Unofficial Portkey Archive

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A Matter of Destiny

Chapter 3: Getting to Know You

Harry paused as he saw Miss Granger-Hermione-- sitting on the log where he remembered he had first seen her just days after his arrival here.

For almost anyone else, he would probably have turned around and continued on his restless wandering but instead he turned his steps towards her.

He had left her abruptly, even rudely, the last time they'd spoken a few days ago. He knew he'd reacted badly-stupidly-to her teasing words and he owed her something of an apology, if not an explanation, for that. And entirely aside from that, the truth remained that he liked her. She'd been openly friendly from the first and he was not so overburdened with friends that he could ignore that consideration.

He couldn't explain why but even in the very short conversations he and Hermione had had, he'd been comfortable. He'd liked her. He didn't think he was a particularly good judge of character; indeed, with his past experiences with people, he was inclined to think he was a very bad judge of character indeed. But in spite of his usual wariness around people whom he did not know-and many whom he did know-he felt inclined to like Hermione. He had felt comfortable with her in a way he could not remember ever feeling with anyone so swiftly after meeting them, not even with Ron, he thought, with the sudden throb of loneliness that always accompanied the thought of Ron nowadays.

There had just been something about her-and on the thought, he realized just what it was about Hermione that had appealed to him. It was her directness, her honesty. Her expression had been open and friendly, her eyes clear of any hidden motives or interest. He had seen too much insincerity, too much disingenuousness, in his life not to be able to recognize it, usually fairly quickly. Hermione had met his eyes directly, conversed easily. He'd liked that, even though he was conscious that he himself was not being candid, was guarding his own secrets closely.

He also appreciated that she had not shown any excessive curiosity, unlike the one woman in town who had introduced herself as Mrs. Sterling and unlike countless other people he'd met over the years. (He'd found that one of the things he hated most about his fame was the way complete strangers seemed to feel they had the right to know everything about him and had no compunction about asking him all sorts of questions, ranging from the mundane to the downright intrusive.)

Even here, so far removed from his own world that there were times he felt he had somehow landed on an entirely separate planet, he'd encountered curiosity, not because of his fame this time, but because in such a small village, everyone knew of everyone else's business, accepted that as a matter of course and a way of life.

Perhaps it was his British reserve as well as his tendency to privacy but whatever the reason, Harry found the small-town curiosity utterly baffling, not to say rather irritating. After all, a large part of the reason he had chosen this place of all others to settle for any length of time was because he'd felt quite certain that, as remote as it was-and as Muggle as it was-- no one would have the slightest clue who he really was and he'd hoped that would mean he'd be left alone. Not so, he'd quickly found, on his first visit into the village to pick up some immediately needed supplies and found himself subjected to a veritable interrogation, if a generally friendly interrogation, from nearly everyone he spoke to.

In contrast, Hermione had not asked him anything about himself. She had not made any leading comments to elicit information. She had not flirted. She had only conversed and there hadn't been a shred of disingenuousness in her manner at all.

He'd liked that. She was, he thought, probably the first person, the first young lady certainly, he had ever met who had treated him in so straightforward a manner. He had no doubt that part of that was due to her ignorance of who and what he was but he'd still found it refreshing.

To say nothing of the fact that he could count on one hand the number of young women he knew who would have admitted to pretending the way Hermione had. One hand-and still have four fingers left over. Just thinking about the way she had lifted her chin before making such an admission made him want to laugh.

He had become something of a misanthrope and a hermit in these past few years, Harry was aware, but he was conscious every day of an increasing sense of loneliness. He missed Ron; he missed the Weasleys; he even found himself missing Professor McGonagall, if only because she was one of the few people whom he trusted and who did not treat him like a hero. He'd realized that he was not meant, by nature, to be so solitary and he was lonely-alone by his own choice, but lonely nevertheless.

But the fact remained that, lonely as he was, he had no desire to return to England, to be Harry Potter again. Indeed, he positively relished being Harry Evans, relished the anonymity of being Harry Evans. In one sense, he even valued the friendly questioning he'd been faced with when he'd gone into the village because it had only reinforced the fact that he was unknown. No, he didn't want to be Harry Potter again. And if Harry Evans was sometimes lonely, well, it was the price he had to pay.

