Life N.E.W.T.s

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.

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“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.

Chapter Three

TRANSFIGURATIONS: Making Something Out of Something

That evening, Hermione did not sleep in my apartment. She went to her mother’s flat.

“I’ll be seeing dad on the weekend, so I thought maybe I’d spend some time with mum before I leave for France,” was her excuse.

I was completely fine with that.

A bit after the war, Hermione’s parents had divorced. A sad affair, but as Hermione said, “Some people are just better separated.”

Interesting that she said that—and believed it—way before all of… this.

Anyway, she’d pop into France where her dad had moved, every once in a while as a result.

So she wasn’t at my apartment when I finally got home that night from the restaurant. And the following morning, Ron dropped by to apologize for what happened in the Happy Gryff, or at least that was his initial excuse. Halfway through my morning coffee, he was already off about Hermione, how it was so awful that they were fighting, and he began to bemoan the fact that they weren’t like all the other couples who would be all over each other at the park, or sharing a huge bowl of ice-cream at the parlor every Wednesdays, or holding hands while they gazed up at the sky on a starry night.

Apart from the fact that I was getting a migraine imagining Hermione doing all these things without throwing up her lunch, I had to feel bad for Ron who just really wanted to have a tender, loving relationship with his best friend. Unfortunately, it also highlighted the fact that Ron didn’t get Hermione much, at least when it came to having a romantic relationship with her.

“Where is she, anyway?” Ron asked, buttering a breakfast muffin.

“With her mum. She didn’t stay here last night,” I replied more defensively than I intended.

Ron didn’t notice anything amiss. There were many advantages to Ron’s emotional daftness. “Maybe I should go over there. Try to talk to her again.”

Bad idea. Very bad idea.

I shook my head, looking dolefully at him to convey my disapproval.

He frowned and I saw that stubborn look beset his face.

I stopped shaking my head and just sighed.

Ron did go to Hermione’s mum’s flat, and of course, I was right in thinking that it was a bad idea.

Hours later, Ron was in the Happy Gryff again, sharing more butterbeer with me while telling me all the gory details of the “big row” they had over at Grace Puckle’s home, and how Ron slammed the door on his way out while Hermione was going off on him.

“She’s gone completely mad,” Ron said, a dazed expression on his face. “I was telling her we could still work things out if we just—you know, gave in every once in a while, but she kept saying that nothing was going to work, that everything in her Arithmantic, Astrological, and Runic calculations said we were doomed to have a failed relationship, and that we just weren’t soulmates. Soulmates, Harry. When did she ever believe in that crap? I’m getting Stupefied just thinking about it. She’s talking like Trelawney. I’ve finally pushed her over the edge.”

I might have told him not to flatter himself, but I’d gotten stuck on “soulmates” and I felt this incredible heat flooding my face while both pleasure and pain warred like two chest monsters… well, we’ll not get into anymore bad analogies.

I said nothing, pretending to listen to Ron ranting while I daydreamed and dreaded the thought of Hermione tossing and turning last night because she was thinking about our discussion of soulmates and aliens and mind-reading… I’ve gone completely mad.

More’s the pity.

She and I were a pair of lunatics.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Speaking of Luna, she came by the restaurant for dinner. With her was her father, and between them they shared a nice Toad-in-a-Hole, a side of chips, and a smoking hot issue of their competition, the Daily Prophet.

Hermione and Ron’s public spat made the Daily Prophet’s front page, naturally, and Luna was quite fascinated by the picture of the Hippogriff moving around headless. I had to admit, the descriptions were entertaining, especially when it got to the part about “the pulverized parsleys’ plight…”

Even running a restaurant and occasionally cooking for it, I never thought to be considerate of the trials and tribulations of vegetables.

“On the other hand,” said Mr. Lovegood as he set the paper down, “’Tis a good day when what makes the front pages of a generally circulated periodical is a celebrity spat instead of a story about dark wizards running amuck in Diagon Alley.”

“Or Velostractor Tinglewinks rampaging through the Ministry,” said Luna in a decidedly dreamy tone.

“Well, I don’t know about that, dear… I don’t think I’d feel very distressed if it was the Ministry.”

I stood by their table, smiling politely.

“I still feel rather bad for Ronald,” Luna said. “He seems to be trying so hard. Hermione should be kinder to him.”

“They should be kinder to each other,” I said.

Luna shrugged, slicing herself a piece of Toad-in-a-Hole. “I suppose Ron could be a bit of a—“

“Spotted dick?” asked one of my waiters as he held up the dish.

My lips pursed ever so slightly. “I think that’s for table four over there.”

“Oh, right, Harry. Sorry about that.”

The waiter left.

“As you were saying, Luna?” said Mr. Lovegood.

“I was saying that Ron could be a bit of an insensitive git sometimes, but Hermione doesn’t help the situation by being a—“

“Wet Nelly?”

I looked up with a bit of irritation at the scrumptiously spiced pudding Jeffrey, another one of my waiters, held up.

What was wrong with my staff today?

“That’d be table eight,” I said patiently. “This is table ten.”

Jeffrey left with his apologies.

I frowned slightly as I got back to the conversation we were having. “So Hermione’s a wet nelly.”

I seem to have confused her, and Luna being Luna, that was saying something.

That’s me. The Amazing Harry Potter.

Thankfully, Luna was fully equipped to cope with people who said odd things. “I was going to say she doesn’t help the situation by being stubborn. What does being a wet nelly even mean?”

