Author's Note:
Thanks for all of the reviews! I love reading all of your encouragement, and, of course, my blunders. This chapter is a bit fun, lots of plot and some H/Hr.
Without further ado…
Looking Back
Chapter 3
Hermione's house was, at first glance, an average size condo. One hall, in which Harry stood, ran through the center of the house; at one end was the kitchen, and at the other was the front door. An open staircase ran up the right side and a large chandelier hung from the ceiling.
"Just an average Wizard?" came Hermione's voice, sweeter than usual. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were full of it, but unfortunately you believed every word of the rubbish you just spewed."
Harry sighed. "It doesn't really matter. Where am I sleeping?" He glanced around him and saw that his belongings had magically appeared at his feet.
Hermione ignored him. "Doesn't matter? Thinking less of yourself doesn't matter? Crediting your triumph over Voldemort to luck doesn't matter? Throwing off your accomplishments doesn't matter? You must think you're Britain's biggest con-artist, fooling everyone into believing you actually have talent. I don't think so. The only person you're fooling is yourself."
"I haven't fooled anyone," said Harry, shaking his head. "They read everything in the papers - you know how skewed the Prophet is - and make their own ideas. Honestly, Hermione, think about it. Everything I've done could just as easily have been done by someone else."
"So you think all of it was dumb luck?" Hermione persisted.
"Yes!" Harry said, his forehead beginning to heat. "It was. Now where's my room?"
"Felix Felicius," stated Hermione.
Harry stopped. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Liquid luck," said Hermione, grinning triumphantly. "It's a potion."
"I know that," said Harry. "So what?"
"You said you've just been lucky. Luck is magic."
"That's absurd," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "Please take me to my room." He pushed open the first door and peered in.
Hermione stepped in front of him. "Is it, really? Why did Dumbledore have so much faith in you? Why did he bring you to get the Horcrux?"
"Because he made a mistake," snapped Harry. "He was going to die anyways."
"No! Because you were good luck!" corrected Hermione. "Your magic is controlled by your mind. That's how liquid luck works! It binds your magic to your unconscious will. The smallest urges are performed as tasks by your magic."
"Okay, Hermione, you're right," conceded Harry monotonically. "Can I unpack now?"
"Do you think you're a naturally talented seeker? Is that genetic, do you think?" continued Hermione, ignoring him again.
"Sure, whatever," said Harry, peering into the next room and again being blocked.
"You never really thought much about flying, did you?"
"No, not really," said Harry, going for the last door.
Hermione was still grinning. "Flying is all about unconscious magic taking over. Why do you think young students usually find it so difficult to learn?"
"Because they're dense," Harry said as Hermione stepped in front of the last door and grasped the door handle behind her back.
"I don't think so," Hermione said, then shrieked as Harry wrapped his arms around her, grasped her wrists and spun her around.
He lowered his mouth so close to her ear lips were covered in her hair. "You can explain all you want, but I won't believe a word you say until my super magic powers lead me to my room." He let go of her hands and stood with both hands planted on the wall on both sides of her head.
Hermione narrowed her eyes, then smiled. "Upstairs, first room on the right. This conversation is not over."
"You're the best," said Harry, winking. He ruffled her hair ("Hey!" exclaimed Hermione) and turned around, grabbing his bags and making his way upstairs.
At the top of the staircase was a hall running from the left side of the house to the far right. Both sides of the hall ended in a door, and just to the left of the stairs was the bathroom, which Harry could see through the slight opening.
Without waiting for Hermione, Harry pushed open the first door to his right. He nearly dropped his trunk down the stairs at the sight. The room was square with bright pink walls and a walk-in closet with folding white doors. At the far corner was a mound of stuffed animals - mostly bears and dogs - and in the center of the room was a twin-size bed with an ornate frame, frilly comforters and a tiny, hot-pink pillow with white trim resting neatly at the top.
"Hermione!" shouted Harry, staring wide-eyed, unable to force himself through the opening. "You said the first room on the right?"
Hermione's bright laugh carried clearly down the hall and upstairs. In a few moments she appeared at the bottom, a wide grin on her face. "Is there a problem?"
"Yes, actually," said Harry. "It seems that someone broke into your house while you were gone and outfitted your guestroom with girly décor."
