Three Seasons to Closure

Chapter 2. Happy Hermione

Harry Potter stood over the counter in his kitchen, buttering his toast, sipping coffee from a grey stoneware mug, and reading the Daily Prophet - all with alternating attention. It was a cloudy and wet morning, but as he looked up to peer through his window, Harry could see several rays of sunshine cutting through the patches of clouds, promising what he hoped would be a rather nice day to spend outdoors. His heart lightened at the thought.

Never was Harry to be found at a loss of excuses to spend a Saturday or Sunday outside, and the prospect of an entire weekend of rain had dampened his spirits considerably during this past work week. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry had barely registered a moving advertisement on the lower right-hand corner of the Prophet page he'd just finished scanning. On it, two Quidditch teams zoomed in and out of view with their faces set in fierce determination and their eyes glaring at opposing team members. A caption kept appearing and then disappearing in flames that read:

"Puddlemere versus Chudley Preseason Grudge Match

- Saturday at noon -

Don't miss one of the fiercest rivalries in the UK"

Harry chuckled. The "rivalry" between the two teams was extremely lopsided, in Harry's opinion, as the Cuddly Cannons hadn't won a game against Puddlemere in a decade.

"Still," he thought, "it would be fun to catch a game of Quidditch."

As an idea struck him, Harry smiled and took another gulp of coffee. Setting the mug back down on the counter, he noticed that a triangle of bright sunlight was now beaming in through his kitchen window, as the clouds had shifted further apart. "All right, then," Harry said. Determining that the idea was a rather good one, he marched over to his fireplace resolutely. Grabbing a handful of Floo powder from a dingy tin container set upon the mantle, Harry tossed it into the fire.

"Hermione...Hermione, are you home?" Harry shouted, sticking his head into the cool, dry flames.

"Where else would I be?" a sleepy voice replied. "It's seven in the morning."

Hermione's words resonated from a room just outside of view from the fireplace, sounding scratchy and slightly irritated, but in a polite, playful way. "Harry, I'm just getting up. Why are you so ... loud and ... awake at this hour?"

"Sorry," Harry murmured into the fire. "It's just that I've already had two cups of coffee and I don't think it's going to rain all day after all..." Harry sat uncomfortably on his knees, bent over the fireplace grate as he waited hopefully for his friend to come into view.

Hermione grabbed her mug of tea and tightened her dressing gown as she shuffled across the wood parquet floor to her fireplace opening. "I'm a sight," she sighed, looking down at her fluffy grey slippers and running her hand through her messy hair. "It would be preferable at times like these to own a Muggle telephone," she thought. "Who wants to be seen at all hours of the day?" But as she made herself comfortable on the sofa, Hermione couldn't help but smile warmly as she took in the boyish expression on Harry's face. "As if I could say no to whatever it is that he's going to ask..." she mused.

"So, what are you up to this morning?" Hermione prodded.

Harry's fire image flickered. "I was hoping that we could spend some time outdoors today," he said. "You know, good weather and all...Perhaps we could go up to the Quidditch pitches and catch a came?"

Hermione fought back the urge to flinch, thinking that she'd rather not spend the entire day watching grown witches and wizards fly around on brooms. "Mmm...I don't know about Quidditch," she said, "but how about doing something more active?" Hermione paused, and took a sip of her tea, tapping her index finger on the ceramic mug in thought.

"We could stroll down to the park near your flat and rent bikes to ride," she continued, "...catch some lunch or maybe even dinner and a movie later on as well?"

Hermione paused again, and this time a flinch did take over her features as she realized that she had once again fallen into her "bossy" mode - an age-old habit of taking over even the smallest of plans before she even realized that she was doing it. It had become such a preoccupation of Hermione's to diminish her domineering reputation that she had even made it number three on her List of Things to Improve. Here at only the crack of dawn, she had already sidestepped the whole idea of Quidditch, and she had all but assumed that Harry had nothing better to do than to spend the entire day with her.

