Chapter Two.
Starting Over.
"The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall."
- Nelson Mandela
Harry was walking around his old flat, familiarizing himself with the layout that had been second nature five years
earlier. Two bedrooms connected by a very short hallway, then a door between them and the main room. The main room was
a living room to the left and a dining room to the right, a kitchen hang off the right side with a wall dividing it
from the left side of the room. There were shelves everywhere, stuffed with books and movies Harry had either not seen
in years or had identical copies of in New York.
The fridge was empty, he expected no differently, but he was starving nonetheless. He got dressed quickly and left his
place. Once on the streets of London he breathed in deeply, noting the difference in the air. He smiled and walked down
the corner, figuring he would stop for a bite to eat at someplace near the Ministry. He had promised Hermione that he
would meet up with her there.
He found a place that sold the most amazing fried Haddock and an outdoor patio where he could eat it. He had bought a
newspaper on the walk down, so he unfolded it and scanned it over his cup of strong black tea. He sat and read for the
next few hours, enjoying the sun on his back and the cigarettes he had bought the previous night, under the judgmental
eye of Hermione.
* * *
Ron moved from built in owlery at his three floor home in Yorkshire to the downstairs reading area where he knew his
wife would be sitting. He sat down in a plush chair across from her and smiled at her when she cast him bedroom eyes.
He handed her the letter he had picked up from the owls.
"Harry's back in London." He said.
Luna set her book aside on the table beside her and scanned the letter. It wasn't very long, it said only
"Harry is home. You and Luna should come see us." it was signed by Hermione, who insisted on writing her own
mail, even though she had hired an assistant years before. Luna put the letter down and smiled at the boyish look on
her husband's face.
"We can put some time aside for Harry Potter, sweetheart." She said.
"I was think that we could go down there tomorrow, maybe have lunch with them or whatever. You know, just to catch
up."
"That sounds wonderful." She glanced at the stairs that faced his back, "Of course we can always pass
the time the usual way."
Ron blushed, knowing what she had meant, "Yes. We could..er..that is a thing which we could do."
"I love that, after two years of marriage, you still blush when I make a pass at you." She took his hand and
lead him upstairs.
* * *
Ginny was sitting at the house that she shared with Hermione, she was sitting and she was thinking. Thinking about last night and another night, many years ago.
Hermione had walked in on air, floating from the door to the kitchen, to pour herself a glass of water which she belted down immediately. Her face was bright red, flushed from her walk the the house, or her encounter earlier in the night, or perhaps a combination of the two.
She giggled incessantly, waking Ginny from the couch where she had fallen asleep pretending that she wasn't
waiting up for Hermione. Ginny made her way into the kitchen, letting the blood return to her feet along the way. Once
there she pulled up a chair at the table and sat down to stare at Hermione, who was standing at the sink.
Ginny would ask if Hermione had been drinking, Hermione would say that she had not as she drank another full glass of
water. She would sit down to share with Ginny the events of her night with Harry, the highlights and the
disappointments. Ginny would sit and listen, not letting it show that her best friend was breaking her heart.
* * *
1997. London.
Ginny had come around to Harry's flat to talk with him, she had waited until she felt enough time had passed before
she decided to have this conversation. When she knocked on the door she could hear him moving around behind the door.
He opened it and looked at her for a few moments before finally he forced a smile. His eyes were a deep and still
green. She could tell that he was still lost in the consequences of his war.
"Hello, Ginny." He left the door open as he walked into his apartment. She followed him inside and took a
seat on the couch. Harry stood and looked out the window.
"Harry, I think I need some closure about us. I need to be able to know, to clarify or to move on." She
sounded rehearsed and she knew it. Harry didn't seem to notice.
"I guess you do."
"So what's the story between us?"
Harry paused for a several minutes. The air felt like a cage around her. Her heart was beating a rhythm against her
ribcage. He swallowed loudly, but still his throat was dry when he began to speak.
"I don't think there is a story between us anymore."
Ginny went silent, and hours worth of carefully rehearsed conversation gone cold and useless on her tongue. Harry never
looked back, never seemed to react at all. Not when she began to cry, or when she yelled obscenities and called him
names. Not even when she got up and stormed out. He just stood there silently staring out the window.
* * *
2003. London.
Harry met with Hermione as she was leaving the Ministry. She gave him a big hug, as though she hadn't seen him the
night before. He hugged her back and together they walked to her office. Once there she gave him some things to do, so
that he wouldn't have to wait around until she got out of work. Harry was proofreading a lecture that would be
presented to the Hogwarts first years. He would cross things out, replace whole paragraphs with his own thoughts on the
subject of equality in the magical world. A subject he had never had a passion for until he had left a good friend
buried outside Shell Cottage so many years ago.
After several minutes he had moved on to assignments that had been put off by the other workers, suddenly hungry for
something to do, for a chance to express himself.
* * *
Bryan was typing up a header for the invites which would be going out later that night when Harry approached his desk.
He looked up at Harry and tried not to swoon, he didn't think that was the most professional thing in the
world.
"Hello, Harry." He swooned just a little.
"Hi, Bryan, right?"
"Yes. Bryan." He smiled.
"I was wondering if there was anything else that I could do." He pointed behind him to the empty desk he had
been using, "I'm out of things to do."
Bryan looked over Harry's shoulder, realizing as he did it that he would never be able to see the completed work
load from his vantage point, "You did all of that?"
