A/N: Story inspired by and loosely based on the wonderful song "Mary's in India" as sung by Dido on "Life for Rent." Quote at the end is a paraphrased ending of the same song.
The playful, magical green flames of the fireplace came alive with a loud whoosh and spit out the slender figure of a pretty brunette, in her mid-twenties. Hermione Granger graciously stepped out of the fireplace, put the oversized package she was cradling in her arms on the floor and dusted herself off with a lazy flick of her wand.
The sudden sound startled Harry, who was absentmindedly, without any interest, zapping through the TV channels, his takeaway pizza still untouched in its wrapping. He jumped up in one swift movement, producing his wand from Merlin knows where. Recognizing the figure of his best female friend of fifteen years, he apologetically shrugged his shoulders and sent the wand back to his Auror standard holster.
"Next time, please knock or ring or something, Hermione," he chastised her playfully. "You scared the willies out of me, literally."
The girl suppressed a smirk, enclosing her in a hug he reluctantly answered and planting a kiss on either of his cheeks. "Bit jumpy, are we, Potter? You keyed me into your Floo ward yourself," she joked, but her smile faded quickly, seeing the tired, resigned expression on his face. She could tell at once that he hadn't been sleeping well for the last few days; she read him as a book even if he wasn't complaining, she knew him too well for that. Her eyes quickly scanned the interior of the small flat he had been sharing with Ginny and she pulled her nose into a grimace.
It wasn't typical for Harry to live in a pigsty. Mountains of unwashed dishes in the kitchen sink, clothes scattered around the living room, a few dozen pizza boxes, some of them with the moldy remains of what once had been a Quattro Stagioni or a Hawaii. And, what bugged her more, was the few dozen empty beer buttles – not Butterbeer, Muggle ones – that were completing the picture. Another bottle, she saw, was keeping Harry company, standing on the journal table.
Furrowing her eyebrows in concentration, Hermione plopped down on the sofa next to her best friend. Lovingly brushing his mane, she looked deep in his eyes, thankfully accepting the bottle of ice-cold Heineken offered.
"So, how have you been, Harry?" she inquired softly, taking a healthy swig of the drink. "I'm sorry I couldn't come this past week; we are two Healers short and we were forced to take double shifts."
"It's OK, Hermione, really," the boy tried to reassure her. "Still the same old story. Took a few days off, actually, to drown myself in self-pity and alcohol," he emitted a short bark, making a wide, circular gesture around the living room. "You know on occasions I tend to be overly dramatic."
"Yeah, you can say that," scowled Hermione, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, but not releasing it afterwards. "Still, I think even your Hogwarts dorm was cleaner and smelled fresher than this apartment. Your neighbours are soon going to start complaining to the police that you keep an illegal chemical lab here, judging by the smell of it. Ewh! Don't you smell it?"
Theatrically sniffing the air a few time, the boy shook his head, smiling at her for the first time today. "Nope. Alcohol took my olfactory senses and in addition I have developed snuffles."
Emitting a ringing laughter, the brunette curled her hand into a small fist and playfully punched him on his shoulder. "You prat! A lovely one, but a big prat nevertheless."
Faking excruciating pain, Harry pulled his featured in a mock hurt grimace and pressed his hands on the 'sore' spot. "Why did you do that, woman? You will be my death one day!" He turned his head to the ceiling and rolled his eyes, sighing 'women'.
Hermione tried her best to look embarrassed. "Did I hurt you, my dear, little, defenseless Harry?" she sang in a childish voice, not realizing the pronoun she had just used. The boy did, however, but decided to make no notice of it. "Well, it will go over, eventually," he played along, sighing heavily. "I think, for a more rapid and complete recovery it would be advantageous if you kissed it better, though," he blurted out, completely immersed in their game.
Hermione's face froze for a second. Then, she slowly leaned in and gently kissed the corner of Harry's mouth. "Is the administered medication working, Mr. Potter?" she whispered, the boy looking at her with a mesmerized, incredulous glance. "I suppose so, Healer Granger, but for a complete recovery the therapy should be repeated, I'm afraid." Snorting loudly, Hermione kissed the other corner of his mouth.
Flexing his bicepses, Harry's eyes lit up. "At last, my arm is complete again!" He said dramatically and began laughing, Hermione laughing right along with him. Turning suddenly serious, she cast a sad glance at her friend. "Harry, I'm worried about you. You might be joking now, but you look like crap and your house is a pigsty. This is not you. I know keeping order in your house is not your strongest part, but this time you surpassed yourself." With a tear in her eye, she repeated, "I'm worried about you."
