Uncharted Horizons

Chapter One

A Time of Decisions

He walked slowly up the leaf-strewn cobble stone that paved the path to his home, broom in hand, his unruly, jet-black hair made all the more tussled from hours of flying, his usually brilliant green eyes dulled with weariness, Harry Potter sighed. He stopped for a moment, closing his eyes against the dying warmth of the setting sun, listening to the rustle of the gold and brown leaves above as the evening wind ran its cool fingers through their branches. He wished, just for a moment, that he were a kid again, not that he ever really was one. It's not like he was allowed the luxury of simply enjoying his childhood, his adolescence, his innocence. It's not like his biggest worries growing up were if his house team had a chance to win the quidditch cup that year, or if he could gather up the courage to ask a girl out to a Hogsmead weekend. No, he couldn't, not when he had the fate of the entire wizarding world upon his shoulders. For Harry Potter was the Boy Who Lived, the hero, the young boy fated to defeat the greatest evil that the wizarding world had seen in half a century--Voldemort. And defeat him Harry did, at the end of his 7^th and last year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with the help of his best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

To the rest of the world, it seemed that Harry had effortlessly, magically, gotten rid of the Dark Lord. Questions about the exact details of his defeat were never fully publicized. And in truth, most people were too busy celebrating the good news, and too relieved that it was all over to want to probe more into the matter. As it turns out, this was rather fortunate for the trio, because none of them really cared to revisit that particular triumph, if one might call it that. For them, it was not a true victory, because it came at great cost. Besides the death of Sirius at the end of Harry's fifth year, a death that Harry was mourning to this day, they had lost quite a number of the Order along the way, among them being the distinguished auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt, the ever vigilant, eccentric ex-auror Alastor Moody, the giant of a man, their good friend and mentor, Rubeus Hagrid, and most regrettable of all, Albus Dumbledore, the leader of the Order of Phoenix, their headmaster, friend, teacher, mentor...the list of what that man had meant to Harry was too long for him to even begin contemplating. In short, the loss of Dumbledore was sorely felt, not just by the trio, but by most of the wizarding world as well. Harry could still remember the last words that Dumbledore spoke to him right before he passed away. He had spoken of bravery, of his faith in what Harry will accomplish, and most importantly of all, he had reminded Harry that there was nothing in this world more important than the love and friendship that Harry had gained from the two people closest to him, and that he should not lose sight of it in times of great need. Harry had taken those words to heart, and the trio had accomplished the unthinkable, and had grown even closer because of their shared experiences.

It's funny how a simple thing like knocking out a troll can change a person's life so completely, mused Harry as he walked up the steps to the quaint little cottage he shared with his two best friends, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Harry couldn't imagine what his life would have been like without Ron and Hermione. Upon their graduation, Harry had found himself with no place to go. He certainly wasn't about to go back to the Dursleys and their horrible cookie-cutter lifestyle, not that he would have been welcome there anyway. He couldn't very well stay at Hogwarts, and for once in his life, he found that he didn't want to. With the headmaster gone and all of his friends moving on with their lives, Harry felt with no small regret that what had once been his home and refuge, was no longer. The Weasleys had extended an invitation for Harry to stay with them as long as was needed, but Harry wasn't about to impose on them, despite loud protestations from Ron and Mrs. Weasley that he would never be a burden to the Weasley family. But Harry had his own ideas. He wanted to be independent, he wanted a taste of what freedom was like, he wanted to just live and let live for a while.

At the time, when the scouts for the major quidditch teams found out that Harry was interested in playing professionally, nearly every team had sent him invitation owls offering him a walk-on for any position he so desired. Harry had taken cursory glances at those letters, binned them, and went to the one team that had not sent him a letter, the newly reformed Banchory Bangers, possibly near dead last on the European Quidditch League at the time, and asked for a try-out. The team coach and managers were baffled but delighted that the greatest hero in the wizarding world would choose to play for them, and offered him the position of reserve seeker, after Harry resolutely refused to have them boot their existing seeker from his position. But after just two practices, even the old seeker grudgingly admitted that he could never hope to match Harry in skill, and willingly retired. Thus, Harry became the official Bangers seeker, and had shacked up with the rest of the team, much to the consternation of Hermione and the Weasleys. Ron had refused to speak with him for a month, after finding out that Harry could have signed on with the Canons, where he himself had been accepted as reserve keeper. Molly and Hermione were more concerned about the hygiene and food nutrition in the players' barracks, fearing that Harry wouldn't be able to properly take care of himself. But Harry convinced them all that it was what he wanted to be doing, and reminded them that if he survived Voldemort, he was more than capable of surviving life in the quidditch barracks. Two years later, the Bangers had changed dramatically for the better. Word had spread that the Boy Who Lived was playing for this team, attracting a wide fan base. And with Harry's encouragement, the team had hired a bran new strategist/trainer: Ronald Weasley. As it turned out, Ron was a much better trainer than he ever was a player, as his disastrous season with the Canons had proven. But considering Ron's prowess at chess strategy, this came as no great surprise to anyone. Currently, the Bachory Bangers ranked well above Ron's old favorite team, the Chudley Cannons, and were outstripped in England only by the Montrose Magpies.

