Unspoken

VIAL 2

Blackness pours down like a cloud dissolving into rain. The droplets land on a familiar booth and capture the form of two people sitting across from one another. The figures of Hermione and Harry sharpen as the scene of the Leaky Cauldron blossoms outward from their table. 

The pub is mostly empty, the time interminable as so much of the background is a blur of shapes and sounds. Hermione has a brown bottle in front of her, both of her hands wrapped around the glass but the liquid inside remains untouched. Harry takes a swig of his own drink, his eyes on the witch across from him.

Neither of them talk until he gives a small sigh and mentions, “Ginny says you aren’t doing Christmas at the Burrow this year.”

The mention of Christmas catches Hermione off guard. She starts, redirecting her focus from whatever had been occupying her and stares at Harry. His mouth twitches in a small smile as he can see her mind racing to catch up with what he said.

“Oh. Um. She’s right. I couldn’t. Not this year. It’s too awkward still.” she says, a hint of color blushing across her face.

Harry’s smile turns to a frown. “You broke up in January. Surely by now…”

“You know very well as I do that Molly thought she’d have a wedding to plan by now.”

Hermione squirms uncomfortable in her seat, eyes turned back down to her hands as though embarrassed to look at her best friend. A hand reaches across and she looks up to see Harry with a concerned expression on his face as he places his palm over part of her arm. 

“‘Mione-”

“No, no, I’m fine, Harry. Ron and I would have never worked. We weren’t happy. And,” she says, trying to straighten her posture as though to show him that she truly is ‘fine,’ “Molly has your wedding to natter on about now.”

“Oh, Merlin, don’t remind me.” groans Harry with a pained chuckle. “I mean, thank goodness we have her help with Ginny on tour with the Harpies for the season, but did you know she said we can’t have red and gold as our wedding colors?”

“You’ll thank her later.”

Both friends lean back from the table as a server arrives with plates piled over with fresh chips and fried cod. Harry is already pouring vinegar over his chips before the server sinks into the backdrop but Hermione pokes half-heartedly at her dish.

Harry pops a few chips in his mouth, chewing as considers his friend. After another few minutes of him eating and Hermione not, he asks, “Is it really just about Ron?”

“What?” she asks, once again caught with her attention elsewhere.

“Ron can’t be the only reason you aren’t coming for Christmas.” he says, giving her a pointed look over his round glasses. Then his eyes widen and Harry sits up straighter and asks, “You aren’t dating someone? Are you?”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “With a new job? Are you joking, Harry?”

“It’s been almost a year since you broke up with Ron. He’s had three girlfriends since the start of summer alone. No one wouldn’t be upset with you if you were back on the scene as well.”

“Tell that to Molly.”

“Hermione.”

“Harry, if I start dating anyone, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

“Mmm.” Harry narrows his eyes at her and nods before going back to his dish. “Then what’s your reason for avoiding the Burrow?”

She sighs and puts her fork down, lips trembling for a moment before saying, “It’s… it’s been eight years, Harry. Eight years and my parents are still in Australia.”

A sad silence hangs between them for many moments and Harry’s voice is soft when he speaks next.

“I heard that St. Mungo’s is making some excellent headway in magical memory loss research…”

“In time for Christmas?” asks Hermione, an eyebrow raised. Harry grimaces and she continues, “I’m not up for it, Harry. I’m not sure I will be anytime soon. I will never understand how a room can be so full of people and feel so empty at the same time. I miss them, Harry. I miss my mum and my dad, and Fred, and Sirius and Remus…”

The brunette witch sucks in a deep breath but not before a tear drips from her lashes and crawls down her cheek onto her plate. Harry is quick to move around the booth and envelop Hermione in a hug. She buries her face into chest, shoulders quaking as she gives into a small bout of crying. Some minutes pass and she draws back with a murmur of thankfulness, rubbing her face into a cloth napkin. Harry moves back to his seat only after Hermione waves him away.

“Anyway…” Hermione gives the wizard a watery smile and picks her fork back up. “I won’t be completely alone. I’ll have Crookshanks and I’ll have some time to reflect about the year since the Ministry will be closed.”

“You can take time off outside of holidays, you know.”

“The job is still too new for me to take vacation time, Harry.” Hermione primly puts a bite of fish in her mouth.

He snorts. “You’re having too much fun. Just admit it. You are never going to take time off unless someone forces you, are you?”

“Well, no, not if it continues to be this interesting.” she laughs.

