Stranger Than Fiction
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all the characters in it belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is a work of imagination and is directed solely at readers of this website. No infringement of any rights is intended and no criticism of J.K. Rowling or her work should be considered to be stated or implied.
Author's Note: I had intended to make Part 9 the last part of this story. However, I had so many requests for a further update that I decided to add an Epilogue. Not sure where that idea came from!
Part 10. Epilogue
Unfortunately, I didn't get to go back and see Harry and Hermione in a few months as I had promised myself. I received an interesting communication from a colleague about a village in Romania which had an extremely high number of Muggle children who had demonstrated magical abilities during the past five years. Keen to further my research, I packed up a few things and left immediately. I had intended to make a relatively short visit, but tracing the family histories involved and following up on distant relatives kept me busy for almost nine months. I must admit that I didn't rush myself and took some time exploring the countryside and local magical communities while I was there.
While visiting a small wizarding village near Bucharest, I also had a rather surprising and disturbing encounter. I was sitting down enjoying a cool drink at a pavement café; basking in the warm sunshine that was radiating down from a clear blue sky, with hardly a breath of wind to disturb the surrounding, rather withered, trees. As I sipped my drink, I heard a familiar, uncompromising female voice berating one of the waiters and demanding a table with a view of the street.
"Molly?" I questioned, turning to look over my shoulder at the interior of the café. Sure enough, a rotund, elderly witch with frizzy grey hair and rosy cheeks, carrying an enormous, well worn, brown leather handbag was pushing her way clumsily between tables, leaving a trail of devastation in her wake.
"Minerva?" the woman squeaked, shading her eyes from the bright sunlight and noticing me for the first time. She turned to the waiters following her - attempting to calm the other disgruntled customers who had been disturbed by her progress - and imperiously informed them, "You needn't bother. I've seen someone that I know. I'll sit with her."
Molly Weasley turned back towards me, casually sending another empty chair clattering to the floor with her handbag, and made her way breathlessly over to my table. "Honestly, these people are quite hopeless," she told me. "I don't know how Charlie can stand it, I really don't."
She pulled out the chair opposite me, dropping her handbag onto one of the other vacant seats, and flopping down with an exhausted sigh. "Bring me the same as she is having," she instructed a waiter who was hovering nervously, close by. "Why they can't understand English I just don't know. I have to keep using translation charms and that really makes my throat sore by the end of the day," she continued, before suddenly seeming to realise that she had not been expecting to see me in this remote setting.
"What on earth are you doing here, Minerva?" she asked.
I told her about my research and the reason for my visit, but I couldn't help noticing that her attention began to wander after the first few sentences, as she looked around to see what had happened to her drink.
Once the waiter had finally placed a glass of the refreshing liquid in front of her, I decided to broach the subject that I thought would have caused Molly considerable anguish. "I was so sorry to hear about Ron and Hermione," I offered in what I hoped was a consoling tone.
"Well, you shouldn't be," Molly replied irritably. "It was the best thing for my Ron. That woman never was right for him. She was always far too neurotic and unreliable. I remember in their fourth year at Hogwarts when there were those reports in the Daily Prophet about Hermione trifling with Harry Potter's affections with that Viktor Krum. Well, I suspected at the time that there was no smoke without fire and I was obviously right. The only difference now is that she has been doing the same thing with Ron, and Harry Potter happens to be the "other man" on this occasion."
"Oh Molly," I tried to respond, "I don't think that is entirely fair …"
Molly snorted in disgust. "Well, she has bargained without Ginny this time. My daughter doesn't give up that easily."
I was very surprised at this sudden revelation; my understanding, after my recent meeting with Harry, was that Ginny and he were getting a divorce.
"I thought that was all over as well," I challenged Molly.
"I expect that's what Hermione thinks," Molly replied gruffly, "but I wouldn't be so sure."
She refused to elaborate further and answered all of my additional questions simply with a knowing nod of her head and an infuriating, "You'll see!"
***
My encounter with Molly took place only a couple of months after my arrival in Romania and, as I became engrossed in my research, I put the matter to the back of my mind. When I was nearing the end of my time in the country, I discovered that there was a branch of one of the families that I had been investigating who had migrated to London some 10 years previously. For this reason, rather than returning straight home upon my departure from Romania, I spent a couple of days making contact with the family in London. Unfortunately, I drew a blank. I could discern no trace of any magical ability in any of the family members that I met and there was no evidence that any had ever been demonstrated. Although it was disappointing to have made a wasted journey, one of the distant relatives lived out to the north of London and my proximity to their village, made me think about Harry and Hermione again. I therefore determined to pay my promised visit to them.