I was too embarrassed by my thoughts of “scrumptiously spicy” to even stick around. I suddenly had to excuse myself with a false kitchen emergency, running into my sanctuary as one of my waitresses cried, “Fitless Cock on table three!”

A/N: Now hopefully, you did not think this chapter too useless, because I’d like to think that this one is useful for (a) having a small laugh and (b) introducing Luna into this hodge-podge hullabaloo.

“Hodge-podge Hullabaloo” is an eponymous term coined by my musical friend from the band Blued to name a song in one of their albums.

Chapter Four

HISTORY OF MAGIC: Recovering Artifacts and Recalling Past Events for Future References

Suffice it to say that it was slightly surprising when Luna began showing up at the Happy Gryff every day over the weekend. I didn’t mind at all, of course. She was an excellent customer, and most times, she sat at the bar to talk with me. She always had interesting conversation, so I always took the time.

On Monday afternoon, she was there when Ron walked in, looking decidedly distressed.

He went up to the bar, completely ignoring the fact that Luna was there and that I was speaking to her, and said to me in a somewhat frantic tone, “Hermione passed by the shop while I was out. She dropped off the Bookshelf Enlarger that I lent her mum!”

“How dare she return the things you own!”

“Harry, stop taking the mickey. I’m serious!”

I sighed, grabbing a butterbeer from beneath the counter and popping the cap off to give to him. “You broke up last Wednesday and you both reiterated that to each other on Thursday. What part of ‘We’re over and done with, Ron Weasley, you insensitive prat,’ did you not understand?”

I didn’t mean to sound harsh, but Ron was being a tad ridiculous.

Ron reddened, not overruled, though. “But returning things! That only happens when couples separate in anger, yeah?”

“I s’pose. She might have misinterpreted your actions when you walked out of her mother’s house while she was still speaking and slammed the door on your way out. Hermione could be so daft sometimes.”

He finally gave a defeated sigh, realizing the idiocy of his drama. He slumped on a bar stool and took a swig of the butterbeer. He was very depressing to look at.

“Break ups are hard,” Luna said.

It was then Ron finally noticed she was there. “Oh, hi Luna. How’s it going?”

“Fine, thank you. I read about what happened here the other day from the Daily Prophet. It’s awful what the two of you said about each other. It’s like you never loved each other, ever.”

Ron rolled his eyes wearily. “Yeah.” He drank what was left of his butterbeer.

I wonder about Luna sometimes.

“What were you thinking?” she asked. “Calling her names?”

I don’t even think she meant that as a rhetorical question. I think she really wanted to know.

Ron scowled. “Seemed like a good idea at the time!”

Luna tutted. “That’s just something she would expect from you, Ronald. And when you began calling her names, she had every reason to call you names, back.”

Ron looked at her like she was mad. I was watching her with great interest, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. I remembered a day, long past, when Hermione told me my shortcomings when it came to dealing with Cho.

What would us blokes do if we didn’t have women telling us what we did wrong?

“People always go with knee-jerk reactions,” she continued. “But if you do something completely off-kilter, you throw them for a loop and more often than not, the results are an improvement from what you expect.”

“So…?”

“Do something she wouldn’t expect. Maybe she’ll respond better to your attempts to talk to her.”

Ron thought about what Luna said, which did not bode well. He nodded and seemed to make a decision. “Harry, Luna’s right. Hermione always acts as if she knows exactly what I’m going to do. I ought to show her she’s wrong. That’s never been done before, yeah?”

“No kidding.”

“Right now, she’s probably thinking that I’ll go running back to her, begging to take me back.”

That was very dangerous thinking, as I knew quite well that Hermione was leaning more towards not continuing her relationship with Ron. I just had to say something. “I don’t think Hermione’s—“

“Well, I won’t do that. I’m going to do the exact opposite. I’m going to ignore her. And maybe I’ll go on a few dates. How’s that sound?”

I tried again. “I don’t think Hermione’s—“

“In fact, I’ll start right now. Luna, would you like to have dinner with me… er, tonight?”

Why do I even try? I looked apprehensively at Luna.

Her lips were pursed and she looked very peeved. “I’m washing my hair.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“I’m drying it.”

“Next week…?”

Luna didn’t even bother to reply. “I need to go pee.” She stood and went to the ladies room.

“What’s she so snitty about?” Ron muttered, casting Luna a resentful glance. “It was her bloody idea.”

Daft.

“Listen, mate,” I said. “You need to calm down about all this. So maybe it’s not working out with Hermione. It’s sad, yes, and maybe you and Hermione won’t be talking for a while, but you’ll be friends again. You and she have gone through too much for her to throw your friendship away. And then maybe when you’ve got yourself straightened out, you can start seeing other people.”

“I don’t want to see other people,” Ron grumbled, picking at the butterbeer label. “I want to see Hermione.”

I sighed. “Do you, really?”

He looked up at me, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open. “Well of cour—I mean to say is—everyone… everyone thought we were perfect for each—if the vast majority thought so, how could they be wro—what the hell do you mean by that?”

“It means what you think it means,” was what I wanted to say, but I hadn’t the complimentary eye-twinkle to go with it that would make it seem mysterious and profound. So I just said, “It doesn’t matter what everyone thought or said. All that matters are you and Hermione, and that you both decided it wasn’t going to work out. That’s it. That’s how things are now. If you think you want to go back to her; if you have absolutely no doubts about it, then do it. Try to get her back. Otherwise, it’s just…” I shrugged. I didn’t even want to call it anything.