Except… perhaps it wasn't.

Maybe it was simply a result of his sudden impulse to go along with Hermione's flight of imagination-a result of his own years with the Dursleys when he'd spent a fair number of hours pretending he was somewhere else-but he thought that Hermione could be a friend.

"Good afternoon, Hermione. We meet again," he greeted her.

She looked up from her book with a small start that evidenced how engrossed she'd been. "Oh! Good afternoon, Mr. Evans," she said, closing her book and hastily standing.

She looked rather flustered-and something about that amused him, made him feel a flicker of warmth in his chest, not because he liked knowing that she was uncomfortable but because he liked the fact that she showed it. It was rather refreshing.

"The name's Harry," he corrected her mildly. "I hope you don't mind my disturbing you from your book."

"No, not at all. I can read it later," she said and then was silent as she resumed her seat.

He sat down on the log beside her, sensing her newfound uncertainty around him, a touch of diffidence which she hadn't shown in either of their previous meetings. "I- I wanted to apologize," he finally began a little awkwardly. "I was very abrupt in ending our last meeting and may have seemed rude but that was not my intention. I-I am sorry."

He finally glanced at her and was relieved to see her smile. "You are forgiven but you needn't have worried. I was not offended."

"Thank you," he said, pausing. He could have stopped right there; there was no real reason he needed to explain himself further but he found himself continuing, almost confiding, with an ease that amazed him. "I- I have known some true heroes and I would not diminish their bravery in any way by making any small claim to a heroism like theirs."

"I understand," Hermione said gently. "How are you settling in?"

"Very well, I think. I enjoy my walks through the woods around here."

"Yes, it is lovely here," Hermione agreed.

"Have you lived in Gleneden all your life, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"No, but I moved here to live with my aunt when I was still quite young."

She lived with her aunt? He wondered where her parents were but he could hardly ask such a thing. But then, almost as if she'd sensed his wondering, she continued on.

"My parents passed away, you see, so my aunt took me in."

"Oh. I am sorry to hear of your loss," he said quietly, something inside him flinching. She had lost her parents too… And even though he almost never spoke of his parents, he found himself admitting, "My- my parents passed away as well, when I was just a baby."

"I'm sorry," Hermione murmured.

Commonplace words that shouldn't have affected him and yet, they did. Warmth blossomed in his chest and he realized that no one had ever actually said those words to him over his parents. No one had ever given him condolences for his parents. Everyone he met who knew about his parents was more interested in commenting on his miraculous survival. No one seemed to remember that he'd also lost his parents, that he might miss them.

Hermione hesitated for a moment and then added, a touch of diffidence entering her tone, "I- I can't imagine how difficult that must have been. I know I was fortunate that Aunt Olivia and Uncle Paul welcomed me as they did."

Harry stilled, feeling something clutch at his heart at the words. She meant to be-she was being sympathetic, understanding-but at her words, he felt a pang of another emotion that he was ashamed to admit but couldn't deny was something very like envy. He envied her. "Yes, you were very fortunate," he managed to say, rather gruffly.

Their situations were similar enough, at least in this one aspect, that it only made the difference in how they had been raised that much more stark. He couldn't help but compare their lives, or at least what he could guess of Hermione's. They'd each lost their parents, had each been taken in by an aunt and uncle-but there, the similarity stopped. From her words both just now and previously, he could guess that Hermione's aunt and uncle had been good to her, whereas his… She had experienced what he had only dreamed of in his miserable years with the Dursleys: having an aunt and uncle who were kind, who treated him like a family member. He remembered with a pang of remembered pain all the times he'd wondered why his aunt, his own mother's sister, did not care for him, when he'd wondered what he'd done to be treated so badly. Yes, he envied her-and he was suddenly disgusted with himself. Was this the type of person he was, the type of person he had become, to react so selfishly to someone else's good fortune simply because he had not had similar good fortune? He was, he realized with a stab of horror, reacting in the same fashion as his cousin Dudley had, whenever he'd learned of any other person having something he did not have. "I am glad to know it," he made himself say-and he meant the words. He was glad to know it; he would not wish his own childhood on anyone else. He was not-would not let himself be-like his cousin.

