A/N: Wow. A new story, in a new fandom. Strange. For any previous readers of mine, do not despair! I shall finish my other stories. It's just gonna take a while. My bad. :(
So I thought I'd hop on the HP/TWI train. I'm not a huge fan of either, but together, there's just something about it. Not sure what it is, but it definitely jump started my muses. I couldn't stop thinking about this story, so I just had to sit down and write. This is the end result.
Now my friends, let me happily introduce you to the latest of my brain childs, and no, I only know him as Buckets - no Mr. about it.
And for those of you who weren't around for Mr. Bucket, please look up that commercial. They had to take it off the air. Ahh, the 90s. ". . . Mr. Bucket, put your balls in my mouth, and I'll spit them right back out . . . " That little diddy still gets stuck in my head to this very day.
Disclaimer: Oh, who are any of us kidding? This is fanfiction. Everything is plagerized here. But for the record, I disclaim. Just in case someone wants to be a dick about it.
Buckets
Sit on the head of that huge statue in Rio de Janeiro right at sunset. Bet the view is beautiful.
It was a dreary morning that saw Harry Potter standing before a quaint little cottage. The sun peaked shyly from behind droll rain clouds, lighting patches of wet grass and lively rose bushes. Birds chirped greetings to one another, and the bees were busy jumping from flower to flower in Hermione's garden. It was calm, and beautiful, and altogether very sad. He didn't know why, but it just was. Unbearably sad - or maybe that was just him. Maybe it had nothing to do with Hermione's garden at all.
"Please, Harry. Please don't leave," said Hermione, her voice small. Ron wrapped a supporting arm around his pregnant wife.
"I have to," said Harry, maybe more to himself than to her. He wasn't sure.
"Come on, mate. It'll blow over like it usually does. You don't have to leave the bloody country! You know you're welcome – more than welcome! - at our place until everything settles," said Ron.
Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair. "I don't think so, Ron. With Umbridge after my blood -"
"Bloody Delaney Umbridge! I wouldn't spit on him if he was on fire! Bastard looks just like his nasty sister too! What I wouldn't give to -"
"I don't like him either," interrupted Harry, "but he's smart. Smarter than his sister, and he's gaining more political clout then I thought he'd ever be able to. Yeah, I'm sure the whole "Harry Potter is going dark" tripe will blow over. It's not the first time the Daily Prophet's slinged mud my way, but with the way Umbridge is lining that editor's pockets, I doubt they'll stop anytime soon. I don't want to stick around to see what happens. I'd rather not be thrown into Azkaban if I can help it."
"Kingsley won't let that happen," said Hermione firmly, "You're a war hero – no, you're THE war hero. If it wasn't for you, there wouldn't even be a Ministry right now."
"Doesn't matter. If Umbridge keeps getting the backing he's been getting, then Kingsley may not have a choice. The Wizengamot can overrule the Minister with a majority vote, and if Umbridge weasels his way into the Minister's position, then my warrant is as good as signed."
Harry shuffled his feet in agitation, but perservered. He knew this goodbye, his only goodbye really, was going to be trying, but he had hoped it would be shorter than this.
"And I really just think I need a vacation of sorts. I need to get away from the Wizarding World for awhile," finished Harry. There. That should do it. Hermione had been harping on him to get out of Grimmauld Place for months now. She couldn't fault him for this.
Hermione exchanged a hesitant look with Ron, one that usually preceded a question or statement that Hermione knew Harry wouldn't like. He resisted the urge to just aparate away right then, but he couldn't leave Ron and Hermione like that, no matter how much he didn't want to hear what she was about to say, and he knew what she was about to say.
"Harry, I know that Ginny -"
"Drop it, Hermione. I don't want to talk about her," said Harry, perhaps a tad more harshly than he meant to say it. It didn't faze his friends though. They were well and used to dealing with a moody Harry Potter. He took a steady breath when he saw both Ron and Hermione open their mouths at the same time.
"But she was your wife -"
"Mate, it was an accident -"
"Please, Hermione! Ron! Just leave it alone! Yes, it's partly that, but in all honesty, I'm tired of the hit wizards showing up when I'm in the loo, okay?"
"WHAT?! Hit wizards?! As in more than one?! You never told us about any hit wizards!" exclaimed Hermione, her grip tightening on Ron's shirt. Ron shot her a worried look, his eyes sweeping over her massive stomach, before turning his worried gaze on Harry.
"When did this happen, mate?" he asked in a quiet, serious voice that Harry had seldom heard since the war. It put Harry off. For just a moment, he was standing on the muddy ground of base camp, staring at his friend as Ron calmly related his new strategy of infiltrating the Riddle House, one that hopefully wouldn't see as many fatalities as the last attempt.
Harry shook his head. At least he'd gotten them off Gi – her.
