Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

Chapter 3 Three Conversations About One Thing

Hermione marched up the steep stone steps of the castle not knowing who she was more upset with: herself, Harry or Minerva McGonagall.

She was incensed. She could not recall a time when she had been angrier. How dare he walk right into the Three Broomsticks without any warning and expect everything to be the same as when he left. How dare he surprise her in front of her colleagues and all of Hogsmeade when everyone knew that he had not bothered to keep in touch with her...how humiliating! He should have told her he was coming back. He hasn't bothered to write me for five years, why would he start now, she thought bitterly.

"Flibbertigibbet," Hermione growled at the stone gargoyle that hid the entrance to the Headmistress's office. Hermione stepped onto the spiral staircase that moved silently up to the door of Minerva McGonagall's office.

As Hermione was about to knock on the door, a familiar voice called from within. "Come in, Hermione."

Hermione opened the door to the Headmistress's office to see Professor McGonagall pouring two cups of tea.

"I've been expecting you," the headmistress intoned with a slight smile on her face.

"Minerva, how could you?" Hermione almost shouted.

"How could I what, dear? Make tea?" McGonagall asked innocently.

"You know very well 'what.' Why didn't you tell me that you had hired Harry to be the flying instructor?" Hermione spat.

"Oh, Harry is back in town? How lovely. I wasn't expecting him until tomorrow."

"Well, he just breezed into the Three Broomsticks like he owned the place expecting everyone to be blissfully happy he was back," Hermione snorted as she plopped into the chair across from Professor McGonagall.

"Oh, I forgot about Madam Hooch's going away party! How was it?"

"I don't know. I left not too long after Harry showed up," Hermione said as she blew on her tea to cool it off.

At this, Professor McGonagall leveled a gaze over her square spectacles and asked sternly, "Why on earth would you do that, Hermione?"

Under the gaze of her mentor and friend, Hermione squirmed in her chair. These last few years Minerva McGonagall had become more than a respected teacher to her. She had become family, replacing the family Hermione had lost at the hands of the Death Eaters.

Four years ago, after Dumbledore retired, it was Professor McGonagall's first job as the new Headmistress to find the teacher that would replace her as the Transfiguration Professor. She knew immediately that there was only one witch with the talent and knowledge to teach the most difficult subject at Hogwarts. She was met with objections from everyone but Albus Dumbledore when she recommended Hermione for the job. Although Hermione had proved herself time and again fighting the Death Eaters, some thought she was too young for such a demanding teaching appointment. Dumbledore and McGonagall knew that what Hermione lacked in experience, she would make up for in intelligence and talent. And ultimately, once Dumbledore approved, there was only one obstacle to overcome and that was convincing Hermione.

At first, Hermione had stared at Professor McGonagall in disbelief when the position was offered to her. A Hogwarts teacher at 18, she thought? The position of Transfiguration Professor, which had previously been held by no less than Dumbledore and McGonagall themselves, was being offered to her. Although the idea of teaching the most difficult subject was daunting, Hermione had no doubt that she could teach the class. Her main concern was not wanting to leave her job with the Association for the Betterment of Magical Brethren. Remus Lupin, her co-founder of the ABMB, suggested that Hermione could take on more of a consulting role and hire someone to do the day-to-day duties she would not have time for. In the end, Hermione had accepted the offer and had proved the dissenters wrong.

Hermione sighed. "Honestly, Minerva, I didn't want to be around Harry. It was very disconcerting to have him suddenly back, sitting across the table from me at the Three Broomsticks talking about about his exploits across the pond."

"Yes, Albus told me he picked up the game of golf over there," Minerva replied, settling herself into her chair. "I'll have to ask him about that. I've always been fascinated by that particular muggle sport," she said excitedly.

Hermione looked at her in disbelief but silenced her retort by drinking some of her now tepid tea.

"So, did you talk to Harry," Minerva asked gently, "about why he never wrote you?"

"No. He gave me some pathetic excuse about trying to write, not knowing what to say, too much time passing and something about me burning any letter he would try to send."

"He was probably right about that," Minerva chuckled.

"That isn't the point!" Hermione said and abruptly rose from her chair to stare out the office window. The Quidditch pitch was visible in the distance ... more painful memories She turned around to face Professor McGonagall. "Even when he had the opportunity tonight to tell me, he wouldn't."

"He wouldn't tell you or couldn't tell you?" Minerva asked.

"There isn't a difference."

"Of course there is." Minerva rose from behind her desk and walked over to face Hermione. "You are a brilliant teacher and a wonderful person, Hermione. If I had a daughter, I would want her to be just like you," she said quietly. "But you have held onto this anger at Harry, Ron and the world for far too long. You are not the only one whose life was changed by Voldemort and his Death Eaters."

