Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, who read and reviewed the first chapter. I hope this chapter satisfies. For those who were wondering, this story takes place in America; I've imagined Gleneden to be somewhere in upstate New York.
For HarmonyLover, who caught the "Pride and Prejudice" reference in the first chapter.
A Matter of Destiny
Chapter 2: The Start of a Friendship
Hermione left her cousin with a last smile and turned to walk back home.
She had heard that old Mrs. Cannady was doing poorly and so she had called on Mrs. Cannady with soup and a freshly-baked loaf of bread. She had stopped in to visit with Rachel on her way home as a matter of course, as Rachel lived just down the lane from Mrs. Cannady.
Rachel had welcomed her with her usual placid good humor and while Hermione was sincerely fond of her cousin and always enjoyed her visits, sometimes Hermione had to admit that visiting Rachel made her feel rather… isolated. Seeing Rachel in all her serene contentment, blithely absorbed in her baby and her family and her household, sometimes served to make Hermione very conscious of how very different she and her cousin were.
From her childhood, Rachel had dreamed of nothing more than to marry and have children and so she had. She'd never been particularly fond of school, doing passably well (never at either the bottom or the top of her class) and she had finished school with something like relief. She had married young Billy Wilder (so called to distinguish him from his father, old Billy) and had Tommy just over a year later and was now expecting her second child. And Rachel was happy, entirely content with her life, as she'd always been, an obedient daughter, an affectionate cousin, a fond wife, a caring mother.
Hermione, in contrast, had always enjoyed school, throwing herself into her studies with an energy and a dedication that had half-alarmed her Aunt Olivia and dismayed her Uncle Paul. She'd easily stayed at the top of her class and her teachers had all marked her as one who should go on to college-college! The very word had been enough to thrill Hermione, as college had seemed like an almost heavenly place where she would be free to study and learn to her heart's content. And then-and then had come the blow. Aunt Olivia had, gently but firmly, told Hermione that she could not go to college. They did not have enough money to send her and, more than that, her Uncle Paul disapproved of too much learning for girls. Hermione had given in, knowing she had no choice. She had buried her acute disappointment and moved on with her life. She did not blame her Uncle; it was, as she'd always known, simply what he had been raised to believe.
But that had been the end of Hermione's dreams-and her studies, at least officially. Unofficially, Hermione had taken to haunting Miss Gallatin's bookstore, where Miss Gallatin also ran what passed for the local library. And with Miss Gallatin's willing assistance, Hermione had continued her studies, as far as she was able, through various correspondence courses and by simply reading every book she could. It was not, as Hermione was sometimes very aware, the same as a college course and it was not truly a challenge-certainly not challenging enough-but it was something.
She wasn't unhappy; her life was full and busy and she was truly fond of her Aunt and her cousin. But sometimes-only sometimes, usually after she visited Rachel-Hermione was conscious of some restlessness bordering on dissatisfaction. Her life was busy, yes, but it was also very narrow and very easy; there was no challenge in it. She wanted more.
Hermione sighed and then grimaced a little at herself for indulging in such foolish dissatisfaction.
And yet… On an impulse which she didn't even bother to fight, she left the path and decided to take the longer way through the woods. Walking through the woods rather than staying decorously on the path was something she occasionally did when she was feeling rather too confined. In it, she could pretend she was somewhere else entirely, somewhere far removed from Gleneden, somewhere where there was adventure, perhaps even some danger.
She didn't often indulge in fantasies-indeed, the practical, sensible side of her positively abhorred her bouts of fantasy-- but today, she felt just restless enough that she decided to be foolish.
She flattened herself against a tree before venturing a quick peek around its trunk, scanning quickly for any signs of the danger she knew was lurking. Saw nothing and darted over behind another tree, moving as quickly and as silently as she could.
She bent to peek out from around the tree-
"Miss Granger? What are you doing?"
She started and whirled around so quickly her feet got tangled up in her skirts and she would have fallen if he hadn't moved with lightning-quick reflexes and caught her by her upper arms until she was steady.
She straightened, knowing she was blushing hotly-good Lord, what must he think of her! No one ever walked through these woods-except, apparently, him. Mr. Evans, who was studying her with a quizzical expression on his face.
At that moment, she could have happily curled up out of mortification, wished she were anywhere else but here-but wishes were futile.
She lifted her chin, assuming as much dignity as she could muster, as she stated, her tone as calm as she could make it, "Thank you. If you must know, I was pretending that I was hiding from some danger that was lurking out in the woods."