"Hmm," said Hermione, barely holding back her laughter. "I think it looks nice, actually."
Harry stared disbelievingly at her. "Nice if I was eleven years old and female, sure."
"Oh, get over yourself," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. She pushed Harry forward into the room, then stepped back and watched as her stared morbidly around from the inside. "See," she said, chuckling. "It isn't that bad."
"I think I'm going to be sick," Harry said.
"Make sure you don't vomit all over the pretty pink bedding," responded Hermione, pulling open the doors to the closet. "And if you happen to need a dress, we've got a whole roomful."
"Excellent," Harry said sarcastically. "Now I can fulfill all of my cross dressing fantasies."
"Remind me to knock," said Hermione.
Harry flipped open his trunk and, with a swish of his wand, launched his clothes into the open closet, catching Hermione in the face with a white t-shirt. She peeled it away and tossed it on top of the heap in the closet.
She shook her head. "You really should learn how to unpack neatly."
"You should learn how to paint a room," Harry retorted.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "This was my old room - we didn't change it because it has sentimental value."
"Why did you move to a new room?" asked Harry.
Hermione laughed. "Because I couldn't stand the colors."
"See! I knew it!" Harry exclaimed in triumph.
* *
All guys were jerks as far as Ginny was concerned. Harry was no exception - in fact, he was the most frustrating of them all. He was hers - all hers - and then he had to go off and fight in the war. And finally, when it was all over, he came up with a lame excuse as to why he didn't want to get back together again.
Now he was bunking with her brother's girlfriend and he didn't say good bye when he left. Something was terribly wrong.
Yet the feeling was not unfamiliar - she was right back in school, first year and up, dreaming again that Harry would notice her and hold her close. But now it was ten times worse since she knew what it felt like. She had to get him back.
"Lean back," said a voice directly behind Ginny. She spun around in her seat on the edge of her bed. Ron was sitting on the other side.
"Come on - you look stressed," said Ron, indicating for Ginny to turn back around. She did, and leaned back into Ron's hands.
They sat in silence for a moment, Ron kneading the tension out of Ginny's shoulders, which she could not deny was quite soothing. It had been a long day.
"What do you think they're doing?" Ginny mused, staring lazily at the ceiling.
"I don't know," said Ron quietly.
"Do you trust them?" asked Ginny, turning to see Ron's face.
It was impassive. "Absolutely."
Ginny frowned. "You don't wonder at all? The way he was looking at her today - I just don't get him sometimes."
"What do you mean?" asked Ron, now frowning slightly. "He wouldn't do anything, not to Hermione."
Ginny sighed. "You're probably right. I keep thinking of them as average teenagers, but they're long time best friends. They wouldn't risk breaking that up."
"Yeah," said Ron, staring absently ahead.
It was then that Ginny had a positively brilliant idea - so simple, yet so effective. She could ensure, with only a few words, that Harry and Hermione stayed apart. She shook her head and smiled. How had she not though of this before?
"Ron, do you mind if I ask you something personal?" asked Ginny, grinning slyly.
"That depends," said Ron, eyes narrowed.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Do you love Hermione?"
"Of course," said Ron, taken aback.
"When are you going to pop the question?"
"What question?" asked Ron.
"Marriage, Ron," said Ginny, rolling her eyes again.
The idea seemed to brighten Ron's features. A small smile crept onto his face. "I don't know Ginny, but soon, I think. I just have to find the perfect ring, and find out what Hermione's favorite restaurant is."
This was more perfect than Ginny had expected. "Oh! That's just wonderful! If you need any help, I could offer a girl's opinion. I know exactly what Hermione would want."
"You do?" asked Ron stupidly. "Really?"
"Of course," said Ginny, as if she was insulted that he asked. "We talk about that sort of stuff all the time - you know, weddings and families and fashion."
"Fashion?" repeated Ron, eyes wide open. "Hermione talks about fashion?"
"Yes, Ronald, fashion," said Ginny, grinning.
"Right," said Ron, grinning. "Now how about this ring?"
* *
At that very moment, Hermione was laying flat on Harry's bed with her face propped up in her hands. "So tell me," she said to Harry, who was folding his clothes, due to much of Hermione's encouraging, "What's happening with you and Ginny?"
"Nothing," said Harry, tossing a folded shirt into his new dresser.