Hermione looked at Minerva, stunned. "Whatever gave you the idea that I was angry with Ron?"

Minerva studied Hermione for a moment before asking, "Have you ever talked to anyone about Ron's death?"

"Of course I have."

"Who?"

Hermione looked down at her robes and picked at an invisible piece of lint. She dusted her robe off and smoothed it out before looking up at Minerva and replying. "What is there to say? He's dead. He died saving me."

Minerva took Hermione's hand in her own. "Did something happen before Ron died? Between the two of you?"

Christ, how did we get on this subject, she thought. "Minerva, it doesn't matter. What good does it do to talk about it? Nothing I can do or say will change history and bring Ron back. I prefer to keep my memories to myself."

Hermione looked away from Minerva's compassionate gaze. After a moment, Professor McGonagall released Hermione's hand and walked briskly back to her desk saying, "Do you know why I hired Harry?"

"No," Hermione said, surprised that she hadn't asked herself that question.

"I hired Harry because I believe that your best friend is the only person that can help you move on to the next phase."

"The next phase of what? My life? This is the next phase of my life -- teaching at Hogwarts, working with the ABMB."

Minerva shook her head and said, "There is more to life than work and 'causes.' No, Hermione, the next phase is your life."

Hermione walked down the quiet corridors towards her room, lost in thought. In the span of three short hours her entire life had been turned upside down. She was so shaken by Harry's return that it was impossible for her to concentrate, to try to piece together what she thought and felt. There was nothing she hated more than not being able to think something through logically, not being able to solve a problem.

Once in her room, she went directly to the bathroom and started the water for a warm, relaxing bubble bath. Crookshanks jumped up on the edge of the tub, purring softly in greeting. Absently, she rubbed under his chin while testing the temperature of the water with her other hand. Once undressed, she slipped into the almost scalding hot water and settled slowly down into the bubbles, letting her muscles relax and the stress leave her body.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, using all her powers of concentration to try to forget the last few hours. Minutes passed with the only sound being the faint crackling of tiny bubbles popping in the air. Crookshanks, who had settled himself on the edge of the tub, let his eyes slowly droop closed in complete relaxation, seemingly mimicking Hermione.

"Shit!" Hermione swore, splashing the water with her hands in frustration. Startled from his reverie, Crookshanks flinched and almost fell into the tub with her. He bared his teeth, gave a hiss and shot out of the bathroom, running under the bed to hide.

"Oh, Crookshanks! I'm sorry!" Hermione cried after him. "Way to go. Alienate your only friend," she said aloud to herself.

She settled back into the tub and stared up at the ceiling, resigning herself to her inability to close off. She sighed heavily saying aloud to no one, "I hate this."

Before tonight, Hermione had almost convinced herself that Harry was never coming back, that he had died along with Ron and her parents. That was the only way she knew how to deal with his absence, his apparent lack of concern for her. He was dead; that was the only explanation. The Harry she knew would never leave without saying goodbye. The Harry she knew would never fail to keep in touch. The Harry she knew would never purposely humiliate her, as she had been humiliated tonight.

Obviously, she was wrong. Or this wasn't the same Harry that she knew in school.

Underneath the initial shock, her instinct when she saw him walk into the Three Broomsticks was to jump up and give him a huge hug. He was back! He wasn't dead! For a split second it was as if no time had passed, and he and Ron were meeting her for a butterbeer during a Hogsmeade weekend. She looked behind Harry for Ron and was jerked back into the present by his absence. Relief that in fact Harry wasn't dead, along with the happiness of seeing him again, were quickly replaced by the anger she had harbored against him all these years.

Now alone, she could let these conflicting emotions -- relief, happiness, anger and grief -- run free.

In spite of herself, she smiled as happiness took over. It had been so good to see him again. In that moment, something had clicked back into place and her world changed slightly. She had thought that her life had been complete, filled with work and friends. Now the realization struck that all of the friendships in the world couldn't compare or replace the friendships she had shared with Ron and Harry. Ron's was lost forever, and for it she still mourned. Could she forgive Harry and their friendship? Would it be the same without Ron? She wasn't sure on either count.

Feeling the temperature of the water start to cool, she turned the hot water on with her foot, bringing her knees up out of the water so as not to get scalded. Absently, she swirled her hands in the water mingling hot with cool, thinking about how different Harry looked from the boy she knew. Harry had always been rather pale and skinny, which had relegated him, at least in her mind, into the 'cute' column versus the 'good looking' or 'handsome' column. He must have lived somewhere warm in the States, she mused. Although you couldn't say he had a tan, so to speak, he definitely had more color than before. Skinny wasn't the correct description for his build anymore, either. Thin? Healthy? Athletic? Take your pick, but it was an improvement nonetheless. Maturity, she theorized.

