A/N: I'm sorry it took me so long to update, things got a little crazy for me. Anyways, here's the next installment with a special appearance by one of our favorite redheads around.
Hope you all enjoy it!
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12. Back Home
Dragging his tired, long feet, Ronald Weasley arrived home from practice. The life of a professional Quidditch player was wonderful, but those demanding practices were a murder. Although, he had to admit the advantages of his career were worth it. He had lots of girls, a handsome pay, lots of girls, his face appeared on Quidditch magazines regularly, lots of girls, constant traveling… oh! And did I mention lots of girls?
Yeah, life was good!
On top of that, he shared a house with the person he had called his best mate since they were 11, Harry Potter. They had been together through thick and thin, and they had quite a lot of fun stories to tell. But Harry had not been a fun person to be around lately - to be exact, since he came back from his special assignment in America a week ago.
Ron shook his head as he walked into the kitchen. Several empty firewhisky bottles sat on the table. Most likely, Harry was - once again - passed out in his bedroom. So, Ron headed in that direction.
He could not believe that Harry would let himself go just because of one girl - emphasis on one. To him, it was ridiculously-bloody-unbelievable to see that the famous Boy-Who-Lived, the Savoir of the Wizarding World had been defeated - metaphorically speaking - by a girl.
The redheaded wizard, still wearing his Quidditch robes, stood at Harry's door and knocked. Getting no response, he opened the door and found - just as he had suspected - the unconscious body of his roommate, lying face down on his bed. Ron walked up to the bed and firmly shook Harry's shoulder. "Hey," he said.
Ron heard some weird grunt that sounded like 'bugger off.'
"C'mon, mate! Wake up!" Ron insisted as he continued to shake Harry.
Finally, Harry turned around, giving Ron an angry look. "What?"
"How long are you planning to keep this up?" Ron asked, returning the angry look. "It's already been a week! I mean, c'mon. Get over it! There're lots of other great-looking chicks out there, you know? I know a few that wouldn't mind shagging that depressed expression off your face."
"Ron," Harry started to complain as he sat up and held his head in his hands. "I don't want to hear it."
"You are going to hear it, mate," Ron quickly added. "I don't understand what that witch gave you - and I don't mean that in a good way. This isn't you! We don't do any of that romantic shit. We have fun. We fool around. We don't let ourselves go just because a stupid little slut turned us down."
"Hey," said Harry, quickly getting up and pointing a finger at Ron. "Don't call her that, okay? Besides, I told you it was all my fault."
"Stop beating yourself up about it, man! She should've understood you couldn't say a thing. Doesn't she know what 'follow your boss's orders' means?" But before Harry could respond to him, Ron continued talking. "Oh no, no! Little miss perfect doesn't know what it is to have a fucking boss, does she?
"Ron, will you stop it?" said Harry, walking away from him and heading to the window.
"Don't you think you're taking this a little too far?" Ron asked, changing his tone.
Harry remained silent for a while. Then, he turned to face his friend. "I care for her, Ron, more than I ever did for anybody else."
Ron raised his eyebrows at that. "You've only known her for a few days! How can you care so much? You had never seen her before. And… she obviously doesn't care about you. She let you go just like that!"
"She was mad at me. She was really upset," Harry continued in a low voice. He then turned back to the window and stood there quietly.
After a few silent seconds went by, Ron spoke again. "Okay, that's it. I've had it with your emotional constipation!" Hearing Ron's upset tone, Harry looked at him. "I can't take this bullshit anymore! Will you just go talk to her so I can go back to enjoying my life?"
"Excuse me," Harry said, amused by Ron's words. "I never thought my emotional problems troubled you."
"It's not that I don't like getting pissed with you, mate," Ron responded after a deep breath. "It's that you're getting so fuckingly boring!"
Harry smiled at his friend and slapped him in the arm. "Perhaps you're right. I should talk to her," Harry said, passing a hand through his messier-than-ever hair. "After all, a week has already gone by. Perhaps she's ready to listen to me now."
Ron shrugged his shoulders. Then, he saw Harry taking a clean shirt out of a dresser. "Hey, mate," he quickly said. "You may want to shower first. If you want her to say yes, that is."
Harry smiled at him. "Thanks, man," he said, stretching his hand out to Ron.
Ron grabbed hold of his hand, but instead of shaking it, he pulled Harry towards him and placed his free arm over Harry's shoulders, slapping him hard on the back. Being that close to him, Ron shut his eyes tightly as a wave of sweat, alcohol, and morning breath crashed into him.
"Go!" Ron said, stepping away from Harry. "You really need that shower."
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Hermione was in no better state than Harry. She had, however, continued her daily shower routine, and she was not trying to drown her pain with alcohol. But, she had isolated herself from everybody.