"Unless you'd really rather watch a game..." she added hastily, scratching the back of her neck with her free hand. "I'm easy."

"You are not," Harry replied, grinning. "But I like your idea better. It sounds... well, it sounds like it's straight out of a Muggle television show or something. How soon can you be ready?"

"Just give me an hour and I'll Apparate to your place," Hermione said. "The park is just a few blocks from your building, we can walk from there. Is that alright with you?" she added for good measure.

"Sounds fantastic. I'll see you at eight then," Harry said before popping out of view from the fireplace.

One hour later, Hermione Apparated directly into Harry's living room. Since she and Harry both lived in Muggle neighborhoods, they had to take special care not to be seen practicing magic outside the confines of their own, magically-protected flats. The buildings had no secluded Apparition point, and so the two friends agreed that the spot in front of each other's hearth would work best when visiting each other. Special charms had been set to confuse and befuddle any accidental Muggle visitors who may happen into the flat itself or peak into a window, but it was generally understood to be un-neighborly to subject them to any unnecessary charms or spells. In fact, Hermione made it a habit to use no magic at all until she was safely shut in her cozy little flat.

"Hermione!" Harry beamed as he walked out of his bedroom to find her standing in his living room, smoothing out her blouse from the Apparition. "You look fantastic. You're sure this is okay with you?"

Hermione smiled and glanced down at her outfit. "This is perfectly appropriate for a bike ride," she sputtered back as she followed Harry down the hall and out of the apartment building. A familiar, warm and reverent feeling washed over Hermione while she basked again in the glow of her companionship with Harry. He was always full of compliments, and was truly just about the politest person she had ever met. Hermione stole a glance as Harry walked silently beside her toward the park, blissfully unaware that she was internally gushing his praises. "He really is every bit as sweet as the press makes him out to be," she thought to herself. It had been Harry's "sweetness", in fact, that had endeared him to her from the very start at age eleven, and it was refreshing to see that it remained a part of his character to this very day.

The clouds did indeed eventually disappear, and Harry and Hermione spent a wonderful morning in the large city park that sat only blocks from Harry's apartment building. They rented two slightly rusty bikes from a shack located at the park's entrance. At first, Harry wobbled a bit on his, which gave Hermione a much cherished period of one-upmanship. But, as was always the case with Harry, he soon found his bearings and was racing past her, grinning nastily.

The pair passed the hours most pleasantly, feeling the warm air breeze across their faces and taking in the scenery. Hermione commented on what the Muggles were up to as she and Harry rode past them, and Harry's eyes darted around from small animals just off the bike path, to ancient trees with giant limbs that extended over the path to cast large shadows, and to the gentle ripples of water on the surface of the park's picturesque lake. Both lost in the sights, sounds and smells of summer, the two hadn't talked much during their ride. Harry and Hermione had long ago lost the need to fill any lulls in conversation, so deep was their understanding of each other's moods.

"You really are an outdoor junky," Hermione chided, breaking the silence as they returned their bikes to the rental shack. "You are an entirely different person out of doors. I can just see you in your office on a dreary Monday, sulking and pining away for a bit of a jog or something."

Harry frowned. "I do!" he admitted, turning toward his perceptive friend and shaking his head at her astuteness. "I charmed my office to smell like a Quidditch pitch after the lawn has been mown, and I've found a really great spell that creates a warm breeze that circulates constantly. It's kind of moist, like an ocean breeze..." Harry trailed off and laughed at Hermione's expression; her perplexed look gave away the notion that she must not have realized the true extent to Harry's addiction.

"Like I said," Hermione laughed, "outdoor junky."

"Not all of us enjoy our work as much as you, Hermione," Harry shot back.

Hermione's passion for all things related to her work or her studies always gave Harry plenty of fodder for teasing. She grimaced playfully, and picked up her pace as she and Harry exited the park.

"Outdoor junky," Hermione teased as she caught up.

"Work junky," Harry shot back.