He blinked and she waited for him to laugh but then, to her surprise, something flickered in his eyes, his gaze softening a little, and he said, quite solemnly, his voice lowering, "I don't believe it heard us."
It was her turn to stare at him. Why, he was... he was falling in with her pretense and without batting an eye.
He leaned to one side, peering around the tree and scanning the area with one quick, sweeping gaze, before he turned back to her. "It's looking away from us at the moment. Let's try getting to that tree over there."
And before she quite realized she was going to do so, she took his advice-quite as if there was nothing strange about the situation at all and, picking up her skirts and her basket, ran as quickly and silently as she could.
He joined her after a moment and she blinked a little. Pretense aside, he moved very quickly and she had a fleeting impression that he was... almost accustomed to this sort of thing, to having to move silently in order to escape danger. Which was, of course, quite unlikely.
"I'll provide some distraction and then we can make a run for it," he said now and, after waiting for her small nod of agreement, he bent swiftly and picked up a stick and threw it, sending it hurtling into the air away from them to fall through the undergrowth with a quite satisfactory rustle.
He met her eyes and on one accord, they both ran, Hermione conscious that he stayed slightly behind her as if to shield her from the danger they were fleeing, until they reached the edge of the woods and Hermione slowed and stopped to catch her breath.
"I think we're safe now," Mr. Evans said with quite commendable gravity.
"Yes, I believe so," Hermione responded, beginning to walk forward and trying, vainly, to regain her dignity after this bout of childishness. What had she been thinking?
She glanced sideways at Mr. Evans, who had fallen into step beside her quite naturally, wondering at him. He had not laughed to find her engaging in such a pretense, had joined her in her pretense with a willingness and utter disregard for his own dignity that she found almost incredible.
"It's a lovely morning, isn't it?" she commented, trying to sound perfectly cool, sober, and mature.
He glanced at her and their eyes met-and she abruptly found herself laughing at the contrast of her commonplace words in light of the past few minutes and he joined in her laughter.
She stopped laughing but a smile remained as they exchanged grins. And she realized at that moment that they were friends now. Really and truly friends-and it didn't matter that they didn't actually know each other and had yet to have a real conversation. They had become friends and the restraint that would normally color all their words and actions with other recent acquaintances simply wasn't present anymore-could not be present.
Apparently, pretending to escape some fictional danger was something that two people could not do without becoming friends.
Mr. Evans smiled-a real, sincere smile and not just a polite curve of his lips. "Do you often engage in pretenses of this sort, Miss Granger?"
"Oh, please call me Hermione," Hermione found herself blurting out, surprising herself a little, as she had become accustomed to introducing herself by her middle name, Jane. (When she'd first moved to Gleneden, her Aunt had kindly explained that she thought Hermione might seem like too exotic of a name and would she mind terribly being called Jane instead? Hermione had agreed and so, while Aunt Olivia compromised and called her Hermione Jane, just about everyone else in Gleneden knew her as Jane.) She still thought of herself as Hermione but she had grown accustomed to answering to Jane and introducing herself as Jane. And yet, to Mr. Evans, just her first name had slipped out as a matter of course. Odd-and Hermione could only assume it was somehow a product of this newfound comfort with him.
"And my name is Harry," Mr. Evans responded. "Do you pretend often, Hermione?"
"No, I don't but today, I was feeling a little restless," Hermione answered honestly.
"Ah, I see."
Hermione expected him to ask why she'd feeling restless but was pleasantly surprised when he said nothing more. And something about his very lack of curiosity made her suddenly inclined to tell him the reason. "It was because I'd just paid a visit to my cousin, you see."
"Ah." he paused and then added, a little diffidently, "I am sorry to hear that."
"Oh no," Hermione quickly assured him, belatedly realizing just what her cryptic explanation might have been taken to imply. "It is not that I do not get along well with my cousin. I am very fond of her; Rachel has been like a younger sister to me. It is only that... well, Rachel is a dear and very content... not to say complacent... in her life. She has never wanted anything more than what she has, a home of her own and a family. And seeing her sometimes makes me realize how very different I am." Hermione stopped abruptly, stunned at how freely she'd admitted all this to Mr. Evans, who really was still a virtual stranger. And yet, somehow, he didn't feel like a stranger to her. Somehow-irrationally-it felt very natural to talk to him so candidly. "I'm sorry," she hastily added. "I must seem very petulant."
"No, not at all," he answered swiftly and she had the odd sense that he really meant the words, was not just saying them to be polite, as anyone else would have. "I--" he hesitated again and then finished, quietly, "I am fully aware of how difficult it can be to feel different from those around us."