“Like a bit of history repeating?” Ron finished tiredly.

Weasley could still surprise me. “Well, that’s a rather nice way of putting it.”

“It’s from a song I heard in one of those Muggle cafes.”

That was something new. Ron using Muggle references. Then again, he did date Hermione for six months…

I checked up on the song later. It was quite good.

Life’s for us to enjoy

Man, woman, girl, and boy

Feel the pain, feel the joy

Aside, set the little bits of history repeating

And I’ve seen it before

And I’ll see it again

Yes, I’ve seen it before

Just little bits of history repeating

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione came by the Happy Gryff more often now, but not to talk about Ron. I don’t know if she was deliberately ignoring the subject, but after she complained ONCE about moving her things from Ron’s flat and finally settling into her new place, she never brought up the subject again.

It was all fine by me. I had Ron’s version of Hermione’s cat-burglar-like move-out in overwhelming proportions. Never mind if it was after the fact. Apparently, over the course of two weeks, Hermione would go to Ron’s apartment whenever he wasn’t there and take bits and pieces of her things one at a time. Ron, daft as he was, didn’t notice how things were disappearing until Hermione finally grabbed her flat-screen telly, leaving a gaping space on the living room wall.

I couldn’t entirely blame Ron for not noticing, though. From what little Hermione told me, I figured she took pains hiding the fact of her subtle move-out from him. I think her main purpose was to keep it all as drama-free as possible, but I think a part of her wanted to get him back for his explosive walk-out on her in her mother’s house, so she deliberately stole her way out of his flat and then took the telly last—a kind of calling card that said, “I’m all moved out. See ya!”

These two are terrible to each other.

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A/N: Almost forgot! The verse was taken from the song “Just a Little Bit of History Repeating” by the Propellerheads. ^_^

Chapter Five

CHARMS: Every Little Thing She Does is Magic

It was difficult to be caught in the middle like I was, which was why I was very grateful to Luna who seemed to have a tendency to show up at the Happy Gryff exactly before or while Ron was there to tell me his woes, his failed relationship with Hermione, and why they were so awful as a couple.

Ron is my best friend, but I could only stand to listen to the same thing for so long, so I was quite glad that Luna was there to listen, often stirring him to talk of other things, and actually making him laugh.

Hermione dropped by at the Happy Gryff often but less spontaneously. She always flooed before coming, asking if Ron was there, and fortunately, she always came around dinner, whereas Ron liked coming by around lunch or early afternoon. I was always glad to have her, and she often stayed until closing.

My hostess always gave her the nice table for two at the corner, a private place where she can read or do some take-home work. Then when the dinner crowd had settled, I’d join her. We’d always have wine, and we’d talk about anything and everything except Ron, which was fine by me, because I truly did miss having this closeness with her.

Since she started going out with Ron six months ago, I did notice that Hermione had cut our time together in half. Whether she did this to spare Ron of his latent jealousies of our very close friendship or whether she really did like spending more time with Ron, I never asked, and she never told. So now that she and Ron were broken up, she was at the Happy Gryff almost every day, and we had loads of things to talk about, as if to make up for all that lost time.

I love to watch her talk. Always did. And making her laugh is a true delight. I understand now that time spent with Hermione was always special, and looking back on everything we went through during the war and everything she’s done for me, I simply couldn’t fathom how and why I ever took her for granted, because I did, especially in school when I was trying not to trip over myself going after Cho, or snogging the heck out of Ginny. And then after the war, there was no short supply of women who promised me life and love.

It was distracting, but I am so very glad I came to my senses, even if it was because Ron and Hermione started dating.

Oy, everyone needs a slap to the head every once in a while to realize the more important things.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Harry, I’m going to go gift shopping. Want to come with?” Hermione asked from the floo.

“Sure,” was my automatic reply. I didn’t even think twice. I didn’t bother to ask her where she was going, or for whom she was shopping for. She asked and therefore I would go.

This was exactly the kind of mentality that always got me into trouble.

So I flooed to her mum’s house (connected to the floo network, thank you very much). She had joined her mum that morning for breakfast, which she often did even when she used to live with Ron.

I waited at her mother’s foyer and spent several minutes stammering and blushing at Grace’s oblique questions about my love life. This seemed to be one of her many amusements, and I was always a prime target, and it was probably why she loves me to death.

Hermione, of course, looked positively lovely for shopping in the open market by the Thames. I was instantly smitten, but I figured being in a public place full of people would be perfect for someone like me who happened to be with the woman I deeply cared for—so I didn’t have to worry about being beset by an uncontrollable urge to snog her.

Ron would definitely beat the living daylights out of you, I thought resolutely and with what I perceived to be an objective conclusion. Ron is my best friend, too. He’s my first friend, and we’re both blokes. Blokes have certain rules concerning ex-girlfriends—and fancying your best friend’s ex-girlfriend…

It doesn’t mean that the rules can’t feel like cruel and unusual punishment, though.

When the scent of her shampoo perfumes the air around me and the soft press of her hand sends unholy tingles through my spine, I feel that the Gods are against me and the cosmos is conspiring to make me mad with desire.

When the things she says makes me laugh in a good way and the things she does makes me want to kiss that delectable patch of skin just beneath her ear, I just know that fate is being unkind, unforgiving, and that I’m being punished for wanting what I’m not supposed to want.

When all I want to do is put my arms around her and tell her I love her in words and ways without caring about the hundreds of folks who would see and stare at the spectacle, I just can’t help but believe that the heavens would strike me dead for trespassing on the sacred guidelines.