"Come on, Hermione, you always worry about me, just like you have in the past fifteen years." Seeing he face being overcast by a dark shadow, he apologetically squeezed her hand. "It's not a bad thing, you know, you've saved my ass on more than one occasion by simply being worried about me. It's good to know that at least there's a single soul that cares."
Not quite understanding where he was leading, the brunette cast a questioning glance at Harry. The young wizard pressed his lips in a thin line, seemingly fighting an internal battle or two. The awkward silence that had been building up started pressing on them, but none of them spoke.
"Three letters in nine weeks. Three fucking letters, after eight years together!" Harry slammed his fist on the table, causing his half-empty bottle to fall, the amber fluid dripping on the floor and collecting in a small puddle on the stone floor. The sudden noise startled the girl and she shrugged involuntarily.
Harry stood from the sofa and went to his desk. Kneeling down, he started rummaging in the waste-basket and fished out three crinkled sheets of parchment. "Here, see for yourself," he snapped, handing over the letters to Hermione. Casting a wandless spell at the sheets and comparing the dates on them, the girl started to read the letters, the older one first.
"My dear Harry,
It was a rough trip and took me a whole day to get here, but finally here I am, in Florida. The sun is shining, the sky is wonderful, deep blue and I'm having my breakfast at the terrace of the hotel as I'm writing this letter to you.
When you dropped me off at the Harpies' Stadium, we first took the Floo to London Kensington, to the International Portkey Station. Then we waited for two hours for our Portkey to Paris.
Those idiots in France messed up everything they could. At first, we had to wait four more hours for the next Portkey that would take us to Florida. Finally, when we were cleared, it turned out that our Portkey took us to New York instead of Miami, so we had to arrange another one. Gwenog was simply furious and threatened the poor guy at the Station that she would hex his manhood on his forehead if he was not quick enough. Needless to say, I was knackered when we arrived here and slept twenty-four hours in a row. I'm really sorry I haven't written to you earlier, my love.
It's somewhat after 8 am here. The owner of the Miami Minxes herself will pick me up at 9 sharp and take me to the stadium so that I could meet the team I will be training for the summer. I don't know what the previous trainer has done to the team but they lost all but one match this season, so I guess it will a pretty tough job to put them together in two months.
Even though it's beautiful here, what with the sunshine, the palm trees, the incredible white beach I can see from where I'm sitting, I'm already homesick and I'm awfully missing you, my dear Harry. You won't believe, I'm even missing my incredible prat of a brother. Please tell Hermione if you see her - I will write her as well - that I'm going to deal with Ron as soon as I'm back and that I'll even let her decide if I should turn him into a toad or a dung-bee."
Emitting a loud snort, Hermione looked up from the letter. Her hazel eyes meet the emerald ones, now twinkling mischievously. Simultaneously raising their right hand, they counted. "One, two, three."
"Paper," commented Harry as-a-matter-of-factly with an exasperated sigh.
"Yay, I win!" shrieked Hermione, raising her hand forming 'scissors'. "A dung-bee." Then she went back to reading the letter.
"Tonight there will be a small get-to-know party at the Minx' Clubhouse, only the players, the trainers, the owner, a few sponsors and somebody from the press. I'm really excited but nervous at the same time. I don't know whether I will be up to this task. Flying well is one thing but teaching others to fly well is completely different, and I'm not sure if I have your teaching skills.
I'm going to try to write you again as soon as can. I can't believe it's two whole months without you! It's just good that we have cell phones now so we can call each other in the middle of the night and..."
Hermione abruptly folded the letter and, slightly flushed, handed it back to Harry. "The rest is private."
"I have no secrets from you, Hermione. You know everything about me, even my sexual preferences," Harry shrugged his shoulders and took another, long swig of his beer, thankful that the Preserving charm worked equally well on both Wizarding and Muggle products. Emitting a loud burp, he stopped his mouth with his hand in embarrassment.
"Honestly," Hermione rolled her eyes, "you have spent too much time with Ronald. You eerily remind me of him sometimes."
Harry munched over this bit of information. "Am I that bad?" he asked finally, with a trace of a hope in his voice. Hermione shook her head vehemently, sending her hair flying around in the air. "Nope, by all means not. You would never hurt me like he had."
With great effort she took control of herself again, and took a few deep breaths. The pain was still fresh, although she was expertly masking it. Harry, of course, knew every detail, but Hermione wasn't the one to hang out the dirty laundry in public. She closed the door behind Ron and swore never to open it again; she was confident that she would never forgive him for what he had done to her.
She felt herself being drawn into a gentle hug, Harry's hand soothingly rubbing her back. She laid her head in the crook of his neck and enjoyed the boy's proximity, just like then, many years ago, on the stairs of the Astronomy tower, and many times afterwards when she was hurt. All these times, he was her rock, her support, the only solid point in her life, but now, he needed her support himself.
