Finding Harry

Hermione sighed deeply as she walked, head bent in defense against the snowflakes bearing heavily down upon her. She watched the cracked concrete pass beneath her feet as she stepped steadily, moving at a quick and even pace. Anything to take me away from there.

She watched a drop of water fall from her cheek to the ground, mixing quickly in with the rapidly muddying slush, and she started in surprise. She roughly wiped the offending tears from her cheeks. She snorted in anger and frustration. Hermione Granger was in control. After all these years, garnering maturity and control, it was not for her to run about emoting wildly at the slightest sting. Yes, we dated nine months. But it's been months since we've been together in that sense. Get a grip, Hermione. You're stronger than that. Besides, people are watching.

She took a look back at the pub. Where he was. With her. It had been out of nowhere. She had happily continued a friendship with a man she had dated, one who she'd met while attending a Wizarding University, despite the fact that they'd broken it off months ago. It was an amicable break, one made in the throes of the stress of examinations, and one that was made with the intentions of striking it back up once things calmed down. Somehow, that day never came, yet the two continued relying on each other for support, and spent time together all the same. Yet here he came with this. It was just another of their regular meetings at the pub not far from campus. And in he walked, but he wasn't alone. Hermione remembered smiling cordially at her, a girl whom she had been close to her first year at Univeristy, and had since kept a rather distant relationship, but wondering why he had brought her to their meeting. Meeting. Right. That's just the word we've used these past months for `date.' She had glanced questioningly at him, while giving her a quick friendly hug. He smiled. Oh, his smiles.

“Hermione, I know that you already know Rachel, but I wanted to introduce her to you again in a different capacity.” He glanced at Rachel, and then back to Hermione, offering her another tentative smile, while reaching for Rachel's hand. “Rachel and I have starting dating, so I thought it would be right to bring her tonight, so you could start to get to know each other again.”

Hermione's heart had plummeted. This couldn't be happening. Was he crazy? The two of them were already as good as dating. Did he not see that? She forced a smile on her face, and began to concentrate on her breathing, as she knew it would quickly become erratic. She saw his face drop slightly, as he noticed her eyes fill with shock and betrayal.

“That's… really great, you two! Wow! I mean, I don't even know what to say! I didn't realize you two were so close! But, that's quite wonderful, of course! I'm very happy for you, very happy! Rachel, you must tell me how you've been! And you look so good in that color, I just love that shirt on you!” Hermione had let out in one large breath, leading them over to the table. Idle chatter followed, and when she wasn't spitting out some ridiculously cheery exclamation, she was turning over the situation in her head, panicking as she felt her world dropping beneath her feet. She felt his eyes on her; he knew something was wrong, but she avoided his eyes. To thick to realise what he's done. He's gone and buggered everything up. As soon as she could without completely offending Rachel, Hermione took her leave, saying that she had an exam to finish studying for, thus making her escape into the icy street.

And here she was, making her way rapidly back to her flat, feeling stupid, silly, used, lonely, and weak. She shouldn't have expected him to be feeling the same way as she. She shouldn't have assumed. Like that stupid saying he loves so much… “Like me' dad always said, assuming only makes an arse out'a you an' me!”

And now she had no one. She could once count on going to Ron and Harry for everything, but the Hogwarts days were long gone, and the three had moved on with their lives, and inadvertently, away from each other. There was no big fanfare, no big falling out, it just happened. The three saw different things for themselves in their lives, and they simply grew apart. Yes, they shared the occasional owl, but it was usually to communicate good news. But personal communication was close to none. The last time she'd seen them was Ron's wedding to Luna Lovegood, a surprising but nonetheless delightful match. Every so often she would get an owl from them in some exotic location, describing their harrowing “encounters” with crinkle-humped snogags, or whatever they were. And Harry. Harry lived a nondescript life. She wasn't entirely sure what he did with his time, but his was simply a constant quest towards normalcy. He was the hardest to move away from, something she still locked up and her mind and refused to dwell upon, but somehow University took her mind away from the loss, as did meeting him.

He was Michael, and he quickly captured her attention. They started as great friends. He became her replacement Harry in many ways, though she did not realise it, or perhaps refused to. They stayed up nights and talked, and shared their innermost thoughts and fears. Somewhere along the way, the friendship led into dating. It was a whirlwind, and she would never regret the times they spent together. But she would never admit to herself, and still wouldn't, that she had always known, somehow, that he couldn't be “the one,” though she contented herself with their relationship anyway. She loved him, but she wasn't in love. But why dismiss a good thing when you have it? She undoubtedly depended on him to get through each day, with his constant laughter, and reliably constant interest, advice, and support in her day-to-day life.