After resting for a spell in Harry's flat, they decided to have lunch at an old hangout, The Leaky Cauldron. Once again, Hermione had been the one to coax her friend into going along with the idea. She felt guilty at her manipulations; after all, Harry was a powerful wizard and a professional Auror who was known and respected throughout the entire wizarding world. However, the idea of going to the Leaky had popped into her brain and she couldn't help but think that it would be the perfect place to spend the rest of such a lovely day. Hermione had been prone to nostalgia lately, missing her old friends and her youth. She knew that Harry was probably feeling this way too, having recently broken off a long relationship himself.

Sitting across from each other in a battered old tavern booth, Harry and Hermione ate sandwiches and drank mugs of Butterbeer Extra - a potent version of their favorite childhood beverage. Harry listened politely as Hermione chatted away about a project she was immersed in at her research department. She was Assistant to the Head of Research in the Department of Magical Maladies. Hermione and her colleagues worked in the Ministry of Magic building to find potential cures for some of the most painful and debilitating magical ailments. As she went on and on about a new lab procedure she was trying out, Harry marveled that Hermione's dedication and ability to focus had only increased over the years. Nothing, he thought, was beyond Hermione Granger's comprehension. She could literally do anything if she was so inclined.

Feeling tipsy from too many Extras, and with a very slight slur, Harry leaned in toward Hermione and teased, "I'm glad I let you bully me into coming here. I miss the feel of this place." Harry looked around, studying the sloppy counter of the Leaky's enormous bar and smiling widely. Doing so, he caught the eye of a pretty blond bartender, who seemed to have misinterpreted his look and gave a wink and a seductive cock of her lovely head.

Hermione sighed. Harry was like a magnet to witches. "Bully you?" she asked, setting down her mug clumsily. She feigned indignation, and then sighed again. "Alright, I did do the bossy thing again, didn't I?" she asked. Frowning, Hermione picked up her mug once again and took a large gulp.

"Ten things, Harry! Ten things I need to improve upon, and I can't make headway on any one of them. I'm hopeless!" Hermione flopped her head down into her folded arms and gave an exasperated pout.

"And high maintenance," Harry added quietly, clearly amused at Hermione's overly dramatic state - which was fueled, he assumed, by the Butterbeer Extra.

Hermione shot a grin across the table, lifting her head and saying, "And hippy too - don't forget number four on the list." She patted her thighs and gave another mock sigh.

"Not true!" Harry said loyally, but Hermione cut him off.

Grabbing her mug and raising it in a boisterous toast, Hermione shouted, "To Hopeless, Hippy Hermione!"

Harry reluctantly clinked his mug with Hermione's, laughing at her brashness. "Hopeless Hermione!" he cheered, looking slightly guilty, but amused.

"To Hippy Hermione!" echoed a group from a nearby table in a loud roar. Harry and Hermione both jerked their heads around to see a boisterous group of young witches and wizards who were clinking their mugs clumsily as their table erupted in laughter.

Harry laughed heartily at the crowd, adding, "You forgot high maintenance!"

"To Hopeless, High-maintenance, Hippy Hermione!" Hermione shouted, clinking Harry's mug even louder this time, laughing.

"To Hopeless ... High-nnnnnn.. Hippy Hermione!" the group cheered again, mugs crashing together in several loud clinks.

Hermione set her mug down on the dirty table and smirked excitedly. "THEY think we're funny," she said, smiling widely.

"They're drunk," Harry replied, setting his own mug down and offering his hand to Hermione. "Come on, you. Best be going. We've been here for hours."

After settling the tab, Harry extended his arm to Hermione and Apparated them both to his flat. The pair giggled at their good fortune as each examined themselves to make sure they hadn't been splinched. Hermione made herself a comfortable spot on Harry's sturdy and plain, brown sofa, and fell directly asleep almost as soon as Harry had succeeded in lighting a warm fire. Harry smiled at his sleeping friend and reached into his pocket for his wand. Flicking it casually at the wizarding wireless, he relaxed on his end of the sofa and listened to the wizarding news, anxious to find the results of the Chudley Cannons pre-season grudge match that he'd been keen to attend.