It feels so... right, holding her like this, in my arms. With Ginny, I never feel this peaceful, Harry mused trying to decipher the situation, but his train of thoughts was broken when he, all of a sudden, felt something wet on his neck. Her eyes still moist with tears, Hermione tried to smile as she abruptly drew away from him; Harry could feel her inner storm as she forced a masque of cheerfulness on her face. "Where's the second letter?"
Reading the date on the top of the page, she raised he head from the sheet and looked at Harry. Her glance displayed many feelings at once: pain, compassion, pity, but her hazel eyes were sparkling with badly disguised anger.
"Six weeks after her first letter. Are you sure you didn't accidentally throw out her other letters?"
"There was nothing else to 'accidentally throw out' , Hermione," Harry spoke slowly, pronouncing every word caused him immense pain. "There were no phone calls I could have 'accidentally' missed, either."
The brunette stood up and started furiously pacing around the room. "Did you try to call her?"
"Oh yes, I did, numerous times, but her cell phone is, accidentally, permamently redirected to her voice mail. The only time my call was, accidentally, answered, it was a half-drunk American bimbo giggling into the receiver, saying that Ginny was 'occupied' at the moment and she would call me back later. Before she hung up, however, I could swear I heard Ginny giggling in the background. Pretty much occupied, if you ask me."
Huffing annoyedly, Hermione went on reading the letter, still pacing around. The further she read, the darker the expression on her face went.
"Dear Harry,
Sorry for not having answered your letters earlier, but I have been really busy and tired.
The previous trainer was an idiot; some of the Minxes don't even know how to properly mount a broom, so I have to teach them everything anew. The half of them are lacking even the most basic flying skills. Honestly, how they could make it into a professional league if they fly even worse than Neville? So, we are making long days, trying to catch up.
All that said, people are very nice here. Much more open-hearted and easy-going, than us Britons born with a stiff outer lips. The girls are suntanned, slender and beautiful, I sometimes feel like an ugly elephant among them. I already made quite a few friends here and they frequently take me out to a discotheque, a bar, or to catch a Muggle movie.
Please bear with me two more week, my dear Harry. Two more weeks and I'm back. Thank you for your patience, you know this opportunity means me a lot and I'm getting paid royally for the work I'm doing with these imbeciles.
With love, G"
"How many letters did you exactly write to her, Harry?" she questioned in a sharp tone, slamming the letter on the journal table. The boy mumbled out something in answer she couldn't quite get. "Pardon, what did you say?" she repeated her question.
"Eleven," the boy said, just barely audible. Shaking from rage, Hermione curled her hands into fists. "The bitch!" she cried out in frustration, but, feeling the boy's piercing glance on herself, suddenly snapped shut.
"Sit down, Hermione, you make me dizzy with all that pacing of yours," chuckled Harry, patting the sofa next to himself. "See, I was trying to convince myself that I was wrong. I know how much this opportunity meant to her. She wanted to see the world, meet new people, do whatever she was good at doing. I gave her all freedom I could, trying not to push her into or restrain from anything she wanted. But then, she wrote this." He handed over the third letter to his best friend, his eyes not leaving her face for a second.
The brunette read aloud the date on the top - six days ago, her eyes scanning Harry's unshaven face, the bristle just about the same age. Quickly putting two and two together, she silently nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line, as she read further.
"Dear Harry,
Yesterday I signed a 12-month contract as the official trainer of the Miami Minxes. Only hours before that, we beat the Oklahoma Ostriches 490:0 in a friendly match. The team manager was very satisfied with the work we had done these last two months and gave me an offer I could not refuse, including a six-digit salary.
Please, don't be mad at me, my Harry. I know I should have discussed it with you first, but you know how much Quidditch is important to me! I'm coming home next Friday and, hopefully, we can talk about this.
With love, G"
A few beer bottles shattered into tiny particles at Hermione's spontaneous outburst of raw, uncontrolled magic. Gently putting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing it, Harry turned her around and looked deep in her eyes. "Just breathe with me, Hermione. In...out...in...out..." he repeated in a hypnotic voice, and the girl closed her eyes and let herself be led by the rhythm of his breathing. In a few minutes, she was looking considerably calmer, and Harry deemed the time right to drop the bomb. Following his glance, Hermione instantly recognized the logo of a well-known, wizard-owned Muggle moving company on about a dozen identical boxes, piled up neatly in the hall.