Still… when I suddenly care nothing about the cosmos, and punishment, and bolts of lightning because she’s smiling at me and idly caressing my arm, I have to wonder if the blokes who put up the laws ever really knew what it was like to love a woman.

We were now having Battenburg with our tea.

I shifted my gaze briefly to the elegant scrapbook kit she had gotten her friend at work for her birthday. Hermione gave the best gifts, but she hadn’t labored over putting this gift together. She finished her gift shopping thirty minutes through the trip, and the rest of it we’d spent together just walking and talking, stopping once for lunch, and now tea.

I was perfectly aware of the position of our feet under the small table. I knew how close her sandaled foot was to my pants leg. I needn’t make extensive calculations to know that if I leaned over the table just so, I could take her hand. It was maddening and bittersweet.

A flower vendor walked by, fresh flowers in a basket on her arm. She smiled at us, offering to sell us some, her eyes shifting between me and Hermione, as if to tell me, “Aren’t you going to buy your lady friend a nice bouquet?”

What’s a bloke like me to do? I stifled a sigh and smiled, taking the offered flowers and paying for them. When the vendor left, I handed the flowers over to Hermione who appeared to be blushing like crazy.

“The vase in your mum’s sitting room needs replenishing,” I said somewhat bashfully.

She nodded. “It does.” She took the flowers and admired them for a bit before setting them aside. “They’re lovely. Thank you.”

You are so very welcome.

“I missed having afternoons like this with you, Harry,” she said after a moment of silence. “We used to have them all the time, yeah?”

Before she started dating Ron, of course. And back then, I didn’t quite feel like jumping her senseless. I didn’t know, foolish sod that I was.

“We got quite distracted,” I said.

She nodded. “Yes. Very distracted.”

So I suppose that’s what we were going to call her relationship with Ron now. A distraction.

I stifled a sigh. I felt guilty. Shouldn’t I be saying, “Well, now, doesn’t Ron deserve more than being called a distraction?” After all, I’d often told Ron, “Don’t call her names, mate. I won’t have it, yeah?” But it was difficult, especially since calling Ron a “distraction” was like making Hermione’s history with him disappear for a brief, blessed moment—a moment that I was really enjoying with her.

This is a train wreck waiting to happen.

After tea, I offered to take her back to her flat, and of course she was glad to have my company.

The walk from the Apparating point to her front steps was made in comfortable silence.

We reached the steps, and she smiled up at me. “Care to come in?”

I shoved my hands into my pockets and shook my head. “I have to get back to the restaurant anyway. Give my regards to your mum, won’t you?”

“I will. Thanks for accompanying me. It was sweet of you not to complain.”

“I won’t ever complain about being with you.”

These pesky words just tumble out of me. Bugger my faulty brain-mouth connection.

She reddened. I reddened. It was a red situation.

“I’ll see you soon, then,” she said quietly, tiptoeing to kiss my cheek.

I turned my face a bit. I must have been possessed. It was the only explanation, and her lips landed on mine.

We froze, our lips pressed together, then she pulled away slowly, staring up at me with unveiled wonder. We were both a bit shocked, even if I had vaguely known what I was doing.

That split heartbeat touching of lips brought a tidal wave of promise. I had taken that moment and remembered it like it had lasted a wonderful eternity, wanting more with unbridled certainty.

I would have grabbed her. Given another second of uninterrupted staring and I’d have had her in my arms, tossing caution, rules, and laws to the wind. I was good at that sort of thing, anyway.

But then she widened the gap between us, shaking her head “No,” because I know she read it in my eyes. We were really good at that sort of thing, and all I can really do was watch her get away from me. She fled, waving goodbye awkwardly over her shoulder, maybe in some effort at normalcy, as she hastened into her flat.

And I wanted her, was bespelled by her. The magic that was her was powerful enough to make me forget about consequences and the “distraction” that was the reason for my predicament.

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A/N: I sincerely apologize for the UST.

Well, maybe I’m not that sorry.

Chapter Six

DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS: Fighting That Which Must Not Be Said

“Where were you yesterday?” Ron asked, somewhat irritably as he sat at the bar in the Happy Gryff.

I looked up from the morning invoices and felt my face to be on the brink of an explosion. “I—erm, why do you ask?”

Ron picked up his sandwich and bit into it, taking his maddeningly sweet time in chewing and then swallowing. “I came by before lunch and then later in the afternoon. You were out and your staff said you hadn’t been in since you called to say you were going to be late.”

“Since when was I supposed to run my day’s schedule by you for approval?” Merlin, I was speaking like a man guilty of high treason.

Ron looked slightly affronted. “Well, it’s not like that. I just wanted to talk to you yesterday, is all. Made me wonder where you were. No need to snap at me.”

I should just bang my head on the table, just so I could beat some sense into it. “Sorry. I just—sorry.”

Ron shook his head then sighed. “Just as well, I suppose. I know you’re tired of listening to me whine about Hermione. Anyway, I caught Luna in the afternoon. Had another weird conversation with her, but it beats grumbling about Hermione, I suppose.”

I said nothing, letting him talk.

