A/N: Here it is, as promised.
Many thanks again to Tome Raider, my beta. ^_^
Chapter Two
DIVINATIONS: Written in the Stars
Let me tell you that I am not trying to sabotage Hermione and Ron's relationship. I swear to you, as a Gryffindor, that this was not my intention.
Though I may feel a forbidden affection for my best friend's girlfriend-oh, excuse me, ex-girlfriend, I had decided that I shall not, under any foreseeable circumstance, get in between them, even if they sometimes appear to think I am.
It just isn't right.
That's the theory at least.
But I assure you, my intentions as far as having them meet to talk were pure; absolutely free of malice afterthought.
So this mistake causing an explosion of most unpleasant proportions was well underserved on my part.
After all, if I had known it was going to be so bad, I wouldn't have arranged for them to meet at the Happy Gryff, a supposed neutral ground. Also, I honestly thought the word "Happy" would subconsciously worm its way into their minds and hearts and they'd make up amiably, whether or not they got back together romantically.
Imagine my shock when not only did the subliminal message fail, but in Hermione and Ron's enthusiasm to prove that the other was the greater git, they obliterated the "Happy" from "The Happy Gryff" sign outside and blew the Gryff's head off to boot.
We'll not even go into the damages sustained by my plates, goblets, and the half-a-dozen Shepherd's Pies already served around the restaurant. It was too devastating.
Suffice it to say, their relationship (or non-relationship, as the case may be) was costing me.
Oh well, I had very little right to complain, because in hindsight, it was still partially my fault, anyway.
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"I'm sorry," Hermione said meekly as I closed up the Happy Gryff for the night. She had a mop in one hand and some cleaning potion in another.
I looked up from checking the restaurant's daily accounts. I was a bit surprised to see her with the cleaning materials, but even more surprised by the meekness of her tone. Where had the lioness I had earlier seen gone?
All evidence of her encounter with Ron had been cleaned. The bits of pie were mopped up, the shattered tableware had been swept, and even the sign outside had gotten fixed.
Around us were the Gryff's staff, bustling about and wiping every imaginable surface. I should've noticed that there were more staffers there than usual, that late into the night. I suppose I should have known they'd want to stick around for the aftermath of the destruction. Why read about it in the disjointed, misinformed pages of the Daily Prophet when they could see it for themselves, firsthand?
"About the restaurant," Hermione continued, gesturing with the mop handle. "And about getting you in the middle of this. It's not your fault that we're a couple of insensitive gits. I'll pay for the damage to the restaurant. The fighting… well, I don't know how to make up for that, but I will, somehow."
I waved her words away in a dismissive gesture. "Don't even think about writing a check, Granger. The publicity this little incident will generate would be enough to make up for the damages. You and Ron didn't cost me a thing. And the fighting didn't hurt me as much as it hurt you."
A grateful smile accompanied her blush, then her gaze lowered-from embarrassment, I'd wager.
I sighed, moving further into the booth and patting the space beside me. She put the mop and cleaning potion aside and slid into the booth.
"Anyway, this was my idea," I said. "I forget that the Act Now-Think Later thing only works for me."
She slumped against me, shaking her head. "And true to our friendship, Ron and I followed you. Well, when are we ever going to learn our lessons, Potter?"
"That's your thing, not mine."
She took the quill on the table and began to doodle idly on my columnar notebook.
I had an itch to tell her to refrain from drawing lionfish over the net profit, but she looked so dejected that I hadn't the heart to scold her for anything.
"I'm trying to recall exactly what went wrong tonight," she said. "When did we start yelling at each other?"
"I believe it was a bit after he called you an overbearing, micro-managing, patronizing swot. And then you called him an under-achieving, unreliable, thoughtless cheapskate. It was muddled after that. There were all these pies…"
She pressed a hand to her eyes. "Lord, did I say all that? That's horrible. I didn't even realize…"
"I bet neither did Ron."
Sighing, she put the quill down. "Harry, do you think some people are just born to be incompatible with one another?"
It baffled me how she could ask me this when she well knew I was born with a prophecy stuck up my arse that said I had to kill or be killed by a madman who, as a result of such prophecy by-the-way, was hell-bent on offing me, but I suppose I knew what she meant.
"Yes, I do, but I don't think you and Ron were born to be…"
She shot me a dour frown.
I continued without batting an eyelash. "… incompatible."
"And why not? There are things in this world that shouldn't ever be brought together."
"Like unicorn poo and cherry bombs?"
That earned me a most delightful glare. "You know what I mean. There are creatures with a natural aversion of each other, like the mongoose and the snake, the spider and the fly-"
"Pink and red? Ice cream and pickles?"
She pouted then shook her head. "Stop teasing."
"It's just silly, is all. You and Ron make fantastic friends when you're not fighting. You're not incompatible, you just… make unpleasant potions…"
"What?"
"…can't live in the same house, I mean."
She rolled her eyes, as if I'd proven her point somehow.