Hermione pulled away from her thoughts as she turned the corner. I suppose I had better begin getting over him then. You knew, Hermione, you silly girl, you knew he would never be the one. You've always know there's someone else waiting for you. Pull it together. But it didn't change the hurt and the fear. She knew things would change. No girl would be content with their boyfriend carrying on a relationship such as the friendship she and Michael shared. It would be over. She would have no one to go to. Hermione felt just as lost as the day she moved into her new flat at the university. She felt it once more—that things were going to change, and once more be out of her control. She supposed for a while he would try to make it work, them still being close. She knew him too well. He was naïve and would assume that somehow both Hermione and Rachel would fit into this happy world of his. Hermione knew better. And she shuddered to think of what this meant for her.

She scraped her feet on the mat just inside the door as she made her way into the entry way of her apartment building. She climbed the stairs, feeling weary and exhausted, as if her whirling thoughts had tired her body out. She didn't know what she was going to go. She would survive, she knew, and she would get over it, she knew that too. Yet the pain of this loss still pounded into her heart, and she wondered if she'd ever be happy. Yes, she'd always had this feeling that there was somebody perfect for her, but she didn't know who. But what if Michael was as perfect as she was going to find? Why was she still holding out for this seemingly unreachable ideal? She wasn't even sure where it came from, she just lived on the hope that it would come along one day. But what was she to do until then? She took her coat off as she closed the door behind her, and hung it in its proper place, on the rack beside the door. She looked around her cozy but neat flat. She smiled sadly at the picture of her leaning on Michael's shoulder and laughing as they looked out on the scenic fall foliage around them. Hermione's logical mind knew that she would be better one day, but the tears came anyway. She brushed them away once more, and headed towards the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. No use dwelling on it, you silly thing. As she was cleaning up after herself and preparing for bed, she heard her mobile ring. She glanced at it, and sighed. That would be Michael, looking to check up on her. She walked over and switched it off. Enough now. The sooner she let him go, the sooner it would stop hurting. She was Hermione Granger. She was strong.

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I completely forgot last chapter, but I don't own Harry Potter, incase you were wondering.