Harry and Ron had decided to pool their money and get their own place after a few years, when both had been doing very well owing to the Bangers' fast rise to fame. Hermione, who had been dating Ron since their seventh year, decided to go along with her boys. She had been in mediwitch training at the time, and had precious little time she could devote to vetoing all the bachlor-pad flats that Harry and Ron were rather keen on. So she took charge, and was the one who had found, after months of planning and searching, their current abode. It was a small four-bedroom cottage off the coast of Devon County. The trio had fallen in love with the privacy afforded by the small orchard that surrounded the outer half of the house, and the near panoramic view of the ocean the other half offered. It was at the back of this house that Harry now stood, after stowing away his Aero 3000, the newest, top of the line racing broom. Harry took in the glorious sunset on this last day of October, 2006, took a deep breath, and wondered how he was going to tell Ron his news.

For a while now, Harry had been contemplating quitting the team. He loved quidditch with a passion, he loved the thrill, the beauty of flying, unhindered through the skies, he loved the adrenaline rush as he goes after the snitch, diving and maneuvering at break-neck speed. But he knew that he couldn't play quidditch forever. The problem was that he didn't know exactly what he wanted to do with his life. It wasn't like he needed to work to earn a living. Harry had been meticulously investing the trust fund left by his parents ever since he left school, spreading it out in a number of wizarding and muggle developments in Britain, and the US. And now after eight odd years, he found himself to be a quite wealthy man. Having grown up being treated like a house elf by the Dursleys, Harry didn't really know how to take to wealth. He contemplated seriously about giving half of what he owned to the Weasley family, who over the years had just about adopted him in all but name. Harry couldn't think of any other couple more deserving of a little wealth than Molly and Arthur Weasley. In reality, Harry would have traded every penny of what he owned to have a family like the Weasleys, a real family, full of noise and laughter and undisguised, genuine love--all the things he'd never had growing up. He sighed, running his hand through his nest of unruly black hair, and walked into the house.

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Hermione Granger stood by her bedroom window, a cup of tea in hand, smiling as she watched her best friend make his way into the house, his hands if possible messing up his mop of black hair even more. That gesture was so characteristically Harry, she observed. Whenever he was troubled or lost in thought, his hands could be found running itself through his hair, making it stick out in every direction. Hermione wondered what was bothering Harry today, but then remembered that it was Halloween, the anniversary of the night his parents were killed, 25 years ago. She made a mental note to try and cheer him up tonight. Maybe when Ron came home, they could all go out for dinner somewhere and then a movie in muggle London.

She turned around and took a sip of jasmine tea, her favorite. It always seemed to calm her down, yet was strong enough for her to clear her mind. She loved the way that her life had turned out. Professionally, she was at the top of the world. Hermione was currently the youngest research department head of developmental charms in the history of St. Mungos Hospital. She had gotten her mediwitch degree from the Stonehenge University for Magical Medicine in just under 2 years where it would have taken the average person 4. She had gone on to impress and astound the Board of Directors at St. Mungos, as well as the rest of the wizarding world, with her ability as a researcher of developmental medicinal charms by finding a way to restore the minds of patients who had been tortured by the Cruciatus curse. That was nearly three years ago. Now, she divided her time between heading the research for a defense against the Avada Kedavra curse, and chairing the E.L.F (Elf Liberation Front, formerly known as S.P.E.W, a name that in the end, Hermione decided to abandon in favor of the now much simpler and more elegant acronym) as well as the WWLF (pronounced "wolf"), or Wearwolf Liberation Force, the development of which was responsible for Remus Lupin's recent promotion as the head of the Auror division in the Ministry of Magic. At home, Hermione found love, comfort, and solace in her best friend Harry and her long time boyfriend Ron. "What more could a person ask for?" she thought to herself.

"I'm home!" Hermione heard the front door open and close. She smiled. She would know that voice anywhere: loud to the point of boisterousness, having never quite lost its child-like tone--Ron Weasley had come home. Hermione put down her teacup and went downstairs to greet her boys.

