Small Change

Small Change

"Women!" the man sitting at the bar snarled, "You can't live with them ..."

"... And you can't live without 'em," Tom, the wizened bartender and owner of the Leaky Cauldron, completed the statement. His customer glared at him, emerald-green eyes blazing from behind round glasses, pushing back the sweaty, unruly black hair that had fallen over them - for a moment showing the lightning-shaped scar that at least three- quarters of humanity would have easily recognized.

Tom looked back calmly. 'Been there, done that', he thought wryly. Sooner or later it happened even to the best of them - and when it did, they almost always found their way to the Leaky Cauldron, or the Three Broomsticks, or the thousands of other bars and watering holes that populated every city, town or municipality around the world. Wizard or muggle, they'd walk in as if pole-axed, wondering how the wonderful woman they had married or were living with could turn so suddenly into a raging virago or screaming banshee - and seeking the solace of a bottle or other scarred veterans of domestic battles, venting their ire and frustration to the friendly (but deaf) ears of a million bartenders or their own circle of scarred friends ...

Except that he couldn't believe that that would be happening to the person in front of him. If there was any one couple that he would have bet the Leaky Cauldron on to have beat the odds, it was those two ... he'd first noticed it seven years ago, when Hermione Granger stumbled coming out of the fireplace, falling into a surprised Harry Potter - and the two practically snogging on the floor of the Leaky Cauldron!

Accidentally, of course. But he could never forget the look on the faces of those two - as if they had both discovered a basic truth about the universe ... and that, from then on, because of that knowledge, nothing would ever be the same again.

He sighed, and shrugged. Philosophically, he repeated the line to himself, "It happens to the best of 'em!" and mentally braced himself for the emotional onslaught he knew was coming.

"So what was it this time, Mr. Potter?" he asked, cautiously, in his best lending-an-ear-and-sympathy manner to his current customer. "Money troubles ... where to go on vacation ... who gets to wear the pants in the house? Or did you forget something that was important to her?"

The green eyes blazed, and Tom involuntarily took a step backward. For the briefest of moments, Tom wondered whether those fiery green eyes were the last conscious memory of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named before his final defeat at the hands and wands of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.

But then, the eyes dulled, as if a curtain had fallen over them - and Tom breathed a sigh of relief. Harry Potter whispered to himself, "Something like that ..." and then slapped the shot glass he was holding down on the bar, with a loud "Hit me again, Tom!"

Tom was about to protest, but decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and poured another measure of fire whisky into the glass. Harry held the glass up to him in a silent salute, and chugged it down his throat - and started coughing madly as the alcohol bit his throat and burned its way to his stomach.

He looked at the old bartender, tears in his eyes (whether from the alcohol or the emotional turmoil within him, Tom couldn't tell) and said, in a choked voice, "I'm not going back there, Tom ... not until she crawls to me on her hands and feet ..."

"She will, 'arry," a familiar voice boomed, followed by a hard slap on the back which almost sent him face first into the bar. Tom and Harry looked up into the smiling face of Hagrid, who continued, "she'll come crawling after you on her hands and feet, screaming, 'Come out from under the bed and fight like a man!'"

Hagrid's booming laughter was matched by the raucous mirth of two red-headed brothers who, nevertheless, showed a sympathy and understanding that made Harry believe they had been forced to sleep outside the conjugal bedroom before.

"Give 'arry another one of what he's havin', Tom - and give the Twins and meself the usual," Hagrid boomed out. "We'll take 'im off your hands now ... give 'im some free advice from those who've been there afore!"

Harry Potter shook his head and stood up. Morosely, he followed the three to a corner table, prepared to drown himself in the company of people that he had never believed he would be joining - men who had been thrown out of the house, or had walked out to cool off, after a blazing argument with their significant others.

* * * * *

Hermione Granger was sitting in the shambles of their living room, eyes red and blotchy, cheeks glistening with the sheen of dried tears. Her mind was in turmoil, berating herself yet again for losing her temper ... for losing control ... and over what?

A completely insignificant, totally petty, extremely trivial, and utterly inconsequential matter of a missed program on the muggle satellite TV.

She couldn't understand what had prompted her to such pettiness and sheer narrow-mindedness, but at the time ... it felt good! She'd released a lot of pent-up emotions ... frustrations ... things half-felt but never really understood ... small things that had been building up for months ... all finally, gloriously, released in a single moment of sheer meanness and trivial-mindedness.

No.