There was a moment of silence. Harry could not think of anything to say, almost wished he could escape but forced himself to stay still. He'd already left Hermione so abruptly as to be rude once; he could hardly do so again. And it was certainly not her fault that the Dursleys had not been kind.

He said nothing more and Hermione turned to look at him, feeling a quick pang of sympathy at the sight of the already familiar brooding expression on his face. She hesitated, knowing she was about to pry, but unable to stop herself from asking, "Since you lost your parents when you were so young, where did you live?"

"I lived with my aunt and uncle," he replied briefly.

"Oh." She paused and then added, a little diffidently, "I- I hope they were as kind as my aunt and uncle were to me."

He didn't respond and from the sudden chill in the atmosphere, she realized that she'd made a mistake, should not have said what she had. She had the sudden impression that she had foolishly, in her own ignorance, rushed in where angels would fear to tread.

She had just begun to wonder if her blunder would make him stop talking to her altogether when he finally did speak, although the words were not calculated to relieve her.

"No, they were not kind," he bit out, his tone abrupt.

She flinched a little at the bitterness in his voice, wishing she hadn't said anything, even though she knew his bitterness wasn't directed at her. She wanted to say she was sorry but hardly wanted to mention it again, did not want to remind him of her foolish words. And so she said nothing as she wondered what she could say to help, to somehow brighten his mood.

She felt a sudden surge of anger at his unknown aunt and uncle for their mistreatment of him. She didn't know exactly how they had been unkind; she could only imagine it from his tone and from his expression now and that was quite enough to make her feel a flash of anger stronger than anything she'd ever really felt. However they had treated him, it had clearly crossed all bounds of decency and family feeling. How could they treat him so, when he'd lost his parents at such a young age, as he had said? She decided she quite hated his aunt and uncle already with a vindictiveness that surprised her.

Her anger was almost immediately drowned out in the flood of compassion she felt for him, at the thought of the orphaned little boy treated unkindly. He deserved better than what he had apparently received. She could not make up for his past unhappiness but, she resolved, she could be his friend now.

The silence lasted long enough for Hermione to begin to wonder if Harry ever planned to talk to her again but then he shifted and she could almost see him mentally shake himself out of his reverie.

He turned to her with a small smile that was clearly forced. "You seem to be very fond of books," he said with studied ease. "I remember you were also reading when I first saw you here."

Relieved at the change of subject and to one that was so dear to her, Hermione followed his lead gladly, giving a small laugh. "My being fond of books is an understatement. My aunt always says that I don't read books, I devour them."

"What are you reading now?"

"I'm actually re-reading 'The Iliad' by Homer." If Harry felt any surprise at her choice of reading material, that was, admittedly, not of the sort generally approved of for young women, he didn't show it.

"Ah. It has been years since I last read Homer but I recall enjoying both 'The Iliad' and 'The Odyssey.' Which do you prefer, Hermione?"

"'The Iliad' undoubtedly," Hermione answered promptly. "I confess that I've always found 'The Odyssey' to be irritating."

"Irritating? That's an odd word to use. Why is it irritating?" he asked curiously.

"I, ah, dislike what happens to Penelope," Hermione admitted a little reluctantly. She was well aware that her opinions on this-- and on some other subjects-- tended to be unconventional, to say the least, and she wished she had not simply given her opinion of 'The Odyssey' quite so freely.

She hoped he would be satisfied with this brief explanation but he only gave her an expectant look and then said, with a slight smile, "After such an intriguing statement, surely you won't be so cruel as to leave me in suspense to why you find Penelope's fate so displeasing. Her husband returns to her and she is honored for her fidelity."

Hermione relented to the gentle prompting and continued on, with deliberate calm. "I find it irritating that no one recognizes how intelligent Penelope was to outwit her suitors for so long and find her praise-worthy only for how she waited at home for her husband to return. No one, including Odysseus himself, seems to recognize her intelligence and her strength to do what she did."

"Well, it must be admitted that intelligence and strength are not generally valued in women," Harry said mildly.

The statement, mild as it was, was the spark to the tinder and Hermione felt her calm slip. "That is just the problem! I do wish people did not assume that women are naturally weak-willed and vapid, capable only of sitting by the fireside and sewing!"