"Ah, the love of my life!" exclaimed Ron dramatically as he caught sight of Hermione, dropping his things with a flourish on the floor, and scooping her up in a giant, twirling hug.

"Somebody's in a good mood," laughed Hermione, planting a kiss on his forehead. "What happened, did those twin terrors that you call brothers sneak one of those blasted PermaCheer cherries in your ice cream sundae?"

Ron's face took on a look of mock hurt. "Can't a bloke be simply delighted to see his girlfriend at the end of a very, very long day?"

"Oh really, well why don't you show me just how delighted you are..." Hermione murmured in a low, husky voice, smirking. She ran her tongue slowly across her bottom lip. Ron swallowed, and Hermione felt a secrete thrill at seeing the reaction she had caused. They leaned into each other...

"Ahem Ahem..." coughed a voice from behind, "get a room, for Merlin's sake."

Hermione pulled away from Ron and turned around. "Hi Harry!" she smiled, blushing.

"Aww. Blast, mate! You really do know how to interrupt a moment don't you." Ron mock pouted, and then, waggling his brows suggestively, "Well, Hermione, what say you and I take up Harry's offer and finish this upstairs..."

"Oh Ronald, stop it!" laughed Hermione, a blush creeping onto her face. She elbowed her boyfriend in the ribs.

"Ouch! Bloody hell woman, I swear one day you'll be the death of me," Ron cringed, dramatically rubbing at his side.

"If you've finished being a baby," scowled Hermione, crossing her arms, "I was going to suggest that we go out to dinner tonight."

"What's the occasion?" asked Harry, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket, and tossing one at Ron. Hermione watched amusedly as they both wiped it unceremoniously on the sleeves of their robes before biting down on them with two loud, matching crunches.

"It's Halloween guys! We should go celebrate. Honestly, I think the Halloween feast is one of the things I miss most about Hogwarts..." Hermione sighed, a nostalgic look on her face.

"You know Hermione," began Harry, leaning thoughtfully back against the counter, "it's never too late to revisit old times..."

"That's right Herm," piped up Ron, sharing a devious look with Harry.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the boys, knowing they were up to something. "What are you...why are you looking at me like that?!"

Harry and Ron were now advancing towards her with identical smirks on their faces, their hands behind their backs.

"Oh no, no no no! Ronald Weasley! I'm warning you, keep your hands off! Harry James Potter! No, no don't!"

But Hermione's pleas were lost amongst her shrieks and the boys' laughter as Harry and Ron mercilessly tickled her. If Hermione had one weakness, it was that she was tremendously ticklish. Harry and Ron had found that out in 6^th year, when they discovered that a bout of severe tickling was the only thing that could get Hermione away from the N.E.W.T. revision books that she laboured over every night. The trio landed in a laughing, panting heap on the middle of the kitchen floor, with Hermione gasping for breath.

"That *gasp* was so unfair *gasp*!" she panted, trying to slow her breathing down. She smacked both boys soundly on the back of their heads.

"Ow!" they both yelped, rubbing at their heads.

"Woman can sure pack a punch, eh?" Ron nudged Harry, winking. Ron broke out in uncontrollable snickers at Harry's comprehending look of abhorrence.

"You know," said Harry slowly, eyes closed, "it's great and all that you two are together, but for Merlin's sake spare me the details!"

Ron just laughed harder, making Harry glare.

Hermione stood up, rolling her eyes. "Now, I'm going up stairs to shower and change for dinner. When I come down I expect to find the both of you dressed and ready. We're going to Muggle London, so Ronald, mind that you don't come out dressed in another outlandish outfit," she said in a no-argument voice, and then marched out of the room with as much dignity as rumpled clothing and mussed up bushy hair allowed on such occasions.

"Hey! That was once, once that I was in that bloody Cuba diving thing, and it was Fred and George who sold me the costume!" Ron yelled after her, feigning indignance.

Harry and Ron lay on the floor, laughter still lingering in the air.

"Oy mate, what say we play a game of chess while we're waiting for miss I-take-hours-to-get-ready eh?" Ron joked.

"I heard that Ronald Weasley!" floated down Hermione's voice as she paddled to the shower in her dressing gown. "And I'm going to be ready in exactly 30 minutes this time!" They heard a door shut and the shower being turned on.

"Yeah, right," snickered Ron, "maybe when garden gnomes start helping with the chores."

"OK mate, let's play some chess then," Harry agreed, getting up off the floor and pulling Ron up.