She understood perfectly why she did it. She knew - and she just couldn't stop herself. She could have talked it out with Harry ... he would have listened, he would have tried to understand ... but the sheer joy of letting go, and feeling human had been too tempting ...

She felt the tears falling down her cheeks again, as she went back over what she had done.

She could only hope that Harry would understand.

* * * * *

"She what?" The twin Weasleys said in shocked voices. Harry nodded morosely, confirming what he had just told them. "But that ... that's ... insane!"

"Crazy."

"Mental!"

"Senseless."

"Mad!"

"Shut up, you two." Hagrid's demand, delivered in his normal tone of voice, had the effect of quieting the room. He frowned at Harry, as if asking him if there was anything else that he had omitted. Harry shook his head emphatically - there was nothing else worth mentioning! Certainly not what Hermione wanted to watch ...

"Ahem." Four pairs of eyes turned on Tom, who was bringing their drinks. As he set their orders in front of them, he said, in the quiet voice of one who had heard it all before, "She's feeling detached from the real world, Mr. Potter ... she just needs to feel human."

Four sets of jaws dropped at that confident statement. Harry was the first to react: "What the hell does that mean?"

* * * * *

Hermione had drawn the curtains in the living room. Sitting in the dark, her mind turned back on what had happened ... and she started reviewing the reasons for the fight.

Money problems? She smirked. Harry was rich, with or without a job, he had enough money in Gringotts to live the way he wanted and even invest in things he felt were worthwhile ... As for herself, she made decent money as a research associate with the Stonehenge Institute ... No, money wasn't a problem.

Lack of communication? Oh, no ... their habit of completing each other's sentences (which everyone around them noticed since their second or third year at Hogwarts) had grown and improved over the years ... to the point that they often knew what the other was thinking through a simple gesture, or a meeting of their eyes.

Sex? She smiled at the thought ... they never had sex, not even the first time. They made love to each other ... inadequate as it sounded, it was the only way to describe the joining of body, mind, and soul that happened when they were together. Calling it "sex" was, in truth, a private joke for something that was truly indescribable!

Insecurities? Not really ... Harry still carried an insecurity about losing her to someone else, but their mental communication was such that she knew when it was affecting him - and she had always found a way to ease the uncertainty away. As Harry did for her occasional bouts of anxiety about her physical appearance. She smiled at the memory of Harry coming upon her when she was depressed one time at Hogwarts, and his promise to keep telling her that she was beautiful until she believed it ... as well as his shame-faced confession that the reason why none of the boys had ever mentioned her name in their talks was his threat to kill them if they ever said one word about her.

All in all, their world was perfect ... too perfect, she sometimes thought. She knew a lot of people who would have gladly sacrificed their children to some pagan altar just to have a fraction of what Harry and she had. She smirked as she remembered Sirius' comment that most men would give their left nut to be in Harry's shoes ... followed by Ron's crude comment that most men would give both balls to have Harry's fortune - which included Hermione.

She sighed. That was the problem, she knew. Her world sometimes seemed to be too perfect: she had Harry, best friend, companion, lover, confidante, partner ... they had no worries about money, bills, mortgages, credit cards ... plus the fact that they were both magical ...

Which made her feel inhuman at times ... and those were the moments when she needed, she craved for, the ordinary day-to-day problems that people faced every day ... she had to feel as if she were part of a real world, not a made-up, imaginary world like the fairy tale worlds or legends that she had read as a child.

Truth to tell, that was the reason behind her petty meanness that afternoon. If pain was the price paid to make one certain of reality, she would indulge in it when needed ... as she had today, when she missed watching a program she'd wanted to see, and blamed it on Harry.

She suddenly stood up. She needed to talk to Harry now ... it had been hours since he had stormed out of their home ... she needed to hold him, to apologize for her words, to make him understand where she was coming from ... but where was he?

Struck by a sudden inspiration, she ran for her dresser. Yanking out the drawer, she rummaged through the contents, finally throwing everything on the floor in anger ... the hair-comb she was looking for wasn't there.

She slumped to the floor in defeat, face buried in her hands ... more tears falling silently down her face.

* * * * *

Harry listened, wide eyed and mouth agape, as Tom ran through his analysis of what Hermione's problem was. He had to admit that the old man had a point: to any outsider - and even many of his closest friends - it may seem that he was leading a charmed, even perfect, life. He had none of the economic problems most people - Wizard and muggle alike - faced on a daily basis. He was in love with the most wonderful woman in the world ... they had a level of communication (mental and even physical) that most could only dream of ...

