A/N - Hi everyone. Some of you may have read this already. I have decided to polish it up a bit, add some stuff, and generally make it better =). For those of you who haven't read it, I hope you enjoy it!
Hermione's fingers twitched as she saw the clipping in the Daily Prophet.
Another Harry Potter sighting, she thought tiredly. Hardly a week went by without one. She should know; she had every single clipping cut out and pasted neatly into a magically enlarged and cataloged album.
Not this time, thought Hermione. Not this time... they're all just wild and baseless rumor. But her hands betrayed her by scooping up her wand and cutting out the clipping.
"Ron does it too," she said defensively to the empty room. "I'm not the only one!"
With a last defiant glare at the unoffending walls, Hermione summoned the album from the bedroom. The handsome, leather-bound book soared through the door and landed gently in front of her on the bar that divided the kitchen and living area. A moving, magical picture of her, Ron and Harry adorned the cover of the album; they were standing with arms around each other's shoulders in front of the lake at Hogwarts. Ron was laughing, Harry smirking, and she grinning. The picture had been taken during their seventh year at Hogwarts. It was one of the last times they'd all been together and smiling.
The album lay untouched for a long minute as Hermione stared off into distant memory. Faint sounds of students laughing, ripples from the lake behind, and Hagrid's voice booming across the grounds echoed in the ears of Hermione's mind. The moment passed and, with a sigh, she tucked a stray strand of bushy brown hair behind an ear, folded her legs up onto the upper rung of the bar stool and flipped open the album.
Article after article flashed past as she rifled through to the first empty page. Harry Potter seen in Albania. Harry Potter Saves Child. Pregnant Witch Claims Harry Potter as Father. Harry Potter... Harry Potter... Harry Potter... Hermione affixed the newest clipping with a Permanent Sticking Charm to a blank page and closed the album heavily. She sighed deeply again; the other inevitable half of the ritual loomed ahead: to follow the rumor and see if there was any truth to it. Likely, she would do that today. It was her turn.
The sudden ring of the phone startled Hermione out of her brooding. Jolted into action, she leaped off the chair towards her phone. Or, if she was to be truthful with herself, fell.
"Hermione?"
It was Ron. She'd finally managed to teach him how to use a "fellytone".
"Did you see it?" Hermione asked without preamble.
"Yeah- listen, I'm sorry... I can't go with you today. It's Charlotte's-"
"Yeah, I know. It's okay," Hermione assured him. "It's my turn anyway."
"Right-"
There was a long pause.
"Well, say hi to him from me when you find him." Ron concluded lamely.
"Yeah..." promised Hermione, keeping up the fiction. "I will. I'll talk to you later."
"Bye."
Hermione's hand, and the receiver clenched inside, fell slowly to her side as the receiver went dead. She stood still, sadly, for a minute. The Saturday sunlight sparkled through the windows of her immaculate flat, mocking her. It wasn't right that after everything Harry had done to make a sunny afternoon safe for the entire wizarding world he wasn't here to enjoy it. How dare the sun creep into her flat so peacefully, so mockingly? Unbidden tears came to her eyes, and Hermione dashed them away, flinging the receiver back onto the cradle with unnecessary force.
It wasn't much, but Hermione's flat wasn't a bad place. The kitchen was adequate (she wasn't much of a cook anyway), and the bar type separator between it and the living room ensured that she ate a great many meals standing up. The living area contained a shabby, but immensely comfortable, teal couch and armchair, half a dozen overflowing bookcases, a small desk, and a telly.
Her bedroom was quite similar, but with no couch or telly. The same profusion of crowded bookcases was there, though. An industrial gray carpet covered the floor of the living area and bedroom; bland white linoleum in the kitchen and bathroom.
And everywhere pictures of her, Ron and Harry.
It was not a bad place to live. It perfectly matched her not a bad place to work job as a healer. She had friends and pleasant co-workers, enough money, and a few causes, but... it just wasn't the same without Harry. The three of them had been inseparable for nearly seven years; she and Ron missed Harry terribly. Ron had Charlotte now and was starting to move on, but Hermione didn't even have that.
So they searched. They searched the trail of the great mystery of the Boy Who Lived turned The Chosen One turned the Boy Who Disappeared.