As they sat down at the kitchen table, Ron busy giving his white pieces directions to place themselves in the proper positions, Harry decided to tell him about quitting the team. A small part of him insisted that this was a bad idea as he remembered how mad Ron had been about him not playing for the Cannons. And now, he wasn't just picking a different team, he was leaving the team altogether, and he had no better reason other than the fact that he was feeling...unsatisfied with his life. He hesitated, and hesitated some more, as he steadily lost to Ron.

"Hey mate, I know you're bad at this, but at least give it a try...Hello! Earth to Harry! It's your move mate." Ron's inquiring voice snapped him back to reality.

"What? Oh right," Harry moved his bishop out of the way of attack from Ron's knight.

"Check," said Ron, shaking his head with a half smile. Harry hastily castled the king, but then quickly realized that it had been a futile attempt.

"Checkmate!" said Ron, grinning unceremoniously. "Maybe next time eh?" He patted Harry on the arm reconcilingly. Harry sighed and slumped back in his chair.

"Ron," he began, but then stopped.

"What, mate?" Ron asked, seeing that something was obviously bothering Harry.

"The thing is," Harry said, pausing, wondering exactly how to word it.

"What is it mate? Did something happen? Just say it already Harry!" Ron implored, concern radiating from his eyes.

"I'mthinkingaboutquittingtheteam," Harry blurted out, and let out a breath.

"What? Come again?" Ron frowned.

"I'm thinking about quitting the team," Harry said clearly, looking Ron in the eye.

Ron looked nonplussed.

"What do you mean you're thinking about quitting the team?" he asked, frowning.

"I've drawn up all the papers Ron, I'm going to owl them to team headquarters first thing in the morning." Harry said quietly.

Silence.

"Erm, Ron, did you hear me?"

Ron all of a sudden stood up from his chair so violently that the chess pieces on the table scattered, falling every which way and screaming murder with their tiny voices.

"Bloody hell! WHY?! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR BLOODY MIND HARRY? Why, WHY would you want to quit the team when we're nearly number one in the country, which we will be once we kick the arses of the Magpies at national championships?!"

Ron's face was the color of a ripe tomato.

"When were you planning on telling me this Harry? When they announced it from the Daily bloody Prophet that my best friend and star seeker has quit the team and is going to retire to some tropical island in the middle of nowhere?!"

Harry froze for a second, wondering if it was a coincidence, then shrugged it off.

"Whoa mate, calm down Ron. Listen! Would you shut up for a second and let me explain?" Harry held up his hands and looked at Ron appealingly. He sighed, "You'd better sit down, mate."

Ron glared at Harry, and then sat down reluctantly, crossing his arms, "well, go ahead then, explain."

Harry took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. "I don't know Ron. I love quidditch, I really do. But I can't do this forever! I feel like--I feel like ever since the war ended, I've accomplished nothing!"

"Now look here mate," interrupted Ron, "what do you mean you haven't accomplished anything?! I mean, gods Harry, the team is alive because of you!! We're the best team out there, and you know it--"

"No, Ron," Harry held up a hand to stop him, "let me finish. I'm not talking about the team. I'm talking about me, my life! Gods! I've thrown myself into quidditch after we graduated because I felt like there was nothing else I could do. I didn't want to be hired just because of my name. I wanted to spend some time figuring out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, and quidditch was something I could do without thinking, it was something, and still is something, that I love with a passion. But even though I still haven't the faintest clue of what I want to do with my life, I know for sure that quidditch isn't it.

"I'm not like you Ron, you love your job, and you're so good at it! This is something you've always wanted to do. But I...I thought I wanted to be an Auror, but after Voldemort, I don't know mate, I just didn't want to have to deal with all that again. Unlike what everyone thinks, I'm not the bloody savior of the world! I'm just me. I'm just Harry. And right now, Harry needs some space, some time to think and figure out exactly what he's going to do with the rest of his life...like, I want to get away for a little while, away from here, from all of this! Do you know what I mean?" Harry paused and looked up at Ron. He'd expected Ron's reaction to be strong, and he only hoped that it wasn't going to be a replay of the Cannons deal. To his surprise, instead of anger and accusation in his friend's eyes, he saw...compassion, and sympathy, and a hint of an inexplicable sadness.

"Harry, mate. I--I'm sorry I blew up at you," Ron began quietly, "but you have to understand that this comes as sort of a shock to me...after all these years! I always thought we'd work together, you know, like a team. And all of a sudden you say you're leaving...aw, blast. I don't know how to describe this!" Ron tugged at his hair in frustration.

Harry sat there dolefully.

"Harry," Ron continued after a while, "you know that I'll be here for you no matter what right? I mean, you're my best friend, and mate, I understand. I know that there's loads of crap you've got to work through, but I just kind of hoped that we'd be able to help you through all that, Hermione and I, like we always did before..."

