The Coin

Hermione gazed around her new London flat, a touch of pride filling her that she had been able to afford such a lovely new home for herself. She had fallen in love with it at first sight, but couldn’t resist a few changes to truly make it her own. She had painted the walls a dark taupe color and complimented them with a neutral beige berber carpet. A few well-chosen knickknacks adorned the tables, along with photos of her parents, Harry and Ron. Twin silver candlesticks, a housewarming present from Harry and Ron, sat on the mantle over the fireplace. A few beautiful, but artificial, plants graced the corners and the top of the coffee table. Hermione’s job barely allowed her enough time to feed Crookshanks. Horticulture was out of the question. Her gaze fell on her cat, who was curled up on the overstuffed brown suede sofa, his head resting on his crossed front paws, eyes following her.

“I don’t have time to read to you,” she told the feline. Haughty to the upmost, Crookshanks blinked once, then closed his eyes and ignored her.

Hermione walked over to the window and gazed at the small enclosed garden that joined her flat with the one beside it. In the center of the garden, there was a large oak sheltering an inviting looking swing. Hermione thought it would be a lovely place to wile away a warm afternoon, curled up with a good book. But with the promotion at work, it would be some time before she got to test that theory.

Hermione smiled when she thought about her new title at work, Chief of Research. At 25, she was the youngest witch, or wizard for that matter, to hold that position. But with the added salary came added responsibility, and she knew she was up to the task.

She glanced at the clock on the wall again. Harry and Ron were late. They had arranged to take her to dinner to celebrate her promotion. But if they didn’t hurry, they were going to miss their reservations. Just then she heard the peal of her doorbell, so she crossed the room to open the door to find Harry standing there alone.

“Hi, Harry, where’s Ron? Is he going to meet us at the restaurant?” Hermione grabbed her coat from the coat tree, grabbed Harry’s arm and ushered him back out the door.

Harry smiled at Hermione’s obvious ire. He knew she was going to be flustered that he was late. He also knew that she was going to be even more put out when he told her Ron wasn’t coming.

“Er, Hermione,” Harry began. “Ron couldn’t make it. That’s why I was late. I was waiting on him, and he finally owled me, begging off.” Harry hated to see the disappointed look that sprang up in Hermione’s brown eyes. It wasn’t the first time Ron had disappointed her, Harry thought; and probably wouldn’t be the last. He had hoped that when she and Ron had broken it off five years ago that Ron’s thoughtlessness wouldn‘t hurt her anymore. From the look on her face though, Harry guessed, he had thought wrong.

“What was his excuse this time? He meet some cute little witch that he’d rather spend the evening with?” Hermione asked flippantly.

At Harry’s chagrinned look, Hermione knew her off-handed guess had been correct. She was infuriated that Ron’s irresponsible behavior still had the power to hurt her. “He knew how important tonight was to me, but he blew me off for some little vapid witch. That’s fine then. I know how important he considers our friendship now,” Hermione finished, sniffing slightly.

Harry stopped walking and turned Hermione to face him. “Well, I’m here, don’t I count?” he smiled at her to try to lighten her mood.

“Of course you count, Harry,” Hermione’s scowl softened a bit.

“There’s no place I’d rather be than here with you, celebrating your big promotion. Shall we go?” Harry offered Hermione his arm gallantly. “After all, we don’t want to be late for our reservations, do we?” He grinned down at Hermione. She threaded her arm through his, squeezed it gently and smiled back.

About ten minutes later, they arrived at the restaurant only a few minutes late.

As Harry held the door for her, he whispered in her ear, “We wouldn’t have been late if we had Apparated.”

“Yes, but we might have caused quite a stir among the Muggles if we had suddenly appeared.” Hermione reminded him.

“True,” Harry agreed. “Reservations under Weasley,” Harry told the maitre d’ as he approached but it’s just going to be the two of us instead of three.”

“Yeah, Weasley weaseled out,” muttered Hermione under her breath.

Smiling at her, Harry placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her to a secluded table in the back where the maitre d’ seated them.

The maitre d’ handed Harry the wine list. “Your waiter will be with your shortly. Please enjoy your dinner.”