I wonder what happened to his glasses?

How different do I look to him?

As bubbles started to completely overtake her, she realized the water was still running and the bathtub was full almost to the rim. She quickly turned off the water and with her other foot, released the stopper to drain some of the water. Hermione saw Crookshanks poke his head around the door and look around warily, as if testing the atmosphere of the room.

"Hi, sweetie! It is safe to come back in, I promise. No more outbursts." She patted the side of the tub and Crookshanks deftly jumped up and settled himself, purring loudly.

"Guess who is back, Crookshanks," Hermione said, rubbing under his chin and replacing the stopper in the drain. Crookshanks narrowed his eyes and stopped purring.

Hermione laughed. "No, not Ron! He's not coming back, unfortunately. Why didn't you like him? Surely you aren't holding Scabbers against him after all these years!" Hermione looked at her cat and saw that his expression hadn't changed. She guessed that, in fact, he was still holding a grudge. "That isn't healthy. You need to move on."

She stopped, realizing that what she had just said to Crookshanks was startlingly similar to what Minerva had told her earlier that night.

"Meow," Crookshanks cried plaintively.

"Oh, right. I didn't explain, did I? Harry's back, can you believe it?"

Crookshanks lifted his head a little higher and immediately began purring again, more loudly than before. His eyes took on an alertness that hadn't been there before, and he gave a decidedly happy sounding "Meow!"

"I've always suspected that you liked Harry better than me, and I think my suspicion was just confirmed," Hermione said, feigning hurt. Absently, she said to her cat, "He looks good, that's for sure. As much as I don't want to be, I'm glad he's back. I really have missed him. But I'm still angry with him. Surely he can come up with a better excuse than 'I tried to write but I just couldn't.' That's pathetic. He'd better be prepared to give me some answers next time I see him!"

Hermione stared into space as Crookshanks watched her, swishing his tail back and forth. "Why didn't he write? How could he not write to me, of all people?" She smiled at Crookshanks, who was looking patiently back at her. "I know, you've heard this all one thousand times before. I'm ready for some answers. How about you?"

As if in reply, Crookshanks took his left paw and started cleaning his ears. Hermione laughed. "That's right. It is time for some answers from Harry Potter."

Harry awoke early the next morning to another clear day. A perfect morning to reacquaint myself with the Quidditch Pitch, he thought excitedly. Harry hurriedly got dressed, grabbed his broom and set off for Hogwarts.

The dew was still on the grass as he mounted his broomstick and pushed off from the ground. Soaring through the air on his broom had always been Harry's escape. It had not been easy to travel across America as a Muggle with a broomstick and not arouse suspicion. Luckily for Harry, Hermione helped him in Transfiguration for seven years. Luckily for Harry, his best friend was Hermione Granger. She had taught him much about Transfiguration, among other things, during their seven years at Hogwarts. He was able to draw upon his knowledge to solve his broomstick issue. It was while searching for an idea to transfigure his broomstick that he discovered the game of golf. Hermione would have been impressed with his ingenuity. Many of the people he played golf with marveled at how well he could hit his three iron. "Boy, that ball really flies off your club!" a southern gentleman told him one day. If he only knew, Harry thought with a grin.

Thinking of Hermione, and their disastrous conversation the previous night, wiped the grin off of Harry's face. I've got to tell her why I left the next time I see her, Harry thought. This is Hermione! Why is it so difficult?

Could it be because you still don't know if you can tell her everything? Ron asked inside his head. You can't lie to her. That would be worse than never coming back at all. I really don't think she was too happy to see you, mate.

"Thanks for stating the obvious," Harry mumbled to himself.

Don't be snippy with me. I'm not the one that's been avoiding the issue for five years. I'm dead, remember? And as such, I am fairly blameless for the mess you have made.

As these thoughts were going through his mind, Harry spotted a familiar figure out for an early morning walk around the lake. Okay, Potter, now is your chance. Don't blow it, Ron's voice said.

Harry gently landed a few feet behind Hermione and dismounted his broom.

"Hermione?"

"Oh!" Hermione jumped and turned to face Harry. "You scared me to death! Don't sneak up on people like that! Where did you come from?"

Harry raised his broom in answer and said, "I saw you walking from the Quidditch Pitch and hoped we could finish the conversation we started last night."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something and quickly closed it again. She stood there staring at Harry and said coolly, "Fine. But can we walk while you talk? I have five more laps to walk around the lake."

"Five more laps? Are you keeping count?"

Hermione gave him a withering look and said, "As much as I would like to, I can't magic fat off of my thighs, Harry." Then she turned around and started walking, briskly.

Harry jogged to catch up with her and said, "You didn't seem to be walking this fast from my view at the Quidditch Pitch."

