A/N: Have you read Chapter Eight yet? If you haven't, please do, or else this chapter would seem really lame.
Chapter Nine
ARITHMANCY: Fire + Air = Happy Gryff
I was up quite early, anxiously flitting around my flat, worrying about everything and nothing. I acted mechanically, going about my daily rituals by rote.
An hour later, I was at the Happy Gryff, getting my restaurant ready for the breakfast crowd.
It kept me busy, the restaurant. It made me stop thinking about things I wanted to stop thinking about. It was both my haven and my salvation. The common room of my life.
I donned a chef's hat that day. I did it on occasion so nobody was really surprised.
I cooked, and the dishes were superb. The aromas from the fire were heavenly and the heat from the ovens oddly invigorating. Even the coffee we served was blended to perfection.
Nature's potion was good food.
It was all very Zen, and it was taking forever.
The clock felt painfully slow. The day was just dragging on, and it wasn't even noon, yet. I felt that if time didn't go any faster, I'd completely fall apart by lunch.
I didn't know how I lasted all day, but I did, and I was on the brink of total collapse around 5 in the afternoon when the front door chimed and Ron strode in.
I literally dropped everything I was doing. There was no spatula, frying pan, nor was there an egg. Ron was here and all my fears were brought to the surface.
"Bloody hell," I muttered while sweeping my chef's hat off and pushing my way out of the kitchen.
Ron sat at the bar and ordered a Spanish Omelet. That wasn't on the menu, but who cared? I told my chef to cook one and Rissa began to do so without protest.
"Well?" I asked, wiping my clammy hands on the front of my apron. "How did it go?"
Ron seemed surprised, but he cocked a smile a bit after and nodded. "It was good. We had a good time."
"And?"
He was smirking now, and I had to resist the urge to take a bottle from behind the bar so I could smash it over his head. "And what?"
"Second date? Maybe a third and fourth? Or maybe there won't be a second date at all?"
"Really, Harry, this unhealthy interest you've taken on my love life is beginning to gross me out."
He's calling it a love life now? This was good. Or maybe he's mocking me? Or worse, himself…
"Yes, yes," I said dismissively. "So what'll it be, Ron?"
"You know, I really am beginning to wonder. Why is it so important for you that I-"
"Just tell me what happened, Ron! You're absolutely killing me!"
He seemed a bit shocked.
Oh, Merlin, I've turned into a raving lunatic.
He eyed me suspiciously. "Are you alright?"
"S-Sorry. Stressful day and such… so, about Luna…"
He was still watching me. Afraid that I was going to snap and start AKing people, likely. But he replied to my question, anyway. "Second date's been set, yeah. And I think-well, I think maybe I really like her."
They were going on a second date.
Ron and Luna are going on a second date.
And he likes her. He really does. Oh, Mer-
"I s'pose… I s'pose I feel I can tell her anything without being afraid that she'd-you know, think it was stupid." He reddened. "And that about walks the line of 'too much information,' so I'm done telling, alright? We're grown men, for goodness sake, not a couple of giggling girls in a slumber party."
I was unreasonably tempted to tell him I'd wear pigtails and bunny slippers, then later initiate a pillow fight, if that's what it took.
Then again, there was the less emasculating approach, which was to threaten his life, but I'm quite sure Ron wouldn't appreciate that.
His sudden secrecy was dreadfully annoying. He was only too glad to regale me of all his bad dates in the past, and now that he's had a good date, he's all clammed up. And it wasn't as if he didn't want to tell. If there was anything about Ron I knew, it was his ability to brag about his better accomplishments. Not that I found bragging about a good date ethical… or behavior expected of a gentleman. Kissing and telling is an awful, awful thing.
But this is different.
Entirely so.
It had been my singular purpose, these past few months, to help Ron find happiness again, and while Luna was more his doing, I was the one who helped ease him back into the game, dammit!
Alright, more like shoved him. And rubbed his face into it.
But I was a dedicated matchmaker! Whatever happened to O for effort? The man at least owed me one Successful Date story!
It was amazing, how I got Ron to cough up the information. I remembered promising him several plates of food, and at least two of my best Wizard Trading Cards. Only after that did I manage to worm it out of him, and soon enough, he was giving a sappy account of how much fun Luna was-enthusiastically.
The prat. I knew he wanted to tell. The free food and cards were just gravy.
But it was worth it. It really was.
When Ron began to give a glowing review of how Luna slathered the ice cream Sundae (which they shared, much to Ron's delight) with scandalous, tooth-decaying amounts of chocolate syrup, I smiled.