“Then can Gin and I pop over to your flat on Boxing Day?” 

Hermione’s eyes crinkle with joy as she smiles adoringly at the man who is like her brother. “Of course, Harry. That’d be lovely. Crookshanks misses you. And - you are absolutely not to say anything to Ron or Molly - the apartment does get lonely sometimes.”

“He misses the tuna treats that Kreacher makes for him, not me.”

“Mmm, that is probably true.”

They laugh and enjoy their meals for a few moments before Hermione twirls her fork in her fingers and flicks her eyes toward Harry.

“What’s up? You know your eyes get this sort of gleam when you are about to interrogate someone, Hermione. Just spit it out.” he says with a knowing look. 

She sighs. “I’m not sure I like how observant you are now that we are older. Must be all that Auror experience. You used to be so adorably clueless.”

“More like aggravatingly clueless.” he teases.

“See, you are so aware of others’ feelings now.”

Hermione grins as Harry playfully wrinkles his nose at her.

“Actually, Harry, I wanted to ask you about… Well, I wanted to ask about the prophecy you heard from Trelawney.”

The question absolutely astonishes the wizard. His forkful of soggy chips stops halfway to his mouth and he just stares at her.

“Close your mouth, Harry, it’s unbecoming of the hero of the wizarding world.”

Harry snaps his mouth shut and puts down his utensil. His eyes harden as he considers Hermione and her question and bluntly asks, “Why?”

“Well, I work at the Department of Mysteries now, Harry. I’m sure you can guess why.” 

He frowns. “I thought you weren’t allowed to talk about work.”

“I’m not talking about work. I’m asking you about an experience you had that could potentially shine some light on some… theories I may or may not be working on.” 

“What do you want to know?” he says finally, pushing his near empty dish to the side.

She’s pulled a scroll of blank parchment out of nowhere and conjured a quill, poised to take notes like she is in History of Magic again and Harry is a professor with her full attention.

“I want to know what it was like hearing it. The… I’m not sure, mysticism? The aura of magic? How did you feel?” 

Harry shrugs. “I felt creeped out, Hermione. I didn’t even know it was a prophecy until later, remember?”

It’s Hermione’s turn to frown. 

“There was nothing that you, um, perhaps… missed in the moment but came to recognize in the aftermath?” she asks.

“Unless you count her voice getting all raspy and weird - which, you know, isn’t far off from her usual antics - no, I can’t remember anything.”

Hermione flutters the end of the feathered quill back and forth, chewing on her lip as she stares at her notes. 

He sighs and takes off his glasses. Harry looks tired and older for a brief moment as he rubs the bridge of his nose anxiously. A faded scar depicting the words I MUST NOT TELL LIES stretches on the back of his hand. He fumbles with his glasses, placing them back on his face and looks at Hermione who is, by all obvious accounts, disappointed.

He sighs again and in a quieter, more concerned tone asks, “Hermione, why are you asking? Surely there are prophecy witness accounts in books or the archives at the Ministry?”

“It’s not the same,” she grumbles, casting a dry spell on the parchment and rolling it up in a huff. “There aren’t a lot of first hand accounts as so few people recognize that they are listening to a prophecy. None of the primary resources appear to agree on the significant markers that identify a true prophecy and I - I can’t talk about it.”

Harry drums his fingers against the wooden table top. “Is this really for research?”

“Yes, of course, it’s just frustrating not to find any information! It’s like Flamel all over again. There has to be some source of information out there I’m not thinking of…” grouses Hermione, stuffing a cold potato chip in her mouth and chewing it as though it was responsible for her research woes. 

“Not all prophecies are fulfilled. Or at least that was how Dumbledore explained it to me in fifth year. Could that play into your lack of information?” inquires Harry.

She cocks her head to the side as she ruminates on his words. “Perhaps. I hadn’t considered reviewing the statistical data on fulfillment in correlation with reporting.”

“Oh, Godrick, please not statistical data-” groans Harry.

Hermione throws a chip at the wizard. He catches it with his mouth and punches the air victoriously as he swallows it with a grin. 

“Maybe I can cross-reference the dates of the prophecies with the times they were fulfilled and see if there is any reason to suspect a causation effe-”

“Hermione, you are the worst.” 

“You supplied me with the idea.”

“Glad to be of help,” says Harry, lifting up his butterbeer to her. “Now, please spare me the nerd talk and promise me you are at least going to the Ministry Yule gala this year?”

Hermione sighs and mutters something about dress shopping with Ginny as the memory fades.