Three Seasons to Closure

Chapter 11. A Break in the Routine

On the Saturday following Harry's impromptu visit to Hermione's workplace, he sat at his kitchen table, taking care of bills and other domestic concerns. It felt very odd indeed to be inside just after noontime. And alone. Hermione had sent an owl to Harry's office on Friday morning saying that she had been holed up in her office until midnight every night this week, and wanted to take a break by visiting her parents over the weekend for her birthday. Harry, who had never had any family to pay visits to, couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at his friend's hastily planned trip. It would mean that he was left to himself all weekend, and the idea seemed all but unbearable for some reason. But, as he sat there, his annoyance at Hermione slowly evolved into disappointment with himself.

"It's that stupid spell signature work that I put her up to..." Harry thought. Why had he involved his friend in this affair? He had always prided himself on keeping the more gruesome aspects of the war from Ron and Hermione whenever he could. It filled him with a sense of shame, a feeling that he'd been weak or dishonorable, to have asked his closest friend to help him with his long-standing and quite unhealthy vendetta.

Standing up and reaching his arms up high to give his back a good stretch, Harry made a decision. He was going to ask Hermione to forget all about his trying to find out if spell signatures from the seven arrested Death Eaters were present in the London Mall victims. Harry had already visited many cemeteries - inarguably among the more eerily disturbing errands he'd ever had to perform - and extracted several hairs from the remains of the exploded victims, but he was beginning to doubt the sanity of this particular adventure. Muggle detectives had gone to great efforts to identify and bury any remains that could be found after the mall explosion. It was a tribute to the victims that Harry had found extremely touching at the time, and it had made it almost easy for Harry to locate the graves of the Muggle-borns who had fallen victim to the destructo curses.

But today, on this brisk Saturday in September, Harry couldn't bring himself to feel the same drive toward bringing about a resolution to the whole messy affair. He wanted Hermione back.

On the other side of England, Hermione sat uncomfortably on a Muggle bus, squished between two large men and trying desperately to get a glimpse of the station sign as the bus pulled to a stop. She was unaccustomed to using Muggle transportation nowadays, and was very nervous that she'd miss the stop where her parents waited for her arrival.

"Willow Street, next up," the driver sang in a monotone voice. Hermione gave an apologetic look at her seatmates and gathered her bags, extracting herself from the crowded accommodations. "My stop is up. Please excuse me," she said as she hurried down the aisle. As the bus door opened with a terrible rusty squeak, Hermione let out a squeal.

"Mum! Dad!" she shouted as a huge smile erupted on her face. "Oh, I've missed you!"

Hermione couldn't contain her excitement. She hadn't been home since Easter, and she had been suddenly overtaken with a fervent desire to see her parents. Her home. Every holiday, of course, she celebrated with her Mum and Dad and other relatives, but she relished the rare times they spent together alone, just the three of them.

The handsome, slightly aged couple approached their daughter, both laughing at her overenthusiastic greeting. "My goodness!" Hermione's mother said as she opened her arms for a hug. "You're a happy one today, aren't you?"

The three packed into the Grangers' car and took a short trip to the green and white clapboard bungalow that had been home to Hermione throughout her early childhood. Mr. Granger kept himself dutifully focused on his driving. He nodded politely every so often to show that he was still listening as his wife and daughter chatted endlessly. In the half hour that it took to arrive home, the two women had covered quite a bit of ground, catching Hermione up on the whereabouts of various family members and catching Mrs. Granger up on Hermione's latest academic and professional pursuits. Hermione was usually a right chatterbox whenever someone inquired after her work at the ministry, or her latest university course. But on this bright afternoon, she had done her best to placate her mother with only a series of comments like: "I'm not really allowed to say much, it's ministry business..." and "Oh, you know...it's the usual classroom stuff." Today, Hermione was finding the subject of her career excruciatingly boring.

