Author's Note: First of all, thanks so much for all the great reviews. I really appreciate the thoughtful insights and ideas, and everyone - even with criticisms - has been so nice. (I was actually afraid to read the reviews, but they made me feel good! So thanks for that.)
Just to give you some insight, I'm an incredibly busy person, and I write for fun in the spare time I don't have. (Which, unfortunately, will probably mean it will take forever for me to finish this.) Of course I want my story to be amazing, intriguing, consistent, believable…yadda yadda. But honestly, I don't have the desire or the willpower to make it all those things. The more important thing to me is quantity, not quality. I admit that as a reader this would piss me off, so I apologize if you're in that same boat. But I just wanted to give you all a note on my "writing philosophy" so to speak so you know where I'm coming from. Just a head's up, for what it's worth.
So - I've added some more to the pot here. I hope you enjoy it!
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When Hermione returned to her dormitory at a quarter before nine, Harry was still asleep. She breathed a small sigh of relief; she'd rather he not see her all sweaty in her workout clothes first thing this morning. Last night had been a wreck, and today was all about convincing Harry that Hermione was the beautiful, intelligent witch he had returned to.
A hot shower was first on the agenda. Even though Harry was asleep, she stepped behind the closet door to change out of her sweats and into her bathrobe. She felt sexy in that skimpy piece of silk, even as wayward strands of her crimpy hair struck dried against her forehead. Before she left her bedroom, she made quick work of grabbing her makeup bag and - and her wand. She sealed that last item nervously into her cosmetics satchel before stepping across the common room and into the bathroom.
Like the gym, her suite was deserted. Two other double rooms shared the living room, bathroom, and kitchen with she and Deirdre, but no signs of life stirred. Just as well, Hermione thought. She tingled with anticipation of the plan at hand and appreciated that there would be no prying eyes or ears at the door as she worked her magic.
Hermione turned the shower almost to scalding. She liked the water almost painfully hot so that it filled the room with a hazy, hot steam. Before climbing in, she double checked the lock on the door and then pulled out her wand. With a quick swish, the water from the shower tumbled out the color of lilacs and bubbled when it hit the floor. The fresh scent of citrus and sunflowers filled the room. Perhaps it was reckless, but Hermione just couldn't help herself. She'd barely explored the use of magic for pleasure before she'd denounced it, and after her recent relapse she didn't want to hold back.
She stepped under the water and felt her muscles instantly relaxing under the heat. She showered without hurrying, for once intending to come out looking fabulous instead of simply clean. Even after she turned off the water, Hermione concentrated on taming every piece of herself to exude the confidence she was feeling. On a normal day, her bathroom routine was barely five minutes: brushing hair and teeth and slapping on a bit of mascara. (She had taken on wearing some makeup, if only to make her feel more like she fit in.) But Hermione expected to be seen today by more than the pages of a book.
Remembering back to the afternoon of the Yule Ball during fifth year wasn't easy, as the memories of preparing for the dance had been mostly replaced and marred in the years that followed. But that was the last time Hermione could recall any instruction in taming hair, so she attempted to stir those memories anyway. It had taken oodles of hair potion to straighten and plait her hair, and that timely endeavor was out of the question. The only other option that came to mind was a spell she'd never tried but ready in one of Ginny's magazines once…
"Laxus," Hermione said quietly, pointing her wand at her hair. When the frizzy mass gradually relaxed into smooth locks, she breathed a sigh of relief.
As Hermione emptied the contents of her makeup bag onto the counter, contemplating whether eyeliner was a good choice for daywear under current circumstances, someone knocked at the door. Her heart stopped.
"Yes?"
"Is that you in there, Hermione?" It was Harry.
Hermione's heart resumed, but beat fast. She certainly hadn't wanted one of her suitemates discovering her, but she hadn't wanted Harry knowing what she was up to, either. "Yeah, I just, um - finished having a shower," she replied, her voice faltering.
"Any chance I can have a go in the bathroom?"
"Sure, just a minute," she said. Hermione quickly gathered her cosmetics and undid the scent charms on the room. Then she concealed her wand back into the bag with the makeup. She brushed back her newly coiffed hair and pulled it into a messy ponytail before opening the door.
"Thanks," Harry said, rushing past her. "Feel like a racehorse," he mumbled before slamming the door in a rush.
