A/N - just a little bit of fluff, already written so will be updated quickly. It's only two long chapters, so another shorty. It's written in first person so the tenses will probably annoy some because sometimes I think I get it wrong. Sorry. I hope you can look past that and enjoy anyway.
All Of Me
I can't really believe that this is my last day at Hogwarts, that tomorrow I'll get on the train and my education at this school will be officially over. Sitting on the top step of the entrance way, I watch my fellow students enjoying the early summer sunshine that was currently bathing the castle and a wave of sadness sweeps over me. I don't know why, I should be happy, right? I mean, it was a beautiful day, exams were over, and in less than two days I will be a free man soon to travel the world. By all accounts, I should be bouncing off the walls with joy.
But I'm Harry Potter and happiness isn't something that comes naturally to me so instead I'm here, by myself, watching others being happy.
Sighing, I justify my mood by the fact that this place holds too many memories for me - not all of them good. It was here that I saw Professor Dumbledore die; it was here that the final battle took place where I had to kill another human being (if you could call Voldemort that); it was here that I had to bury Hagrid and Hedwig.
Yes, I say to myself, I'll be happier when I begin my trip, my 'overseas experience', when I'm just a normal teenager out on my own doing normal teenage things. Yes, I'll be happier then.
Sighing again, the thought of leaving the place that I have called home for eight years, more of a home that the Dursley's ever was, is gut wrenching. I know this place, I'm comfortable here and tomorrow that comfort will be gone.
"I can't believe that today is the last day we'll be here. It's like leaving an old friend."
The voice comes from behind me, a voice that I know so well. I turn to watch my best friend of eight years come and sit by me, chuckling to myself as she did.
"What's so funny?" Hermione asked as she sat down, wrapping her arms around her knees, bringing them close to her chest.
"You always seem to read my mind," I tell her, looking back out to the grounds, "if I didn't know better, I would think you're a great Legilimens."
"Are you saying I couldn't be a great Legilimens?" she teases me, nudging me with her shoulder.
"Oh Hermione, you could be a great anything," I reply truthfully, looking at her only to find her looking back at me. Our eyes meet and a new wave of sadness runs through me.
"Thanks," she blushes before turning to the scene in front of her.
I look at her profile for a moment longer and notice how much she is now more like a woman than a girl yet I can still see the bossy child that I met on the train a lifetime ago. In three days I'll be leaving her. Her and Ron and everyone that ever meant anything to me. Not for the first time I question my decision to leave.
"Are you all ready for your trip?" she asks me softly and I can hear sadness woven within her friendly question, "you must be so excited."
"More like terrified," I say to her and look at the spot she is looking out at - watching Ron and Luna lounging together under one of the large oaks on the grounds, totally wrapped up in each other.
"You'll have a great time," she continues.
"As will you at university," I smile, trying to make her feel better, "by the time I come back you'll probably be a professor or something."
"You'll be gone for that long?" she gasps, glancing at me briefly, long enough for me to see a sheen of tears on her eyes. Quickly, we both turn back to watching Ron and Luna.
"I don't know," I tell her honestly, because I don't. I have no plans, not really - just going with the flow for the first time in my life. I have no ties here, only Hermione and Ron, and they both have their own plans. Ginny is not part of my life anymore, she's already moved on to the next bloke, so what is keeping me here? A lifetime of miserable memories and a life I would prefer to forget.
But that isn't all together true. There are great memories here as well, friends that are beyond just friends and a life I'm going to miss so much.
I sigh again.
"You'll be fine," she tries to reassure me, "you're going to have the best time and of course you'll be away for as long as you want to be away. If anyone deserves to have fun and do whatever they want to do, Harry, it's you. In fact, I must say, I'm awfully jealous. I sometimes wish that I could do what you're doing."
"You could always give up your goal of higher learning and join me," I joke, knowing she never would, "going only where you feel like going, working in dead end jobs just to make ends meet, visiting strange people in strange countries…"
"No thank you," she interrupts me with her false briskness that she brings out now and then just because she knows I expect that from her, "anyway, I'll cramp your style."