"See, it was never working out between the two of us. No wonder that we're still not married, and as it looks now we never will be. I cancelled the rent on the flat, Hermione, effective 31st December," he announced simply, standing up and summoning a huge plastic shopping bag from the kitchen. "I won't be here next Friday, when she arrives. She can stay here until she has to go back to the States for the start of the Quidditch season." A perfect excuse to turn his back on her so that she wouldn't see his eyes, now moist with tears, he started to collect the empty beer bottles into the bag, directing the unfinished ones to empty themselves into the sink before bagging them.
Suddenly, he felt a small hand grab his arm and turn him forcefully. A pair of soft, wet lips crushed down on his and he felt her arms wrap around his neck as he, at first tentatively, later more and more confidently, answered, then deepened the kiss. A minute later, dazed and somewhat confused, he pulled back, grinning shyly, and Hermione stepped back one step, still wearing an equally dazed and only the slightest bit embarrassed look on her face.
"Come on, I will help to clean up your mess here, and then we will have a quiet dinner, only the two of us. Give me just a minute," she finally managed to squeeze out before fleeing the room. Closing the bathroom door behind herself, she pressed her back against the tiled wall and closed her eyes, trying to slow down her rapid heartbeat. I can't believe I've just kissed him. Did I only kiss him because I pitied him or was it something different? Why did it suddenly feel so good?
Fifteen minutes later, the living room looked considerably tidier than anytime in the last two years. Now Hermione returned to her abandoned bag – a Muggle shopping bag, magically tweaked, of course – and started producing different items. A long, thin paper box was the first one Harry didn't recognize, and raised his brows questioningly.
"It's a teppan-yaki plate, Harry, a grill plate you can put on your table and prepare small bits of food on it," Hermione answered eagerly the unspoken question. "I think you will like Japanese food." With the plate placed in the middle of the table and plugged in, her attention wandered back to the bag, seemingly bottomless, and pulled about a dozen identical microwave boxes. Randomly flipping open the covers, Harry browsed through the contents of the boxes. Crayfish, neat salmon chunks, a sort of white fish he couldn't place. Slices of what he guessed was chicken breast marinated in some hot red sauce. Pork chops in a dark marinade, soy sauce. Sliced sweet pepper, cherry tomatoes, a half dozen quail eggs.
Raising his head in disbelief, he locked his eyes with Hermione's. "Are we supposed to eat all this proper?"
"This is not everything, silly," the girl smiled at him, producing a few plates, a bottle of sake - Harry felt the presence of a mild heating charm on it to keep it at proper drinking temperature, two minuscule sake glasses. Harry's stomach made a somersault as he recognized the last item, two pairs of intricately carved chopsticks.
"Japanese food must be the most dietetic one," he announced, replacing the chopsticks on the table. "Seeing that I never used these sticks before, I won't have to worry about my figure tonight."
Hermione rolled her eyes in an overly exaggerated way. "It's quite simple, actually. Don't worry, I'll teach you and if you do turn out to be a hopeless case, I will feed you myself. And by the way, this way of preparing food is dietetic. No fat, short cooking times."
Sitting down at the table, Harry assumed the role of host, pouring sake into the tiny china glasses, Hermione's first. "Kampai!" the girl raised her glass, then downed the wine. Lost only for a fracture of a second, Harry repeated the phrase and poured down his drink, which was less strong than he had expected.
"You don't do anything by halves, Hermione, do you?" he smiled at his friend, refilling their glasses. "Mostly not, I'm kind of lucky with what I'm doing," she interjected, placing some food on the already sizzling hot plate, Harry curiously eyeing the chopsticks she was expertly handling. "It's only my Ronald Weasley experiment that I could deem as a complete catastrophe."
He took his chopsticks and tried to grab them the same way he had just seen, failing miserably on more than one occasion. Then Hermione took pity on him and, standing up from her chair, walked behind him. Gently taking his hand, she guided his fingers until the chopsticks were in place and explained him how to grab food with them. Laying her hands on his shoulder, she watched satisfiedly as the boy at first clumsily, later more and more confidently removed the already prepared food from the grill and divided it equally between the two plates.
A tingling sensation gave away the presence of Harry's left hand on hers, still resting on the boy's shoulder. At first not knowing what to do, she gave him a gentle squeeze, closing her eyes for a moment and enjoying the warm touch of the strong hand on her skin. The turmoil in her head was growing and she reluctantly pulled her hand, fleeing the boy's presence and sat back into her chair. Downing her second shot of sake, she quickly dove into her plate and stuffed a piece of rose salmon into her mouth to cover her embarrassment, feeling Harry's piercing gaze on herself.