Now that I knew the layout of the village, I was able to apparate fairly close to Hermione's house this time. When I came back to my senses, after the disconcerting feeling of compression caused by apparition, I found myself in a small clump of bushes just behind the general store and on the very edge of the stream. Disentangling myself, in a fairly undignified manner, and pulling a stray twig out of my mouth, I stumbled out on to the grassy bank, brushing loose leaves and assorted debris from my cloak. Looking across the lane, I could see the familiar green painted door. However, I experienced a feeling of déjà vu as I studied it because positioned in the front garden was a rectangular board fixed to a white wooden stake, much like the one that I had seen in Flamel Mews. Glancing both ways to ensure that no traffic was approaching, I crossed the lane and walked towards the house. The lettering on the board simply said "Available for Rent" and gave the details of a firm of estate agents in the nearby town that I had caught the bus from on my previous visit. Curtains were still hanging in the windows but everything about the property was still and quiet. I knocked on the door several times but there was no reply.
Wondering about this turn of events, I walked along the lane in the direction in which I knew Harry's proposed property was located. The weather was unseasonably warm and in my thick cloak I was soon feeling hot and uncomfortable. However, I had no choice but to press on and about half a mile out of the village I came across a gap in the hedge that constituted the entrance to the driveway of a fairly large and untidy detached house that sat back from the road, offering exactly the type of privacy that Harry had described. I walked up to the front door, my feet crunching on the loose gravel of the drive, and pulled on a hanging cord that activated a bell somewhere in the interior. After a number attempts, I had to conclude that the house seemed to be empty, although once again the presence of curtains in the windows and the well kept nature of the lawns and flowerbeds, which lined the drive and surrounded the house, suggested that someone had recently been in residence.
Disappointed again, I retraced my steps back to the village and entered the general store feeling exceedingly hot and bothered but hoping to obtain some information on the whereabouts of my two former students. The Muggle standing behind the counter was a kindly old man with a thick thatch of grey-white hair and bushy eyebrows that peaked like tiny wigwams over his eyes. He wore a perpetual smile and was happy to chat to me, even though I made no purchases. I am sure that running a general store in a sleepy Muggle village must get fairly tedious and so any unusual intervention is probably welcome. This particular elderly gentleman seemed to regard me as a most interesting diversion. Unfortunately, he gave me some rather disturbing news. Evidently, Hermione had not been in her parents' property for a couple of weeks and the sign advertising that the house was again available for rent had been erected a few days ago. Worse still, however, was the fact that a plumpish woman with long, flaming red hair had come into the store the previous week asking about "that nice Mr. Potter who bought the old Farley place some months ago." Moreover, it transpired that later on the same day, the old man had been standing in the shop doorway and had seen "Mr. Potter and that woman" walking by, deep in animated conversation, and heading into the "Dog and Ferret." He hadn't seen them emerge but there had been no sight or sound of "Mr. Potter" since, which the storekeeper deemed to be very odd as he normally came into the store at least twice a week.
From this unwelcome revelation, it seemed clear to me that Molly Weasley's words had not been idle bluster. Harry and Ginny must have been reconciled and were now back together again. I could only imagine the devastating effect that this would have on Hermione. She must be heart broken and would have fled the village in despair. I felt totally distraught that matters should have come to this once more and chastised myself for chasing off around Eastern Europe when I might have been able to do something, if I had not been so complacent. I considered that it was imperative that I found Hermione again to console her, before she did something stupid. Feeling in a thoroughly bad humour, I decided that I would return home to regroup and decide how to accomplish this task.
***
Apparition is not a pleasant feeling at the best of times, but in my current dismal mood I felt distinctly woozy as I steadied myself after re-appearing in my familiar front garden. I had sent my luggage on ahead some time before and I was pleased to see it sitting there waiting for me on the front doorstep. However, perched on top of the largest case, apparently sound asleep, was a bedraggled looking old tawny owl that I didn't recognize. This was somewhat surprising as I was not expecting to hear from anyone at present and my thoughts immediately turned to the possibility of bad news, as normally tends to be the case when an unexpected messenger turns up. The owl's head was hunched down and its feathers were ruffled, as if expecting cold weather, but I could just make out the end of a pristine piece of parchment attached to its right leg. I grabbed the slumbering owl - who hooted angrily at being disturbed and flapped its wings ineffectually - then hastily untied the parchment with trembling fingers and opened it up.
The message inside was set out in a very formal manner, written in beautiful black lettering. In fact, it was an invitation. "Hermione Granger and Harry Potter have the pleasure to invite you to attend their wedding, which will be held at…" The rest of the message swam in front of my eyes as a blur. I was stunned and my hands were shaking as I held the parchment. I had been expecting some distressing news and I had given up hope that Harry and Hermione were ever destined to be together. To suddenly receive this unexpected and very welcome invitation had sent my heart rate up alarmingly and my emotions were racing. I couldn't believe what I had just read and, rather foolishly, I turned the parchment over to check that there was no message on the back indicating that this was all a joke, in extremely bad taste. Time seemed to be suspended for me and I must have stood on my front doorstep holding the piece of parchment in my hands for at least ten minutes, while the owl waited impatiently to see if I had any response to give, shifting from foot to foot and hooting quietly. Eventually, I came back to my senses. "Of course I'll go. I wouldn't miss it for the world," I said distractedly, looking down at the owl, which blinked back at me uncomprehendingly.