After the maitre d’ had gone, Harry looked across the table at Hermione, truly noticing her appearance for the first time that evening. She wore a sleeveless chestnut colored crushed velvet dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Now where had that thought come from, Harry thought. Hermione had pulled her shoulder length brown hair back, securing it with barrettes on both sides of her face.

“Hermione. Sorry, I didn’t tell you earlier, but you look beautiful tonight.” Harry complimented.

Color suffused her cheeks at the compliment, but before she could respond, the waiter appeared at their table. They agreed on the house wine and began to peruse the menu.

“Order anything you’d like, my treat,” Harry offered.

Hermione shook her head at him. “But that’s not fair, this dinner was Ron’s idea. You shouldn’t have to pay for everything,” she protested.

Harry flashed her the grin that never ceased to bring a smile to her face in return. “That’s why I’m taking the bill to Ron. I’m ordering prime rib. Blast, should have ordered a bottle of their best champagne, too.”

Hermione smiled. Ron might have been the one that was known for his quick wit and his ease at making jokes, but Harry had always been the one who could truly make her smile.

After the waiter had returned and taken their orders, Harry ordering prime rib and Hermione ordering the fettuccini, Harry brought up the subject of Ron once more.

“Hermione, I’m really sorry Ron blew off dinner tonight. He can be such a great prat sometimes,” he began apologetically.

“You don’t need to apologize for him, Harry. I know better than anyone what a jerk he can be.” Hermione gave a self-deprecating smile. “But I do wonder if he remembered what tonight was.”

“Of course, he remembered we were supposed to take you out to celebrate..”

“No, not that,” Hermione interrupted Harry. At his confused look, she continued.

“This is the anniversary of the date we broke it off. Five years ago today. It was a much different dinner scenario than tonight. That was the fight to end all fights.”

“I didn’t think the two of you would ever speak to each other again.”

“We didn’t for almost a year. I really regretted that. I didn’t want to lose Ron’s friendship simply because we weren’t compatible romantically. I knew when I broke it off that Ron wasn’t going to take it well. But our relationship was getting to the point that I knew Ron wanted more,” Hermione stated, blushing slightly.

Harry, not noticing her embarrassment, asked, “He wanted you two to get married?”

“No, Harry.” Hermione was now blushing profusely. “Ron wanted more.”

“Yeah, Ron sort of hinted that you wouldn‘t sleep with him. He never came right out and said it, but…” Harry trailed off, stuttering, a hot blush now staining his cheeks. “I don’t think he really wanted me to know that after almost five years of dating, you still wouldn’t sleep with him. That’s more information than I needed anyway.”

“I know. I can’t believe I just told you all that either, Harry. But it’s true. Ron and I never had sex, made love, whatever you want to call it. Ron’s kisses were nice but it never made me want more. Shouldn’t you want more when the person you’re supposedly in love with kisses you?” Hermione asked.

“I know Ron wanted more,” Harry muttered.

Hermione nodded her head in agreement. “Yes, he did. That’s why I knew I had to break it off with him. He was pressuring me to sleep with him. If I had given in, it would have been out of a sense of obligation. I knew I didn’t want that for him or for me.”

Hermione was surprised how easily the words were coming now. When she had first started this topic of conversation with Harry, she had felt embarrassed and awkward. The more she shared with Harry, though, the easier it became. It had always been like that with them, especially since they had graduated. They could talk about anything and share secrets, knowing that the other would guard it closely. This was the only secret she had kept from him. She hadn’t wanted her break up with Ron to affect Harry and Ron’s relationship. If Harry knew the whole truth about that night, she had been afraid of how he would react.

Sensing her sudden hesitancy to continue, Harry reached across the table, took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to spare me Ron’s bad behavior, Hermione,” Harry said, as if reading her mind. “I know as well as any what a git Ron can be.”

“I’ve wanted to tell you for the longest time, Harry. I wanted to run to you that night. It took every ounce of strength I had not to.” Hermione admitted.

“Then tell me now,” Harry urged, piercing green eyes staring into troubled brown ones.

Hermione worried her bottom lip, a far away look stealing over her face as her mind took her back to a night she would never be able to forget.