Hermione smiled as the car pulled into the neat driveway of the Granger home. Through her mother's stories, and by the sight of the neatly trimmed boxwood and vibrant fall annuals that lined the path to the front porch, she knew that life for the Grangers was just as it always was. It was steady, solid, and - apart from an occasional happy or sad event - predictable. As they walked up the driveway, Hermione turned in a circle and took in a nose full of the chilly air. A mild wind was bending the wispy branches of a freshly planted cherry tree, its leaves already yellow from the change in weather. "I love the fall," Hermione sang.

Mrs. Granger laughed at her daughter. "Like it?" she asked, motioning to the landscaped entrance. "We've just had the nursery come and give us all new shrubs and trees. They planted annuals for color as well."

"Yes. It's gorgeous," Hermione replied.

"Figured it was a bit overdue," Mr. Granger piped in, speaking for the first time since he'd first greeted Hermione at the bus station. "We put in all the old plants ourselves the year before you were born."

"How interesting," Hermione said, somewhat noncommittally. "A bit of 'Out with the old, in with the new,' I expect?"

The three entered the old house and Mr. Granger quickly retired to the living room, while Hermione and her mum spent the rest of the afternoon preparing dinner and talking. After a while, Hermione got up to pay her old bedroom a visit, walking out into the hallway and absorbing the familiar sights. There were pictures of herself and her cousins at various ages on the wall, and a floral arrangement in the middle of the dining room table that must have been at least twenty years old. The much-used stair banister still had the same old scratches she'd accidentally added when she used to let her dolls "ski" down it using various contraptions that she'd constructed.

Hermione could see memories everywhere she set her eyes. "What is it with me lately?" she wondered. "I'm like a walking human greeting card or romance novel or something." She sniffed the air again. A roast was in the oven and it was filling her with the feeling of happy anticipation - brought on, no doubt, by an association with all the roasts they'd enjoyed on special holidays throughout the years.

"It smells like Christmas!" she called out to her mum.

"No, not Christmas, dear," Mrs. Granger hollered back. "Just my little girl's birthday, I'm afraid." Hermione smiled. Her mum could always make her feel cherished and loved, just like a little child. She expected that one never grew too old to want to feel that way.

After dinner, it was the two women again, talking over dishes at the sink. Mr. Granger had come to help, but was shoed off by his wife, who obviously wanted as much time alone with her brilliant daughter as she could get. "How long will you be staying, dear?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Just the night," Hermione replied, scrubbing the roasting pan with a scouring pad. "Ooh... it gets so frustrating not using... you know what!" she teased, flashing a smile at her mother. Magic made housework so much more bearable, she thought.

"Never shy away from hard work, honey," Mrs. Granger replied. "Just the night? I was hoping we could do a little shopping or something tomorrow."

"I need to catch the bus in the morning, Mum," Hermione said, looking rueful. "I've got to be somewhere at nine."

"Nine!" Hermione's mother said, a bit taken back. "Well, I expect we'd better set an alarm then."

Hermione smirked at her mum, chuckling.

"You don't need an alarm, do you?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"No, Mum. My wand wakes me up," Hermione said. She always refrained from telling her parents too many details of how magic can be used. This was a left-over protectiveness from the war years. She hadn't wanted them to be mixed up with the horrors that were going on in her then-new wizarding world. Also, Hermione knew that the less the Grangers found out about what kind of trouble she was capable of getting into, the better.

Later that evening, they all settled down in the living room to join Mr. Granger in front of the television. Hermione's dad stared thoughtfully at his daughter for a few minutes, finally asking in a low voice, "Everything all right, honey?"

Hermione felt instantly ashamed. Her father was a man of very few words. The fact that he'd asked such a question would definitely mean that she had caused her parents to worry on her behalf. "Right," she thought, "I drop by with only a few hours' notice. They probably think I've got an announcement of some kind, or something has happened..." She smiled at her father.

"No dad," she said, "There isn't anything wrong. I'm just happy. I wanted to see you guys."

Mrs. Granger sat forward in her chair and spoke to her husband. "So, it's a guy then."

Hermione felt her face heat up, but her father simply nodded his agreement to his wife's assessment and returned his attentions to the television program.

"Mum!" Hermione sputtered. "No, I just... Can't I just visit my parents on my birthday?"