Harry had a sudden mental image of someone telling Professor McGonagall, who could be quite as formidable as Headmaster Dumbledore had ever been, that she should only spend her days sitting by a fire and sewing and smiled involuntarily. He had little doubt that any person who was so foolish would end up thoroughly intimidated and quite possibly lacking a body part or two.

Hermione saw the smile and stiffened. She had forgotten how little she knew of Harry and it appeared that Harry, too, found the idea of a woman being intelligent and capable to be fodder for amusement only, as so many men did. She was a little surprised at the depth of her disappointment but it would not be the last time she encountered a man who thought so, she told herself, and there was no reason she should care so much to have encountered one more.

"I don't find it at all amusing," she said stiffly, her voice noticeably cooler.

Harry blinked and looked... confused? before the expression cleared and then was explained as he hastily said, "I wasn't smiling at the idea that women can be clever. I was just picturing what would happen if someone ever told a former Professor of mine that she should sit by the fire and sew. My Professor could be very intimidating so anyone who dared tell her that would be very sorry for it."

"Oh." Hermione relaxed, unbending enough to smile a little sheepishly. "I may have over-reacted but I do find it irritating."

"I can understand that," Harry said mildly. "I have met enough clever women in my life-- and encountered far too many foolish men-- to believe that men are naturally any more intelligent than women. And the Professor I just mentioned was a force to be reckoned with, more so than almost every other man I've ever known."
Hermione gave him a bright, approving smile, although she spoke lightly, "You can have no idea just how much my opinion of you has improved for saying that."

Harry laughed-- and once again, Hermione was surprised at how much a smile changed his appearance, brightening his eyes and lending his countenance a disarming charm. "So, friends then?" he asked, holding out one hand.

She accepted his hand readily. "Friends," she agreed, shaking his hand firmly before releasing it. "This Professor you mentioned, was she from your college?" Hermione was aware that a wistful note slipped into her voice at the word, college, but she couldn't help that.

An odd expression Hermione couldn't quite decipher flickered across Harry's face and she wondered at it, but he answered easily enough and the look slipped her mind. "University, you mean? No, she was from the, er, secondary school I went to. I didn't go to University; I was never exactly the best student," he added with a self-deprecatory smile.

"Oh." Hermione smiled slightly at his confession but the smile slipped as she confessed, "I've always wanted to go to college."

"Why didn't you? I would guess that you were a good enough student to go."

Hermione tried to smile and make her tone light but was aware that she didn't quite succeed. It may have been years but the disappointment she had felt was still present, still fresh whenever she remembered it. "My aunt and uncle did not have the funds and my uncle, at least, believed that higher education made girls 'unfit for their proper sphere.'"

"I can see why Penelope's fate would irritate you," was all he said but his tone was understanding, and Hermione found herself inexplicably comforted.

She managed a real smile as she asked, "What was your school like? Did you like it?"

She saw her answer in his expression even before he answered. "Yes, I did. I- loved it," he said very softly, his gaze fixed absently on the underbrush before them and she guessed that he was remembering his school. Then he blinked and added in a more normal voice, "It was a boarding school up north, and so I was away from my aunt and uncle's house, and it was wonderful."

"That sounds nice," Hermione said, tactfully avoiding any mention of his implied confession of how much he'd disliked living with his aunt and uncle. "I always enjoyed school, enjoyed studying."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," Harry rejoined rather dryly.

Hermione had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, inordinately pleased to see the humor brightening his eyes and that Harry was comfortable enough to tease her. "I can't imagine what you mean," she said with exaggerated innocence.

"No? Even from our brief acquaintance, I would guess that you were always at the head of the class."

"And so I was," Hermione admitted. "I enjoy reading and learning new things so it was no hardship to me to spend my time studying."

"My closest friend would question your sanity for saying such a thing." Harry spoke lightly but there was an odd intonation in his voice at the mention of his closest friend that Hermione wondered at.

"I assume your friend is not inclined to spend his time reading."

Harry let out a brief chuckle, as if amused at the very thought. "No, he is not. He--" Harry hesitated for a moment and then continued on, a little slower than usual, "he has many siblings so he has never had the opportunity to discover for himself what good companions books can be." His tone altered in some indefinable way at this mention, oblique as it was, of his friend's siblings and Hermione could only guess that there was some memory or emotion attached to the thought of his friend's siblings that affected Harry so strongly.
"Your friend lives in England? You must miss him," was her only response.