She began her narrative. “You were out of town on Ministry business. Ron had the flat to himself. He invited me over for dinner. When I walked in, I knew he planned to try to seduce me. The room looked like something out of a bad romance novel…not that I’ve ever read one, mind you. Candles hovered in the air all over the room. The vanilla scent was supposed to be seductive, I think…instead, it made me slightly sick to my stomach. Maybe it wasn’t the candles that made me feel queasy. Maybe it was the blatant seduction scene he had set up. I mean, he had mood music playing in the background and a bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire. Or maybe it was the fact that I knew that Ron planned on making love and I planned on breaking up with him.”

Harry nodded in sympathy. “That could have done it.”

The scene flashed vividly in Hermione’s mind’s eye, causing her to shudder.

 

*^*^*^*^*^*^

“Ron, what’s going on here?” Hermione asked, walking into the living area and surveying the scene that Ron had so carefully set.

Ron took her cloak and draped it over the back of the couch. Walking up behind her, Ron slipped his arms around her waist, pulling Hermione back against his body. “Since Harry’s out of town and we have the place all to ourselves, I thought we could have a nice dinner then maybe…” Ron let his voice trail off suggestively. Kissing the side of her neck, Ron let his hands travel a little higher.

“Ron,” Hermione exclaimed, pulling out of his arms and turning to face him. “I think we need to talk.”

Ron grinned at her. “I can think of a lot of things to do with you Hermione and talking isn’t very high on the list.” Taking her in his arms again, Hermione stepped back, caught her foot on a pillow and ended up falling backwards onto the couch, Ron on top of her.

Grinning even wider, Ron admitted, “Now this is right at the top of my list.”

He cupped Hermione’s face gently in his hands. His blue eyes shone down at her with such devotion that she found herself unable to refuse him when he lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss started out gentle, but before long, his tongue ran along the seam of her closed mouth. Hermione granted him entrance, hoping this time it would spark some feeling in her other than the slightly pleasant sensation she was used to.

She wanted to feel the burning passion that she could tell Ron felt for her. She wanted to love him to the depths of her soul and be loved that way in return. She loved Ron; really, she did. But it wasn’t the kind of love that would last forever. It wasn’t the all-consuming love that made you feel as if you’d die if you didn’t have it. Hermione had realized earlier that *that* was what she wanted…and it wasn’t what she had.

Ron’s hands had tangled themselves into her thick brown hair, his body pushing hers into the sofa. Hermione knew she had to stop this before it spun totally out of her control.

“Ron,” Hermione broke her mouth away from his, trying desperately to get his attention. He trailed wet kisses down her exposed throat.

“RON.”

For one terrifying second, Hermione was afraid Ron wouldn’t stop.

Then he pulled away from her, a look of absolute contrition on his face. He helped her to sit up, moving slightly away from her, gulping air, trying to get his raging emotions back under control.

Finally, he managed, “I’m sorry.” Ron took one of her trembling hands in his. “You know I’d never hurt you, don’t you, Hermione?” The look of regret in Ron’s eyes almost broke her heart.

With her free hand, she gently stroked his cheek. “I know that, Ron. But I can’t seem to help hurting you. I am sorry.” Tears pooled in Hermione’s eyes, spilling down her cheeks.

Ron tenderly wiped her tears away with his thumbs. “Hermione, do you want to wait til we get married? Is that it? I will marry you, not just because I want to make love to you. Though I do want that…with everything I have. I love you, Hermione. I want you to be mine forever. I know that’s not the most romantic of marriage proposals but I do mean it,” Ron finished, looking earnestly into Hermione’s eyes.

Hermione felt her heart breaking all over again. Ron was such a good man. He did have his faults. Their history was littered with many ups and downs, and he had a jealous streak she wasn’t fond of. But when all was said and done, she knew Ron loved her. And she was about to hurt him deeply.

“Ron, I do love you,” Hermione began. At his smile, Hermione’s face contorted with grief. She shook her head, “Please, let me finish.”

Ron’s smile faded, but he nodded for her to continue.

“I love you, but I’m not in love with you. You deserve so much more than I can give you, Ron. You deserve someone who will be in love with you. Someone who will throw her arms around you and kiss you back with absolute abandon and no reservations. That’s not me. I can’t do that.”

Ron sat there silently for a few moments, contemplating her words. Finally, he concluded, “There’s someone else, isn‘t there?” he asked, anger and jealousy deepening his voice, tears wetting his cheeks.