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Granger said, winking. "Anytime." She sat back in her chair, and waited a few moments before adding, "So, are you dating anyone?"

Hermione sighed. Were all mothers, even dentist mothers, cut from the same mold? "No. I'm not dating anyone right now." Not wanting to leave the impression that she wasn't completely satisfied with her life, she went on, "But Harry and I go out all the time. We found this lovely group of people at one of our favorite wizard pubs. He has me exercising. We cook dinner for each other on weekends. And we go to church on Sundays. Nine o'clock mass."

Mrs. Granger's eyebrows shot up and she looked to be suppressing a laugh. "I see," she said.

Hermione's stomach gave a jolt. Why did she always go on when she was nervous? From what she'd just described, it was more like she was married, forget dating someone.

"And how is our handsome, young Harry?" Mrs. Granger asked, fondly.

"Oh, he's great, Mum. He's still with the Au... the wizard detectives. He isn't dating anyone either," Hermione said.

"Oh. Right," Mrs. Granger said, her lips finally winning out and breaking out into a wide smile. "Right. Harry not dating anyone either. Got it."

"Oh, stuff it, Mum!" Hermione teased, tossing a pillow at her mother.

They sat together watching a stale comedy show - one of Mr. Granger's more embarrassing addictions was old variety shows heavily laden with dry humor. As a few hours passed, Hermione stretched into a huge yawn. She sat for a few moments watching her father doze happily on the large sofa. "Honestly, Mum, why doesn't he just go to bed?" she asked her mother. Mrs. Granger just shook her head as if to say, "Some things would just always be."

"Mum?" Hermione said, still looking at her father. "How did you know that he was the one?"

"Well," Mrs. Granger began, "it certainly wasn't his manners." She sat up and studied Hermione. "I guess I just felt like I didn't ever want anyone else," she said. "I knew he had faults, and I still loved him." Mr. Granger turned a bit in his sleep, causing the women to laugh. "Believe it or not, he was quite romantic. I knew he loved me back, and that was what was important."

"Mmm," Hermione sighed. "No real train-stopper there," she thought. "Don't want anyone else, he loves me." She frowned, unintentionally.

"Disappointed?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Oh, no, I just... Well, isn't it possible to feel that way and have it end? I mean, that could be any boyfriend you're talking about." Hermione found a fold in the soft quilt that she'd been cuddling up in and fiddled with it absently. She was not sure what she had expected, but couldn't help but feel let down nonetheless.

"Well..." Hermione's mother said with a caring lilt in her voice, "he was the boyfriend I decided to make it work with." She gave her daughter an encouraging smile. "It's not magic, Hermione."

Hermione crinkled her face as Mrs. Granger continued to give her less-than-romantic take on finding one's true love.

"Sorry, it's just a saying, you know. It is quite a thing, though, for two people to look each other in the eye and decide that they are going to work hard and fight tough to stay together until their deaths. You end up getting mad, losing your way, and then falling in love all over again... as many times as it takes. It's romantic, in its own way, really it is." Mrs. Granger got up and poked her husband gently on the shoulder, waking him and pointing toward the staircase.

"Right," Mr. Granger said in a husky voice. "Goodnight, then." He slumped up the stairs and plodded noisily into his bedroom.

"Come on, sweety," Mrs. Granger coaxed, turning to face Hermione. "You've only got a few hours left before that bus in the morning. We may as well make the best of it."

"What are you on about?" Hermione asked, peering at her mother and yawning again.

Mrs. Granger raised an eyebrow at her daughter. "I'm going to put on a pot of tea, and we're going to talk," she said sternly. "Before too long, you'll be much too busy to spend the night over at your parents' house." She smiled and walked into the kitchen, adding over her shoulder, "I just want to spend time with you while I can."

Hermione smiled and stood up, wrapping the quilt tightly around her shoulders. "Okay, Mum," she said as she shuffled into the kitchen and took a seat at the table.

