Disclaimer: See previous. Still not mine. Carry on with the lack of lawsuits.
Thanks to all my kind Portkey reviewers - you cats are superspiff, even if some of you did cheat. *grin* No, honestly. Kind reviews like the ones I got are so warm and fuzzy. Aww, squish!
!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!
"sometimes the truth is like a second chance"
-dar williams, "after all"
!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!
Now this, she thought to herself, this was a Situation. Capital intended. Hermione hadn't expected this at all, and there they were. Her two other parts. In her living room, her fifteenth story Chicago living room, where she was supposed to be half a world away from them. They were most definitely not supposed to be sitting there and yet there they were. Harry sat almost placidly on her brown leather couch, the only indicator of his inner turmoil his vivid green eyes. Ron was on the other side of the room, his eyes skimming her first major article. She'd been so proud when it was published she'd framed it in a brown frame. It had matched the couch she bought with the proceeds. Funny, that. The frame and the couch matching. Since those were the things that…well, never mind that.
When Hermione got nervous, she tended to let her mind have free reign. It usually served to help her come up with a solution to whatever was bothering her. In this case, though, the welcome chatter that told her that her brain wasn't working didn't seem to be helping. In fact, she hadn't said a word since she had greeted Crookshanks so effusively a minute ago. Nobody had. Harry had stared, Ron was skimming and Hermione's eyes were darting between the two of them. She felt, inexplicably, like a small child about to be scolded.
Wait, she thought, that's not how it is. She didn't have to answer to Harry and Ron, of all people, if anything they owed her an explanation. And as soon as the thought passed her brain, she almost laughed. Of course she did. They were her friends, more than that. They'd always called each other on their behavior. The answers tended to vary from snappish secrecy to embarrassed pleasure at being called out, with stops at various points along the way. Hermione wasn't feeling any of that. She was honestly a little tired. She'd started one major story last night and finished another one this afternoon, not to mention the exhaustion immediately caused by coming face to face with the inevitable end of the memory lane she'd tripped merrily down this afternoon.
Somehow, all the faith and joy she'd had in her intelligence and cleverness had evaporated between the foyer and the living room. Alison Gryffin, her writer alter-ego seemed to have disappeared, as well, leaving Hermione Granger there in all her glory. She even expected her recently acquired glossy shoulder length ringlets to grow out into the waist long bushy mass she'd had a year ago, just completing the transformation going on in her head. Her grasp of the situation had faltered and in thirty seconds she'd reverted from a glorious eighteen year old independent woman to bookworm Hermione again. That hurt. And just when she'd started resolving the two. Honestly, sometimes she felt honestly schizophrenic.
And hadn't she told her brain to stop babbling for a minute?
Noticing that Ron had turned to look at her and no one was saying anything, she felt suddenly frustrated. They surely hadn't come all this way to stare at her and she was missing out on precious moments of her relaxing evening. Which, she concluded, seemed to be fairly out of the picture. The wine still seemed like a good idea. Better, even. And music was said to soothe the savage beast. Which is what she had a feeling she might be facing in a minute. Well, then, she mused, she'd best get a couple of minutes of casual in. She looked at both boys and simply nodded.
"Harry, Ron," she said, managing to keep the slight tremor out of her voice, "so nice to see you. If you'll give me a moment. . ." She trailed off and walked out of the room. That should buy her thirty seconds or so, she thought to herself. Which it did. Almost precisely, in fact, she had just gotten to her bedroom and closed the door a second ahead of the cacophony that had erupted in her living room. Laughing in spite of the situation, she changed into one of her yoga outfits (not just for yoga, they were great for working from home and general lounging, a multi-purposeness that Hermione appreciated) and walked back into the room, completely ignoring them for the moment. She'd decided while debating between pink and grey - she was not going to let them have the upper hand here. She'd never let them have an easy advantage, she surely wasn't about to start here. And she'd picked the yellow and decided that maybe it wasn't a pop night. Debussy, perhaps, thanking the foresight that had made her "borrow" some of her dad's cds.
From behind the closed door, she flicked her wand towards the living room, starting the music before she got into the room. She walked in to the continued wall of sound coming from the boys and, for all outward appearances, casually walked into her kitchen and got out the bottle of merlot she'd been thinking of, which she opened and set aside so it could breathe. Only when her music was going and her wine was breathing did she stop and listen. And honestly, that's all she did, just listened.
"Hermione! Mum was so worried about you when you took off why didn't you - " That was Ron, going on about the concern all of the Weasleys had displayed during her self-imposed exile. So he would be taking the stern guilt route. She really was pleased with herself for taking this so well. She was finally getting to be the free young woman, being an adult on her own terms, and she intended to carry the serenity that knowing what she was doing in Chicago gave her. She was doing what she wanted to, instead of what people needed her to do. Ron went on for a minute or twenty, and Harry, who had gone silent when she sat down, had just looked at her. " - owl or call on the fellytone," Hermione rolled her eyes, he didn't even bother, "or anything at all! Smoke signals, a personal ad, anything! Harry and I were upset! Harry put his Quidditch career on hold until we finally went to your parents who were able to confirm that you weren't dead! Why would you do. . ." She was slightly shocked at one part of this. Harry had put his career on hold for her? She felt a momentary twinge of guilt at this, which she resolutely squelched. She turned her attention outward and was not even remotely surprised to notice that Ron was still going.