Hermione headed back to her bedroom where she quickly put some color to her cheeks and drew the mascara brush over the eyelashes. That would do for now. She really didn't want to look like she'd been fussing over her appearance: that wasn't Hermione. But with more thought than usual, she chose a tight-chested camisole and a form-fitting green cardigan. Harry might have been able to deny she was a girl when they were at Hogwarts, seeing as how those gray jumpers never did much for a girl's curves. But Harry was a man now, and Hermione had grown up in more ways than one. There'd be no denying that in this outfit.
When Harry reappeared in the bedroom a minute later, Hermione was making up Deirdre's bed. And she was having quite a time of it, as Harry had managed to throw every scrap of blanket and sheet onto the floor.
"Don't you do that, Hermione," he said. "I completely intended to clean up after myself."
"No bother," she replied, straightening up the last pillow. "Finished. See?" She turned around to face him and noticed his eyes widen.
But Harry quickly tried to avert his eyes. Too late, though - it was obvious what he'd been looking at. "You're awfully dressed up," he said, stiffing a fakely-casual laugh.
Hermione just shrugged and smiled. "This isn't Hogwarts, you know. In the real world people have real wardrobes."
"If you say so," Harry answered.
"Anyway, I thought we could go to the dining hall for breakfast, if you're hungry."
"Famished," Harry said, crossing the room to retrieve his jeans from a crumpled pile on the floor. "Just need to get dressed and I'm ready."
Five minutes later the pair was walking side by side to the dining hall. The morning had turned warmer, and the previous night's sharp wind had disappeared. A few lone birds flitted through the sky, tweeting against the sun.
"Did you sleep alright?" Hermione asked. "I know the bed isn't so comfortable."
Harry shook his head. "No, just fine," he said. "Although you're right. The sound of crinkling plastic every time you flip sides isn't all that relaxing."
Hermione laughed. "We were spoiled all those years on wizard mattresses at Hogwarts."
"Oh, for sure…but how about you, did you sleep well?"
"Yeah," Hermione said, "well enough." She turned her face away a bit, trying to hide her blushing cheeks.
There was a pause before Harry continued, "Good. I was a bit worried…never seen you so upset."
"I was just holding in a lot, I guess." She looked up at him and touched his arm lightly. "Thank you, Harry. I really needed that."
Harry shrugged it off, nonchalant, but Hermione caught the shudder that rippled across his face when her hand touched his arm. "That's what friends are for, right?"
"Yeah," she said. "Friends." The word sounded so flat, so - disgusting.
"Well…you know," Harry said.
Harry may have had more in mind to share, but at that moment they arrived at the dining hall. Hermione ushered Harry inside and directed him to grab a tray and some utensils before explaining the breakfast options and where to get them. In a few minutes' time they had paid for breakfast and rounded up on Hermione's favorite table in the dining room. Hermione sat down by the window, expecting Harry to sit opposite her. Instead he sat in the chair beside her. Hermione, surprised and all the sudden feeling cramped, scooted her chair a few inches away.
"This food is safe to eat, then?" he asked, stabbing a piece of sausage onto his fork and inspecting it closely.
"Certainly," she said. "Well, to be honest, it's not the best but it won't kill you."
"That, at the very least, is comforting." Harry began shoveling in large forkfuls, working intently on cleaning the plate.
Hermione picked at her melon, trying to talk herself into eating, but her stomach feeling too sour. She was confused by her inconsistent emotions, an uncomfortable blend of determined willpower, foolhardiness, and apprehension. The run and the shower had cleared her mind and sent her into the day a strong-willed woman, but the closeness of Harry and his obliviousness were distracting. Her plan to recapture his attention seemed stupid and frivolous and even self-obsessed. Harry missed his friend. He'd said it himself.
As they sat in silence, Hermione felt herself spiraling into the familiar dungeon of guilt and self-doubt, recalling last night's embarrassing escapades in all their terrible glory. What a wreck. For a moment Hermione realized that letting herself continue down this dark path of through was a bad idea. But why stop?
By the time Harry had inhaled the last of his reconstituted powdered eggs, Hermione had barely tasted her breakfast. Harry looked into her bowl as he pushed away his own plate. "Not hungry?"
Hermione shrugged. "I'm just feeling a little off today. Fine, though."
Harry leaned in toward her, casually propping his head chin on his hand. "I don't believe you."