As if I didn't know where she was headed. "If you want me to tell you whether you should give your relationship with Ron another try, I'm telling you I won't. This is your decision, you know. I'm staying out of all that advice crap. I tried that and my Happy Gryff became a Headless Gryff, which probably made it very unhappy."
She winced and blushed. "Really sorry about all that, Harry…"
"Oh, stop. I already told you it was alright. But tell me, why blow up the Shepherd's pies? Too much salt?"
She laughed and it was a wonderful sound. "I've nothing against your Shepherd's pie. It's impeccable. Better than Molly's."
"Ah, then it was probably Ron who blew them up."
She grinned. "A lot of your dishes are better than Molly's, which is why I suggested you put up a restaurant. And wasn't I right? Wasn't it a brilliant idea?"
I pinched her chin affectionately. "Yes, and you never let me forget whose brilliant idea it was."
Her broad grin tapered to a gentle smile. "I'm not sorry I blew the hippogriff's head off… well, not that sorry, but I do regret disrespecting this place. It's-it's yours, and it's wonderful. It's a place I can look at and say, 'Well, I think maybe Harry is happy and he's doing quite well these days.' So blowing things up like that… it just wasn't right, you know? All this… you did it all by yourself, and you're proud of it. I know you are."
I returned her smile. Yes, I was proud of my restaurant. I was proud of the fact that people actually thought the food was delicious. I was proud that the customers I attracted were regular, everyday people. I was proud of the fact that I managed to separate myself from all the Dark Wizard Fighting and Boy Who Lived crap after the war by not becoming an Auror, as everyone seemed to expect, but by becoming a restaurantuer, something nobody but Hermione expected I would be.
But really, I couldn't have done this without her. She didn't just make a suggestion. She helped me put the place together, from finding a location to helping me manage the restaurant when I first started it. She even helped with the name, which was really one of my favorite things about it. It had all the elements of a pub name-Adjective+Noun-and a pun so perfect and personal to me that I couldn't have named the place any better.
"So there," she continued meekly. "That's why I'm sorry. And I really am. I really, really am."
I could see that it meant a lot to her to make me understand how she felt about everything. "Apology accepted. But really, after all you've done to set this place up, it can oblige you a few headless hippogriffs."
She chuckled softly and-to my surprise-wrapped her arms around my middle. It wasn't unpleasant. Goodness, it ranked way up in my list of "Things That Would Make Me Die Happy," but it was certainly unexpected.
Hesitantly, I embraced her back, and I felt her relax into me. It was the best feeling in the world. I eased my chin atop her head, closed my eyes, and smiled.
"Harry, do you believe some people are made for each other, then?"
I suddenly wished she wasn't pressed so closely, what with my heart beating faster and all. "Like what-like soulmates?"
She didn't say anything for several seconds, and I could almost hear her brain resisting the concept of soulmate-ism. Too wooly, she'd be thinking. Too near the realm of divinations, she'd surmise. That was the point. That was the whole reason I used the word, because really, we couldn't go there.
I couldn't go there. Not now. Not when the temptation would be too strong.
But then I felt what seemed to be a shrug. "Oh, fine. Like soulmates. Do you believe in such a thing?"
It was a cruel thing, fate. Of all the days, why did Hermione have to pick this day to be fanciful? Where's the logic? "Seems awfully daunting, don't you think? The possibility that there's only one person in the whole wide universe that you're meant to be with?"
She nodded. "Awfully."
"It's like being in a cosmic lottery. Your chances are minute."
"Very minute. Your soulmate could be in-say, China, or Zimbabwe."
"Or a distant planet in Andromeda."
She giggled softly. "It could be."
"It?"
"Well, all the way in Andromeda? Bound to be an it, yeah?"
I laughed. "Or it could be a he."
She made a face. "With tentacles."
"That could impregnate me."
She threw back her head slightly to laugh, staring up at me with her eyes alight. "Oh, the Daily Prophet would just love that kind of headline."
"I don't know. I think this headline is more to the Quibbler's tastes."
She laughed some more, the melodic sound rippling through the gradually quieting restaurant.
Her laughter dwindled and she began to really stare at me, which made me very nervous. "So do you, Harry? Believe in soulmates?"
She just had to get back to that, and well, of course, I knew the answer.
I feebly attempted to cast some more logic into the discussion. "Well, how would one know, anyway? Assuming you've actually met your soulmate-that he isn't in China, Zimbabwe, or Andromeda-how do you recognize him?"
"I'm not sure," she said with a soft sigh. "Maybe… maybe it's the one who compliments you in every possible way? Perhaps it's that person who could understand you with one look and one touch… or the one you have an amazing friendship with where a disagreement isn't necessarily a fight, and a discussion isn't necessarily an argument…"
Very, very dangerously close to how I would answer my own question.
I'm not sure whether my chef's sudden violent urge to tell me that we'd run out of mandrake was a good or bad thing. Perhaps I should think it's a good thing, because Leroy might have just saved my friendship, and I don't just mean the one I had with Hermione. Never mind if I had a matching violent urge to kill him. I wasn't thinking right at the time, with Hermione pressed so close to me, her perfume making me heady and her breath tickling my lips.