Finding Harry by HermionePotter420

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 28/12/2008
Last Updated: 29/12/2008
Status: In Progress

Hermione, and her journey to find "the one". Her standards are definite, but despite
her renowned intelligence, she doesn't realize who she is really looking for. It takes the
ending of one relationship to push Hermione into beginning to realize who she's been waiting
for all along.




1. Pull it Together, Hermione
-----------------------------



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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2. I'll rely on my brains!
--------------------------



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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