***
The wedding, a Muggle ceremony, took place a few weeks later at a small church in a village close to Hermione's family home. Most of the guests seemed to be Hermione's relatives and the Weasleys were conspicuous by their absence, although I did notice that Ron was present. He sat towards the back of the congregation next to a very attractive young witch who I presumed, from her jet black hair, was not his daughter, although she certainly could have been given the apparent age difference. Neville Longbottom was also there, as was Luna Lovegood and a few other former students of Hogwarts that I recognized. I also suspected that a number of the other guests were wizards and witches from their fairly outlandish dress and I assumed that these were some of Harry and Hermione's colleagues from the Ministry and St. Mungo's. Why magical folk can't blend in to Muggle society more effectively is beyond me. It really isn't so difficult. I, for example, was wearing another bright tartan outfit which fitted in perfectly and drew many admiring glances.
I thought that Hermione looked particularly beautiful and happier than I had ever seen her. Unfortunately, she was surrounded by various relatives for most of the time and I only had the chance for the briefest of words with her at the reception that followed the service. Harry was his normal self; still managing to look untidy in even the smartest of Muggle suits because of his unruly hair, but I did find myself seated next to him for a short time before he and Hermione left on something that various Muggles referred to as their "honeymoon", which I gather is some type of romantic vacation.
"You've made an old woman very happy," I told him, getting caught up in the emotion of the moment and dabbing at my eye with the corner of a paper napkin. "I was beginning to think that I would never see this day."
"Well, it's entirely my fault that it took so long. I really can't believe that I could have been so stupid," Harry answered with an air or self deprecation. "The silly thing is that all of those years ago, when Hermione and I went back to Godric's Hollow, we pretended to be man and wife and it just seemed so natural. You would have thought that I could have taken it as a sign, but I didn't. People think that intelligent individuals, like Hermione and me, should always be able to work out their problems. In fact, the opposite is often true. You tend to "over think" things and end up getting it all wrong. I was so certain that Hermione loved Ron that I never really challenged her over it and she mistook that for indifference on my part. Then once the kids came along, it just seemed too late. Still…" he said, brightening, "…all's well that ends well, I suppose."
"I went back to your village the other week," I confided. "I saw that the Granger house was for rent and your house was empty and I feared the worst. I thought that you had gone back to Ginny."
"No, there was never any chance of that," Harry answered, dismissively. "There just didn't seem any point in keeping two houses in the village any more. Hermione really hasn't been using the Granger's place for quite some time now and I've got enough bedrooms for everyone, even though Lily and Rose and Albus and Hugo have to share if all of them descend on us at once. They all get on very well together, so nobody seems to mind."
"But I know that Ginny came to see you and I heard that you left together," I pressed, seemingly unwilling to totally abandon my doubts.
"We didn't leave together," Harry responded sharply. "I don't know who gave you that impression and Ginny was only there because I was trying to convince her to come today; although as you can see I wasn't very successful. She thought that the whole thing would be too embarrassing for her."
"And what about Molly," I asked, "she must be livid."
"She isn't very pleased, shall we say," Harry chuckled. "But I think that she'll get over it, in time. She won't want to upset her grandchildren too much, after all. Still, I don't think that we're ever going to be one big happy Weasley family, if that's what you mean."
At that point, there was a commotion over by the door and it appeared that Harry and Hermione's taxi had arrived to take them away. Reluctantly, I had to say goodbye to them both but as I hugged Hermione she whispered, "See Professor, you were right all of the time," which left me with a smug smile on my face and a tear in my eye.
***
After the wedding, I had a few months with little to do and so I made the effort to read through the whole series of the Harry Potter books. They were surprisingly good, although I found the last two fairly tiresome. At the next meeting of the book club, which I still attended whenever I could, I made the effort to engage Melissa in conversation about them. She was no longer the breathless, over enthusiastic girl that had started this whole affair, but had matured into a studious young woman who had left children's books far behind and now concentrated on "more serious" literature.
"You know Melissa," I began provocatively, "I enjoyed the books but didn't you feel that the relationships were a little unrealistic. I mean, Hermione and Harry seemed ideally suited for each other to me."
"Oh no…" she replied, unable to resist my bait "… they were totally wrong together. It was clear right from the start that the author intended Ron and Hermione to be the typical quarreling couple; opposites attract, you know, and all that sort of thing. And Harry and Ginny were just like a fairytale, where the princess waits at home for the brave knight to return. Very romantic, don't you think?"
"Well, it all seems a bit corny to me," I teased. "You may be right, but I will always hold on to the belief that Harry and Hermione would end up together. After all, stranger things do happen in real life, don't they my dear?"