"What do you mean?" I question, not too sure what she was getting at.
"Oh, come on Harry," she laughs, once more nudging me playfully, "the girls will be swarming all over you. You can have a girl at each port!"
"Yeah, right," I shoot back, surprised that she even thinks I'd do something like that.
She doesn't reply and her silence makes me look back at her. She stays watching our other mutual friends, her profile making her face hard to read but I guess what she's thinking anyway. She's thinking that she's losing us, both Ron and me - Ron to Luna and me to the world. She's thinking that the wonderful friendship that's kept us going over the last eight years is ending. She's thinking that nothing is the same and that has made her sad.
But I don't try and comfort her - I don't know how. And what she's thinking is true, in a way. The Golden Trio that worked so well together a couple of years ago when we defeated an evil regime is no longer.
Except our friendship will always be there.
"They look really happy, don't they," she suddenly says, and I know who she's talking about. I look back out at Ron and Luna.
"Yeah, they do," I agree with a smile which quickly dies, "sometimes I think I'll never have that, I can never give that…"
"What?" she interrupts, "love?"
"Yeah," I reply with a shrug, immediately uncomfortable, "but I'm glad Ron's found it. Luna and him are great together."
"You'll find love too, Harry," she says, once more looking at me, "I know you will."
"Will you write to me?" I quickly ask, changing the subject because I can feel the heat of my blush on my face. She is looking at me intently and after a few moments, she smiles a small half smile.
"Of course," she acknowledges, "and you know how I love to write."
"Which is why I'm expecting long, information filled letters from you and not from Ron," I joke, glad the awkwardness is gone.
"Right," she grins one of her beautiful, natural grins, "however don't have a go at me when you get one of my novels, Mr Potter."
"I won't," I promise her and I feel something strange in my chest - a warmth of familiarity that I am going to miss so much. Our eyes are locked again and I know she's trying to work out what's going on in my head. Knowing her, she knows better than me.
But she doesn't say anything and instead looks back out at the grounds.
"I'm going to miss you so much," I tell her and gulp back a bubble of emotion that threatens to embarrass me in front of her.
"I'm going to miss you too," she whispers and I watch a tear fall from her eye and roll down her cheek. Embarrassment aside, I didn't care. I inch closer and wrap my arms around her, pulling her to me to me so that her face is hidden in my shoulder. It felt nice to have her in my arms, her hair tickling my chin as I rest it on top of her head.
It's going to be so hard to leave her.
But I did and six months later I realise just how much those words meant, that I missed her more than I ever thought was possible. I guess it doesn't help that today is Christmas and I'm sitting on a beach on the east coast of Australia, nursing a beer as I watch some of the blokes from my hostel playing an impromptu game of cricket while the sun sets on a stinking hot day.
It doesn't feel like Christmas, and as I watch in broody silence I wonder what the Weasley's are doing and whether Ron got another jumper from his mother. I wonder whether the whole family was able to get together now that Bill and Fleur have a family of their own. I wonder whether it's snowing. I wonder whether anyone is missing me even a little bit.
I don't need to worry about what Hermione is doing though as I phoned her earlier on, waking her up as I forgot all about the fact that there was a massive time difference between where I am and where she is. It didn't matter - hearing her voice was amazing, chatting like she was just down the road. And she sounded so happy to talk to me that we talked for ages about stupid incidental stuff that she hadn't included in her wonderful letters.
The trouble is, talking to her has made me miss her more and the desire to pack up and head home is a strong one. But I can't, I have too much to do. So instead, I'm sitting here on a beach on Christmas day watching a bunch of strangers play a game that means little to me while pinning for a girl back home who is nothing more to me than a friend.
Of course, that's no longer true and I realised that tonight. It has taken me a while, I know, but I finally realised that she is it - the one. She is the reason why I haven't had 'a girl in every port' as she put it all those months ago. She is the reason that nearly every girl I've met throughout my travels doesn't appeal. She is the reason why it's been so difficult to do what I set out to do.