Feeling a bit resentful with her dad and not wanting to see him, or anybody else that could feel pity for her, Hermione had left Number 10 Downing St. She had sought refuge and comfort in the house she had shared with her parents during her childhood. The house her mother had lived in.
Located in an upper-class neighborhood, the house had been locked up since Hermione and her father moved in to Number 10. Mr. Granger's intention had always been to sale the house. The only reason he hadn't already done so was because of Hermione's strong desire to keep it. That house held many memories of the happy years she spent at her mother's side.
Hoping those memories would help her feel better, Hermione told her father she'd be staying there for a few days. Not wanting to upset her even more, Mr. Granger had agreed to keeping the agents at a low key - although the house maids had been told to keep an eye on her. In return, Hermione had agreed not to perform another disappearing act as she'd done in New York.
Resembling a ghost, Hermione walked around her old house, looking for every little detail that could make her feel close to her mother's presence. She wanted to keep her mind busy with happy memories. She didn't want to think about what had happened to her just days ago.
She had felt, for the first time in her life, that someone cared about her - the real Hermione, not the Prime Minister's daughter. Sure, everyone around her had always been nice to her. Knowing they were all her father's employees diminished that fact. It had been devastating to find out that her father had also paid HIM.
Had Harry also been instructed to 'entertain' her - to kiss her, to make her fall in love with him? Regardless of how much she wanted to deny her feelings for Harry, she had fallen for him. Thus, it hurt even more to know it had been a big lie.
He had lied to her in the cruelest way. He made her believe that something wonderful could happen between them, that there may be a bright future ahead. And the thing he had said about Hermione's mother… She now was completely sure it had also been a lie. Trying to charm her with a fascinating story, he had made the whole thing up. He had dared mess with her mother's memory, and that angered Hermione even more.
But the anger was quickly replaced by a deepest sense of disappointment.
That afternoon, Hermione was in the bedroom her mother had occupied. Everything around it was exactly the same as it was on the last day she had been there. All of her personal belongings were still scattered around the room. Hermione had begged her father to leave the room intact as a tribute to her mother.
Hermione ran a finger over the nicely arranged items on top of the mirrored vanity. A black wooden jewelry box sat right next to a bottle of perfume. Hermione opened the box, wanting to hear the beautiful tune it played.
Hermione quickly spotted one of her mother's favorite pieces of jewelry: a pearl necklace. Besides the pearls, the box contained Hermione's mum's wedding ring, a brown, short curl of hair tied with a pink ribbon - definitely Hermione's - and a golden key, among other things.
Hermione grabbed the key and looked curiously at it. She scanned the room, trying to guess what it belonged to. Suddenly, she remembered something. Hurriedly, she walked out of the room and down the hall. She stopped at the foot of a narrow stairway that led to the attic.
Resolutely, she walked up the stairs and stepped into the dimly lit room. Hermione was used to its semi-darkness. She had been in that room many times as a girl: hiding from her father during one of his dinner parties, pretending to be a princess locked up in a castle's tower, or just reading when she didn't want to be disturbed.
She walked with confidence towards the back. Knowing perfectly well where everything sat, even when the small window didn't provide enough illumination, she never tripped. She stopped next to an old trunk that rested underneath a thick blanket of dust.
Just as Hermione had suspected, the key fit perfectly into the trunk's keyhole. She opened it, coughing lightly as some of the dust got into her throat. Hermione's hands were sweating with expectation. As a girl, she had always wondered what wonderful items could rest inside the trunk.
The first thing Hermione saw was a black garment, resting on top of everything else. Hermione took it out and unfolded it. It was a long, faded cloak with a crest embroidered on a side: a lion with a red and gold shield on the background.
Hermione placed it aside and looked at the other items. Several books lay inside the trunk. She grabbed one of them and read the cover, Hogwarts: A History.
Hermione's heartbeat accelerated. She remembered that was the name of the school Harry had talked about. Swallowing hard, she opened the book at a random page and eagerly read some lines.
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was founded more than a thousand years ago by four of the greatest wizards and witches of the age: Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, Godric Gryffindor, and Salazar Slytherin."
Hermione's eyes took in the words avidly. She quickly flipped through the book and read several passages about this magical school. Hermione could not believe it. She closed the book and dropped it aside to look at the other books inside the trunk.
Titles like: An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, Advance Potion Making, and Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions stood out.
Could it be possible? Could someone have placed those items with the specific purpose of fooling her? Hermione shook her head, knowing that was not possible.
Just then, one leather-bound book called her attention. She grabbed hold of it and, took a deep breath, and opened it. It was a photo album. Hermione looked at a picture of two young ladies, sitting at a stone bench, happily waving at Hermione.
Hermione's mouth fell open as she realized the people in the pictures were moving. It looked like a short video recording, but they were pictures. Hermione even flipped the page and looked at the back to make sure there was nothing underneath creating the effect. But all she found were more pictures.