Hermione laughed sarcastically. Immediately she regretted the tone. It wasn't like her to be sullen and despondent, and acting that way wasn't going to make Harry any more attracted to her. "Well that's your prerogative, I suppose."
Harry gave her a quizzical look. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"
Hermione sighed and shrugged her shoulders, looking down at her hands in her lap. "Nothing. I don't know."
Harry scooted his chair closer and put his hand on top of hers. "Are you still feeling bad about all that stuff from last night?"
Hermione turned away, resting her eyes on the windowpane without focusing on anything. "Yeah," she said. That wasn't untrue, really.
"Well - do you want to talk about it?" Harry asked.
Hermione pulled her hand away. This time her tone was simply meek. "I'm just a wreck, is all. It's not your responsibility to fix me. And you can't, really."
"But I want to help you, Hermoine. I'm here for you."
"Really?" Hermione said. Her voice was genuine and sad. There was a pregnant pause; Hermione continued, "Why now? Why didn't you write for so long?"
"Why didn't you write?" he retorted.
"Harry, don't do this. We're too old for this." Hermione pulled her hand out of his tentative grasp and looked at him, frustrated. "Look," she said, trying to keep calm, "I'm just realizing that this is awfully strange, don't you agree, that you simply appeared on my doorstep and expect us to pick up where we left off."
"How do you know what I expected?" Harry asked, his tone bothered. "And, honestly, is that the problem?"
Hermione took a deep breath. She'd been careful so far to keep this mild argument from building into a storm of bickering so she spoke quietly. "You're right," she said, "I don't know what you expected. It's just…well, perhaps you didn't write because I requested that you didn't. I'll take the blame for that. But I don't understand why you decided to find me now. I mean, you still haven't even mentioned me what you've been doing for the past two years. Last night I painstakingly recounted every detail of our time apart - "
Hermione sniffled and turned her head to she could wipe her eye out of Harry's direct line of site. Harry sighed heavily, the escaping air sounding of frustration. Then he piled all the dishes onto one tray and crossed the room to bus them. Hermione sat frozen in her chair, anxious at what his reaction to her outburst of complaint had meant. But when Harry returned to the table, he touched her shoulder tenderly and said, "Come on, Hermione. Let's take a walk…you're right. And I want to tell you."
Harry held the door for her as she stepped out into the cool morning and buttoned up her coat. They walked quietly for a moment; Harry matched his steps to her slower pace. She thought she noticed him reach for her hand and then decide against it. But it could have been her imagination making movements out of shadows.
Harry's soft voice broke the silence. "I left the Burrow a few days after you did. I told the Weasleys I needed to visit Tonks's parents, something to do with Teddy…" His voice trailed; Hermione felt a twinge of guilt, knowing the unpleasant nostalgia of joy and immense pain that accompanied all their adolescent memories. "It was a lie, though. Unlike you, I didn't have a good reason. But I know how you felt, trapped and all wrapped up in their turmoil. Not the best way to deal with your own. So I…I just left, and floated around a bit."
"Where did you go?" Hermione prompted. She sensed he was hitting a stopping point.
"Here and there. Places I felt no connection to whatsoever. That was the appeal. Mostly I stayed in hotels and brooded and drank." He shifted a little, looking uncomfortable. "Ron found me after a few weeks. Just showed up out of the blue one day. A bit like I did here, I suppose."
Hermione nodded, trying to conceal the feelings of jealousy and surprise from registering on her face. Ron had belittled and guilted her for leaving, sending a torrent of malicious letters, yet he'd scoured the country in search of rehabilitating Harry?
"I can guess what you're thinking," Harry said. "At first I thought Ron came to find me because he was worried. I mean, I didn't tell anyone where I was going, and I hadn't written."
"That's not why he came, then?"
"No, not really. Which is mostly why I've been referring to Ron as a git since I got here," Harry said. His brow furrowed. "Ron showed up right after he'd been drafted by the Chudley Cannons."
Hermione was surprised by this revelation. Although she hadn't thought much on the topic, she'd assumed Ron would never have made the bold move of trying out for professional quidditch without Harry's support and encouragement. Even so, this information didn't clarify Harry's explanation. "I'm not following you," she said.
Harry nodded in understanding. "Thing was," he said, "I realized right away that Ron was there because he wanted me for something. The team was heading to France for a spurt, to practice over the summer at some new facility there. Ron pitched the idea of me trailing off with him as a chance for some excitement or some rubbish. Told me to stop being a stroppy bastard and get on with my life."