Which didn't mean that he was not human. He was just like everyone else in the world ... a little more special than others, perhaps ... a lot more famous than most people were (thanks to Jo and her books) ... but still, at the end of it all, just as mortal, and human as everyone else around him.

Which didn't help his current situation one bit. He didn't know how to deal with this situation now ... even if Tom was right about Hermione's feelings and emotional depression, he wasn't sure how to help her get over it ...

"The big things matter, but the small things are what count."

Harry's head jerked up at that statement; he'd been too engrossed in his thoughts and worries about Hermione to follow where the conversation had gone. At the same time, the words sounded familiar ... he was surprised when he saw the Twins nodding their heads sagely at Tom.

"That's what Professor Dumbledore said at our wedding," Fred was saying to Tom.

Harry's brain clicked - and replayed the scene where Professor Dumbledore had presided over the wizard wedding of Fred to Katie Bell, and George to Angelina Johnson.

"The big things will always be remembered, but the small things are what really count," the old man had started. For some reason, however, Harry felt that Dumbledore was talking directly to him - and Hermione - and not to the crowd of family and friends that had turned out for the Twins' wedding. "Money, fame, jobs, children, and the like, are all part of the 'big' things that everyone pays attention to, that everyone will remember - and everyone will tell you to watch out for. But keep in mind that small things, the everyday occurrences or events that very few focus on, make for a more important element in our lives.

"These everyday moments and memories ... the quiet hug in the morning, the kiss in the middle of the day, the warm hand of friendship and greeting, the rose you give your loved ones whenever the mood strikes you ... make up the real - and more important -- tapestry of our lives.

"And yet, who really pays attention to these small things? They are like small change ... the copper knuts that are far, far less in value than silver sickles or gold galleons ... but when put together, they have a value far beyond what they may imply. What would you rather have, my friends? To wait each day for a golden galleon to come your way, or to save each and every knut that passes by? At the end of the day, you may not have a golden galleon - but you will have hundreds of knuts that, together, translate into tens of galleons.

"Bear that in mind, my friends. The small attentions that we pay our loved ones each day are the small change of life - like a collection of individual knuts, together they form riches that will serve us better whenever dark times are upon us."

Harry shoved his hands into his jacket's pockets, his mind replaying Dumbledore's words. He was suddenly aware of something in his pocket - pulling it out, he realized that it was Hermione's sapphire-studded hair comb - a Christmas gift he had gotten for her years ago, when they were still at Hogwarts. He studied it for a moment ... impulsively, he touched the middle stone and whispered Hermione's name.

His attention was diverted, however, when he heard George say something about Ginny and America. Fred was telling Hagrid that Ginny was currently in America on a special assignment for the Daily Prophet. "She's interviewing wizards and witches who've made it big in the Muggle world ... Mum said she'll be in Chicago today interviewing some big shot TV executive over there."

"Ginny's in Chicago?" Harry asked, surprised. He dropped the comb into his pocket, and focused his attention on the Twins, who were gaping at him, surprised at the sudden light and enthusiasm that was shining in his face. "Is there anyway I can get in touch with her?"

"She talks with Mum via the floo network everyday," George replied. "In fact, she should be calling (he checked his watch) ... just about now."

Harry stood up so suddenly that his chair crashed back. He threw several Galleons on the table, and with a "Thanks, guys! You've been a big help!" and a wave to Tom the Bartender, he Disapparated from the Leaky Cauldron.

The others looked at each other in stunned surprise. "You're not supposed to Apparate when you've been drinking!" Fred protested, belatedly.

Hagrid shrugged, "'at's 'arry for you ... always bending the rules. It must be summat important for him to go like that."

"Well," George said heavily. "Hope he doesn't splinch." He peered down at the money Harry had left and said, "Hey, let's order another round ... it's on Harry."

"Later," Hagrid replied. "We haven't finished this round yet."

The three continued talking. None of them noticed that Tom was talking to a brown-haired woman with tear-streaked cheeks whose face had appeared in the fireplace.

* * * * *

"Thanks, Tom," said Hermione as she turned away from the fireplace. She had missed Harry by seconds ... she had been so shocked when she heard his voice in her head, calling her name, that it had taken her some time to remember that he had her comb. She had asked him to hold on to it after a party ... she had apparently forgotten to retrieve it and place it in her drawer when they got home.

She sighed. Just a few more seconds ... what was so infernally important to Harry that he had Disapparated from the Leaky Cauldron without even waiting for her to try to get in touch with him? She couldn't think of a reason ... but there was a niggling thought in the back of her mind ... something that had been on Harry's mind when he said her name ...