She looked up at him in some surprise, wondering if this was the cause of that melancholy she sensed in him. "Yes, exactly, to feel alone even when surrounded by people who care about you and whom you care about…" The words came surprisingly easily, given that she'd never before put those feelings into words.
"Yes," he agreed quietly and said nothing more, his gaze fixed on the path beneath their feet.
They walked in silence for a little ways, a surprisingly comfortable silence. It was clear that Mr. Evans-Harry-was not one of those who felt the need to constantly speak and Hermione was glad of that.
They didn't speak until the path narrowed and Hermione automatically switched her basket over to hold it in her other hand to allow her to hold it in front of her as they walked.
"What is the basket for? May I help you carry it?" Harry asked.
"Oh, it's empty now. I'm just bringing it home after using it to bring some soup and a loaf of bread to Mrs. Cannady. I heard she was feeling poorly."
"I don't believe I've met Mrs. Cannady. Is she a relation?"
"No, she's an old friend of my aunt's. Mrs. Cannady hardly leaves her house anymore. She's getting on in years and cannot walk as well as she used to. She does get lonely though, living alone as she does, since she lost her husband, and so I try to visit when I can."
"That's very kind of you," Harry commented.
"No, not really. This is a small village, after all; we try to help our neighbors when we can," Hermione demurred. "Mrs. Cannady lives just a few houses down from my cousin, so I always visit my cousin when I go to see Mrs. Cannady."
"Has your cousin been married long?" Harry inquired, not as if he was particularly interested in the answer but because he was almost visibly forcing himself to make polite conversation.
"She's been married more than three years now. Her baby son is a year old."
"How nice."
Harry fell back into silence after that as if he had exhausted his limited store of meaningless conversation and, unlike most people, did not feel particularly obligated to avoid silence. Or, she reflected with a small chill of her spirit, perhaps he simply didn't care that some people might think him lacking in manners.
She glanced at him as he walked along to see that he had his eyes fixed on the ground, that hint of melancholy she'd noticed in him before now quite apparent. Whatever his thoughts were, they were clearly not happy ones. She felt a swift surge of sympathy and obeyed a sudden impulse by saying lightly, "I should thank you for helping me escape from the imaginary monster lurking in the woods."
She was rewarded with a quick smile and a brief laugh that almost seemed startled out of him.
"You're very welcome."
Heartened at his response, she added teasingly, "It was quite heroic of you--" She broke off abruptly, startled at his reaction, the sudden blankness of his expression.
"I'm not a hero!" he denied with a vehemence all the more intense for how restrained it was.
Surprised and uncertain, Hermione could think of nothing to say in response.
He stopped walking, turning to her. "I- excuse me," he blurted out. "I've just remembered somewhere I need to be. Good afternoon."
"Good afternoon," Hermione responded automatically to the perfunctory farewell but he had turned away and was walking swiftly away from her before the words were fully out of her mouth. Hermione stared after Harry-no, Mr. Evans' retreating back for a moment before she made herself turn and resume her walk. She could not think of him as Harry, never mind the sudden feeling of companionship she'd felt earlier-at least, not now, when his surprising reaction to her words and his abrupt departure both served as stark reminders that she really didn't know him at all.
Clearly, her words about his being heroic, teasing as they were, had touched a nerve-his reaction so visceral that it overrode the sense of humor Hermione had already glimpsed in him. But why?
She didn't know anything about him, didn't understand him-but she wanted to. Not out of idle curiosity-although she was honest enough to admit that some curiosity played a part-but because he was an unknown, a stranger, in her world that had until now been all too transparent. He was a challenge, of sorts, in her life that had few, if any, challenges.
She wanted to know him and she wanted to help him-because one thing she did know about him already was that, whatever had happened in his past, he was not happy now. It was apparent in his expression and in his eyes and something about his gloom tugged at something inside her. She wanted to somehow ease the melancholy and the loneliness she'd already glimpsed in him.
She wanted to be his friend.
~To be continued…~
A/N 2: Part of this chapter may be considered a shout-out to my dear, departed college days-and to the Seven Sisters. Also, Hermione pretending the way she does might seem OOC for her and almost definitely is OOC for canon!Hermione (by which I mean the Hermione of Books 1-5, not the sudden idiot we got in HBP) but this Hermione has lived a much narrower life with very little outlet for her strength of character and this Hermione needs something or she'd probably have gone insane. Or at least, that's what I say.