As Hermione napped, Harry had spent the remainder of the afternoon listening to another preseason Quidditch game, with the volume set low on the Wizarding Wireless. He tidied up his flat a bit during commercials and player breaks, and had even managed a quick shower. Dressed now in a crisp, white shirt and jeans, Harry surveyed his bedroom and cast a few more Dusting charms, Vanished three crumpled and damp towels to the hamper, and shot a vapor of spicy mist out of his wand, which swirled throughout the rooms of his flat, leaving behind a slightly masculine fragrance.

When not involved with a witch, Harry led an uncomplicated life. In what he often referred to as his "full-out bachelor mode," Harry mostly went to work, took part in several "twenty and up" Quidditch leagues when the season was appropriate, listened to his beloved Quidditch on the wizarding wireless, and watched Muggle sports on the television. Harry was a hopeless sports enthusiast, and being raised Muggle had provided him with plenty of additional sports to fuel his compulsion. Football and golf were his favorites of the Muggle sports and he had "pet" teams and players whose progress he followed religiously. The usual between-girlfriend outings, for Harry, consisted mainly of playing billiards and darts with some friends he'd met at a local Muggle pub or catching a drink or two with some mates from the Auror department.

Harry cringed inwardly as he walked quietly toward his sofa, slowly lowering himself to a seat on the part not covered by Hermione's sleeping form. He was feeling guilty again. He knew it wasn't right that he enjoyed his time to himself and his mates so much, and he knew that his ex-girlfriend would expect him still to be pining to away for the afternoons they had spent together as a couple. But, he thought, he really didn't miss those afternoons that much. Especially now that he and Hermione had become closer, Harry couldn't help but think that life had taken on a decidedly simpler hue lately. And to Harry, simpler always looked better.

As Harry relaxed and sank deeper into the sofa cushions, Hermione stirred, twisting her body into a prone position and yawning deeply. "Hi," she muttered, wiping a mess of hair from her sweaty brow. "I feel...yucky. What time is it anyway?" she asked, looking up at Harry and rubbing her eyes.

"Time to get up if you still fancy dinner and a movie," Harry said. He stood up and offered a hand to his drowsy friend.

"Okay, just give me a minute to catch my bearings and then ten...no, make it fifteen minutes to shower and change," Hermione said as she stood and dragged herself through Harry's living room toward the bathroom. She splashed cold water from the gleaming faucet on her face and peered at the mirror, eyes squinting. "Better make that thirty," she yelled out into the living room, grabbing her wand out of the pocket of her shorts and Apparating home.

The evening was lovely - still and warm. It was the kind of evening that made Hermione wish that it could always be summer. "Surely it's like this all the time somewhere in the world," she mused romantically as she and Harry strolled along their newly favorite street in the Muggle shopping district. "Where are we going for dinner anyway?" she asked, glancing at Harry.

"Dinner?" Harry asked. "All we have time for now is popcorn, I'm afraid. Someone took too long getting ready." Harry nudged Hermione gently on the elbow, offering a look of mock condemnation.

Hermione smiled broadly and curtsied, fanning out the sides of her flow-y skirt. "You don't approve of my outfit?" she asked, batting her eyelids in jest.

"I didn't say it wasn't worth it, did I?" Harry replied. "Jamaica," he added as an afterthought.

"What?" Hermione asked, dropping the sides of her skirt and giving Harry a perplexed look.

"I worked on a case in Jamaica once and I think the weather was always perfect there," Harry said simply. "You should go some time."

The two walked on a bit and engaged themselves in a spirited conversation. They were playfully planning an imaginary trip for Hermione to Jamaica in order to "test the weather" and laughing at the inventive means Harry had come up with by which to get the Ministry to pay for the trip. It all sounded lovely to Hermione except for her new vow of celibacy. And, like she'd suddenly been doused in a cold shower, she sobered at the thought of going to a warm and exotic beach resort without anyone to share a fruity drink with. No handsome companion to notice how beautiful she looked in her gauzy sundress, no knee-weakening kisses on the veranda...