Harry, on the other hand, had continued looking at her in that disconcerting manner, and to be honest, that worried her far more than Ron's angry tirade. She had made the mistake of glancing at Harry under her heavy lashes and had been caught in the sheer weight of his contemplation. Hermione, not entirely unpleasantly, felt like an exhibit in that moment. She knew she should feel something negative about it, that she should at least challenge him with her own nonverbal signals, but she found she didn't have it in her. Instead, she moved forward and conjured three glasses. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she noticed her ears suddenly ringing with tinnitus, in the absence of other sound. Ron must have stopped then. Good. She gestured to the other two glasses and the bottle of wine. Maybe they noticed, maybe they didn't. She sat back and closed her eyes, inhaling the deep scent of the dark red wine.
"'Mione," Harry said gently, causing her eyes to snap open, "we missed you." And that, it appeared was all he was going to say. They'd come over here on her relaxing bloody evening so Ron could screech at her, oddly reminiscent of Molly Weasley and Harry was pulling his wise act. Brilliant. She reminded herself to breathe properly and took a drink.
"And? I missed all of you, of course, you know that. How could I have not?" She tried very hard to be equally gentle, but the frustration she felt at her disturbance tonight seemed to spill over her normally calm voice.
"Well, that's bloody wonderful!" Ron was angry, of course, and she didn't even bother to correct his language. After all, she used that word once and again herself. "So while we were all missing each other, why did you leave, `Mione?" Harry had gone back to his thoughtful silence.
"I couldn't handle it, Ron. We had done what we set out to do, and that was all I had in me then. Not a teaching position, not enough for a book dea, not a potions apprentice. I needed to get out. I was drained. And since I still got the Daily Prophet, I know how much press there was, and it started immediately after. Dumbledore didn't hide you forever, and he wouldn't have been able to, even had I requested it." She tried very hard to be reasonable with him. She was not going to lose her cool tonight. She was going to remain calm. Fuck that, she thought, and snapped.
"Ronald Weasley, I've been an adult for as long as I can remember! My entire scholastic career I've been keeping an eye on you two. It's always been my special job," she stated with no small bitterness, "to be the stable one, the secure one, the problem solver. Who solved my problems, Ron? Did you? Did you, Harry?" She whirled around to face the silent boy, who met her eyes surprisingly calmly.
"Hermione, that's not fair because…" Ron started. Hermione snorted inelegantly. Ron, surprised, quieted a bit, just enough for Hermione to start talking. Once he listened to her, he was silent, surprisingly. Apparently, something in the back of her mind registered, Ron had decided to learn when to shut up at some point. Perhaps some of the emotion she'd kept safely buried inside was leaking through the calm veneer she'd painted over herself during his tirade. Or maybe he was just hoarse from the shouting earlier. That, she thought sardonically, was probably it.
"You're right, Ron, it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that my childhood disappeared while you two were chasing bloody Quaffles and Snitches and doing Wonky Feints." For once the boys didn't laugh at her error, but continued to listen. "I know you two lost yours as well, but where did you come when you needed someone, Ron, Harry? You two had something. You had Quidditch and girls. But every time I tried to find someone, you'd scare them off or bother me to the point where I didn't want to bother! So, I don't see what the big deal is if, after helping you two save the fucking world," here both Ron and Harry had the grace to look abashed, Hermione never swore like that, "I wanted to nip off for a while. I don't see where it's any of your business how long I wanted to nip off to and where. And, furthermore, Ron Weasley, it certainly hasn't hurt your press, has it?"
"We're your friends, though, that's why. And you're making it sound like you went to the Leaky Cauldron for a week. You've been gone for a year, Hermione, and no one's heard from you, except for those postcards." Harry finally uttered more than four words and Hermione rounded on him.
"My friends? It didn't feel like that about a year and a half ago. I was researching every waking minute and what were you two doing? Playing sodding Quidditch. Quidditch!" She was nearly hysterical at this point, all the rage she hadn't quite realized was there boiling up to the surface. She'd felt slightly bitter, of that there was no doubt, but the depth of her feelings surprised even her. The boys, once again, looked slightly ashamed of themselves. "I felt so alone. I know we were all having various issues then, but…why did you leave me alone?" The last words had been a whisper, but she wasn't done. "And why, if you didn't want me, couldn't you let me go?"
Ron looked shocked. Panicked, even. Hermione had never been like this. He might expect something like this out of Ginny, who was his sister. And while Hermione was like a sister to him, he wasn't sure pulling her hair and walking away to get his mum was what he quite needed to do in this situation. Briefly, he wished he were back home, where he could Floo Ginny or Mum or have Lav take care of this. Because now Hermione looked positively miserable. When she'd lost her need to yell, she'd dropped into her chair and curled up into a little ball. The music and the wine and even, to a point, the two boys were forgotten as tears streamed down her face. He looked over to Harry, only to see the most curious thing.