"You can't do that, you know," Hermione informed Harry. "It's rude."
"Yeah, I suppose it is," said Harry.
"I'm serious, Harry," said Hermione. "She's in love with you. How would you feel if you were in love with her and she told you to wait?"
Harry looked up at Hermione and stared into her eyes for a moment. "Don't know. I don't feel much of anything anymore."
"Sure you do," Hermione said, tilting her head. "Everyone feels something. You're the most caring person I know. You must feel a lot."
"Maybe, I guess," said Harry doubtfully. "But I'm different now. I can't really explain it."
"Try," urged Hermione.
Harry sighed. "Alright, imagine you just broke up with Ron, and then imagine that you didn't care at all."
"That's terrible," said Hermione. "You didn't explain anything."
"Okay, imagine someone just stabbed you, and you're going to die, but you don't really care. You feel the pain, but you don't understand why you should care that you're about to die. You just accept it because it's happening."
"Harry…" said Hermione stepping off the bed and approaching him from the side. "That is so sad." She knelt beside him and stared at Harry face.
He was determinedly looking at the clothes he was folding. "I suppose," he said dully. "I just don't get it. Everything was supposed to be perfect after the war. Of course we have to heal, but I didn't expect anything like this. In fact, I expected the opposite. I just don't-did you hear that?"
Harry stood up suddenly and made his way over to the window. The sun had just disappeared behind the trees on the horizon, and the front yard was cloaked in darkness. But just in front of the door, against the stone path, Harry could make out the forms of five hooded figures, all clothed in black.
"Hermione, do you have an attic?" asked Harry, spinning around, his face hardened, and his voice deep and businesslike.
"Yes, why?" answered Hermione.
"Go there. Now," ordered Harry.
"Why? What's going on?" asked Hermione, following Harry as he exited the room.
Harry turned around and glared into Hermione's eyes. "There are five people at the front door. I'm going to check it out. Stay hidden."
"No!" said Hermione in a hushed whisper. "I'm just as capable as you. I can handle myself. We're doing this together."
As the last word came out of her mouth, the front doorknob clicked and it turned to the side. Then the door swung open ever so slowly and someone stepped in the front hall. One by one, the other four follow behind.
Harry pulled his head back slowly, so as to not attract attention. He immediately rounded on Hermione and pointed directly down the hall.
She shook her head.
Looking frustrated, Harry snapped his wrist and his wand slipped out of the holster in his sleeve and into his hand. He slowly made his way back to the staircase, Hermione close behind.
Silence.
Then Hermione heard it - a shuffle on the carpet, only a few steps from the top. From the way Harry tensed, Hermione guessed he heard it, too.
Ever so slowly, a hand appeared around the corner. Harry spun-and turned his wand on Hermione. She looked down in astonishment as she was shoved backwards, unable to move, and Harry's invisibility cloak fell on top of her.
The spell hadn't caused a noise, but the intruder on the stairs hollered out loud and there was commotion downstairs. Harry leaped out by the top of the stair case and fired two quick curses, before landing in a roll on the other side. He pressed himself inside of a doorframe, wand held high.
The wall beside him exploded, and two of the men reached the top of the stairs and turned towards the explosion. Hermione could only watch helplessly as Harry prepared himself to meet his five adversaries.
"Lumos," Hermione heard, and a bright light filled the hall. "There he is!"
"But where's the girl?" came a gruff voice from further down the stairs.
"I don't-" he began, but was cut off as a stunner struck him in the face.
Three more men appeared at the top of the stairs and began spraying spells down the hall towards Harry, who was still pressed firmly in the doorframe.
But then another man appeared at the top of the staircase. His hood was not up and his hair was long and bright white. In his right and left hands were wands, twice as long as normal and both dark red.
He turned around and stared directly at Hermione, smiling. "Nice to meet you, Miss Granger," he said. Then he turned back towards the men, who had just noticed his presence, and he snapped his arms up above his head with his fists turned outwards and his wands pointing directly forward.
He swung both arms down and across and seemed to cut the air, leaving two trails of fire from the tips. There was a blinding flash, and the four men were laying on the ground, knocked out cold.
The man turned to Hermione again. "It's a pity we had to meet under such circumstances. Excuse me, I was rude. My name is Bryce White, second of the Seven, and it's a pleasure to meet you."
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