Hermione tried to relax, hoping that her overworked brain would be able to bring the thought back. She heard Harry's voice whispering, "Memories are the small change of life ..." and her mind immediately made the connection to Dumbledore and the wedding of the Twins ...

But her mind didn't focus on Dumbledore's words or the wedding ... instead, a river of memories started cascading through her mind ...

A Valentine's Day when she ended up snuggling with Harry after fuming over Lavender and Parvati stealing, and then enlarging her favorite photo of Harry into a wall sized poster in her dormitory ... Snoggy the Elf and an overheated engine ... the time he'd been complimenting her toes, and he had Apparated to the market for pumpkins and chocolate sauce ... a midnight dare one May Day eve when she'd seen Harry's face looking back at her in a mirror ... a breakfast when she'd taught him the sensuality of toast ...the night he finally worked up the courage to say "thank you" for all the times they'd had together ...a moment when they'd shared fish and chips off newspapers ... the time she kissed his swollen ankle - and found a sure-fire cure for her colds ... that early morning when she'd contrived to make him see her by candlelight ... the flying lessons that he'd given her - especially one time when she fell asleep to his singing Bon Jovi's "I'll Be There For You" ... a day when Crookshanks had attacked him - and he'd fallen into her arms ... their walks by the lake, sometimes talking, more often silently content in their companionship ...

A thousand small memories ... all of them seemingly small and infinitesimal when placed within the context of the "big" events that Jo had turned into a hugely successful series of "adventure/fantasy" books but which, she reflected, were far more important in the total tapestry of their lives ... those small incidents and memories showed, in a way not apparent to most, the nature and depth of what they felt for each other ...

Smitten with a sudden resolve, Hermione went to Harry's desk, intent on finding parchment and a quill, wanting nothing more than to put all her thoughts, memories and emotions into a single shining epistle of her love for the wizard who owned her heart and her soul ... as she picked up a roll of parchment, her eyes chanced upon an old, battered quill that looked as if it had been through a hundred letters ... a thousand notes ... and she stared, goggle-eyed ...

She'd seen that same quill in Harry's hand a thousand times over the years ... he'd carried it everywhere with him ... revising in the Gryffindor Common Room ... scratching away in Potions, Transfiguration, Charms ... writing in front of her ... notes that she later found were short, loving notes addressed to her ... that quill was so much a part of Harry that she had never really taken notice of it ... until now.

It was an old, battered, decrepit, once-luxury eagle feather quill that first came out in 1992 ... just about ten years ago. And the memory again seared through her mind ... she'd bought that quill for Harry's 12^th birthday ... the first-ever birthday gift she'd given him ... there'd been other gifts (including quills) over the years (including a very passionate birthday gift on his 18^th birthday!) ... but he had kept on using this one ...

And Hermione once again dissolved into tears, clutching that old, trampled eagle-feather quill that was just another knut in the treasury of their lives.

* * * * *

Hours later, Hermione started, slowly waking up to find herself slumped over Harry's desk, still clutching the old eagle feather quill ... she looked at the clock on the desk and saw that it was late. Harry still wasn't home ... and she began to worry, wondering which of their many friends Harry was with right now - or which long-legged floozy he'd found solace in ...

In the utter stillness of their home, she heard the unmistakable 'pop' of someone Apparating at the door ... the quiet click of a key inserted into the front door ... and Harry's voice, shouting "Mione? I got it!"

She literally flew into his arms, rocking his strong frame backwards as she jumped on him, hugging him tightly, babbling a mile a minute her apologies, her disjointed thoughts, her protestations of love for him ...

There was only one sure way that Harry knew to shut that mouth ... and he kissed her, deeply, searchingly, lovingly ... pouring into the gesture all the passion, love and, yes, lust that had built up over the hours of their separation, his tongue trying to find her tonsils ... Hermione leading him in, holding him tightly, hands almost tearing his hair out in her frenzy to touch him ...

Inevitably, they had to break away to draw breath ... and though their breathing was ragged, it had the effect of calming Hermione down, and they stood there in their living room, holding each other tightly.

They spoke simultaneously, each speaking the other's name - both of them wanting to be the first to apologize, to be the first to make amends, to be the first to mend the torn and painful memories of that day ...

They paused, looking at each other.

There was no need for words. They hugged, arms around each other, Hermione's head on his chest, Harry's head resting on the soft, brown crown of hair that he had grown to love. They stood there in companionable silence, until Harry spoke, "Mione ... love, I've got it!"