Harry was crying, too. He was looking at Hermione like he'd never seen her before and his own face was tear-streaked. Ron was almost frightened right now. There'd been no need for them to cry, they'd planned this expedition to straighten out Hermione for a month. Hermione crying, he could see. He wasn't quite sure, but apparently Hermione had felt very hurt by something he and Harry had done, but Harry crying? For a minute Ron wondered if he'd gone mad and needed his mum to take him to St. Mungo's for a check-up. They'd come here to yell at Hermione, not get all soppy. Harry's next move shocked Ron even more. Harry walked over to the large overstuffed armchair Hermione had curled her slight frame into, picked her up and settled her into his arms and started making soothing noises and patting her hair and telling her how much he'd missed her. Not how much they'd missed her, but how much he, singular, had missed her.
This was where Ron started wondering what exactly what was happening to both his current and former best friends. Hermione had stopped crying quite so hard and was now looking up at Harry wonderingly and Harry had the barmiest look on his face. This went on for a few more minutes as Ron got more and more baffled. Could that be why Harry had. . .no, it couldn't be. This was Hermione, after all. Ron cleared his throat to get their attention. It didn't work.
"'Lo? Harry? He. . .Hermione? Erm. . .shouldn't we be talking right now?" Hermione looked up at him and Harry shifted his eyes to Ron, who felt immediately awkward and guilty for a moment. Then the two shifted their eyes back to each other and both blushed scarlet. Hermione slid off of Harry's lap and retrieved her glass of wine. Harry poured his own and moved back to the couch, leaving Hermione to reclaim her armchair.
"Should we be talking right now, Ron?" Hermione looked at him almost challenging, her gaze flickering to Harry, seeming to forget thirty seconds ago. Ron swore, he'd never understand her as long as he lived. He didn't know what to do right now. Half of him wanted to leave and forget about this, and half of him knew that this would happen again even if he did leave right now. Besides, he wasn't even sure if Harry would come with him, the way he was acting right now.
"Well, nothing's going to solve itself otherwise, is it?" Ron's words had a strange twist to them, almost Snapian in origin. Hermione laughed.
"Funny, I've been telling you two that for years." And, oddly, in that moment, all the angry undertones abated for now and they were back to Hermione-and-Ron-and-Harry instead of Harry and Ron in Hermione's living room for a minute and all three of them exhaled. Being friends with each other for seven years would've made them strong as it was, but their dangerous escapades had made their bonds almost unbreakable, amazingly even still. They would always have a confrontations and then the sharp edges of anger would soften as it became something else, a puzzle. This would have happened either way, Hermione mused, she'd just put it off. And now, it seemed, it was time to reacquaint herself with her two other pieces.
The dynamic was different, though, she'd noticed. Ron had missed `Mione, his verbal sparring partner and constant touchstone. Harry, it seemed. . .she didn't know what it seemed, but she was very curious as to what exactly he had missed. He'd never held her like he did a minute ago. And he had cried. Harry was the strongest person she knew, even more so, she believed, then Albus Dumbledore, and he had cried over her. He had petted her and murmured to her and she had felt herself instantly jolt with a new sort of frightening recognition. This was Harry. Harry Potter, her best friend. But, for a moment, sitting on his lap, crying out a year of residual misery, she had felt something else, something unfamiliar. She looked over at Ron and smiled, knowing he would always be the same, his relationship with her was a constant. She's always assumed the same of Harry, though.
One look at Ron reassured her. He was looking from Harry to her in a resigned sort of fashion that left her bewildered. She caught his attention and he rolled his eyes at her.
"You're both acting completely mad." Harry's head snapped up from where it had been staring at the floor and he shot Ron and annoyed look. Ron threw a pillow at him, Hermione yelled at him for throwing her imported housewares and Harry smiled at the exchange.
"Look, if you two want to catch up, you might as well stay here tonight. I don't want you splinching yourself going cross-Atlantic after this. You can use the. . .well, the phone if there's anyone you need to call. I'm not connected to the Floo Network, though." Hermione, frankly, was quite curious to know what would happen after she made that offer.
"Oh, it's fine. Mum knows where I am and Lav does, too. I think we will stay here tonight." Ron made himself quite comfortable on one side of the couch as he said that and looked at Harry. So that's how it was, she thought. The sly asides the newspaper had used to infer that the youngest Weasley boy was dating Hogwarts' newest teachers seemed to have some base in truth. She made a mental note to ask Ron about how that had come about later and also turned to Harry.
"I live alone, Hermione, there's no one who will miss me. I took some time off from practice, Oliver's covering for me." Harry looked up at her and, for a moment, there was a weird lack of air in the room as Hermione met his eyes and thought about the implications of the words Harry had just murmured. Harry was alone and he had held her so tightly earlier. She looked steadily at him, unblinkingly, trying to tell him the deepest secret of seventh year. It hadn't been the potion or all the times she stole ingredients or any of that, that was one thing for certain. He looked back at her with a spark in his eyes that had rarely been there since. . .well, since before. Ron wasn't sure, honestly.
Well, well, Ron mused, looks likes absence does make the heart grow fonder.