“George and Fred say they’re sick of listening to me talk about her,” Ron continued, the look of utter dejection on his face striking me in its sincerity. “But I—cor, Harry, I can’t help it. Hermione is too important, isn’t she? She’s not just some girl I dated. She’s Hermione, and I suppose when we weren’t fighting I—“ He ran his hands through his hair in resigned frustration. “I really cared for her. She was really wonderful when we got along. I must’ve been the biggest idiot in England to have let her get away, but I suppose I got on her nerves and that about did it. It’s not like I drove her away on purpose. I swear to you, all of those things… that was just me being me. I can’t be more than what I could be, and I guess it wasn’t enough for her. Worse part about it is, it isn’t her fault, either. She can’t help having expectations. She doesn’t have to settle. Nobody has to…”

I felt like a complete and utter git.

My heart is black. It has to be, belittling Ron’s feelings for Hermione like I always have.

“Have you spoken to her lately?” Ron asked, eyes hopeful. “What’s she said about me? Does she… miss me, at least? Because I do…”

Oh, Merlin.

What do I tell him? Should I tell him the heartbreaking truth that she all but avoided mention of him and called him a “distraction?” Or should I take liberties and say, “Yeah, Ron. You and she were friends, after all. Of course she misses you.”

Or I could be a complete jackass and say, “I’ve been spending quite a bit of time with our best friend who just happens to be your ex-girlfriend and I’ve been remembering why I’m so in love with her.”

This was all so very wrong.

“Yeah, I’ve spoken to her,” I finally said. “She’s—you should try to move on Ron. I mean, I know she cares about you, but she’s… she always has, you know what I mean?”

By the look on his face, he knew exactly what I meant. Hermione would always be our best friend, no matter what, and even after everything she and Ron had gone through, that was all she was going to be to him from now on.

“I need a drink,” he groaned.

I gave him Firewhisky this time. It was the least I could do, and when Hermione flooed in that evening at the Happy Gryff, asking if Ron was there, I said he wasn’t, because I’d only just Apparated him back to his flat, him being too pissed to do it by himself. But even with Ron gone from the Gryff, I told Hermione this wasn’t a good time. The after-dinner crowd was thick, I said.

It was painful to see the disappointment in her eyes. I felt wretched, because she knew I was blowing her off, and perhaps she even knew why, because she’d left me on her doorstep for the same reasons. At least one of us had to remind the other of why we couldn’t. Last night it was she who remembered. Tonight it would be me.

I couldn’t be with her right now. Not when the glaring technicality that was, “But they’re already broken up!” was hanging off my back like a Snorkack.

Hermione was important to me, but so was Ron.

There were no, “Voldemort’s after me and you’ll be in danger,” excuses. There was no, “We have to concentrate on defeating the big, bad Wizard.” This was about life, and about love.

I was in love with Hermione. So much that I was in danger of breaking my other best friend’s heart for it. I had to remind myself that I loved Ron as well, not in the same way, but it didn’t make him less important.

Ron was her best friend too. She understood, more than anyone, how much Ron would hurt, and she didn’t want to break his heart any worse than she already had, either.

This defined our relationship for many months thereafter. Knowing what was between us but not speaking it, because speaking it would make it harder—speaking it would make it impossible to hide.

“I’ll see you when I see you then,” she said softly.

I nodded, swallowing the painful lump in my throat. “Yeah. As soon as we can.”

Brain-mouth connection tripped again.

A sad smile played on her lips, because she knew exactly what I meant. “As soon as we can.”

And she disappeared from the floo.

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A/N: Well, I’m definitely releasing this chapter with the next one, just because this one’s uber short.

A/N: Have you read the previous chapter yet? If you haven’t, you better, or this won’t seem as… interesting.

Chapter Seven

CARE OF MAGICAL CREATURES: Common Remedies for Ailments of the Heart

Eventually, Ron spoke less and less about his painful break-up, and friends and family began to get it in their heads that things were going back to normal.

I for one knew things were not as normal as they should be between the three of us.

Oh, Ron and I were fine. We were the best of friends. But both our relationships with Hermione changed. The reasons for Ron were obvious. My reasons weren’t quiet so obvious, and not nearly as open for discussion.

Hermione still came to the Happy Gryff, but not as often as she used to; once a week if I was lucky. Whenever she was there, we’d sink back into our easy and delightful conversations, and for about half an hour, I’d forget about the five hundred pound Gorilla in the room that represented our relationship with Ron. I’d stare into her lovely eyes and think, “What I wouldn’t do for you,” even if was already failing that promise at that very instant with my inaction. We’d laugh together and share a dream or two, even hold hands when we got carried away.

But then I would suddenly remember why I shouldn’t be doing this with her, so I’d chug down an entire glass of wine, feel the sickly sweet intoxication throb between my temples, and use those five seconds of numbness to excuse myself from the company I had longed to be with the entire week.

Sometimes it was she who remembered, and she would be the one to cut it short, saying she had some things to do, and that she had to go. I never wanted her to go, and I always asked her to stay longer—just a minute longer, but she’d smile sadly and say she had to. Her eyes would remind that we had this agreement, and at least one of us had to be strong when the other was weak.

So I pretended there was absolutely nothing wrong with Hermione and I while I helped Ron pretend he was feeling better about his break up with her.

Juggling both was not easy, especially when certain occasions required all three of us to be present, like for family gatherings and get-togethers with our classmates in Hogwarts. I wanted and hated to sit beside her on the table, and given the situation between her and Ron, I had to sit between them. Always. It was imperative.

The merciful Gods sometimes spared us having to sit at one table, like in symposiums and socio-political events, but it grated on both Ron’s and mine’s nerves, having to watch Hermione from a distance being fawned over by other men.

