwich, he left without paying for it.
It was just as well. I had planned on footing the bill anyway, but that was after I supposedly magnanimously told him I'd take care of it. I didn't expect him to storm out of the Gryff and just leave me with no choice.
I imagine Ron did a bit of thinking while he ate his free sandwich, because later that night, just before I closed shop with my restaurant staff, he came back and said, "Do you really think Hermione and I make a Hate Potion?"
I was tempted to tell him that he'd missed the point, but I had spent most of the day thinking that I'd said too much, and perhaps overstepped my boundaries, so I just said, "I don't know, Ron. What's important is what you and Hermione think."
"Does she hate me?"
"Well, of course she doesn't hate you. It's-just, she's disappointed, I reckon, that it didn't work out."
"Disappointed?" He looked disgruntled.
"Were you hoping I'd tell you she was devastated, and that she's done nothing but cry and wail while she pigged out on chocolates and ice-cream?"
Ron had the grace to redden at that one. "Well, no, but disappointed is when Hermione gets eleven OWLs instead of twelve. Know what I mean?"
"Actually, she was pretty devastated by those results. She just didn't let us know it…"
Ron was glaring at me again, perhaps because my statement implied that she was more devastated by being one OWL short that being Ron Weasley's ex-girlfriend. Never mind if it was true. There was a thing called timing and I didn't have a lot of it at the moment.
"Do you think I should talk to her?" he finally asked.
What's with all the stupid questions? "Well, of course you should. Whether or not you two decide to part ways for real, you should talk about it."
I said this with all the surety of a man whose relationship track-record consisted of two ex-girlfriends, several failed dates, and one decidedly off-limits woman whom I care about more than I ought to.
Ron nodded.
I really should've Silencioed the hell out of myself.