"You are a talented chopstick student, Harry," she managed to blurt out, still munching on her fish,
"Don't talk with your mouth full, Ronald," smiling warmly, Harry gently chastised her, dipping a piece of crayfish into a bowl of soy sauce and putting it into his mouth. Theatrically closing his eyes, he slowly chewed on it, emitting an overdone, satisfied moan. "That's heavenly! You simply have to taste it!"
Picking up a second crayfish, he dipped it again and directed it towards Hermione's mouth, watching mesmerized as her soft lips parted in anticipation of the treat. The last moment, however, his fingers shifted slightly and the crayfish slid from the chopsticks' grab. Harry thought he'd get a seizure this instant.
"Ummm... Hermione, you have crayfish in your ummm... cleavage," he blurted out. The girl looked down into her deep-cut V-neck and turned Harry-red. "Can you... I mean... I can't reach it..." she stuttered, wishing she could sink through the floor.
Standing up, Harry leaned closer, the next moment wishing he hadn't. While not overly sexy, her top did have a deep cut, enabling full visual and physical access to the area between her firm roundings and, feeling his hormones stir, he gulped heavily. After two unsuccessful attempts, he managed to remove the crayfish and sat back in his chair. Making up his mind in a swift second, he quickly put the bite in his mouth, delightedly licking his lips. Hermione thought she would faint this instant, but burst out in a ringing laughter instead. "Are we wizards or not? A simple wandless 'Accio' would have done the trick."
"Yes, it would, but it would have been less enjoyable," Harry said with a straight face, offering her a tender piece of rainbow trout from his chopstick.
One step closer to fainting, Hermione machinally chew her bite, her mind in overdrive. Is he flirting with me all of a sudden? Am I flirting with him? What the hell is happening to us? Grabbing a napkin from the table, she wiped the traces of soy sauce from her neck, her head engaged with one single question: why am I wanting him to clean the sauce off my neck with his tongue?
Watching his best friend, Harry's mind was engaged with similar thoughts. Why did Ginny and I never have these moments? Why do Hermione and I have them, all of a sudden? Is it only our hormones and the lack of sex talking, or is there something different going on with us?
An hour later, the two felt they would burst, were they to swallow one more piece. Fed, content, and slightly drunk, they sat back on the sofa and Harry switched on the TV, zapping through the channels, until he found Robin Hood, with Kevin Costner in the main role. Immersed in the story, Harry casually draped his right arm around Hermione, her head in the crook of his neck. He felt her hot breath burning his neck, causing his heartbeat switch on the second gear. His nose drew in the faint lavender scent of her favourite perfume Innisfree, his birthday present, by the way; Hermione said it was reminding him of her favourite poet W. and his poem "The Lake Isle of Innisfree" she was reading quite often during their Horcrux hunt.
And I shall have some peace there,
for peace comes dropping slow...
His heart racing, he gently placed his index finger under her chin and raised her head until their eyes met. He closed the remaining inches between them, his lips slowly descending on hers and before Hermione could say anything, her words got lost along with the rest of her coherent thoughts. His tongue lightly grazed her lower lip; she opened her mouth to him and her tongue came out to meet his half way, her hands making their way into his soft hair. Their tongues played a sensual dueling match against one another, Hermione slowly melting, turning into honey in his arms.
Much, much to soon to her liking, his mouth pulled away from hers and they silently watched each other with smoky eyes. Understanding the unspoken, Hermione smiled softly, snuggling closer into his warm, protecting embrace.
"It took us bloody long to figure ourselves out," she breathed into his ear, causing him to shiver lightly, but not unpleasantly. "Much too long to my liking." Planting gentle kisses on her forehead, nose and cheeks, Harry nodded his accordance. "I have been a fool all this time, not realizing what and whom I really want, and wasted way too much time." Melting in her hazel eyes, he spoke barely audibly, "... but I intend to make up for the eternity we have lost..." before he crushed his lips on hers again. She felt just natural, right in his arms; he knew she had always belonged there and he smiled when their kiss left them begging for air and their lips parted.
He felt home. He was whole.
Hermione's head fell back, her body shivering in response, as Harry started softly kissing her neck and collarbone, igniting a pleasant, radiating warmth spreading slowly over her body. Her last, somewhat coherent thought was that of being utterly content. With him at her side, she felt home. She was whole.
Don't worry, Ginny,
'cause I'm taking care of Harry,
and he's taking care of me...
A/N: Well, that was it. At places, the story is kind of lame, but I simply HAD to write it. Dido's songs are magical and help to keep up my spirit with the simple, beautiful emotions she is singing about. This time, however, I found my inspiration in one of her songs and I hope you liked it as much as I enjoyed writing.
As always, CC is highly appreciated!