Hope you enjoy.

~~~

Hermione grinned proudly to herself as she slipped out into the covered archway where one of the many magical entry ways to the magical part of Girton College at Cambridge University was hidden. If there was one thing that could get her mind of any problem, it was doing well on an exam. And unless she was very much mistaken, she had done just that.

Unless I completely mistranslated that last set of runes… I could have gotten everything all wrong! Oh, no. Her smile slipped. I wonder if I can go back and ask the professor if—her smile dropped completely, and she stopped in place as she registered who was standing but a few feet away, leaning against a building, seemingly waiting for something—or someone. Michael.

She quickly turned and fled, hoping he hadn't spotted her. She couldn't face him. It was too much to handle. She was simply too upset to speak with him, and she didn't know what to say. “Sorry, Michael, but I was just assuming you still felt the same way about me!”? Not likely. Somehow, he was too entranced in studying the dirty snow at his feet, as if he could melt it just by looking at it with his stormy blue eyes, to realize that his query had made her escape. I wonder what he's thinking about. Wait. Stop Hermione. We're getting over him, remember? The sooner, the better.

She made her way through the snowy walkways, and headed towards the library, that was accessible only to those students who were magical, instead of grabbing lunch, as was her original intent. As she passed behind the ornately framed painting of a woman that secured the entrance, she felt the unmistakable warmth of magic spread from her fingers to her toes.

The dusty library was her favorite place at Girton—it reminded her pleasantly of Hogwarts, as it was much alike in the décor, most likely because one of the founders of Girton, Emily Davies the woman in the picture guarding the library, had been a brilliant witch, and had also attended Hogwarts in her day before answering the call to found a magical college, then intended for women.

Hermione always liked to think that Emily, like her, found the Hogwart's library so comforting as to make a place in her new school where the atmosphere was much the same. Whatever the reason, Hermione was glad of it. She often allowed herself to spend hours here, researching for her final year project, studying for exams, or just thinking and allowing all the memories of her Hogwarts days and the battle with Voldemort to wash over her. It was the one place that felt like home.

She headed back towards “her” table, close to the back, almost hidden by the crammed shelves. The library's collection didn't come close to rivaling that of Hogwarts, but it held a more specific selection of books that pertained to her field of study—the ancient runes surrounding the Egyptian mummy housed in the college, which strangely enough, was named Hermione. Hermione felt some sort of special connection to this mummy that shared her name, and it fascinated her to unravel the mysteries surrounding her and her magic.

But today, Hermione couldn't focus. She gripped her hair at its roots in frustration, and bit her bottom lip. She hated being thrown out of her comfort zone, and last night, she had been, quite literally, thrust out of it and into the coldness of the world.

Hermione had always assumed she would get married. As a child, she imagined it would be simple enough to find `the one.' But now she knew better. The thing was that Michael seemingly had plenty of good qualities that were fanciable in a husband. But when it came down to it, she had allowed herself to pretend for too long that he was `the one,' despite her intuitive sense that he in some way didn't measure up to par—what par that was, and where it came from, she didn't know.

And here you are, heartbroken. What have you done, Hermione? Perhaps it's just better if I give up on this stupid ideal. It's never going to happen.

But in her heart, Hermione couldn't let go of it. She knew that there was someone better than Michael, someone who perfectly complemented her, but who? And how to get over Michael so she could begin functioning again in order to search for him? Hermione didn't know the answers to any of these questions, and it made her grip her books tightly in frustration. Answers for problems about love were the only thing she had never once found in a book. And it infuriated her.

She whipped out a sheaf of parchment and a quill. I will work this out. I'll do what I've always done—depend on my brains to get me through this. She dipped her quill in ink, and paused, the point hovering over the parchment. She felt almost at a loss, and she chewed her bottom lip, thinking furiously. What could she possibly put to parchment that would begin to solve this overwhelming problem she was faced with?

Hermione wrote “The Perfect Guy,” across the top of the sheaf and underlined it with a deft, bold stroke.

“Suits me perfectly,” she wrote. Gee, Hermione, what a revolutionary idea. Get to thinking. WHAT is it that would make someone suit you perfectly? She thought a few moments, and slowly wrote:

“Knows me better than I know myself, and loves me for that.” It then began to flow easily from her hand. “But isn't afraid to tell me when he thinks I'm wrong, or to argue with me.”

Hermione thought about that. Michael would never fight with her. He would agree to everything. And it wasn't as if he was just saying it, he honestly seemed to conform his ideas to whatever she said. But Hermione needed someone who was brave enough to fight with her. As much as she wished she was, she wasn't infallible, and needed someone to remind her of that.

She snorted to herself as she remembered how Michael would always seek to appease her, as if upsetting her would drive her off. That's noble enough, I suppose, but just not right. I need someone who will challenge me, and keep things interesting. If he won't argue with me, then… that's just boring.

“Needs me, but can survive without clinging to me.” That was another thing that Michael did. He almost suffocated her. He had the best of intentions, but the incessant phone calls and pleas to help him with something, or to spend time together weighed upon her. She appreciated that he needed her, but at times she felt more like his mother than his girlfriend. Admittedly, she had even felt a little used, especially last year as the stress of examinations was in full force, and he asked her help every single night with his arithmancy work, leaving her hardly any time for her own studies. Yes, he's got to know how to be self-sufficient too.

“Somebody who I can talk to honestly, and who I'm not afraid to tell all my troubles.” That had been one of the hardest things with Michael. She knew he would have gladly listened to her recount her past struggles that at times still plagued her, but she didn't feel comfortable sharing them with him. He would try to understand, and she couldn't take that, because she knew he couldn't possibly. She didn't want someone to understand, after all, she just wanted somebody to listen and be there for her. She always felt that he wouldn't be capable of that, despite his best efforts. So she didn't tell him things—horrors of her past. He knew of what she went through with Harry and Ron of course, because who in the magical world didn't, but he didn't know how those experiences made her feel, or that she was still plagued by nightmares of Voldemort returning, or losing Ron or Harry.

Deep down, Hermione felt a little guilty, because perhaps she had never really given him a fair chance to be what she needed in regard to her past, but she firmly believed that he couldn't have handled it.

“Somebody who leaves me notes and flowers when I'm stressed, without me having had a huge breakdown first.” Hermione thought about this one. She'd shared with Michael how silly she thought it was for girls to expect guys to constantly shower them with gifts, but he seemed to take it to the extreme, and never thought to surprise her ever. She supposed it was a silly thought, and that such things weren't necessary. But it would have been nice.

She thought for a moment, laughed, and added, “Doesn't have facial hair!” That had been her and Michael's greatest battle. She thought his beard looked sloppy and unkempt, and she supposed he thought it made him more manly or some such rubbish. But when it came down to it, she just preferred seeing somebody's whole face, free of hair. Revolting! Just a silly preference, but she couldn't shake it, hard as she tried. She regained her seriousness.

“Somebody who knows that when I say I'm `fine,' I'm anything but.” Michael took everything at face value. If he asked her if something was wrong, and she said nothing, he believed her. Hermione supposed she was asking too much. What do you want, a mind reader?

“Somebody who isn't cocky, but humble, and has good self esteem.” Michael could be incredibly cocky at times, but it was really a farce that covered all his insecurities. Hermione didn't care for that attitude at all. In fact, it reminded her greatly of Ron in his Hogwarts days. Incredibly down on himself, yet could be so arrogant when speaking to others…like Malfoy! Not at all like Harry was. Harry didn't have an arrogant bone in his body.

She let out a deep breath as she looked over her list. You're crazy, Granger. There's nobody out there that will ever be able to conform to your idiosyncrasies and obsessive-compulsive demands.

She folded the list up, and shoved it in her bag. One day, she thought, or almost prayed, as she gathered her things and made her way back into the wintry weather. I'll find him one day.

