Chapter 2
Harry came when Hermoine called.
Although less willingly. And carrying an armful of Hondeydukes’ saltwater taffy.
To the surprise of no one who knew him, Harry never went anywhere silently. Hermione theorized that the need to make his presence known was a side effect of childhood stardom, yet it could very well be Harry’s God-given effect on every room he entered.
Even just the action of opening a front door was characteristically loud, slightly messy, and hopelessly chaotic.
So when Hermione heard commotion emerge from the foyer that resided underneath her temporary bedroom- slightly muffled yet entirely distinctive of the Golden Boy- she took off flying down the stairs two steps at a time.
On her descent, her corduroy jacket snagged on the exposed wood of the banister, tearing a hole the size of her index finger into her pocket. She would have- should have- cared about dismembering one of the only clothing items she had salvaged from her childhood bedroom in the dead of night.
But, as always, all her anger and anxiety seemed to dissipate when she saw him, peering up at her apologetically underneath his mop of shaggy hair.
“Sorry.” Were the first words out of Harry’s mouth. He smiled then, as he often did, and she resisted the sudden urge to break down entirely.
He was like a puppy- young, impressionable, and entirely too childish to have the weight of the world placed upon his shoulders. It was in moments like these- when his eyes flashed in the sunlight and the sherpa thrown over his shoulder seemed entirely too big- that Hermione forgot Harry Potter and knew only Harry from that fateful day on the train.
“It’s okay. Always will be.” She responded, her throat choked from the memory of before. He threw her a comforting smile, and she knew that he understood the underlying meaning.
From behind Harry emerged Ron, his broad shoulders having to duck under the oak doorframe.
Hermione found herself staring at this new boy- man?- who’d grown from the shell of boyish Ronald Weasly.
His hair was shorter, seemingly buzzed in a style she knew to be distinctively muggle. His arms, once thin and clumsy, now seemed to be chiseled from marble itself. The dark navy hoodie draped over his frame felt familiarly awkward but in an entirely different way.
While the jumper would have once swallowed him whole, no doubt a hand-me-down from his brothers, it now seemed entirely too small. As if he had shed old skin and now, ashamed, begged to crawl back inside of its comforts.
Realizing that she was staring rather unabashedly, Hermione diverted the discomfort by stepping down from the landing and swallowing Harry in their first real hug in months.
He buried his head in her wild expanse of curls, his neck smelling of cashmere, oak, and vanilla bean- a scent distinctive of only the Burrow. She pictured the two of them- grown-up imaginings of their childhood selves- playing quidditch in the patch of grass beneath the guest bedroom that she always occupied and felt sick.
Ignoring the urge to puke in the nearest loo, she drew him closer and felt his breath regulate until his heartbeat was somewhat calmed. “We need to talk,” She whispered and felt him nod before reluctantly pulling back.
“You two need to talk.” He mouthed, motioning to Ron’s uncomfortable stance and desperate attempt at avoiding eye contact.
A shot of ice sliced through Hermione’s lungs at the suggestion, yet she didn’t let it show on her face.
When the moment of relief at their collective safety passed, the trio remained standing as they awkwardly surveyed one another.
As Harry mindlessly shuffled from foot to foot and Ron refused to set down their packs wearing an expression close to a scowl, Hermione came to the painfully obvious realization that something had shifted in their dynamic.
The two boys reeked of a life without her.
Harry’s jacket, shoes, and smile were all new. His rucksack bag was from a country that she had never visited and his ripped jeans had grass stains from rolling around a home where she was no longer welcome. He fiddled with a light blue bracelet of which she didn’t know the origin, and there was a new emotion concealed behind his usual performative nature- a sense of longing she had only ever seen when talking about his parents.
Ron’s unfamiliar haircut, his strange muggle cologne, and the new way that he carried himself- as if he was scared of his own physical strength- were so foreign that Hermione almost mistook him for any other young adult on the London streets. A silver chain hung from his neck, and she was shocked to notice a hint of a tattoo emerging from beneath the hood of his jumper.
He refused to look at her. An action she understood, despite its sting.
The only thing constant in his gaze was the freckles that dotted his cheeks like glimmering suburban street lights at dusk. She urged away the memories of seeing those freckles up close, smiling against them in between kisses and cradling them underneath the Burrow’s kitchen window.
The pain was so raw it almost split her in two. In fear of saying something reckless, she opted instead to break the silence.
“I missed you two. Immensely.”