Hermione passed a shaky hand on her sweaty forehead. She looked closely at the pictures and noticed her mother was wearing the same cloak she had taken out of the trunk. All the kids in the pictures were wearing similar cloaks, although a few sported a different crest.
Those were pictures of Hermione's mother with her friends at school - the magic school. There was no other explanation. Still, Hermione needed someone else to confirm it was actually real. Placing a couple of the books in her arms, she stormed out of the room.
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About an hour later, Hermione walked into her father's office without even knocking. She didn't care that her father seemed to be in the middle of a meeting with some of his staff. "We need to talk," she said in a firm voice.
Mr. Granger looked at her for a while from behind his desk. Sensing this had to be a serious matter, he turned to the two men sitting before him. "Would you mind, gentlemen?" After they left, he stood up. "Don't tell me you're bringing up that whole 'I don't trust you' speech again, are you?"
Not responding to his question, Hermione walked up to his desk and placed the books on top with a loud thump. "Do you know what these are?" she asked, looking at him in the eye.
For a few seconds, Mr. Granger's face twisted in shock. But he quickly regained his cold posture, raising his chin defiantly.
His reaction was more than clear to Hermione. "You knew…"
"Where did you find that?" her father interrupted.
Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Harry's words were replaying in her head. He had been telling the truth. "Does it really matter where I found them?" she asked. "The fact is I know."
"You don't know anything," he quickly replied. "Your mother… she, uh, had a condition."
"Don't you dare!" she spat at him. "Do not speak about her like that. She didn't have a 'condition,' as you call it. And she definitely was not insane, if that's what you implied. This is not a hallucination," she added, lifting one of the books up to his eye level.
"I don't know what you were told," he stuttered.
But Hermione didn't let him finish. "The truth," she said. "I was told about my mum's gift." Seeing her father's mocking expression, she added. "Yes, Dad. It is a gift, not a disease. My mother was a …"
"Don't say that word!" he quickly interrupted. Not being bale to keep his cold posture any longer, he walked around the desk and stood next to Hermione. Placing both hands on Hermione's shoulders, he said, "You don't know what you're saying. Your mother… I loved her, but…"
"No buts, Dad," she said as she gently pushed him away. "I want to know why you kept this from me. Why didn't you tell me?"
The Minister looked away. He took a few steps away from Hermione, looking for an answer. "You don't understand," he said after a while. "She told me about… that a few weeks after our engagement had been announced. What was I to do? I loved her, but… I couldn't deal with something like that."
Hermione followed him with her eyes as he paced around the room, remembering the days when his late wife revealed her biggest secret to him.
"I told her," her continued. "She knew what my plans were. She knew I had a career ahead of me. She had to choose. The wife of a politician can't go around making magic tricks." He then turned around to face his daughter. "It was her decision. She left it all behind, but I didn't force her."
"Of course she did," Hermione said, softly shaking her head. "She loved you so much that she was willing to leave everything for you. She was willing to sacrifice herself and forget who she was just to make you happy. But I can't ask you to understand that. You don't know what it means to love someone else more than yourself."
"Hermione…" He tried to grab her hand, but Hermione stepped back.
"You would never be able to do something like that. You don't know anything about sacrifices."
"You have to understand," he tried to say.
"But that's alright," she continued, not paying attention to his words. "Now I know who my mother was, and I understand what she did." She grabbed the books from her father's desk. "And there's something else you should know," she added. "She passed her gift on to me. I am a witch, Dad."
Mr. Granger's eyes were wide open as he looked at his daughter from head to toe, trying to find something different in her.
"But don't worry," Hermione continued. "I know how it goes. The daughter of a politician can't go around making magic tricks, right? So, I'm going to make things easy for you. I'm not going to ruin your career. I'm leaving," she said, looking right into his eyes. "I can't deny who I am. I can't sacrifice myself like my mother did. She had to hide who she really was, and I'm going to honor her by doing the one thing she didn't: be myself… away from you."
Right after that, Hermione turned around and walked out of the office, hoping her father wouldn't see a rebel tear that had escaped from her eyes.
Wanting to put as much distance between them as she could, Hermione ran out the house she had occupied with her father for the last years. She walked out, leaving behind all her belongings. She didn't need, or care about, all that stuff.
Hermione kept running until her legs almost gave up. Her feet had guided her to a park. She reached a stone bench and sat down. Trying to normalize her breathing and making an effort to hold her tears, she took long deep breaths.
It was true; it was all real. She still couldn't believe how selfish her father had been, forcing her mother to forget who she was and become someone else. She may have done it willingly, but she'd only done it because she saw no other choice. If she hadn't given up her magic, Hermione was sure her father wouldn't have married her.
Along with the anger and resentment Hermione was feeling at the time, she was also feeling guilty. Harry had told her the truth about her mother, and she had pushed him away. This past week, she had been trying to convince herself that he had made the whole thing up.