It had all been so frantic. Curses, hexes and bodies flying everywhere and nothing between you and certain death but, as Harry had once put it, your own brain or guts or whatever. It wasn't a war; it was a slaughter. Voldemort's forces had outnumbered them ten to one. Not only that, but his ranks included giants and werewolves and dementors and every other foul being know to Wizardkind. All they had was a handful of friendly giants Hagrid had scraped up, the house elves, and an odd centaur or two. And Harry.
They had been forced to retreat to two fortifications: Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic. Both structures were heavily guarded with magical barriers, but the sanctuary was only temporary. Harry had been beside himself when he realized they had no choice but to leave countless innocents to fend for themselves.
Harry. Harry had been everywhere. Harry killing Bellatrix, Harry felling countless Death Eaters, Harry saving Ron and Hermione's lives a dozen times over. Harry saving all of them at one point or another. And finally, Harry and Voldemort. He had even somehow, unbelievably, blocked the unblockable killing curse that Voldemort had sent at her.
The scene played out in slow motion in Hermione's mind for the millionth time: Voldemort's cruel, twisted sneer as he looked Harry straight in the eyes. Voldemort as he laughed mockingly, deflecting Harry's spells easily. Voldemort whirling and firing the killing curse at her, an obscene pleasure in his eyes as he tasted Harry's dismay. And Harry's eyes widening in fear and loss and then blind rage.
There had been a tremendous flash of golden light, a deafening explosion as it eclipsed the green jet, and then silence. When the survivors regained sense, Voldemort lay dead. Not only Voldemort, but every Death Eater in sight. A weak cry of triumph rose from the exhausted, hysterical, and shocked survivors. It lasted for approximately seven seconds until someone realized Harry was nowhere to be found. After all the bodies had been identified, still he was missing. It had been five long years since and no one had seen hide nor hair of him, the tabloids notwithstanding.
Most of the time, perhaps every other single instance in history, everyone would have assumed the hero dead. But this time people just couldn't bring themselves to do it. This was Harry Potter. He had done what even Dumbledore had been unable to do. And the vision of Harry Potter returning to save them when he was needed once again was just too strong. So he was immortalized and made into myth.
Hermione snapped back to reality, shaking her head to clear the memories.
Might as well get this over with now, she thought resignedly. Swiftly, she gathered her bag and wand. One last check re-assured her that the sighting had been in Hogsmeade. Two taps of the wand locked the door behind her and set the magical wards.
I'm on my way, Harry. Don't go anywhere.
* * *
Harry Potter froze, his shuffling step quieted as he stared at the back of a black-haired young man striding briskly down the street.
He looks just like I used to...
He was not the only one to notice the uncanny resemblance. A crowd had started flocking around the man, who waved them off feebly.
"No, no, I'm sorry. I'm not Harry Potter. Just a passing resemblance. No scar, see? Name's Ernie. Same guy as yesterday."
The crowd collectively examined Ernie's forehead and realized he was telling the truth. Disappointed, they drifted away. Harry's mouth twisted bitterly. If Ernie only knew... Absently, he rubbed the smooth patch of unblemished skin on his forehead where the lightning shaped scar used to be. He started forward again wearily, vague thoughts of setting up shop outside the Three Broomsticks tumbling through his mind. Madame Rosmerta was always glad to see him. Though, of course, she had no idea who he really was.
"Harry!" called a breathless and desperately hopeful voice from behind. "Harry, is that really you?"
Harry's heart lurched painfully; he would know that voice anywhere. He turned automatically, as did Ernie.
"No, miss, I'm not..." Ernie began patiently, by rote. But Harry's insides squirmed. For, unmistakably, there was Hermione dashing towards Ernie. He immediately turned away and hung his head, hiding his features. Not that he had need to anymore; between the scar being gone, the bright white hair, several extra inches of height, and a wretched gauntness, he doubted anyone would recognize the famous Harry Potter now. No one had yet.
"Hey! Hey, Mister Nobody!"
Harry's head jerked up and he spied a tousled-headed young boy running towards him.
"Hi there, Colin," Harry greeted the grimy child, trying to dredge up a smile. The boy's clothes were old and ragged and did little to conceal his thinness.
