A/n: It's been pointed out to me ( and rightly so) by a couple of reviewers that I went a little over the top with Ron. I'm not sure what my frame of mind was in when I wrote this. I generally like Ron (just not R/HR) and am usually more forgiving of his shortcomings. As I review this story while posting, I also realize that I've really rushed the time frame. As a result, I think I've made Harry and Hermione, possibly, a little OOC. Perhaps I wrote this about the time I found out that they were going to film the (gag) epilogue for Deathly Hallows. Anyway, for all of that, I apologize. That said, let's get on with it.
Chapter two
Harry Potter made his way along the crowded sidewalk, dodging on-coming pedestrians deftly. He moved quickly, purposefully. He was a man on a mission. Spotting his first objective, he sidestepped around a woman with a small child in tow, darting through the doorway of a florist shop. He emerged several minutes later with a dozen cream-colored roses, their edges tinged with the palest pink.
He continued on for several blocks, until reaching his second objective. He spent even less time in this shop, leaving with a brown paper bag which concealed a bottle of fine chardonnay. His possessions, accompanied by the triumphant smile he now wore, drew the attention of more than a few passers-by. If he were able to read minds, Harry might have been surprised at the speculations and assumptions of his observers, for Harry himself had failed to realize the significance of the picture he portrayed.
He continued down the street for several more blocks, reaching a point where the crowd of pedestrians had thinned out significantly. He turned a corner onto a side street, and then another into an alleyway used by delivery vans. A quick visual survey confirmed that he was unobserved, and with a faint "pop", he disapparated, appearing seconds later inside his own flat.
He placed the roses in a vase and set the wine to chilling. Then he doffed his clothes and hopped into the shower, after which he would prepare dinner. He wanted tonight to be special. Someone should make her feel special - because she deserved it, because she was. Damn Ron, anyway.
After the defeat of Voldemort, Harry had lost all previous interest in becoming an Auror, having tired of chasing down dark wizards. Being of sound financial means, he had decided to put his fortune to good use. The war had taken its toll on Diagon Alley. Many of the shops had been damaged, destroyed or abandoned. For those owners who wished to re-open, Harry was aiding them in securing low-interest loans from Gringotts, using his own fortune as collateral. In the case of three properties whose owners had declined re-opening, Harry had purchased them outright. He'd secured the necessary contractors, arranging to have the needed repairs and remodeling done. He then planned to hire his own personnel and re-open the shops with personally selected managers.
As Harry let the warm water flow over him, he recalled the events of earlier in the day.
Flashback - 10am
After checking on his endeavors and finding everything running smoothly, Harry had given himself the afternoon off. He'd been putting in twelve to fifteen hour days for over a week, between meetings with Gringotts loan officers, contractors, wholesalers and designers. He hadn't seen or heard from Ron in at least that long, and his last contact with Hermione had been a brief and uninformative note he'd received by owl four days ago. He'd had a suspicion that something was off between Ron and Hermione the last time he'd seen them, but neither would speak of it. Hermione, in particular, was being unusually tight-lipped. It was time to catch up with his friends.
Harry's first order of business had been to owl Ron. He'd tried to contact him at his team's quarters a day earlier, only to find out that Ron was off for a week. Harry had owled his flat, but hadn't received a reply. The other two logical places Ron would be staying were the Burrow - or Hermione's place.
Harry quickly re-read his hastily scribbled note to Ron. He secured it with Hero, his newly acquired owl - a birthday gift from Ron and Hermione. Ron had teasingly called the bird "Hero" until Harry could come up with a suitable name, but the name had stuck, the bird seemed to like it, and Harry had thought it a fitting tribute to Hedwig. Harry gave the owl instructions to find Ron, wherever he was, and wait for a reply. The thought that Ron might be staying at Hermione's flat seemed to make his stomach queasy, as though someone had kicked him in the gut. He wasn't sure he was ready to find out that their relationship had gone that far.
Harry busied himself in Diagon Alley while waiting for Hero's return. He replenished some office supplies, including quills and parchment, paid a visit to Eeylop's for treats for Hero, and ended with a stop at Gringotts to replenish his cash supply. He obtained both wizard and muggle currency, for his next order of business was to surprise Hermione at work and take her to lunch, and he had no idea where they'd end up going.
By 11:30, there was still no sign of Hero. If Harry were going to meet Hermione, he would have to go soon or he'd miss her break time. After dropping his purchases at his office, he made his way to The Leaky Cauldron, using its floo connection to get to the Ministry. He exited the floo into an all too familiar atrium. After checking in at the security desk, he quickly made his way to the stairwell access to Hermione's floor in order to avoid the crowds at the lifts, while doing his best to ignore the whispers and stares of curious onlookers. He would never get used to his celebrity status.
He made his way two levels down, his smile growing ever wider as he neared his destination. He stepped through the stairwell doorway, turning left in the familiar corridor toward Hermione's department. He was hailed by several employees, who he'd come to know him on a more personal level due to his visits to Hermione. He usually made an appearance at least once a week to have lunch with her.
"Hello, Harry!" The enthusiastic greeting came from a middle-aged woman with a broad, genuine smile, by the name of Eileen Castle. She was one of Hermione's supervising instructors. The woman had taken a special interest in Hermione, finding her particularly brilliant and hardworking, and not unlike her own daughter, who now lived in the States. Hermione, in turn, admired the woman's knowledge, skill and talent - but it was her easy, friendly manner which had endeared her to both Hermione and Harry.
"You haven't been around lately," the woman continued. "I've missed seeing your handsome face."
"And I've missed your beautiful smile," Harry replied with a grin, eyes twinkling merrily. "Business has kept me away, I'm afraid. But not today!"
"Well that's just grand! I'm sure Hermione will be even happier to see you. I believe she's at her desk, compiling research notes. Harry, you make sure she has a nice, relaxing break. She's already done a full days work and it's only noon."
"I'll do just that, Eileen. Anything for you." He gave her a wink, then continued on toward the office cubicles, but was still able to hear a comment from Eileen.
"That Harry - what a charmer."
'If only someone else thought so,' Harry mused.
If Harry's smile had been broad before, it widened even further when he caught sight of a certain bushy-haired, brown-eyed witch, who just happened to be his best friend and, if truth be told, the person he now considered most important in his life. He stopped where he was, watching her. She was so engrossed in what she was doing that she hadn't yet realized he was standing there. Harry knew the look of concentration she currently wore as well as he knew his own reflection. He'd seen it nearly every day since they were eleven years old. Her brow was slightly creased; her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her chocolate eyes, even from where he stood, positively sparkled with energy as she applied herself to the task at hand. Her chestnut hair, which she'd had moderate success in taming over the years, was pulled back into a loose ponytail. She always wore it up or pulled back at work. Harry preferred it loose, hanging around her shoulders in thick, silky waves.
Harry continued to watch her; watched her small hand dip the quill it was holding into the inkwell, then return it to the parchment spread on her desk. He watched her hand glide across the paper, leaving behind purple-black characters, each gracefully, perfectly formed.
Hermione stopped writing, pursing her lips. She began tapping the tip of the quill rapidly on a blotter next to her parchment, a sure sign that she was pondering something intently. Harry couldn't help the low chuckle that escaped his throat.
"Everything all right there, Miss Granger?"
For one split second she froze, not having been aware that he was there. Then, in one fluid - and remarkably rapid - motion, she dropped the quill, pushed back from her desk and leapt at Harry, who had himself halved the distance between them.
"Harry!" she cried, landing in his arms, her own wrapping tightly around his neck in classic Hermione fashion. "I'm so happy to see you."
"Hello, Hermione. I'm happy to see you, too."