Because there have been many times that I've wanted to go home just to see her then told myself to stop being stupid, that she'd have her own life now as a student in a prestigious university at Oxford, that she's just a friend and that I'm blowing things way out of proportion.
Yet the urge to rush home and check up on Ron isn't something that I've felt that often since I've been away and tonight I realised why.
It's because I'm not in love with Ron - but I am with Hermione.
But I carry on. I go to Sydney to welcome in the New Year and once more give Hermione a call just so I can hear her voice. Ron and Luna were with her and it was great to speak to them as well.
The homesickness hit me like a wave.
But I carry on and it was another six months of travelling across Australia and New Zealand before I get the letter that changed everything. It gave me a reason to return home early and something to grab excitedly.
Ron and Luna announced their engagement and their wedding was due to take place in a couple of months.
I organised with Hermione to come home secretly and surprise the couple a week before the victory party that we have each year. It also meant I'd be home for my twentieth birthday and for some reason, that really appealed.
Yet as I sat on the plane as it circled Heathrow, knowing Hermione was down there waiting for me, unaware that my feelings for her had changed and that I didn't even know if they'd be returned, I begin to feel petrified. I never thought that coming home would be as scary as it was to leave just over a year ago.
But I'm a Gryffindor, and my courage pushes me forward through Customs and Immigration and into the Arrival Lounge at the busy airport. I, like all my fellow travellers, search the crowd for a familiar face.
And then I see her.
And my heart stops.
She is beautiful - her hair pulled back into a half ponytail, and she is dressed in a simple but fetching summer dress. She is searching the crowd and spots me, smiling one of her wonderful, fantastically familiar smiles. I hurry towards her as she does me and all my awkwardness is gone. Without a second thought, I hug her tightly as she does the same, noting just how perfectly she fitted into me. We stay that way probably too long but I didn't care.
I was home.
When we do finally pull apart, there are tears in her eyes that I know she is trying desperately not to let fall. I just hold her hand and start to leave, beginning a conversation that keeps us going during the trip from Heathrow to Oxford. It is a conversation of two friends getting reacquainted as she updates me on things she hadn't told me in her letters. There is no awkwardness, no uncomfortable ness and I feel any worry I had slowly ebbing away.
It isn't until she parks her little car and leads me towards an unremarkable door, one among many in the row of terraced houses in a suburban Oxford street. I knew she had managed to buy her own place, that some of the money we got from the Ministry enabled her to afford to shift away from her parents and live on her own (though her parents live ten minutes away). But now I was going to stay with her and reality caught up with me.
When she opened the door, we were in a small corridor, a set of stairs to our right, a door to our left and what looked like a kitchen at the end of the hall.
"I'll take you to your room first," she tells me shyly and I look at her and see she's blushing. But I say nothing as we make our way up the stairs. I notice the walls have photos of her family, Ron and myself, tastefully framed and all smiling.
"Um, the bathroom is here," she indicates to the room at the top of the stairs, "I've cleared a shelf for you in the cabinet for your things, and the blue towel is yours," I nod as she points to a room at the end of the landing, "that's my room," she says before turning to a door on our left and opening it, "and this is your room."
We enter it and I drop my backpack down at the end of a comfortable looking double bed with a very comfortable looking Crookshanks curled up in the middle. He opens an eye to look at who's disturbed him, sees nothing to worry about and promptly goes back to sleep. The walls are a plain off-white, with a chest of draws and a wardrobe the only other furniture. It wasn't very big, perhaps the same size as my room at the Dursleys, but it was perfect.
"I know it isn't much," Hermione says and I look at her because she sounds embarrassed, "but I thought you could add your own touches, you know? And I'm afraid Crookshanks thinks this is his bedroom."
"It's perfect, Hermione," I assure her, giving her what I hope is a reassuring smile, "absolutely perfect. Thank you for letting me stay, I really appreciate it."
"Well, I couldn't have you living in the streets," she tries to joke, "and since you gave Grimmauld Place to Remus and Tonks…"
"This is much better than Grimmauld Place," I smile more, "the much better of the two."
She blushes again a bit before grabbing a put out Crookshanks off his spot on my bed.