I smiled like mad.
I smiled till my face hurt and was likely to split in half, and I couldn't express how happy I was for him.
And for me.
"I have to go," I simply said, right in the middle of Ron swooning over Luna's amazing spitting-over-the-railing abilities.
Ron seemed surprised.
"Go where?" asked Ron.
"To find someone," I said, untying my apron.
Oh, what the heck.
"To find Hermione."
Ron looked hopelessly confused and that was pretty much how I left him when I walked out of the restaurant.
I shot out of the Gryff, heading for the nearest Apparating point so I could get to the offices of WhizzHard Books Publishing. I'd been to this office many times, and I knew exactly on what floor Hermione was. She had an office of her own, as most book editors did, and when I reached it, her secretary, Leah, said that she had left just ten minutes ago for a meeting in Scotland.
"What time will she be back?" I asked, suppressing the note of desperation aching to ring from my voice.
"Around seven, but I don't know if she'll be heading back here. I'll be off at six-thirty and she said not to wait up for her."
The disappointment I felt was almost crippling, but I suppose it wasn't so bad. I'd waited all day, what was another couple of hours?
I went back to the Happy Gryff, watching the clock for seven. It came.
I flooed Hermione's office and no one was answering. I decided I would take my semi-hysterical self to her flat. No one was home. I went to Grace's flat where Hermione often was when she wasn't at the Gyff.
I walked over the decorative flagstones on Grace's front lawn, walking over her cat, Mortimer, who sat unmoving in my path, and rang the doorbell.
Grace gave me a pleasant hello, and I asked as calmly as I could if Hermione was in.
"She's still in Scotland, dear," Grace replied. "The author's having a creative fit and wouldn't let her go until he could finish the revisions for his book."
I hated authors at that very moment.
"Erm, thanks. I'll see you around then, Grace." I turned and left, no doubt leaving a very perplexed woman behind me.
I was getting very frustrated.
Who knew when Hermione could get away from him?
There was no other choice but to keep myself occupied at the Gryff. Thank goodness we stayed open until quite late.
Around ten-thirty, I'd lost hope of seeing Hermione today.
It was just as well.
At the stroke of eleven, we closed shop, and I'd never had to close up the Gryff feeling quite as miserable. I was physically and emotionally exhausted.
Jeffrey, who was the last to leave, asked if I wanted the grills pulled down. I said I'd do it.
"It's late," I said tiredly even while I offered him a smile. "Go on home. I'll close up."
"Are you sure? I don't mind staying a bit."
I waved him towards the door. "I'll be fine. Thanks, Jeff. I'll see you tomorrow."
Giving me a sympathetic smile, Jeffrey gave me a nod goodbye and left the Gryff.
I sat at the bar and sighed, staring at the lined up bottles of alcohol, tempted to settle my nerves with a spot of whiskey. I don't know if I can stand another day like this without my head exploding.
My eyes roved to the cash register and I realized that I told my cashier that I'd take care of the earnings for the night. With heavy feet, I dragged myself to the other end of the counter.
The front door chimed.
I turned, expecting to see Jeffrey. "Forgot someth-"
Well, it wasn't Jeffrey of course.
Hermione stood at the door, still dressed in her business clothes. She'd come straight from work, like she'd hurried on over here with her bushy hair flying and her coat unbuttoned. She looked terribly disheveled, and I thought her too beautiful for words.
I didn't even greet her hello, I just began saying, "I talked to Ron earlier-" at exactly the same time she said, "I flooed Luna this evening-"
We stopped abruptly as I realized what she was telling me and she, perhaps, realized just what I was telling her.
No words were necessary. There was an overwhelming burst of feeling in my chest, like I'd been holding back all this time and now I've let go.
I strode towards her, my gaze affixed upon hers. Her briefcase and umbrella clattered to the floor just as I caught her in my arms and kissed her.
I longed for those lips for months; had dreamt of having them pressed to mine, and of course as the dream went on, the kiss got better and better, making me feel things as far as I dared to imagine.
This moment-the real thing-felt infinitely more amazing than all those dreams put together.
Her soft lips moved slowly against mine, unhesitant and sure. She kissed back with utter resolve, because she felt what I felt all those months we were together yet apart.
The gentle stroking of her tongue sent pleasant shudders through my body.
How could I have resisted for so long?
Perhaps it was because I didn't know exactly what I was missing.
Now knowing was blowing my mind.