Inman Park
Harry decided he needed a reprieve, and quick, otherwise he was going to explode. While flying had always provided him with an escape, it had been years since he had been on a broom. He contemplated a quick ride but knew that he really just couldn't pick up a broom and fly off into the distance. He had the Transylvanian Vampire case to deal with, and with Hermione gone, he was on his own.
`You did it now,' Harry thought to himself as he headed back to his office. He was angry; angry with himself and angry with her. What else was she hiding from him? Harry hit the wall with his fist as he rested in the stairwell a moment. He knew Ron would still be waiting in the office, waiting for Harry's guidance. It was seventh year all over again. He had little idea what he was supposed to be doing, and no idea how about going and getting it done.
Harry knew that it was unlikely that the answer would just a fall in his lap. He couldn't expect luck like that to last forever. He growled and yanked the door open, stalking back to his office. Harry ignored the way that people were looking at him, a little concerned and a little curious. He wanted to scream.
"Harry, did you talk to her?" Ron asked with hope as Harry stormed into the office. Harry threw himself into his chair, spinning so that he was facing his desk.
"She's been reassigned," Harry said. Ron made a noise of displeasure. "She asked. We are on our own with this one."
Ron wasn't happy to hear that. He, Harry, and Hermione had been friends for ever. He already knew he was the comic relief. He had come to that conclusion years ago, though the way he was bulking up he might give Harry a run for his money in the muscle department. Harry, naturally, was the muscles. Ron had seen him as few had, and knew it was not without reason that Harry was the muscles. Hermione had always been the sweet, sensible brains of their little operation.
"What are we going to do?" Ron asked as Harry began doodling on the outside of the file. Harry sighed, unable to concentrate. He stood.
"Look, I am going to go on home and mull this over a bit," Harry grumbled as he picked up the folder.
"We're still on for drinks at the Enchanted Mistresses, right?" Ron asked as he watched Harry shove the folder in his messenger bag. Harry looked up at him.
"Yeah, eight right?" Harry asked. Ron nodded.
"Yes, and please tell me that we are getting somewhere with the vampires by then. You know how the sight of blood makes me queasy. The sooner we finish this, the better," Ron groaned as he took out a stack of reports that he had been meaning to get finished. Seeing as Hermione was going to out of the department for the time being, Ron figured he had better get working.
"Hey, I am doing my best," Harry snapped a moment. Ron made a disgruntled sound but didn't say anything further. Ron watched as Harry left the office and disappeared into the stair well.
Harry ran the stairs, deciding running down was a lot easier than running up the stairs. Someone fell into step next to him and Harry couldn't help but cringe as the familiar point face, toe-head Draco Malfoy descending the stairs at the same break-neck pace. Draco hadn't acknowledged Harry, and Harry was decidedly fine with that. There was nothing they needed to say to each other. Harry pushed ahead, getting to the door first and exiting it without as much as a word or sound.
Harry had headed home, but found that he couldn't focus. There were too many things that distracted him everywhere he turned. On his desk, a picture of him, Ron, and Hermione, the three of them grinning madly, covered in debris from the raid they had lead three years before. Harry sighed and picked up the framed picture. That raid had made their names in the ministry, or it would have if they hadn't already made their names during the war.
Harry poked the picture, causing Ron to cower to the side and Hermione to look at him with a little disapproving look. They had gone out to celebrate that night, getting wildly corrupt. Harry remembered the memos that had gone out the next morning, causing him to smile a bit. Hermione had been a hell cat that night, very un-Hermione-like. Harry had embraced that Hermione that night, in a very un-we're-just-friends way.
"Damn it," Harry swore as he threw the picture. The sound of glass shattered the silence. He shoved away from his desk angrily and paced his office. He was agitated. Nothing had happened that night, not that he hadn't wanted it to, but nothing happened. She had laughed, not at him but with him. Harry squeezed his eyes shut tight bring his clenched fists to his temples. He didn't want to think about that. Not right now, because he was over it. He had to be.
They had been, what, eighteen years old and still feeling pretty high on life at that point. Harry shook his head. No! Damn it, he didn't want to think about it, no now, and it seemed to be the very thing Harry's mind clung to, despite his wishes. They had just succeeded in a raid that had put a good many bad witches and wizards away. He had been the leader, yes, but she had stood proudly beside him. She had been so proud of him. She had always been there, when no one else would stand beside him. A primal, tortured growl erupted from Harry and he struck the wall beside him, the plaster crumbling away.
Harry glanced down, distracted by the blood that was oozing from his hand. How many times had he shed blood for unrequited love? Harry laughed rather bitterly. He didn't love her. He grabbed a towel from the powder room and dabbed at the blood on his hand. He was going to have to start watching his temper. He wondered if Ava had his temperament or if she was more like Hermione. Harry felt his chest constrict. He had a child with Hermione, a child he never knew about, and he couldn't remember ever being with Hermione.
How could Hermione have been so unremarkable he wouldn't have remembered? Everything about her was amazing and extra-ordinary. Harry paced the study, deep and lost in his own selfish thoughts. What had she done to him? He couldn't help but feel angry and resentful towards her. If she had done this to him, why not let him remember? He would have done right by her, no questions. They could have been happy together, the three of them.