At least Ron could act like he was jealous. I had no such luxury. I had to make sure no one suspected it was affecting me, especially not Ron. It was one of the hardest things I had to do.

So when in one occasion, Luna was there to keep Ron occupied, I discreetly made my way to one of the curtained balconies. I had seen Hermione go there with some disreputable playboy and I was quite ready to throw hexes.

I was contemplating how best to dispose of the man without royally pissing Hermione off when said playboy stumbled out of the curtains, a red handprint on his cheek.

I glared at him and he scampered off, never daring to look back.

When he was gone, I hastened to stand just beyond the curtains.

“Hermione?” I whispered. “Alright there?”

There was silence, and for a moment, I thought I had been mistaken about Hermione being there, but she suddenly replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “Quite. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

I was relieved, and perhaps a bit ashamed of myself for thinking that Hermione needed saving, or some such hogwash as that. “He’s a right wanker.”

“That, he is. I really hate these parties, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but it would be rude of us not to come to them, yeah?”

“Extremely.”

I gave tight lipped smile. “Not so bad, being with you and Ron, though.”

She fell silent again for a few heartbeats. “It’s my only consolation.”

I looked at the dance floor. There were many couples on it, and it was appropriately lit. There would be absolutely nothing amiss about Harry Potter asking Hermione Granger to a friendly dance.

Ron was still talking to Luna, and they seemed to be engaged in animated conversation.

“Want to dance?” I asked, my heart thudding through my chest.

Another silent pause.

Then the curtain moved aside and I could see her peeking through it. “Yes. I’d really love that.”

She smiled. I smiled back.

And so I took her by the hand and led her to the dance floor. I whirled her in my arms and we were smiling, just two best friends sharing a song.

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A few weeks later, Ron told me Ginny had set him up on a blind date.

“It’s going to be horrible. I just know it,” groaned Ron.

I was quite sure Ginny loved her brother enough not to set him up with a complete hag, and I honestly thought—whoever she was—that she’d at least be pleasant company. Somebody to get Ron comfortably back in the game if nothing else.

She was a complete hag.

Oh, beautiful, to be sure. Ginny plucked her right out of the pages of the fashion magazine she worked for. The witch had legs that went on forever, lips that begged to be kissed, and the face of an angel, but what a cantankerous bitch!

She complained all night about men ogling her dazzling good looks, whined about how people took her for granted, and scolded Ron for thinking that just because he helped save the Wizarding world, it didn’t mean he could treat her like a disposable dish rag, which had Ron completely baffled, because he was being on his best behavior.

She was in tears by the end of the night, and Ron swore he would never go on another date again.

I flooed Ginny, and I don’t even know why I was irritated with what she’d done.

“What in the world were you thinking, Gin?” I asked, scowling. “She was awful! How can you think Ron would like someone like that? Now he’s having crazy notions of never dating again. He’ll never get over Hermione this way!”

Ginny didn’t take very kindly to my scolding. She bat-bogeyed me. I didn’t even know it could be done through the floo. Slughorn was right. She was proficient with that hex.

That was the last time Ginny attempted to get her brother a date, so the task was left with me. I didn’t even bother to ask help from Fred and George. They’d probably traumatize Ron even worse.

Seamus, Dean, and Neville were much more cooperative, and with our efforts combined, we found several amiable women for Ron to go out with. All of them were failures, yes, but at least none of them sent Ron running… well, except maybe for that one instance with the transsexual. Not running, really. Squirming, yes. I mean, Ron had grown to become a relatively progressive bloke, thanks to Hermione’s influence, but he wasn’t ready for transsexuals yet. That was some rather advanced shite.

Anyway, I don’t know how Seamus missed the Adam’s apple on that one.

It wasn’t so bad, anyway. Patty (legally, he was Patrick, but he was hoping everyone would get used to calling him by his new name even before the operation) was a really sweet fellow. He felt that with his upcoming sex change, being a woman was a mere step away, but he had to admit it was really difficult getting a proper date with a man while he still had his penis. So Patty was really nice about it when Ron said he didn’t think they could have a second date, after all, at that point, Patty could have still very well punched Ron’s lights out.

On a more interesting note, Luna has been notably intrigued by all of Ron’s dates, listening intently whenever he griped and moaned about how he’d almost forgotten how exhausting dating was.

There were a lot of things Luna was—in fact—notably intrigued in. There were days when Luna and Hermione were at the Gryff at the same time, and most of the time, Luna didn’t stick around when Hermione was there, but I couldn’t help but wonder if Luna noticed the five hundred pound Gorilla in the corner whenever Hermione was by, what with all those knowing looks Luna seemed to throw at us on her way out the Gryff’s doors. I won’t be entirely surprised. If the lady can see Snorkacks, she can sure as hell see Gorillas.

And so the quest for Ron’s dates continued, and really, in spite of his complaints, he never told us to stop. Which worked really well for me, as far as psychos/crackheads went.

I realized that I had developed a rather unhealthy obsession of finding the right girl for Ron. I needed him to find a girlfriend. I needed him to be happy again.

I just wanted him to start seeing someone, dammit! So bad I could—well, I don’t think “so bad I could taste it” is appropriate. It sounds rather disgusting, but it went something like that.

So of course, as life would have it, the road to salvation was not easy. Willing though he was to see other women, he was impossible. Incredibly picky. One would think that given his own desperation to move on, he’d—I don’t know, force himself, or something. I had half a mind to tell him he was a complete idiot if he couldn’t find someone after all the women we’ve paraded before him.