"Did you want to tell me something or complain about my exercise routine?"

"I want to tell you something, but I can't if you won't slow down. Can you just stop for a moment, please?"

Hermione stopped and turned to Harry. She crossed her arms and stared at him with the same questioning look on her face from the night before.

Harry took a deep breath and started the speech he had been rehearsing in his mind for five years.

"Do you remember when we first met? You told Ron and me about how excited you and your parents were when you received your letter from Hogwarts. That is exactly how I felt, excited that there was this other world that was going to allow me to escape from the Dursleys. I barely had time to process the fact that I was a wizard -- about four minutes to be exact -- before Hagrid was telling me the story about how my parents died and I lived. Then I went into the Leaky Cauldron and absolutely everyone in there knew who I was and wanted to shake my hand -- congratulate me for something I didn't even remember doing. I went from being a nobody, wearing hand-me-down clothes four sizes too big, to being the most famous person in the wizarding world with a vault full of gold, all in the span of about 12 hours.

"You know what the next seven years were like. People praised me, then ridiculed me, then loved me again, then thought I was an attention-seeking lunatic, and on and on it went. You and Ron were the only constants in my life. I could not have done any of the things I did without you two helping me.

"Then our last night at Hogwarts, the night Voldemort was finally killed, it all changed again. I was 'The Man Who Defeated Voldemort' and everyone wanted a piece of me. All I wanted to do was grieve for my best friend. I wanted to grieve for Arthur, Mad-eye, Sirius, my mum and dad ... for everyone that had been affected by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Mostly, I wanted to be left alone.

"When I was in St. Mungo's after that night, I was flooded with owls from people I knew, people I didn't know. I think every wizard and witch in the world sent me an owl. People offering me jobs, business opportunities, marriage proposals, you name it. Did you know people came up to me at Ron's funeral to talk to me about my future? 'What are you going to do?' they would ask. 'Any job you want at the Ministry of Magic, Harry,' Fudge said. 'Ever considered playing Quidditch professionally, Harry?' 'What about England's National Team?' It was truly disgusting.

"I knew I needed to go away, to leave, but I didn't want to leave you. I wanted to be there for you to help you get through the loss of your boyfriend. But I'll be honest: I needed you to help me get through the loss of my best friend," he said, looking down at the ground. "I even thought about asking you to come with me." Here Harry stopped and looked at Hermione, who was staring at him with her mouth slightly open.

"At the Burrow, after the funeral, I saw you with Ginny and Molly. You were consoling and comforting each other, and it hit me that you didn't need me like I needed you. I knew that the Weasleys would take you in as a member of their family and be there for you. That is when I decided to leave."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something but Harry interrupted her, saying, "Wait. Just let me finish."

"I had to get away from being Harry Potter. I needed to find out who I was. Voldemort had defined who I was since I was a year old. It was time to define myself. So I left the next day.

"I'm sure the note I left you was completely inadequate. I'm sorry about that, but I truly did intend to write you. You had been my confidant for seven years and I knew that would continue no matter how many miles separated us."

Harry continued to look at Hermione, but it was Hermione who looked away. Harry took Hermione's hands and said, "I wasn't leaving you behind; I was leaving me behind.

"Hermione?" he asked softly. "Do you understand why I Ieft? Can you forgive me for leaving?"

Hermione turned to look at Harry yanking her hands out of his, her eyes cold. "Did you even stop to think what effect you leaving would have on me? You didn't even talk to me before you left! I would have understood. I might have even gone with you. But, instead you decided unilaterally what was best for everyone, like you always did."

Harry stood there in stunned silence as Hermione continued her rant.

"Then not a word for five years and here you are again, wanting to be forgiven and be friends like no time has passed. I just don't know how you expect me to react to that." Hermione sighed and looked out over the lake.

She turned back to look at Harry and said in a quiet voice, "We were best friends, Harry. You were the only person I had left. My parents had been tortured and killed by Bellatrix Lestrange, then Ron was killed. Sure, Molly, Ginny and the Weasleys were wonderful, but you were the closest thing to family I had. After you didn't write, I wondered if I had done something to make you leave, to make you want to stay away for so long." Her voice choked on the last words and she started crying.

Harry's stomach dropped to his feet. He grabbed Hermione in a fierce hug saying, "You didn't do anything to make me leave, don't ever think that. You are completely right, Hermione. I should have talked to you, and I should have written. I am so, so sorry. It was all about me. I was so selfish and thoughtless. I realized that after I got to America. I tried so many times to write you..." his voice trailed off as he tried to get the courage to tell her everything. As he held her and felt her continue to cry, he knew that right now wasn't the time. He also knew that he would tell her eventually, that he would never, ever hurt her like this again. "Hermione," he said softly. "I am going to do everything I can to make it all up to you."