"Harry!" Hermione half-shouted suddenly, causing Harry to stop in his tracks and reach for his wand. "Oh, Harry, I can't go on vacations anymore." She looked to her side, only to find Harry several steps back, his hand dropping back to its side, staring at her with a slightly annoyed look.

"I didn't think of that when I made The Vow," she said, shrugging her shoulders and giving only a hint of a pout. "I'll have no one to share vacations with."

Harry smiled grimly. He too felt a ping of loneliness as he conjured a picture in his head of a sunny vacation for one. It wasn't as if loneliness was a foreign concept to Harry, but he didn't want it for Hermione. Several sad little pictures formed in his head: a single beach towel spread across a flat spot of beach, a half-drunk Martini with only one olive speared through a plastic sword, Hermione in a sleeveless sundress and floppy hat getting pinched by a large crowd as she signals for a taxi. Harry shook his head at the idleness of his quirky friend's latest life-altering decision. Then, he reached a hand up and ruffled Hermione's hair a bit and then stepped in front of her, looking intently into her eyes. He grabbed both of her arms at the elbows and said, "Retract the celibacy thing, Hermione. Get out there and start dating again!"

Hermione laughed and grabbed Harry's elbows in turn. "I shall not!" she said, chuckling. "I shall uphold the epiphany! Sing it with me, Harry, sing with me and believe," she added, returning to Harry's side and nudging him along up the pavement.

"It's a celibate life for me, for me, a celibate life for me."

To Harry's slight horror, Hermione sang her celibacy song at normal volume. Scrunching his face and laughing again, Harry reluctantly joined in, but with an only barely audible voice. He stepped beside her as they resumed their walk toward the theater.

The two settled down into the crowded theater and watched the previews with amusement. It was cold in the theater, and Hermione felt herself shivering in her thin cotton top and short skirt. Sensing her discomfort, Harry leaned over and stealthily tapped Hermione's shoulder with his wand, sending a lovely warming sensation flowing through her body.

"Ahh...That's wonderful. Thank you Harry," she sighed.

Harry laughed at this and stared at her incredulously. "Sometimes I think that you really do forget that you're a witch," he whispered.

"You and I always do Muggle things together!" Hermione whispered back, looking around to make sure they couldn't be overheard. "I get caught up in the local culture, that's all," she added, grabbing a handful of the popcorn that Harry held in his lap.

"Blending in with the locals, eh?" Harry teased, grabbing a single piece of popcorn, tossing it at Hermione's nose, and earning himself a slap on the wrist.

"Shh...the movie's about to start," Hermione chastised. "For real now, I can tell." Harry gave her a doubtful look. "No, it's true, I remember. See, you can tell that the commercial things are all ended when the theater starts to get quiet like this." Hermione put her index finger to her lips and gestured for Harry to listen for the tell-tale silence that would precede the actual starting of a movie. As the opening music began, Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and whispered, "You see? Didn't I tell you?"

"Quiet, you'll upset the locals!" Harry berated, as indeed the crowded theater had gone dead-silent, except for himself and Hermione. Hermione gave a little chuckle and settled back into her seat, propping her feet up on the seatback in front of her and leaning her head on Harry's arm. They sat like this throughout the movie, sharing popcorn and occasionally tossing a piece at each other's faces.

"This is comfortable," thought Hermione. "I have someone to snuggle with in Harry." She congratulated herself once again on her strength of character, her stoic grace in accepting a life without romance, and allowed herself to become engrossed in the story that was heating up in front of her. The film had taken a turn for the tragic, and suddenly, as if she had been hit with a charm, Hermione found that her own emotions were being stirred up rather irrationally. As her demeanor became more and more unsettled, Hermione sifted through a series of melancholic thought streams, reminiscing a bit about her own experience with life and love, and death, and then returning her attentions to the storyline. She had quickly deduced by the subtle hints of sad music that the movie's lead female was going to die.