Hermione knew it all along. He was a moron. He had the emotional range of a teaspoon. He let Hermione get away after all, didn’t he?

But I suppose we all underestimated him, or rather, I was so intent on finding someone for him that I didn’t bother to realize that he might have found someone for himself.

Chapter Eight

ASTROLOGY: Witches are From Venus, Wizards are From Mars.

“Harry, do you think Luna Lovegood as loopy as she appears to be?” Ron asked me as he sat at the bar in the Happy Gryff.

I paused, not understanding what Ron meant. “Appears to be?”

“You think maybe it might be an act?”

Now I was really confused. “Why would anyone act loopier than they are?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because it seems cuter?”

“Cuter?!” What the—“You think Luna’s cute for acting loopier?”

“Well, don’t you?”

I set my butterbeer down on the counter, my brows knotting at the inanity of this question. “I wouldn’t exactly describe her as cute…”

At this, Ron frowned. “Why not? What’s wrong with her?”

I liked Luna. I really did. She said strange things, and I always felt I could tell her things without having to worry about what she would think. I don’t think “judging” was in the scope of her vocabulary, but if I was going to give an entirely honest opinion, I thought Luna was just a bit out of her mind. That opinion might have been a direct influence of Hermione, who thought Luna as mad as a hatter, but that was beside the point.

I fidgeted uneasily and gave Ron’s thoughts some consideration. I had a feeling Ron wouldn’t be too keen about hearing my assessment of Luna Lovegood’s mental state.

“Nothing’s wrong with her,” I said without conviction. “Maybe you’re right.” For the Savior of the Wizarding world, I could be such a wimp. “Maybe she’s cuter… why do you ask?”

“I don’t know.” Ron fidgeted on his seat. “I recently had an interesting conversation with her… again, but this time I asked her out to dinner for tonight…”

At that point, I had to ask myself if I heard right. “You—? Well, erm, wow. That’s—“ I grappled to find an inoffensive word to describe it. “—unexpected.”

Success.

“Yeah, I reckon so.”

“D’you, erm… fancy her?”

At that, Ron looked immensely irritated, and I felt colossally stupid.

“Of course you fancy her,” I immediately said, answering my own question. “What I meant to say was—erm, are you sure?”

Now Ron was beginning to look confused, and I thought maybe this question was no better than the first one. I wasn’t sure why I found the idea of Ron and Luna so difficult to comprehend. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know Luna had liked him for ages, and really, if I didn’t think mental stability was important in a woman, I could admit that Luna was actually quite attractive. All things considered, this was a highly natural thing, wasn’t it?

I cleared my throat. “This date—it is a date, isn’t it?”

“Ask a woman out to dinner… she says yes… a date is what they usually call it, yes.”

“Right. So… that’s good, yeah? You finally asked someone out.”

“Yes. I was getting tired of you all shoving women down my throat. I figured I’d like to ask someone I actually fancy, for a change.”

This was definitely a shock, but now it was sinking in, and I began to realize the implications of what Ron was telling me.

He was going out on a date; a date he arranged.

This was big. This was—this was huge.

I was going to burst from excitement.

That night, Hermione dropped by the Happy Gryff.

I didn’t even bother with the dinner crowd. I sat with her at her table and said, as casually as I could, “So Ron’s asked Luna out on a date.”

Hermione had stared at me like I had gone mad. “What?”

“Ron. He asked Luna out. Of his own free will. I think he fancies her. In fact, I think he actually said he did. Yes, I distinctly remember him telling me so.”

Another few moments of staring, I was beginning to wonder if she was ill. I was absolutely sure she understood the magnitude of this event, yet there she was, unmoved.

But then she smiled. The smile was real. Not affected. Not forced. It was that lovely, joyous smile of hers that spoke of many wonderful promises. “Well, I’m glad, Harry. I really am. I think they make a lovely couple, don’t you think? I hope their first date works out.”

Please let their first date work out.

Please, for all things magical, let their first date be a smashing success.

Hermione and I talked all night, enjoying one another’s company. I held her hand; didn’t let it go, and I dared to kiss it once, twice. She blushed, but she let me do it, and she might have brushed her foot on my leg deliberately that one time.

We had our wine, our seats moving closer the later it got, and I couldn’t move away. Close. So close.

Her fingers were running idly through my hair. Playfully. Affectionately. Lovingly.

The wine was gone. The Happy Gryff was closed. We were the last people there.

I wanted to kiss her and let it all be. Ron was going to be happy, wasn’t he? Ron had finally began to move on—really move on.

But then, we didn’t know that for sure.

We could be deluding ourselves, wanting him to be happy when he might not be…

I stared out the windows of my restaurant. The grills had been pulled down at the front. We’d have to go out through the back.

From the outside, the Happy Gryff would be caged and locked.

Until the morning, the locks weren’t going to be undone.

Sighing, I clasped her hands in mine and bent over to press my lips lightly over her knuckles, then I laid my cheek against them on the table, closing my eyes.

Her other hand came up to smooth my perpetually tousled hair back.

“You will let me know how Ron’s date went, yes?” she whispered.

“I will. I’ll ask him and I’ll let you know immediately.”

“Good. Not a moment later.”

I felt her kissing the top of my head before she left for the back door. I stayed in the Happy Gryff for a while before I finally retired for the night.

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A/N: Another too-short chapter that made a two-chapter release reasonable. ^_^

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.