"I know Ron, I know. And believe me, you have helped!" Harry smiled, and playfully punched Ron on the shoulder. "Besides, it's not like I'm going away for good. You're not getting rid of me that easily!"

Ron slowly grinned, and snapped his fingers, "Yea, drats, I knew it was too good to hope for!"

They bantered back and forth for a while, feeling slightly more at ease.

"So, have you got any plans?" Ron asked. "Going to retire to a tropical island in the middle of nowhere with a fit bird on each arm?" he joked, laughing, but stopped at the sight of Harry's serious face. "You're not seriously moving to a tropical island are you?!" Ron squeaked, eyes wide.

"Well, I was actually thinking about paying a visit to this property I own in Hawaii," Harry shrugged, "Merlin knows I need a tan, and I've always wanted to try surfing!" He grinned, waggling his brows suggestively. "And who knows, maybe the bird on each arm part might come true as well."

"You know Harry, before you go and desert us all for the tropics, I've some news to tell you as well..." Ron began. His ears started to turn pink.

"What is it mate?" Harry asked, half amused and half alarmed by the discomfort on Ron's face. Ron took and deep breath, and looked straight into Harry's eyes.

"I'm going to ask Hermione to marry me."

Harry stared. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Harry stared some more.

"Well...say something for Merlin's sake!"

Harry shook himself, and looking as if he had swallowed something entirely too large for his esophagus, stuttered, "Well, uh...well mate, wow! I mean, whoa, I completely didn't see that coming...I mean, well I did expect it to happen but this is quite sudden and all..."

"Quite sudden?!" Ron interrupted, frowning, "Harry, we've only been together for, oh, nearly seven years! I love her, and she loves me, and we're really happy together, how much longer should we wait to get married?" Ron stood up from the table and started to pace, "I mean, do you really think I ought to wait a bit longer? I personally wouldn't mind, really, it's just that sometimes I feel like it just makes sense to settle down. We both have jobs we love, and I know that with the team I'm gone a lot of the time, but it won't matter once we get married see, because we're going to be together for the rest of our lives!" He faltered a bit here, and Harry opened his mouth to try to get a word in, but Ron started again. "And you know Harry, it's not like we're getting any younger. Every time I go to the Burrow now Mum keeps telling me about how she's already had 3 kids by the time she was 25. I mean, I know Mum's not the subtlest person in the world, but seriously, it's not like I'm still a free fish in the sea, I don't see why she doesn't get on your case more...but you know, Mum's right about some things Harry, we're nearly 25, and I've never even been introduced to a single one of all those girls you're reputedly shagging--there isn't something you want to tell me is there?" Ron cast Harry a worried glance.

"Oh for Merlin sake, would you shut up for a moment Ron?" Harry shouted, rather peeved about the last comment. "For your information, I am not shagging anyone at the moment, and no I am definitely not gay, if that's what you were implying!" Harry glared at Ron. "And why is this conversation suddenly about me anyway? Look, mate, I think it's brilliant about you and Hermione. I mean, you're my best friends, and I'm really, really happy for you. I mean it." He stopped, looking Ron in the eye. "But mate, take care of her, promise me that! Hermione is a really special girl, I love you both, and I don't want to see either one of you get hurt."

"Harry of course I'll take care of her, you know I love her! I'd never do anything to hurt Hermione." Ron walked around and put his hands on Harry's shoulders. "And Harry, you promise me something--come back to us. Whatever happens, however long you need to think things through, we'll always be here, because this is your home Harry, and we, well, we're family. You know that right?"

Harry smiled, "I know Ron, I know." They embraced, not the sort of manly, slap each other on the back bloke-embraces, but a real embrace, each too overcome with emotion for words. And then the moment was gone, when Ron cleared his throat loudly, slapping Harry on the back and disentangling from him, his ears still pink.

"So, when are you planning to ask her?" Harry questioned.

"On our anniversary, which is in, oh, two weeks." Ron replied, looking a bit pale.

"You'll be fine mate." Harry laughed, clapping Ron on the back.

"Yeah, you laugh now, when are you going to tell Hermione that--" Ron stopped short.

"Tell me what?"

Harry looked up to see Hermione standing at the kitchen doorway. He stared for a moment. She was wearing a soft blue cardigan over a tan argyle skirt, her bushy hair straightened to a soft wave and tied at the nape with a blue ribbon. She was absolutely beautiful. Ron cleared his throat, bringing Harry out of his daze. Harry ran his hand through his hair, sighing.

"You'd better sit down, Hermione."