Hermione winced inwardly, feeling a twinge of sympathy for Harry. "Ron never had a way with words, you know," she said quietly.
Harry simply hmphed, clearly digging up the indignity he'd felt in the moment. Remembering it was clearly frustrating.
"So what did you do?" Hermione asked. She was becoming insanely curious. It was much easier for her to put away her angst when the situation warranted her undivided compassion and empathy.
"I did what he said. Cut my losses and went with him."
"Such a boy," Hermione said, mostly to herself. "I never would have agreed to go with Ron if he'd just showed up and accosted me like that. Granted, your situation was different…but I'm sure Ron knew I'd never go with him but that you probably would."
"Maybe," Harry said.
This time Hermione let the quiet linger. She could tell Harry was thinking, not shut off and not finished recounting. She watched a squirrel jump out of a trashcan with a banana peel, patiently holding her tongue.
"Things in France were - well, they were exciting," he said. "Parties like you wouldn't believe. Piss drunk every night, lots of girls."
"Smashing," Hermione said, playfully sarcastic. "I didn't know that was your cup of tea."
"I won't say I didn't enjoy it. Got old after a few weeks, though. And - well, you know I have money. But I met someone who offered me a job, so I took it. And that's where I've been until yesterday."
"What kind of job?"
"Well - okay, it's embarrassing really, a bid dodgy. Demitri - my boss - he's a wand maker, er, a non-traditional one. Making wands with non-standard magical cores. So my job was to, well, retrieve enchanted or powerful objects for him to try out."
"What's dodgy about that?" Hermione asked, becoming engrossed in the story. "I think it's right clever. What kinds of things did he use?"
Harry looked away and lowered his voice. "Anything we could find, really. Powdered leprechaun organs, crystallized unicorn blood…goblin silver, smelted down. Not the kind of things you just find naturally lying around. Most of our time was spent traveling around."
"Oh," Hermione said. Her imagination was forming strange pictures in her mind, but she sensed that Harry wasn't in the mood to continue on this path of conversation. "So why leave Demetri? Isn't he counting on you? That seems a lonely job, searching around without company."
"Demitri wasn't my partner. He stayed back, making the wands. It was always me and his sister. Ella."
"Oh," Hermione said again, but this time her tone was uncomfortably surprised than. Her mind's eye tried to incorporate this new piece of the story, but to little success. Hermione simply couldn't imagine Harry interacting with another woman - aside from herself - in these terms. Harry was so intelligent, witty, and profound; any woman as a business partner would hold him back and leave him frustrated. She wondered if their gallivants across the countryside reminded Harry of their time scouting horcruxes, wondered if he ever compared Ella to her.
Ella. The name sounded dainty, but the woman sounded nothing of the sort. What kind of woman travels the country with a basic stranger searching blinding for unconventional magical objects? Not exactly the most stable or ambitious of life choices. But she must have been exciting. Dark hair, sultry eyes…a thrill-seeker. Outgoing. Provocative. A thrill. How did Harry feel about her?
But perhaps more importantly, how did she make him feel?
When she pulled herself out of the self-doubting reverie, Hermione noticed that she and Harry were walking farther apart than they had been. She felt a formality growing in the distance between them. Suddenly the silence was uncomfortable. She had to speak. "Well that's nice," was the only thing she could think of.
Harry shrugged it off and perked up a bit. It seemed that Hermione's reassurance, unassuring as it had sounded to her, had comforted him. "Ella and I had a fight. I'd been thinking about you a lot, and I told her I wanted to take a holiday. She didn't like that."
Hermione nodded in understanding, but in reality this admittance had stirred up more questions that it answered.
After a brief pause, Harry continued, "And that's about it." He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and Hermione noticed that he effortlessly closed the broadening gap between their steps. "So now I'm here, and I'm glad I came, and I want to make the most of our time together. I don't know when I'm going back, or even if, and I don't want to decide right now. So let's just do something fun, can we?"
"Certainly," Hermione said, putting on a smile. She was obliged to spend the day care-free with Harry, and she was resolved to shake her attitude and continue with her plan. The important thing was that Harry had opened up, he'd shared something that was clearly disquieting to him. There would be time for more questions later, and she would be ready to return the favor he'd offered her last night when that time came. So she opened her heart and cleared her mind, trying hard to push the whispering voice of her insecurities into the back of her mind.
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