Chapter Ten

POTIONS: The Difference Between Amortentia and the Real Thing

There was the matter of breathing, and it had to be done some time, so I pulled away to do a bit of that wonderful necking, which was really pleasant when you’re snogging in one of the many comfy booths of the Happy Gryff, and boy was I a happy Gryff.

She giggled softly and shied away.

What a delightful tease.

I smiled and pulled her closer, pretending to bite her neck.

She giggled a bit louder but she let me put her on my lap, her arms around me.

Very nice. I could take many liberties this way.

I was very well taking advantage of that privilege when she began to speak softly.

“When did you know?” she asked.

My brain was a little muddled, being so engaged, and I wasn’t sure I understood what she meant. Was she asking how long I’ve known I loved her? That’s easy.

“Knew it when Ron told me he’d finally asked you out, and that you said yes,” I replied, paying close attention to that soft patch of skin beneath her ear.

“What?”

She sounded so confused that I looked up to meet her gaze. She looked as confused as she sounded.

“That I was in love with you,” I explained, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Her cheeks glowed a most lovely shade of rose, and I could have sworn she was in dire danger of melting right there. “That’s, no—well, I love you too, Harry. I love you very much. I’m not quite sure for how long, but these last few months felt like I’ve loved you forever.”

It felt fantastic to hear her say that. I grinned and tried to pull her in for another kiss.

“But that wasn’t what I was asking,” she continued hastily, smirking.

That caught me a bit off guard. “Oh. Well, what—“

“When did you know that Ron could be happy? With her.”

Now it becomes clear, and I thought it was funny that we were talking about that. But come to think of it, Hermione would talk about it. She was methodical and precise. There were points of discussion and things to think about even while snogging.

I smirked. “When he talked about sharing an ice cream sundae with her. How she put so much chocolate on it that it could give them tooth decay…”

She stared at me a moment before laughing. “Well, of course. Out with the dentist’s daughter and on with the lovely blonde oddball with a sweet tooth.”

I smiled affectionately, noting that there was just a hint of offended pride. “Well, I brush my teeth twice a day at least and floss daily. Plus, I think sweets are very much overrated. People should take dental care more seriously.”

That earned me a heart-stopping, stroke-inducing kiss.

I gasped like a man drowning when she pulled away. “Three times. I brush three times.” The desperation of having more of that kiss was palpable.

She grinned and indulged me a few more of those fantastic kisses before she spoke. “Ron will probably still throw a fit, you know. About us.”

Ron wouldn’t be Ron if he didn’t stir up some kind of drama, but it was only right, wasn’t it? If he cared about Hermione in any way, it was almost his obligation to throw a fit. If Ron and mine’s roles were reversed, I would do the same thing. However, a most crucial difference between Ron throwing a fit then and now was that this time, I know he won’t be hurting, because now he has Luna—because now, he could be happy with someone else. Besides, Luna has that look about her that implied she was capable of telling Ron, “Heel and behave.” Ought to make a decent man of him.

Besides all that, the Daily Prophet couldn’t twist the story around and say that Harry Potter “stole” Ron Weasley’s girlfriend, because thanks to the press, Ron’s dating escapades have been well documented, and basically, the gossip would come off as saying Ron dated before Hermione and I did.

I shrugged in response to Hermione’s statement. “Yeah, but he has to, doesn’t he? If he ever cared for you at all… but at least now we know we aren’t breaking his heart… cheesy, but true.”

She nodded. “It is. He’s… he’s our best friend, and he had a lot of reasons to feel left out where the two of us were concerned. I was with him for six months, and a lot of times he didn’t even realize that he was telling me that we made him feel that way.”

That actually made me feel… bad. But I knew, didn’t I? We both knew the fact too well. It was the reason, after all, that we waited—waited so long. We cared for each other so much, but we cared for Ron, too, more than we’ve ever cared to show him.

“And he really didn’t want to begrudge us what we had,” she continued. “He tried so hard. And I really think that was the main reason I stayed with him that long. Because he tried. And besides that he was a fantastic friend, but I suppose we were just…”

I raised my eyebrow. “Incompatible?”

“Romantically.” She smirked. “Wasn’t in the stars.”

I laughed. “And we are?”

“Planetary alignments and all? Yes. Definitely.”

And I bet we make fantastic potions, too. “Like rosemary and ashwinder.”

She blinked a moment. “Are you saying we make Amortentia?”

Count on Hermione to figure that out without need of explanation.

I shrugged. “A spot of it?”

She gave me a smug frown. “Well, I should hope we’re more than a bit of Amortentia.”

Well, of course. How silly of me. “It’s not an infatuation. We’re not an infatuation, yeah?”

That seemed to please her and she settled against me. “No. We’re definitely not.”

What we had before—the feelings we shared and dared not explore for a long time—was too precious to be squandered to the hurtful dramas of broken friendships and deep, scarring wounds. Ron was a part of us, and to say that the two of us wasn’t his business would’ve been a betrayal, not only to Ron, but to the friendship the three of us shared. The three of us—we were real. Our friendship was true. It wasn’t fabricated by the press, nor glamoured by a spell, or induced by a potion…

And Hermione and I, we valued this friendship, just as much as we deeply valued one another.

Because indeed, we weren’t just an infatuation. We were most assuredly the real thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: That’s all, my friends! Thanks to Tome Raider for a fantastic beta-ing job!

I hope you liked this simple little romance. It’s not much, but I’m always glad to write something worth posting. ^_^ Thanks for reading, all, and until next we read! See you!