"Are you gonna play? Huh, huh?" demanded Colin. "Can I have a song?"
"Um, yeah-" answered Harry slowly. "I am. I'll be ready in twenty minutes or so right over there." Harry pointed towards an area in front of the Three Broomsticks.
"Aw, cool!"
"Yes... yes, very cool," Harry echoed self-mockingly, and then knelt by the boy. "Listen. Run along now and give this to your lovely mother. When you get back, I'll be ready."
"Thanks, Mister Nobody!" exclaimed Colin, eyes wide as Harry pressed a Galleon into his hand. "I'll be right back!"
The boy sprinted off, the Galleon clenched tightly in one small fist. Harry sighed and climbed heavily to his feet. Hopefully, that Galleon would buy him and his mother some new clothes and a few square meals.
"That was very kindly done," a voice said quietly, directly behind him. Harry whirled to find Hermione behind him with an unreadable expression on her face. He drew a deep breath and cast away the hex that had been hovering on the tip of his tongue. Even five years later, Harry was still jumpy.
Up close, Harry could see the changes those five years had made in Hermione. She was fuller in figure and held herself with more confidence. The constant slump from a book bag slung across her shoulders was gone, but it seemed a heavier weight had replaced it. Her face was thinner and eyes sadder. Even her hair was a little limper, though that could have been purposeful.
She looked simultaneously strong and competent and tired and worn down. Exactly like someone who had forged on ahead and achieved many things despite struggling against a great weight pulling her down. Harry's automatic response was definitely not fitting to a stranger; he clenched his fists tightly and held his arms rigidly at his sides.
"Oh... it was nothing..." he mumbled finally, casting his eyes down after realizing he had been starting for a full minute. "Nothing at all..."
"Well, then it was the kindest nothing I have ever seen." Hermione smiled, and it lit her face up. There was a short pause, then:
"I'm Hermione."
"I know," Harry said automatically, taking her outstretched hand, and then swore silently at himself.
"You do?" Hermione asked slowly, frowning at the back of Harry's hand. Quickly, he withdrew it and stuck it in a pocket. "Have we met before?"
"Ah, no…" Harry denied, mind racing. "It's just- well, you're famous, you know? And, well, I saw you just a minute ago with that bloke who looks like Harry Potter."
"Oh…" Hermione sighed, looking sadder than ever. Harry stood there awkwardly for a minute, looking everywhere but at Hermione. His hand still tingled from his first contact with Hermione in five years.
"Er- I don't think I caught your name?" Hermione broke the strained silence.
"I'm Nobody."
"Nobody?" Hermione's brow furrowed.
"Yes, that's right," Harry confirmed.
"You do look familiar," Hermione said pensively, then shrugged it away. "Is your name really Nobody?"
"Yeah..." Harry had thought it appropriate at the time. He had been the Chosen One. Now he was no one. No one at all.
"Well, um, Nobody." Hermione coughed. "Did I hear that boy say you were, er, playing? Um, music?"
"Yeah, that's right. Madame Rosmerta allows me to play outside the Three Broomsticks. She even gives me free drinks. She's very kind."
Hermione regarded him thoughtfully, chewing her lower lip in a very familiar manner. Harry was gripped by a strange mix of emotions. On the one hand he was glad that she hadn't realized it was him and nervous that she might. But on the other hand, he was unexpectedly hurt that she hadn't. And surprised anything had the ability to wound him anymore.
What did I expect? I'm trying not to be recognized.
Harry came back to the present with a start, and realized Hermione was talking again.
"Would you mind if I stayed and listened?"
"Um, n-no. Not at a-all," Harry stammered, taken aback. "I'll, um, just get my stuff ready."
Confused, and a bit thrown by the turn of events, Harry hurried across the street. With a wave of his wand he conjured his instruments out of thin air; a guitar, a bass, a set of drums and a synthesizer.
* * *
Hermione wasn't sure what had made her confront the man. He was non-descript, tall and skinny with oddly white hair, and she would have never noticed him if not for the young boy running towards him. Something about the way he interacted with the boy had touched her, and she found herself approaching him.