“I can’t even tell you, Hermione,” Harry laughed, though he let his exhaustion ring through. “How much I’ve waited for the day I hear your voice again.”
Hermione’s face lit up yet her insides felt as though they were shriveling.
You could have heard it yesterday, She longed to say. And the day before that. And every moment after.
She had long since accepted that she would follow the two of them to the ends of the world if that was what they requested of her. It never occurred to her before the last few months that this offer would never be returned.
“Where were you?”
Harry’s smile fell, though only slightly. “That’s what we need to speak about actually.”
Horcruxes then.
Playing the part of the wonderstruck female, Hermione’s eyes widened and she nodded fervently. “Okay,” She allowed concern to creep into her tone. “Yes, of course. If it’s urgent.”
“We’re fine,” Ron cut in, dropping two bulging duffels onto the hall table as though they weighed nothing more than a bag of sugar. “Harry’s just being dramatic.”
Exhaling with a laugh, Harry shrugged his bright red fleece jacket off his shoulders- which were still comfortingly boyish to Hermione’s delight.
“Living with him is impossible you couldn’t even begin to comprehend how messy…”
Harry trailed off and let the air between the trio turn stale as he realized what was said. As if he had remembered that Hermione could very well begin to understand. That, during the previous summer, Hermione had woken every morning in the Burrow. That she had gotten used to the constant, comforting clutter that filled every nook of Ron’s childhood bedroom.
That it had taken her months to learn not to relive those memories vicariously.
Getting acclimated to the constant mental punches to her gut, Hermione laughed in the way she often did before the war and allowed the words to ripple off her back.
“I bet,” She grabbed one of their packs from the table and lugged it over her shoulder. “Rooms are all upstairs, although I have dibs on the one right above us. If you two need help setting up..."
“Thanks. We got it.”
Ron’s voice was gruffer than she’d remembered, airing on the side of typical masculine aggression that she had never heard from him before.
“Okay,” She relented. “Suit yourself.”
She let the bag drop from its perch on her shoulder and watched as its impact caused dust to fly up into the rafters. As she turned, she saw Harry shoot Ron a questioning glance, as if begging him to play nice.
“The rest of the Order will apparate in soon, I imagine,” Hermione called, making her way back up the stairs. “If you need me I’ll be-”
“Reading?”
Harry’s voice was teasing, yet she seriously wondered if that was the only personality trait of hers he had remembered.
They had all become shells of their childhood selves. Empty corpses of the true heroes they once were.
“Yep,” She lied, allowing her pale pink lips to spread into a familiar grin. “You know me too well.”
Ron was the only one who understood what she meant, his calculating eyes finding hers almost instantly.
From beside him, Harry clumsily pushed down the hallway with his pack- knocking into peeling wallpaper and leaving behind a trail of clutter in his wake.
Hermione subconsciously raised her hand to pick at her lip with her chipped nails, and Ron tracked the movement like a skilled hunter. In his gaze, she suddenly felt so self-conscious she could very well have been naked.
“I think we should talk about it. Again.”
He looked away and snorted, as though what she had said resembled a joke that he didn’t quite understand.
Instead of responding, he followed Harry and called over his shoulder as though a passing thought: “Mum remembered that you liked those almond butter cookies. They’re in Harry’s bag.”
She let the suggestion that a part of her still lived in the Burrow- awaiting Molly’s cookies and leaving the crumbs on Ron’s duvet- devastate her for just a moment, before regaining her thick skin.
Hushed, tense whispers emerged from the kitchen as soon as she crept up the stairs and out of sight. Like a child listening in on her parent’s conversations, she tried aimlessly to hear the topic of their discussion- no doubt herself- all the while dreading her potential findings.
At the crack of an apparition, she rose and went back to her room, not wanting to hear the fanfare that would erupt at their arrival.
The boys would inevitably greet their adoring fans, tell their captive audience stories of their summer, and revel in the journeys that they were enduring without her. She would watch on- endlessly proud yet confused- with the cursed knowledge that she would one day save them.
That to protect the sanctity of their friendship, she would be asked to risk everything she had ever known.
And she did not feel like a hero at all.
Rather, she felt foolish.
She was still following these boys to the ends of the world. Except in this lifetime, they would never know it.
Nothing more than a pathetic schoolgirl, blindly following the commands of her masters and never demanding compensation for her sacrifice.
When the boys thanked God for the miracle of their safety and fulfillment, they would truly be thanking her.
And she too would do anything for them.