"Yes," Harry agreed quietly.

"Is England as beautiful a country as I have heard?"

"I think it is but then it is my home country," Harry answered, his tone light. "I am not an impartial observer."

"I have always hoped to visit England one day. Where in England is your home, Harry?" Hermione belatedly remembered that Mrs. Sterling had complained that Harry had not even told her where in England he was from, and wondered if he would answer.

"My aunt and uncle live not far from Cambridge," Harry responded after an almost imperceptible pause.

"I see," Hermione said neutrally. She could not help but be aware that Harry, who had already admitted to not liking his aunt and uncle's house, had still referred to it as "home" when asked. It was odd-- and while Hermione would normally have thought nothing of it, Harry's fleeting hesitation made her wonder. But she would not pry. She would, however, try to tease. "I will have to tell Mrs. Sterling; she was so curious to know where you were from."

She had to bite back a laugh at the expression that crossed Harry's face at the mention of Mrs. Sterling. To say it was a grimace would have been an exaggeration, but it was clear that he wanted to grimace and was restrained only by the fact that it would have been ungentlemanly and discourteous. The struggle was visible and resulted in an oddly blank look.

"I only met Mrs. Sterling briefly but I could see that she takes an active interest in other people," Harry temporized diplomatically.

Hermione smiled at the careful phrasing, even as she approved of his tact. "Yes, she certainly does."

"I suppose you know Mrs. Sterling well."

"Everyone in Gleneden knows Mrs. Sterling," Hermione answered lightly. "And Mrs. Sterling certainly knows everyone in Gleneden."

"I can easily believe that."

"I call her the Town Crier," Hermione found herself confessing. "She is always the best source of news about anything that's happened in the village."

Harry laughed. "How very fitting."

"It is rather unkind of me, but the name does suit her."

"It doesn't seem unkind," Harry commented, reflecting that Hermione's definition of 'unkind' seemed much broader than his.

"Oh, but you see Mrs. Sterling is really very kind. She may be something of a busy-body, but whenever anyone falls ill or is otherwise in need, she is always one of the first to call with food or other offers of assistance."

"That is kind of her," Harry agreed, even as he thought that Hermione's words revealed rather more about herself than they did Mrs. Sterling. Mrs. Sterling may have a heart of gold; he was not in a position to know. What was more clear to him was that Hermione had a strong sense of justice, wanting to be fair even to people like Mrs. Sterling, who, whatever her virtues may have been, was also quite irritating.

"How long ago did you leave England?" Hermione asked, changing the subject away from that of Mrs. Sterling since it was fairly clear that Harry was not particularly fond of the topic.

"It's been four years now."

"Four years!" Hermione exclaimed, surprised out of any reticence. Four years-when she had been imagining Harry had only left England a matter of weeks, at most months, ago when she'd imagined he'd decided to settle in America for the time being. She opened her lips to ask why he'd left England for such a long time but bit back the question, mindful of Harry's clear reluctance to talk about himself.

"I wanted to see something of the world," Harry explained briefly.

"Haven't you returned to England at all in four years?"

"No. The- the opportunity to return never presented itself."

It was not a particularly convincing explanation but Hermione refrained from comment. She believed him, as far as it went, but wanting to see something of the world hardly required such constant traveling that he could not return to England-his home-in four long years. No, an absence of four years with only the ostensible purpose of seeing something of the world spoke more of exile, an apparently-voluntary exile as it was. And the very fact that he had rented the Stuart place evinced some intention of settling in Gleneden for at least a little while and a lengthy stay in Gleneden was hardly consistent with seeing more of the world; if anything, staying in Gleneden indicated a desire to retreat from the world. There was more to Harry's departure from England than that, she was sure.

"I quite envy you your travels; I've always wanted to travel," Hermione responded instead. "Where have you travelled to?"

"I started on the Continent, naturally," Harry began, beginning to describe where he'd been. He spoke fluently, clearly more comfortable with this topic than he was in talking about himself.