Now she watched, wide-eyed, as the man (Nobody, he called himself) picked up the guitar and started playing a simple tune softly. He then looked at each of the other instruments in turn; the bass floated up in the air, unsupported, and plucked out a warm-up; the drumsticks twirled for all the world like an invisible drummer was there, and the keys on the synthesizer depressed themselves.
Disappointed as she was at yet another false Harry trail, Hermione couldn't but help being fascinated. The man had to know how to play all of those instruments to do what he was doing. And- no, surely not! He couldn't be meaning to play every part at once? He'd have to be a genius!
But it seemed that he did. Already a crowd had materialized out of thin air and started cheering. Obviously he had played here before. He must really be good, thought Hermione wistfully. She noticed with a small smile that the little boy had returned and snaked his way to the front. All subsequent thoughts were driven from her head moments later as he started to play.
Later, Hermione would be hard pressed to describe it. But in the here and now it was an epic story relayed through music. It started slowly, languidly, and built up faster and faster into a breathless, heart-pounding peak. And then it faded away, slowly, into nothing, a heartbreaking strain of hopeless melancholy. The man made the crowd feel every emotion that went into his music.
When the first song was done coins showered at Nobody's feet. Hermione found herself throwing a handful as well; she pulled it out, heedless of the amount. Nobody had an odd expression on his face; it looked like self-loathing, and perhaps a bit of nausea. No one seemed to notice except Hermione as he bowed and gestured; the coins flew up and tumbled end over end to the poorest of the poor standing in the street. It was something Harry would have done, Hermione thought. He had never cared about money. In fact, the more things he had gained, the more he had shared. But without another pause, Nobody launched into another song and carried Hermione's thoughts away.
Hermione did not know how long she listened, standing with tears in her eyes at the raw emotion in the music. Somehow, incredibly, the man had captured her own feelings and transformed them into song. Her memories of Hogwarts, and of Harry and Ron and their adventures and frantic struggle at the end.
Finally, as it grew dark, Nobody finished. A moment of hushed silence followed, but was quickly broken by tumultuous applause. He bowed again, and vanished his instruments with a flick of his wand. Madame Rosmerta respectfully pressed a glass into his hand as the crowd dispersed, many into the Three Broomsticks.
Hermione stood rooted to the spot for a full minute and saw him eye her sideways with a frown. She blushed, but stumbled towards him as the crowd dispersed.
"That-" she croaked. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "That was amazing! Beautiful..."
"Thank you," Nobody said quietly as he bent over to scoop up a few stray coins near his feet. "Thank you very much."
"How- how did you know?" whispered Hermione.
"Know what?" he asked from the folded up stance, puzzled.
"Know what- I-" Hermione stuttered. Nobody continued to frown at her, but something flashed in his eyes.
"Um- nothing," Hermione said quietly, feeling foolish. "Hey…
She bent slightly to look into Nobody's eyes. He looked away instinctively, and when Hermione finally caught his gaze, bright blue eyes were looking back at her evenly. They rather reminded her of Dumbledore.
"That's strange…" she said, half to herself. "For a moment, I thought- your eyes were green."
"Nope," Nobody said flatly. "Been blue my whole life."
"Right… well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Nobody. So- um, well, bye…"
Nobody nodded, not looking at her as he plucked the last coins up and then took a long drink from the glass Madame Rosmerta had given him. Hermione slowly walked away.
"Hey? Hermione?"
Hermione stopped, and turned around, a slight fluttering in her chest.
"Yeah?"
"Here… you take these," Nobody hurried towards her and pressed a handful of coins into her hands. Hermione wasn't sure what gave her the idea, but she was absolutely sure she was right. It was the exact amount she had thrown.
"I don't need it," Nobody said quickly.
"No." Hermione smiled sadly and pushed it away as thoughts of Harry filled her head. "You earned it. A thousand times over."
He limply accepted the coins back, staring intently into her face. Hermione flushed at the scrutiny, and looked away. There was something disconcerting about it, like he could see right through her. Like he knew exactly who she was and what she was thinking.
"I'll be playing again Tuesday afternoon."
Hermione looked back quickly, but he was already striding away.
"Nobody?" she said quietly to herself. "What happened to you? Why are you so sad?"
As Hermione watched, the man's shoulders jerked and he stumbled for a step before regaining his balance.
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