Inevitably, as the heroine eventually found herself lying withered and heartbroken, dying from a most unfortunate bout of a rare disease, little bubbles of pure sadness rose to the tip of Hermione's consciousness. She couldn't reason why she felt such complete disquiet so unexpectedly, and was only half aware that it had nothing whatsoever to do with the movie's plot.

As the movie progressed, Hermione's eyes watered a bit. Philippe, the heroic police detective folded himself over the heroine's spent body and screamed that he'd avenge her before whispering words of love into her hair, causing Hermione to sniffle sadly. Harry nudged Hermione's elbow and gave a soft smile. "You are such a softy," he said as he reached over and took Hermione's right hand in his left one and brought it up to his mouth. Pressing warm, moist lips to her palm, Harry gave it a soft kiss and then lowered Hermione's hand into his lap, caressing it gently and watching her face cautiously.

At this sweet gesture, Hermione's little bubble of sadness burst, and tears came streaming, unwanted down her cheeks. "Sorry," she whispered quietly in Harry's ear. "I'm a sap for sad movies."

Harry chuckled softly and continued to pet her hand gently. "I like that about you," he whispered back. "I'm sitting here wishing that she would just get on with the dying bit so that Philippe can go back to figuring out who set the virus loose." He bit back a smile, adding, "They NEED him."

Hermione smiled. "Good old Harry," she mused. "A true gentleman if there ever was one, and all boy as well." She sighed and allowed a few lingering tears to fall, breathed deeply, and willed her mind to regain control of her senses.

After the movie had let out, the two took advantage of the balmy evening and strolled back down Main Street, sipping coffee from one of the gourmet shops out of Styrofoam cups and chatting lightly. They talked about the actors, laughed at the futileness of Philippe's Muggle weapons, and scoffed at the love story that didn't seem to have anything to do with the rest of the plot.

Hermione stayed only for a bit with Harry in his flat before bidding him goodnight and returning to her own little flat. She had decided that she was still feeling a bit emotionally spent and wanted to summon herself a nice glass of wine and a hot bath before settling to bed. Fueled by coffee, Hermione buzzed around her flat and prepared herself a total, "girly" bath treatment. She had bewitched lavender-scented candles to float around the tub, cast a Cushioning charm on the ancient claw-foot tub, and had poured in a vial of pink everlasting bubbles that now rose several inches off of the water's surface.

"Every once in a while," she thought as she leaned back in the tub and felt her muscles relaxing, "everyone just needs a good cry. And I can't remember having one in years."

With that permission, and egged on by the combined effects of wine and coffee, Hermione allowed herself to cry a bit more, delving morosely into her most emotionally-filled memories. She reflected upon parting words from her three big past relationships briefly and then dwelled on how much she missed her parents now that she saw them only once or twice a year.

She drudged up memories of boarding school at Hogwarts and indulged in the intensity of her feelings of loss surrounding those times. Some school mates and many teachers had died in the war, and others had simply drifted out of her life as they moved on with their own. But Hermione's strongest feelings of loss were focused upon one wizard in particular. She and Harry had been part of a very close trio of adventurers. Ron Weasley, who she rarely ever saw anymore, had been her other closest friend, and had even been her boyfriend for a brief period of time. She couldn't find anything heart-wrenching about her romantic relationship with Ron, however, to dwell upon. It had been sweet and tender, and had ended just as slowly as it had begun. They simply grew up and had different desires for themselves. Hermione's sadness was not born out of missing the romantic relationship she had with Ron, but for the closeness and intimacy that had once defined their friendship. Ron was now married with two children and lived two hours outside of London. Hermione and Harry rarely saw Ron anymore.

"Oh, Ron," Hermione sobbed, tipping her wine glass back into her mouth to empty it. "We miss you, me and Harry. We really do." Having found a new source of melancholy, Hermione cried for a bit longer before toweling off and Vanishing the water and candles with several swishes of her wand.