She now felt bad, knowing he had been right all along.
Suddenly, Hermione heard the breaking of a twig and turned around expecting to see someone walking towards her. But there was no one on sight.
Hermione closed her eyes, sighing deeply. What if everything else Harry had told her was also true? What if he really cared about her? She leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees and burying her head in her arms. "Could it be possible?" she thought. "And to think that I pushed him away because I didn't trust him."
Without realizing it, Harry's name escaped from her mouth in a whisper.
Just then, Hermione felt a presence next to her. Although her eyes were closed, she could feel the warmth of a body and even hear his/her breathing. Someone was sitting by her side. Hermione opened her eyes to find the person she had been thinking about: Harry.
Smiling warmly at her and without saying a word, he placed a hand on her shoulder. Hermione threw herself at him and buried her face in his chest. All the emotions she had been trying to ignore during the past days - and, more recently, after talking to her father - hit her at once. The tears she had kept at bay ran freely as Harry encircled her in his arms.
He allowed her some silent moments while stroking her hair soothingly. When her sobs stopped, he gently pushed her away to look at her. Cupping her face with his hands, he dried her cheeks with his thumbs.
"He knew," Hermione said after she cleared her throat. "He knew it all."
Knowing perfectly well what she meant by that, Harry sighed. He let go of her face and grabbed hold of her hands instead. "Did you talk to him?" he asked. After Hermione nodded her head in agreement, he continued, "What did he say to you?"
She explained to Harry what her father had said when she confronted him. Harry listened attentively to her words.
"What upsets me the most is that he kept all that from me," she said. "Did he really think that I would never find out?"
"What made you talk to him about it?" he asked.
"I found a trunk in the attic at our old house. It's full of my mum's school things," she responded. "Books and some… moving pictures." Harry smiled at that. "I realized you had told me the truth about my mother, and I wanted to hear it from him."
"Do you reckon that's why he changed your name?" he asked her.
Hermione looked at him with wide-open eyes. "How do you know he changed my name?"
"Professor McGonagall told me - the same person who told me about your mum being a witch. She found out that your name had been changed just before your eleventh birthday," he replied.
Hermione nodded, but her expression still showed confusion. "I still don't understand…"
"You see, the eleventh birthday is kind of important for a kid with magical skills," he interrupted. "You must be at least 11 years old to be admitted into Hogwarts. Acceptance letters are sent out to everyone around their birthdates."
Hermione tried to remember the days around her eleventh birthday, but the state of shock she had been after her mother's death made a blur of all her memories. Harry, guessing what she was doing, continued talking, "Your letter was never sent. After the accident, your name was crossed off the list. They thought you had also died in the accident."
Hermione looked down. "I wished I was dead since the moment I woke up in the hospital," she said in a soft voice.
Seeing a trace of sadness in her brown eyes, Harry pulled her closer to him and encircled his arms around her. Hermione didn't resist. It felt comforting to have him there. As his manly scent invaded her senses, a question came to her mind.
"How did you know I was here?" she asked, pulling back just enough to see his face.
"Thanks to that," he said, pointing at the heart pendant/locator that still hung from her neck.
"This?" she asked, placing a protective hand over the necklace. "What does my mum's pendant have to do with it?"
"Your mum's?" he repeated.
"Yes, my mum's," she continued. "My dad gave it to me just before we flew to America."
Harry shook his head. It angered him to see that Mr. Granger had used such excuse to give the jewel to Hermione, and it broke his heart to disappoint her by telling her the truth.
Hermione was looking expectantly at Harry, waiting for him to talk.
He grabbed her hand and caressed it gently. "It wasn't your mum's," he finally said. "It's a magical locator. It pinpoints your location. It was given to your father so I could easily find you anywhere you'd be in America. That's how I got to the club in New York."
Harry inhaled deeply. They were now stepping onto sensitive ground - surely this would remind Hermione that she was upset with him. Hermione nodded silently, looking pensively at the shiny heart.
"You can take it off now, if you want," Harry said in a barely audible voice.
Hermione looked into his green eyes and found remorse. She smiled warmly at him. "I don't want to take it off because it brought you to me."
"Hermione, I'm…" he tried to say, but Hermione's mouth over his stopped him from speaking. She kissed his lips with such intensity that when they pulled apart, they were panting for breath.
"I'm the one who should apologize," she said after a while. "I offered you my heart, but I pushed you away at the first sign of trouble."
Harry smiled at that. He hadn't been wrong the moment he decided Hermione would be the one person he would devote his life to. She had doubted, but it was a human reaction to shield one's heart and try to keep it from harm. Knowing that no words would be enough to express what he was feeling at that moment, Harry pulled her back into a kiss to show her with actions how much he cared for her.