The two sleepy Grangers spent the rest of the night huddled at the kitchen table, chatting thoughtfully about every subject imaginable. When the sun finally peaked in through the large bay window of the kitchen, Hermione retreated to the bathroom to freshen herself up. She took a quick shower, and did her best to tidy her long hair and splash on a bit of makeup and perfume.

Feeling tired and a bit restless at the same time, she gave herself a once-over before leaving the bathroom, staring critically into the mirror. "Not too bad," she thought, "for a researcher, at any rate." Hermione ran a finger along her cheekbone and tried to envision herself as a guy would see her. Harry had always said that she was pretty, and she kind of felt that way too sometimes, in the right light and with just a little bit of makeup. She had a feminine face, with a nicely formed nose and high cheekbones. Make-up, applied correctly, made her eyes look larger and she thought that, overall, she wasn't unattractive. She had never heard any complaints about her build, either, she mused as she cast a glance at her outfit. Hermione was no blond bombshell, but she was thin and had longish legs, about which Harry had complimented her on many occasions.

"Harry," she thought as she shook her head to bring herself out of the self-gratifying daze she'd fallen into, "has clearly spoiled me rotten with the compliments lately." Feeling slightly shameful and indulgent for thinking so highly of herself, Hermione left the bathroom and walked down the stairs to where her parents were waiting for her, looking a bit sad.

Hermione hugged her mother goodbye, while Mr. Granger loaded the car with his daughter's bags. "'Bye Mum, I'll see you at Christmas!" she said, walking down the front path toward her father's car.

"Goodbye dear," Mrs. Granger yelled after her. "Come back again when you and Harry are ready to admit you're madly in love."

A flush crept up the back of Hermione's neck. Her mother was a brilliant woman... a dentist, a mother, a wife. But, there were some things about the modern world with which she was hopelessly out of touch.

It seemed to take forever for the bus to return to the London station. When she got there, Hermione rented a Portkey from a discreet rental agency located in what looked to Muggles like an out-of-order loo. She transported herself directly to the alley near Saint Mary's and beamed when she saw Harry sitting on the church steps waiting for her with a neatly wrapped present on his lap. It felt like weeks since she'd last seen her best friend, and she fought an urge to run forward and smother him with a huge hug.

When the church service ended, the two friends bristled down the street to Hermione's apartment building, and stood by the fireplace for a few minutes to warm their hands once they'd entered the flat. Harry felt inexplicably insecure, standing there by the fire waiting to be invited to have a seat. He and Hermione had always shared their Sundays together - lately anyway. But, the fact that Hermione had been out of town on Friday and Saturday coupled with the fact that he'd shown up in her office during the week asking her to dinner... All of it, summed together, made him feel rather needy. Embarrassed, Harry attempted to turn matters around by taking his leave and returning to his apartment. "I can entertain myself," he thought. "The Quidditch matches sound just as good coming from my wireless as here and maybe I'll catch up on some paperwork..."

"I'll just be going," he said, turning to his friend and grabbing his wand. "You must have loads of work to do, after having been gone all weekend, and I've got to tidy up the flat a bit."

Hermione frowned. "Can't you stay?" she asked. "I haven't even opened my present yet, and we didn't get to do anything together yesterday." Hermione opened the door to her bedroom, pealed off her cardigan and tossed it on her bed. She returned to the living room and engaged Harry in a sweet smile that he found hard not to relent to, despite the damage to his ego.

"Please stay," she pouted.

"How can I resist?" Harry replied, smiling and shedding his own sweater.

The two made themselves comfortable in the living room - Harry in "his" chair, and Hermione stretched out on the sofa with a book tucked under her arm. She was wrapped up in her gift from Harry - a wonderfully warm, yellow chenille blanket that had reminded him of the one he'd recently transfigured from a pile of leaves. It pleased Harry very much that she truly seemed to love the present.

"Comfy there?" he asked.

When no reply came from Hermione's direction, Harry realized that she had fallen asleep. "She works too hard," he thought. Taking his friend's state of consciousness as a key to leave, he withdrew his wand from his pocket and pointed it at his chest.

"See you later," he called out to the sleeping witch, and he Apparated home.