She looked at him, puzzled.

"You wanted to watch it, didn't you?" He said, showing her a VHS tape clutched tightly in one hand.

"Harry ... how?"

He smiled at her. "Let's just say I owe Ginny a considerable favor. If she ever decides to leave the Daily Prophet, she can claim a pension for the rest of her life!"

"Harry ... you shouldn't have! It wasn't that important ..."

"It was important to you, Mione." That stopped her, and she buried her face in his chest again. She heard him saying, "Tell you what ... you get the popcorn ready while I shower and change ... we'll watch this together."

She smiled at him. "Deal."

* * * * *

They snuggled together on the couch as the closing credits scrolled up on the screen, watching as fans, young and old, crowded around the three actors, asking for autographs, or simply to get a chance to shake hands. Hermione had thoroughly enjoyed the show, as Harry watched her in amusement ... laughing at the antics of the three ... gasping in amazement at the special effects used in the movie ... squealing in delight at seeing the lead actress running between tables full of students, straight into the arms of the lead actor, and watching them hug ...

Hermione had insisted on playing and replaying that particular scene several times, as well as several portions of the interviews ... focusing on the interaction between the actress and the lead actor. As the screen turned blank, Harry hit the off button on the remote - and the TV screen blinked into darkness.

Hermione broke the sudden silence. "They're so sweet ... and they look good together! Did we ever look that good then?"

Harry smiled, "As I recall ... your hair was still bushy then ..."

She thwacked him on the arm, "Shut it, you! You're one to talk - your hair never looked that good either!"

He laughed out loud at that, and ran his hand through his still-unruly hair. "So what do you think?"

"I think there's something there ..."

"Mione!" Harry exclaimed, "They're kids, for crying out loud! They're only 13 years old ..."

"So? We were also thirteen once."

"Yeah ... but we weren't making movies when we were 13 ..."

"No ... just fighting Dementors ... saving Sirius from a fate worse than death ... riding Buckbeak ..." Hermione stopped talking as a slow blush crept up her face.

"What?"

"Nothing," she replied, looking away.

Their mental communication system suddenly clicked in - and Harry said, in a high falsetto, "Uh ... Hermione, would you mind holding me a little bit higher? Like, around my waist?"

Hermione threw a cushion at him as her blush deepened even more. Within seconds, they were whomping each other with cushions, as they whooped and laughed with abandon. As they slowed down, they quietly kissed each other and snuggled together again on the couch.

"Honestly, Harry ... don't they look sweet together?"

He smiled at her, "C'mon, Mione. They're actors ... they're supposed to look good together ..."

"And since when have you lost your sense of romance, Mr. Potter?"

He looked at her in surprise, wondering where this was leading. "Mione," he said slowly, "I'm the one who took up Divination, remember? Are you telling me you think those two ..."

"I don't know, Harry. It's just that ... "

"Mione?"

She looked at him and smiled - that smile that was so much a part of his memories that he'd often overlooked them in the past ... until the day he realized that she smiled in that way only at him. It was a smile of deep thoughts ... hidden meanings ... sudden understanding ... and it was the smile that he woke up to in the mornings and the smile that he fell asleep to at nights ...

"I can't help but believe that those two are building a treasury of small memories, Harry ... granted, they may not be out to save the world at age thirteen ... but they're building some great memories together ..." Hermione trailed off, her mind going over the treasury of memories that she and Harry had built up over the years.

"Like Daniel rubbing suntan lotion on Emma's back?"

Hermione goggled at him, "Where did that come from?"

He smirked. "Come on, Mione! What else do you suppose they're gonna do at a water park? Swim?"

Hermione started laughing. "Now that you mention it, Mr. Potter ... we didn't do much swimming the one time you took me to a water park!"

This time, Harry was the one who started blushing. "Well, we weren't thirteen when we went to the water park ..."

"Right, Harry," she shot back in a sarcastic tone, "... we were fourteen!" Hermione laughed at the expression on Harry's face. "Good thing that Jo wasn't there ... as I recall, she caught up with us at the Quidditch World Cup ..."

Her voice trailed off. Harry, picking up on her thoughts and memories, suddenly stood up, and pulled her to her feet. "Enough!" he said in a gruff voice. "You're right ... those two have built up a small treasury of memories together ... but as for us ..."

Hermione smiled at him. "Let's make some more memories, sweetheart."

Harry kissed her on the forehead, and with a sudden move, lifted her off her feet and carried her laughing form into the bedroom.

The End