Hermione listened with interest, finding that Harry, while not being particularly eloquent, had a way of describing things that made them seem very real and noting that there were times he showed flashes of almost surprising wisdom, as well as flashes of the humor she'd already noticed. She listened and she responded, commenting and asking questions, and found that their conversation was not as one-sided as she might have feared, given her own circumscribed life. He may have travelled much more widely than she had but she found that her extensive reading served her in good stead, allowing her to do more than passively listen but to contribute as well. She may not have travelled herself, but her mind had not always remained in Gleneden, or even in the state; through her reading, her mind had journeyed to distant climes and distant times. And it allowed her to listen, to understand, and tell Harry things which he had not known.

And Hermione discovered a new joy, that of actually being able to talk about things she'd read with someone who could respond as an equal, someone who listened with interest that was entirely unfeigned, and who accepted, without a blink, that a girl might have such broad knowledge and might know more than he himself did. It was an almost unique experience in her life thus far, living as she did in tiny Gleneden, surrounded by people who did not feel it necessary to think beyond the boundaries of their small world and their narrow experiences.

Hermione had rather grown accustomed to feeling different but now, in Harry, she had the sudden odd sensation of having found a kindred spirit, of sorts, although she did not put the feeling into so many words, even in her thoughts. All she knew was that she felt remarkably at ease; entirely absent were the constraints which she usually felt around people early in their acquaintance, the care she took not to say anything to reveal her true self. Instead, she felt-and found herself behaving-- as if she and Harry had been friends for a long while, talking with a freedom which she had not experienced in years.

Time slipped insensibly by as they talked and Hermione's first awareness of how late it was growing was prompted by the realization that the sun had slipped down until its rays were shining almost directly into her eyes, even through the canopy of the trees, and she came to a belated awareness that the afternoon was nearly over.

"Oh, I must be going. My aunt will be wondering what has become of me," Hermione said with unfeigned reluctance.

"Oh, yes, of course. I had not realized how much time had passed."

Hermione stood up, realizing anew just how long she had been sitting there when her muscles protested noticeably. "I truly enjoyed our conversation."

Harry had stood up as well and he smiled slightly at the formal sentence. "As did I. We will have to continue it one day."

Hermione smiled. "I'll look forward to it."

Harry fell into step beside her as she started on her way home, the conversation returning to more commonplace subjects as they walked before they gradually fell into silence. A silence that was, somehow, just as comfortable as their conversation had been, and which lasted unbroken until she reached the gate of her home.

"Goodbye, Harry," Hermione said with a smile.

"Until next time," Harry returned her smile, touching his cap in a courteous gesture, as he turned away.

"Ah, Hermione Jane, there you are," Aunt Olivia greeted Hermione as she entered. "You must have gotten quite engrossed in your latest book."

"Actually, no, I did not," Hermione answered, entering the sitting room where Aunt Olivia was sitting. "I happened to meet with H-Mr. Evans, and we have been talking."

"That's nice, dear. It will be good for Mr. Evans to make friends in the village so that he will begin to feel more at home. Did you enjoy your conversation with him?"

Hermione smiled. "I did. Mr. Evans was telling me something of his travels."

"That must have been interesting for you. You must invite Mr. Evans in for tea some day, Hermione Jane."

"I will, Aunt Olivia. I believe Mr. Evans and I will become good friends," Hermione said. She spoke casually but saying the words made her conscious of a sudden throb of longing mingled in with hope that now, finally, with Harry, she might experience a true friendship of equals.

Hermione was suddenly very aware that she had never truly had such a friend before. While she had been generally friendly with everyone in Gleneden's village school, she had found that she could never truly be friends with them because there was such a chasm between their interests and her own. The other girls in Gleneden seemed primarily interested in clothing and gossip, neither of which Hermione had any interest in. And very few other people had any real interest in the world outside of Gleneden and the neighboring villages; the generally prevailing attitude was that anything outside of Gleneden's immediate area was "foreign" and not much worth knowing about. Even New York City that was, after all, in the same state and not too terribly far away was spoken of as a remote location, and anyone who went there spoken of in the light of an intrepid traveler, venturing forth into a distant land.

Harry was, for the obvious reasons, very different from most Gleneden folk, and after their conversation, they were friends.

Yes, she really did believe-and hope-that she and Harry would become very good friends, indeed.

~To be continued…~