"I'll let you get settled in," she tells me, "er, I wasn't sure whether you'd want to sleep or not…"
"I managed to sleep on the plane," I interrupt giving Crookshanks a pat, "but I'm famished…"
"How 'bout I cook us something then," she cuts in this time, "I'm starving too. It's nearly dinner time."
"Sounds like a plan," I tell her, going back to my bag, "though I do need to shower and change. Meet you downstairs?"
"Sure."
I watch her walk out of my room and sigh. Seeing her just proves to me how much my feelings for her have changed. As I get my gear out to enable me to clean two days of grime off of me, I reflect on what was going on within me. There is none of the blah that I felt with Cho, and none of the loud, in your face attraction that I felt with Ginny - but a warmth, a comfort. As I take my shower, I wonder whether it's because I know her so well, that maybe it was because I was alone that she's become the perfect woman for me because of that familiarity. Because of that thought, I decide to not say anything to her until I'm sure. I had no plans to mess our friendship up.
Once clean, I head down to the kitchen and to a wonderful smell. I watch her briefly in the very unfamiliar role of cook, thinking how weird and how natural it looked at the same time.
"That smells fantastic," I tell her, startling her somewhat as she turns from the stove to look at me, "I didn't know you could cook."
"You sound surprised," she replies before turning back to her meal, "I'll have you know I'm a reasonable cook."
"Just reasonable?" I kid as I come closer to see what she was actually cooking.
"I'm no Molly Weasley," she says as she turns the stove off and gets ready to serve, "so you're warned. But it's eatable."
"Of that I have no doubt," I smile, "do you need a hand?"
"No thanks," she answers, "though if you want a beer, they're in the fridge."
I go to the fridge and see that she's bought my favourite brand and smile.
"You remembered I liked Carlsberg," I say, "you really are quite incredible."
"I wanted you to feel at home," she blushes as she places the two plates of food onto the small table at the edge of the kitchen, "here we go. I hope you like it."
"It smells fantastic," I enthuse, sitting down at the table, "and looks brilliant."
She pours herself a glass of wine from a bottle of red that had been on the counter while I open my bottle of lager and wonder if I should ask for a glass or just drink from the bottle like I usually do. My dilemma is solved when she hands me a glass as she sat. Smiling, I pour my drink from the bottle to the glass.
The meal was as wonderful as it smelt and once more we begin to chat about this and that. We decide not to go over my travels that much as I would just have to say it all again the following day when I was to meet Ron, so instead we talk about her and her studies. Of course, Hermione is modest about her achievements but Ron had already told me in one of his brief letters that she had been the top in her classes. Her first set of exams were over with the results coming out in another month - from how she told it, she was sure she'd failed them all. I knew she will have passed with great distinction.
We move into the sitting room, which is just off the kitchen. It is full of books, a desk and chair with a computer as well as a couch and two easy chairs which faced the small hearth. She apologies for the lack of television and assures me that she's got me a small portable from a friend of hers that I can have in my room. I just shake my head in wonder - of course she doesn't have a television, or a DVD player or a game console. Books and reading are her entertainment.
Before I sit down, I look at the books on her book shelves. There are wizarding titles amongst the Muggle text books and other reading material. There were also a good lot of Muggle classics from Shakespeare, Eyre, Austin and others. With a chuckle, I make myself comfortable in one of the armchairs and take a sip of beer.
Hermione was already seated and immediately begins to defend her little home to me. I tell her that I love it, that it's so her that it's perfect and with yet another blush, the topic moves back to her studies.
Half a dozen beers later, it's now dark and my travels are beginning to take their toll. I can feel myself relax perhaps a bit too much, and I know that the four glasses of wine Hermione had drunk has done the same to her. So I take the plunge and ask the question that had been on my mind for many months.
"So Hermione," I begin, leaning back with my glass of beer resting on my stomach and my legs straight out before me, ankles crossed, "why, in all the letters you've sent me over the last year, have you never mentioned any blokes. Surely you must have had at least one or two dates?"
"Honestly, of course I've dated," she huffs at me, "I just didn't feel comfortable telling you about it."