~~~

Hermione was sitting in her flat, books, scrolls, and parchments full of runes pertaining to `Hermione' spread out over her sitting room. She was dressed comfortably in sweats and a Cambridge sweatshirt, her hair piled haphazardly upon her head.

She was in full work mode, completely focused in on her project for her final year at Cambridge, necessary for her graduation in a few months time. She felt like she was finally making a breakthrough discovery in the mummy's life, or should she say, death. She was beginning to understand what had caused the highly educated magical woman's death.

Hermione, formally known as `Hermione Grammatike,' was an educated Greek woman who had come to Egypt. She studied and taught reading, writing, and grammar, and as such had left behind countless runes filled with the story of her life. Hermione was finally unlocking the magic hiding the runes left in seemingly the woman's last days on earth. The story spoke of loneliness and heartbreak. Hermione wondered if her mummy counterpart would understand what she was going through.

Hermione's musings were cut short by a knock on the door. She heaved a sigh. She knew it would only be a matter of time. Three days had passed since that day in the pub, and Michael had called her mobile so many times, she had taken to just leaving it off. The messages she did listen to showed her that he was completely oblivious to the pain he had caused. Typical.

“Hermione?” came his voice through the door. “Hermione, please. Please talk to me. I know you're in there.”

Hermione extracted herself from her position on the couch surrounded by all her papers, quills, and books, despite her body protesting with cracks and pops,. She made her way over to the door. She leaned against it for a moment, steeling herself before opening the door.

“Yes?” she said, standing in the doorway, trying to give her best impression of wondering what he was doing there.

“Hermione, you haven't answered your mobile for three days! What have you been doing?” he asked concernedly, stepping closer.

“I--,” Hermione's voice failed her and she fought to remain in control. “I've been working,” she said tightly and without emotion.

Michael looked at her sharply.

“Hermione, what's wrong?” he asked, reaching for her arm. She jerked away as if his fingers burned her. “What happened?”

“I—you--,” Hermione's voice shook. She hated her weakness. “God, Michael. You—I just—How could you? I thought—I thought. Nevermind. I was stupid, really.”

“How could I what? What did I do? And you aren't stupid!” he looked at her in bewilderment.

“God, her, Michael, her. Didn't you see that I still—I still--?” she broke off again.

“This is about Rachel?” Michael asked quietly, looking down at his feet resignedly.

“No, the bloody Queen—yes, Rachel! Who else would I be talking about?”

“I thought you'd be happy. I thought you liked her,” he stated, glancing at her and running a hand through his hair.

“Rubbish!” Hermione snapped. Michael looked at her in surprise. “Of course I like the girl fine, but for you to just prance in there and announce that to me! And bring her along, no less, without a warning! What do you expect to happen now, Michael! Everything is going to change!”

“Change?” Michael looked terrified. “Hermione, what are you on about? Nothing has to change! We're still best mates, we'll still spend time together, Rachel will understand.”

“It's the principle of the thing. You've ended us, Michael.”

“What are you saying? Us?”

“Are you telling me all this time that you've never considered that we still do everything and more just like when we were dating? You've never considered that I still—” she broke off, breathing heavily, her face red.

Michael looked stricken.

“Of course, I felt that way for months, but you didn't say anything, so I assumed—” he too broke off, and groaned. “Damn! There I go, I've gone and made an arse of myself.”

“And me, Michael,” Hermione said, shaking, “And me.”

He buried his face in his hands, and then looked up, his right hand running through his beard. That disgusting beard.

“It will work out, Hermione,” he said desperately. “Nothing will change. I'll still be here for you!”

Hermione shook her head at him, roughly wiping tears from her cheeks.

“No, Michael. It won't.” She closed the door.

~~~

Author's Note:

Okay, so I'll be honest here. I wrote the first chapter on a whim around 3 this morning, in about 30 minutes. I posted without thinking, and so now I'm less than happy with the current first chapter. But, surprisingly, reviews were positive, and so my brain churned this out. I didn't want to take down the first chapter and lose the reviews, so I've tried to redeem my lack of detail and explanations with this chapter. Thank you for embarking on this journey with Hermione and me! Review, please, because I would really appreciate hearing what you think I need to work on.

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