Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I mess with their heads for my own enjoyment (and hopefully yours). I don't get paid for it.
Warnings: This story eventually will contain grown-up content, including wanking and m/m sex. Not your thing? Don't read it.
A/N: This is a prequel to "Gifts" and "Clouds." Each one is meant to stand alone, so you don't need to read the others first, though you may want to. This is the third story inspired by impressionist composer Debussy, but it's not a song fic per se. ("Gifts" was inspired by "The Girl with the Flaxen Hair" and "Clouds" by the piece of the same name). The title is the English translation of "Reverie." It's an absolutely beautiful piece of music; do find it and have a listen. Although that was the tone I was aiming for generally, the story nugget (repairing the Room of Requirement) was born out of listening to "Pictures at an Exhibition" (orchestral version), which just happens to be my favorite piece of music ever. The specific "Picture" that inspired my mental image is called "Il Vecchio Castillo" (The Old Castle), and it features a haunting saxophone melody—very unusual in an orchestral work. Now, enough of my musings. Enjoy the story!
I
It's over.
The words echoed in Harry's brain, over and over, as he stumbled into wakefulness. This was the first full night's sleep he'd had in ages, and he was reluctant to emerge from it. He stretched and opened his eyes to the now-familiar ceiling of his own bedroom at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He smiled faintly when he saw that Kreacher had left him a rather nice breakfast. He struggled to sit up, deciding that it was probably best to eat something. He needed to pack, and he supposed that it was best to work on a full stomach.
While he ate, he reflected both on his waking thoughts and on what lay ahead. It wasn't just the war that was over; they had also buried their dead and tended their wounded. The reality was, though, that there remained so much to do. There were still the trials, at which many who had fought in the war had been called on to testify, and Hermione needed to find her parents and bring them home. She had vowed to do so before they'd even started out, and Harry had offered to go with her when she said she was ready to make good on that promise.
At first he'd been sure that Ron would say no, but he surprised Harry by suggesting that it was the most obvious option. Hermione didn't want to go alone, but Ron couldn't fathom leaving his family just then. The trust they had built over seven years seemed to be holding, and Harry had made the arrangements. They had exactly ten days until he needed to return for the first of the trials, and there was no possible way for Harry to avoid them. Should a problem arise in Australia, he would owl for assistance. He was confident that there would be no need; Hermione was a competent witch, and the Wizarding hospital in Sydney was a respected establishment.
There was another reason for returning quickly. Within days of the last funeral, all students who had been fifth, sixth, or seventh years during the war had received a letter. They were offered the chance to return for a summer term. At the end of that time, students who had missed them could elect to take O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s in certain subjects. The coursework would not only fill in their educational gaps, it would enable the rebuilding of Hogwarts to progress more quickly. During the eight-week summer programmes, students would learn the required spells to repair the castle. Exams in subjects not required for rebuilding would not be offered, but there were other options for the students. Fifth years would be exempt from those exams and could opt to continue in them anyway. Seventh years could elect to return to Hogwarts and take those classes they needed for their N.E.W.T.s.
There had not been a question of whether Harry, Ron, and Hermione would enroll in the summer classes. Seventh years were not required to do so, as they were of age and could simply choose not to return. Even Harry and Ron had already been offered the chance to enter Auror training without their N.E.W.T.s, and for once, Hermione didn't tell them that they should not accept the blatant favouritism. Yet their unspoken agreement seemed to be that it was the right thing to do. Hermione had suggested if they returned, so would everyone else. She had sent an owl to Professor McGonagall on their behalf, letting her know of their plans.
After finishing off the last of the toast Kreacher had provided, Harry at last rose from his bed. He picked up his wand with the intent to banish the crumbs from the sheets, but he was momentarily distracted by the second wand that lay next to it. He sighed.
There had been no way to return Malfoy's wand to him. Immediately after Voldemort's death, there had been a confusing muddle of people to see and things to do. By the time he had a spare moment, all three of the Malfoys had departed. They were currently under house arrest, awaiting three separate trials—the first of the lot and the only ones at which Harry had agreed to testify on behalf of the defence. He honestly didn't care what happened to Lucius, though he had developed a grudging bit of sympathy for him. He did not, however, intend to see either of the others sent to Azkaban if he had anything to do with it. Narcissa's sacrifice and a year of living with visions of what Voldemort had done to the youngest Malfoy had left Harry with the certainty that they'd both had enough pain to more than make up for any crimes they may or may not have committed. It was for their sake that he intended to take Lucius' part as well.
Harry shook himself. He needed to clear his head and begin preparations for his trip with Hermione. Ignoring the pang of guilt that he wasn't going to take the time to Apparate to Malfoy Manor to return the wand before leaving, he waved his own at the crumbs on the bed. Once he was satisfied that Kreacher wouldn't be after him about the mess he left, he gathered his clothes and made for the bath.
He arrived ten minutes early to meet Hermione at the designated location to take the portkey to Sydney, which turned out to be a battered shoe. He smiled a little when he saw that she was already there, clutching a tiny bag in one hand. He suspected that she'd brought plenty of books along just in case. Some things, he reflected, never changed.
"All ready?" she asked. Before Harry could reply, she continued, "I took the liberty of getting us a room at a hotel that accommodates both wizards and Muggles. It's within walking distance of the hospital, so we can avoid Apparating as much as possible once my parents are settled there."
"Okay," Harry replied. There wasn't much to say to that. He suddenly felt awkward about travelling alone with Hermione, despite the fact they'd done just that less than six months prior.
Hermione picked up on the tension. "Are you certain you still want to come? I can go alone—"
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I'll go."
She smiled. "Look at the pair of us. We're the outsiders, aren't we?"
Harry knew what she meant. "We just need to give them time." He hoped she believed him.
"Right." She paused. "What did Ginny say when you told her you were going with me?"
"Nothing." Harry shrugged. For some reason, he didn't want to talk about that. She hadn't been upset at all. That should have bothered Harry, perhaps, but it didn't—though, strangely, it did bother him that he wasn't more concerned about her reaction.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You did tell her, didn't you?"
"Yes. But as we're not officially together, it shouldn't matter." The conversation was beginning to irritate him, and he didn't want to examine closely why they still hadn't declared their relationship. For the time being, he was explaining it away by her need to be with her family. He'd already concluded that they had time ahead of them and there was no need to rush. Yet somehow, the thought that she would be waiting for him when he returned didn't make him as happy as he imagined it should.
Wisely, Hermione didn't press any further. She knew all too well the strain war and death put on a relationship. Instead, she said, "I think it's about time."
When the old shoe began to glow, they both took hold of it, and Harry braced himself against the jarring sensation of being yanked forwards belly-button first.