"Fair enough," I allow but am determined to carry on and find out what I really wanted to know, "so, are you seeing anyone now?"
I sip my beer and watch her blush uncomfortably as she ponders my question. I'm nervous and already feeling jealous as part of me realises she could actually say yes.
"No," she finally answers before gulping down a rather large sip of wine.
"Really?" I say, my jealousy disappearing and is quickly replaced by a new sense of daring, "I find that hard to believe."
"I don't know why," she scoffs, "boys don't like girls like me."
"Of course they do…" I start, startled that she actually thinks she isn't attractive to men. I don't get far in my defence of her womanhood, however, as she cuts me off.
"Oh, come on Harry," she sniffed and I could tell she wanted to roll her eyes at me, "I'm hardly a stunner, I'm bossy, I'm smart, I don't like to go to parties and get drunk or worse. I hate sport - not exactly a catch in any stretch of the imagination. The few boys who actually gave me a chance never lasted long, just confirming what I already knew."
"Hermione…" I begin once more, sitting up right now, shocked at her confession. All the things she listed, all the things she saw as flaws were the things that made her special to me. They were the things that made her uniquely Hermione.
She barrelled on.
"I mean, even you and Ron confirmed it," she carried on, gulping down more wine, "sure, Ron seemed to like me for a while even though we drove each other barmy while you never saw me as anything remotely girlfriend like, considering it was girls who were pretty and athletic that were more your style…" I cringe inwardly at the truth of her statement but stayed silent as she wasn't ready to be interrupted, "…but that's fine. I'm okay on my own and will just wait until I find the right bloke," she glances at me and my shock and confusion increases ten-fold when I see raw pain in her eyes - she glances away, takes a deep breath, another sip of wine then smiles a somewhat forced smile as she looks back at me, "what about you? Have you left a trail of potential baby Potter's all over the globe?"
"No!" I cry, upset, "how could you think that?"
"Have you looked at yourself lately, Harry?" she answers, her smile now a more natural one, "honestly, you are handsome, smart, polite and incredibly charming. Women would have flocked to you every where you went and you're a young man - you can't tell me that you didn't take advantage of that."
I stare at her and she stares right back, unflinching, with this strange look on her face. The turn this conversation has taken is disturbing and one I don't particularly like. She's right, to a point - girls did seem to find me attractive, why I don't know. I don't see myself as 'handsome' - I'm skinny, pale and with hair that's so black and all over the place (except my chest, of course - that's as smooth as it was when I was ten) that it looks like I have a strange skin ailment when I dare to expose my legs to the world. Sure, the girls did seem to find my accent charming and sure, there did seem to be a general consensus that I have an innocence about me that they found attractive, but I don't understand it myself. Most of the girls I met were either beautiful but incredibly stupid, or wanted to 'fix' me because they thought I was wounded or hurt and in need of tender care. Others did actually have a brain and were genuinely nice - I even dated an American doctor in Australia for a few months - but nothing lasted very long and it never got serious enough for the possibility for any baby Potter's anywhere.
Oh, it got close a few times but the idea of having sex with a stranger scared the shit out of me. I got a fair bit of ribbing by some of the blokes I befriended during my travels, especially after my ability to pull easily became known, but I didn't care. Even when I had girls offer themselves to me, no strings, I turned them down.
Crazy? Maybe. But I want to lose my virginity to someone I care about and I didn't meet that woman during my trip because she was here, in England.
And now she's sitting opposite me, looking at me curiously, waiting for my answer. I finish my beer and stand.
"I'll have you know that I was a perfect gentleman," I tell her smugly, "and as pure as the day I left Hogwarts. 'Night."
I left her then, detouring to the kitchen to put my dirty glass in the dishwasher before making my way to my bedroom. After taking off my clothes, removing Crookshanks from my bed and out of my room, closing the door after him, I lie down and reflect on my first night back home. I conclude that it went well, that I enjoyed myself and was proud of my restraint of not confessing all the moment I stepped off the plane.
I don't get a chance to dwell, however, as exhaustion and alcohol finally takes its toll and I fall asleep.