Before Hermione could deny that ridiculous accusation, Ron rose from the couch and stalked to the fireplace. “It’s Harry, isn’t it? ISN’T IT?” He turned back to her, shouting, crossing the room and grabbing Hermione by the arms pulling her up from the couch.

“No, Ron. It isn’t Harry or anyone else,” Hermione said in a calming tone. Even though Ron held her upper arms in a vise like grip, she knew that he would never really do her any physical harm. He was simply venting his righteous indignation that she surmised he had every right to feel.

Ron stared into Hermione’s eyes for several interminable moments, then he pushed her away, turning from her so she couldn’t see the tears in his eyes. “Just go, Hermione,” Ron choked out in an emotion clogged voice.

Hermione tried to place her hand on Ron’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort, only to have him jerk away as if he’d been shocked by a high voltage electric wire.

“GO.”

Choking back her own sobs, tears cascading down her face, Hermione grabbed her cloak from the couch and Disapparted with a soft pop.

*^*^*^*^*^

 

As the scene had flashed through Hermione’s mind, she had recounted it for Harry’s benefit, omitting some of the gorier details. No sense lowering Harry’s opinion of Ron or her.

“I can’t believe that you and Ron stayed together as long as you did,” Harry confessed.

“Don’t get me wrong, Harry. Ron can be very charming, pleasant, sweet and funny. But he can also be jealous, quick tempered and difficult to get along with.” Hermione smiled sadly. “We just didn’t suit. We were both simply too stubborn to admit that sooner, and I sincerely wished that we had. It could have saved us both a lot of heartache.” Hermione broke off as the waiter brought their orders. Harry released the hand she had forgotten he was holding. She noticed the loss of warmth right away but pushed the thought to the back of her mind.

Harry picked up his wine glass, indicating that Hermione do the same. “I’m very glad you decided to share that with me, Hermione. Now, let’s talk of pleasant things, like your promotion. That’s why we came here tonight…to celebrate.” He raised his glass, “To Hermione, the smartest, most talented witch I know. It’s about time that those hotshots at your work figured out what I’ve known all along. You’re the best.” He softly clinked his glass to hers. They both sipped their wine, then settled in to enjoy their wonderfully prepared dinners, passing the meal with the easy conversation that comes with years of friendship.

As they were eating their desserts, Harry kept looking up at Hermione, then looking back at his own plate. But it wouldn’t be long before he was looking in her direction again, laughing.

When she could stand it no longer, Hermione asked, “Okay, Potter. What’s so funny? Do I have spinach in my teeth?”

“No,” Harry choked out. “You have whipped cream on your nose.”

Hermione blushed scarlet. Grabbing her napkin, she immediately tried to wipe the offending bit of cream from her nose. She didn’t succeed. She only managed to smear it more.

“Here, let me.” Harry took the napkin from Hermione’s hand, gently wiping the cream from the side of her nose. The laughter died in his throat as she looked into his eyes. He hastily handed her back her napkin, withdrawing to his side of the table with a muttered, “All better.”

Hermione looked down at her dessert plate, twirling her fork in the cream, knowing she’d never be able to choke down another bite past the lump that had formed in her throat. She noticed that Harry didn’t manage many more bites of his pumpkin mousse, either.

Because of the awkward silence that had fallen after the incident with the napkin, she was relieved when Harry suggested he get their coats shortly after he paid for the check.

*^*^*^*^*^*^

Hermione stood waiting nervously by the door for Harry to get their coats when the little old lady who had been seated next to their table approached her. Hermione had noticed the silver haired woman and her husband as they had enjoyed their dinner. She had thought it so sweet that they held hands off and on throughout the meal. Hermione wasn’t good at guessing ages, but she surmised that the couple must have been in their seventies at least. As she watched the woman shuffle towards her, she smiled in greeting, glad for the distraction.

“Hullo there, dear,” the woman stopped close by Hermione’s side. “I hope you don’t mind a nosy old woman bothering you for a moment.”

“Oh, you’re no bother at all,” Hermione smiled kindly.

“I just had to tell you what a lovely couple the two of you make. Why I haven’t seen two people so in love in the longest time. You two remind me of me and my Hubert when we were your age,” the old woman finished, patting Hermione on the arm.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hermione laughed slightly, “but you’re mistaken. Harry and I are only friends. We aren’t a couple.” She resolutely pushed the sensations that Harry’s touch had elicited to the dark recesses of her mind. Those types of feelings had nothing to do with friendship.