"Yeah."
"Where have you been all my life?" Bryan dropped all pretense of professionalism.
"Are you..." Harry blinked a few times, "I'm not gay, Bryan."
"Oh, sweetie, honey. I know." He sighed loudly, "But you can't fault a guy for dreaming."
Harry shifted uncomfortably, "Yeah, I guess not."
"How about this, big guy, why don't you go into Ms. Granger's office and see if there's anything you
can help her do?"
"Good idea."
Harry walked quickly to Hermione's office, he could feel Bryan's eyes on him the entire time. Once inside he
plopped down on the empty chair across from her and pointed behind him with his thumb.
"Your assistant has a crush on me."
Hermione looked up startled, "What?"
"It's not a big deal, but he wants a piece of me."
"Did..." She shook her head, "Did you come in here to tell me that Bryan wants to have sex with
you?"
"Not really, I discovered that Bryan wants to have sex with me on my way in here." He smiled, "Do you
think it's weird that Bryan wants to have sex with me? Did you not figure out he was gay?"
"No, I knew he was gay." She defended herself, "But he has a long term boyfriend, and I find it odd and
a little unprofessional that he would hit on you."
"Well, yeah, specially if he was a boyfriend." Harry drummed his fingers on her desk, "I'm out of
things to do, by the way."
Hermione smiled, "Just ask around for work the other's don't want to do."
"I did. I finished all of that stuff too."
Hermione stared at him, "When did you become a work horse?"
Harry shrugged, "Surprised me too."
"What am I going to do with you, Mr. Potter?"
"We could go do something." He looked around her tiny cube of an office, "Unless you don't feel like
leaving this drab room."
Hermione sat back and gave him a bemused look, "You think my office is drab?"
"Well, yeah. Don't you." He gesticulated at things as he continued, "No windows, no plants,
fluorescent lights, no pictures on you desk, Hermione, you don't even have any magnets on your filing cabinets.
It's like a robot works here."
"You wound me, sir." She placed her hand dramatically over her heart.
"Let's go get dinner." He said suddenly, "My treat."
Her heart fluttered in her chest, the suggestion, she knew, logically she knew, was not meant to be phrased in the way
that he had phrased it. He had not meant for his sudden asking to be anything but the expression of a whim, but she
found her throat dry and her chest tight all the same when she said, "You want to take me to dinner?"
"Yeah, why not? I'm hungry, I'm sure you are. Plus we haven't seen each other in forever." He
shrugged, "But if you aren't hungry or whatever, we can always just go take in a movie or something."
Hermione smiled what she hoped wasn't too broad a smile, "I would love to have you pay for my dinner,
Harry."
* * *
New York. 1999.
Harry was sitting around doing nothing. There was the first eight pages of a memoir that he knew he would never finish
mocking him from the desk in his room, an empty bottle of rum laying under the coil heater from another in a countless
number of nights Draco had spent trying to forget about his problems, there was his half finished pizza and his book
and these items were the only company he had. Draco was asleep in his room, gone to bed with a thousand promises that
he would try to drink less. Harry couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he was standing in the rain, his
back to her. He was ever walking away.
Sometimes he would dream of other things, in his fitful sleep, the war, the look on Ron's face that night, the last
few minutes of his life on the run, mostly it was her. She plagued him in ways that he was unable then, and years later
found himself still unable, to deal with. He would shoot back and forth between his desire to love her, and his need to
hate her. He wasn't sure, at any moment of his life which one it was.
He got up to look out the window, a habit he didn't remember when he had first acquired. His eyes would graze the
dark streets and alleys outside his home. He was watching and waiting, for what he wasn't totally clear on. He had
tried once to explain it to Draco, but all he had managed was to tell him that he was looking for a spark. Of what was
unclear. The divine? Madness? Sanity? Hope? Love? Violence? Redemption? He didn't know, and he didn't truly
believe that he ever would. This, like the girl, was just one more of his life's big question marks.
He paced before the window, allowing his eyes to roam, hungry for the activity of the streets below him. In the morning
Draco would find him, his face pressed against the pane, asleep in the window sill. Draco threw a blanket around his
his friend, together they had each become a caretaker for the demons the other suffered, in in this way they had first
formed a begrudging respect, and at long last a very powerful friendship.
* * *
2003. London.
Ginny rushed to her room the second she heard the key turn in the lock. She's had a rough day, another in a long
line of hopeless leads on a case she wished she'd never been assigned, and the very last thing she wanted was to
she Hermione float on air into the apartment gushing about the night she had had with a man that Ginny herself once
loved. It bothered her.
It was as if Hermione had forgotten what had happened to everyone the last time she had felt these things for Harry.
How everything had fallen apart, how everyone had fallen apart. Ginny loathed how selfish she perceived her roommate to
be. She locked the door, blasted music until even she could barely stand the noise and became completely oblivious to
the fact that Hermione had not in fact been the person to walk in.
In the living room Ron pocketed the key that he still had from when he had dated a resident of this flat. He called for
Ginny, but she didn't answer. He heard the music blasting in her room, knew from long years of experience what that
meant. He sat to compose a note to Harry, to let him know that he would be in town with his wife to see him. Then he
got up and left. Ginny, thinking that Hermione had come in didn't leave her room that night, and therefore had no
idea that Hermione didn't come home that night.