"Kreatcher?" Harry called out loudly. He knew he didn't need to be loud. Kreatcher could be summoned with a whisper, if need be.
"Yes, master?" Kreatcher said as he bowed to his master.
"I am going out for a while. You don't need to wait up," Harry said as he pulled on his jacket.
"Yes, sir," Kreatcher said bowing deeply again. Harry slammed the door to the house on his way out. He really didn't need to, but he had been slamming everything else and forgot that maybe he should treat his property a little more gently.
`Were you gentle with Hermione?' Harry thought. He looked startled for a moment. This was one of those things he had no answer. Had he been gentle with her?
Harry knew he could get a little aggressive from time to time, and many of the women that had come and gone in his life had either loved it or hated it. He couldn't think of a time that he hadn't been dead set on leaving his mark on a woman. He couldn't imagine being that way with Hermione, but then again, he couldn't imagine ever actually being with Hermione. No, that wasn't right. He could imagine being with Hermione.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" Harry shouted causing quite a few people to turn and look at him rather curiously. His behavior was starting to make him come off as a crazy person. He caught his reflection in the window of a muggle bakery. He barely recognized the person looking back at him, causing him to look behind him momentarily. He looked terrible, still in the same clothes from the day before. He hadn't even thought to change. His hair was wilder than it had been in recent years. He looked like a mental patient escaped from Milledgeville. What was wrong with him?
Thinking that maybe a walk in the park would be good, Harry tried to smooth his hair down and to straighten his clothes. Maybe the fresh air and nature would revitalize him and center him. He crossed at the light and headed into Inman Park. It took him no less than ten minutes to realize that this was not the best place to be in the early hours of the afternoon.
"Daddy, push me," a little girl called as she pulled a man by the hand to the large swings. Harry leaned against a tree, watching as the girl, maybe five or six, climbed onto the swings. Her father pushed her higher and higher, causing squeals of delight to shatter Harry's thoughts. At that moment, he could think of nothing else than the children in the park, playing with their parents.
"This was such a mistake," Harry murmured as fathers tossed daughter in the air; sons and mothers chased each other. Of all the places Harry could have chosen to walk, he had to walk right beside a playground. He thought of Ava.
Ava, who was but two years old, would never ask him to push her on the swings or run to him when she fell. Harry felt his anger boiling up inside himself again. He would never get the chance to chase away the monsters in Ava's closet; he would never get a chance to kiss away her tears. How could Hermione do this to him? How could she keep from him the one thing he had never had, and that he had ever wanted: his family?
Harry felt a bit like crying, feeling the sting of angry tears on lids that never cried anymore. He crossed his arms and headed out of the park. He walked blindly for a few hours, not really having a direction. He found himself outside of Hermione's building. His face was oddly damp, and he wiped his face on his sleeve. He wanted answers. He looked up to the windows of her unit, thankful to see the lights on, and he took the stairs two at a time.
Harry felt like it took her forever for Hermione to answer the door. She looked genuinely surprised to see him, though it may have had to do with in part that he still looked like hell. He didn't wait for her to bid him entrance into her home, just stepped around her and entered. She looked at him with concern as he began to pace her living room.
"Mione, who's here? Is it Diggers?" A voice drawled from the kitchen. Harry froze and his eyes slid to Hermione, really seeing her. She looked nice, really nice. She was wearing a light blue dress and her mother's pearls. She bit her lip a second, as if contemplating something.
"No, Draco, it's Harry," Hermione called as Draco entered the room. Harry felt his rage boiling up as realization swept over him like an icy wind. Draco was wearing nice slacks, and while he was wearing a button up shirt, the first buttons unfastened. He had his sleeves rolled up, and the house smelled like food. Not the take-out kind either. It smelled like home cooked food.
"Harry," Draco said with a light of mild surprise in his eyes. "Are you ok, mate?"
"We are not mates," Harry growled. He turned to Hermione. "What is he doing here?"
"We are having dinner, Harry. Would you like to join us?" Hermione said in her normal, quiet voice. She narrowed her eyes at him, concerned.
"Why are you having dinner with Draco Malfoy?" Harry barked at Hermione. She jumped, not expecting the coarse tone.
"I am allowed to have dinner with anyone I choose," Hermione said crossly. She walked to her front door and opened it. "I want you to leave."
"What? Now I can't stay?" Harry mocked cruelly as he glared at her. Draco stepped forward.
"Look, Harry, maybe you and she should talk after you guys have had a chance to cool off," Malfoy said quietly. Harry rounded on him, fire in his eyes.
"Shove it, Malfoy," Harry snapped. "Like usual, you have no idea what you are messing with."
"Harry! That is completely uncalled for!" Hermione yelled at him, her temper breaking. Harry punched Malfoy in the face, Hermione crying out in shock, and walked out the door. The door slammed behind him and Harry stood for the second time in twenty-four hours incredibly angry at the top of Hermione's front stairs.
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