The older woman’s piercing blue eyes narrowed shrewdly. “I may not be able to see as well as I could a few years ago, young miss, but I can see plain as day that you are in love with your young man over there.” She pointed a gnarled finger at Harry, who was waiting in a long line to get their coats.

Stifling the contradiction that sprang to her lips, Hermione instead gave in to her analytical side, the one that always had to have reasons and answers for everything and asked, “What makes you think that Harry and I are in love?”

“Why, dear, it’s obvious. I’m sorry if I was staring at you during dinner but I told my Hubert, ‘Hubert,’ I said, ‘Look at those young people, so in love.’ Hubert simply said ‘Yes dear’ and went right on eating his chicken. That’s why Hubert and I are celebrating our 50^th wedding anniversary tonight. He always knows when to agree with me.” The little old lady cackled merrily.

Hermione smiled, and the old lady continued, “You didn’t take your eyes off your young fellow the whole meal. You reached over and touched his hand or arm so many times, I lost count. He held yours for the longest time before your meal came. I could tell you were telling him something serious; he looked so concerned. The reason I was watching was because as soon as you and your young man sat down, I knew that you were the ones.”

“The ones?” Hermione asked, confused. She was becoming more convinced that the old lady was daft and didn’t know what she was saying. Thinking that she and Harry were in love was ludicrous enough, wasn’t it? But now they were the mysterious “Ones”. Hermione cast an anxious look in Harry’s direction, wondering what was taking so long to secure their coats. As nervous as she felt about facing Harry, she really wanted to end this strange conversation and leave the restaurant as soon as possible. Hermione’s confusion must have shown plainly on her face.

“I know, dear. I didn’t believe her either.” The old lady opened her purse and began rummaging around inside.

“Her?” asked Hermione.

“Yes, Esmeralda. The witch. Aha.” The old lady had evidently found what she had been searching for in her purse.

“The witch?” Hermione was beginning to get a very bad feeling about all of this.

“Yes, dear. I know you probably don’t believe that witches are real. But they do exist.”

“Well, actually…” Hermione began.

The woman’s gnarled hand opened slowly to reveal a coin that Hermione could not identify as Muggle or wizard money. It was small, gold and smooth; nothing had been imprinted on it that she could see. The woman took Hermione’s hand curling her fingers closed around the coin. It was ice cold.

The old lady clutched Hermione’s hand tightly with her own and repeated the prophecy the witch had told her 50 years before. “If this coin is held by two who love, its warmth will all surround, but if lost before that love is known, only sorrow will abound.”

A cold chill swept down Hermione’s spine that had nothing to do with the chill caused by the cold piece of metal in her hand. She pulled her hand from the old woman’s but instinctively clutched the coin tighter. Instead of the heat from her hand warming the coin, the icy metal seeped into Hermione’s skin, chilling her to the bone. She hastily dropped the coin into her own purse. For some reason, she knew the old lady would not have taken it back if she offered. Bringing her hands to her mouth, she blew into her cupped palms trying to warm them.

“Lest you think this is all the nonsense of a doddering old fool and ignore the warning, think twice. Failing to acknowledge the truth will cost you everything.” The woman then kindly patted Hermione’s arm once more and shuffled off to join her husband, who waited for her beside the door. Hermione watched as the old man held the door open for his wife, and they walked out into the night.

“That was strange.” Hermione rubbed her hands up and down her arms still fighting the chill that the coin and the woman’s words had caused.

She started slightly when Harry placed her coat around her shoulders. “Here, Hermione. Are you cold?” Harry asked solicitously, his nearness eliciting another involuntary shiver down her spine.

“Yeah, a bit. I’m just ready to go home.” Hermione drew her coat closer around her and took the arm that Harry offered, the contact immediately warmed her. All Hermione wanted to do at that moment was get back to her flat, start a nice warm fire and forget the strange conversation that she had had with the old woman. She especially wanted to forget the woman’s certainty that she was in love with Harry, her best friend. More than that, she wanted to forget the sensations that she felt even now, casually touching Harry’s arm. For some reason those things scared her far more than the woman’s cryptic warning ever could.