"It's been going on for little over a month. That's why you haven't seen me in so long. I get one about every other day or so," said Harry, brushing away invisible dirt off his jeans and not quite meeting his friend's steady gaze.
"Harry -"
"No, Ron," Harry met his eye this time. He had to make sure Ron knew where he was coming from. He wasn't going to leave on a sour note. He couldn't do that to them . . . or to himself.
"You have a baby on the way. I wasn't going to ask for help. If something happened, how would I be able to look at my neice or nephew knowing that I had a hand, no matter how indirectly, in their father's death? How would I be able to face Hermione? Or Mrs. Weasley? She's already lost too many children as it is," said Harry.
Ron sighed explosively, and Harry knew that he'd won that argument, but he didn't feel a hint of triumph. All he felt was cold.
"So you think Delaney Umbridge is behind it? The hit wizards?" asked Hermione, steering the conversation back to safer grounds. Harry loved her for that.
"I can't think of anyone more outspokenly against me. Besides, despite my poor standing with the papers, I've got too much political clout of my own for Umbridge to keep alive. I've continually been this world's savior for twenty three years now, not to mention the ridiculous amount of seats on the Wizengamot that I've inherited. It doesn't matter if the paper slams me, the public adores me. The stocks for the Prophet have plummeted since their defaming spree, not that the editor cares with all those extra galleons coming in from Umbridge. The only ones that outright hate me are Delaney Umbridge and his crew of old Ministry stooges, and only because if I really wanted to, I could have their jobs and the Ministry within the year. I'm a threat, and they want to neutralize it."
Ron smirked. "Minister Potter. Has a nice ring to it."
"I have too many titles as it is. Besides, politics aren't my thing," shrugged Harry.
"I don't know, Harry. I mean, you were the General of the Light Forces, and in my opinion, a damn good leader. You'd make a great Minister," said Ron.
"Says the second in command. Why don't you try for it?"
"Nah, I'm pretty happy where I am now. I think we should let Hermione go for it."
Hermione sputtered. "Me? Have you gotten a good look at me lately? The only thing I'm going for is a double cream caramel macchiatto and a fried chicken wing."
The men laughed. "That's true."
"Can't doubt you on that."
Hermione glared, shifting from foot to foot. She huffed before pulling out her wand. Both Harry and Ron had the good sense to duck. Seeing this, Hermione rolled her eyes before conjuring an over stuffed chair.
"Honestly you two. I'm not going to curse you. My feet hurt," said Hermione, pulling off the "rather offended" look nicely. She had gotten plenty of practice over the years.
Ron grinned sheepishly. Harry laughed, feeling so nostalgic in that moment that he almost wanted to unpack his shrunken trunk right then and there.
"Look, mate," started Ron. Harry turned to him. "I think it's a good idea to get away from all this stuff for awhile, but don't be gone too long, okay? Little Rose Harriet needs her uncle."
Harry blinked. "Rose Harriet? Who's -" He stopped when he looked in askance to Hermione, who was beaming at him. His mind quickly made the connection.
"It's a girl?" he asked dumbly. A girl. His mind spun. What if it had been a girl? But, no, she was certain it had been a boy.
Hermione nodded, "Surprise!"
Harry tore himself away from his thoughts, slamming down on any urges to think beyond, and especially behind, the here and now. It didn't matter anymore. They were dead.
"Yeah mate, you've got a niece on the way," laughed Ron.
"But I thought you were waiting? That you wanted to be surprised?" asked Harry, forcing cheer into his voice. We had wanted to wait, too. His smile almost faltered, but he forced himself away from those poisonous thoughts. It wasn't about him. Not right now. It was about them, and this was supposed to be a happy moment.
"Oh, but I couldnt' wait! I tried to, but I couldn't sleep for three days once the baby was old enough to tell the sex. I finally just cast the spell, and it's a girl! We even named her after you," said Hermione brightly.
That's when it caught up to him. "Harriet? You're naming her after me?" asked Harry, touched beyond belief. It was perhaps the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him.
"Of course we are, mate. But if she had been a boy, we probably would have gone with Harold over Harriet," joked Ron.
"Wow, I – I don't know what to say. I feel so honored. I - thanks, you guys," said Harry, and he wouldn't even admit it to himself, but he felt a prickle behind his eyes. He blinked the feeling away, before gathering Ron in a hug, and then Hermione, who had struggled out of her overstuffed chair.
When he pulled back, Hermione was crying, and his shoulder was damp.
"Oh Harry, we're going to miss you so much," sobbed Hermione.
Ron snorted. "Come on, Hermione. He's going on vacation! He'll be gone for a few months and then he'll be back. It's not like you'll never see him again."
The words caused Harry's stomach to writhe in guilt and cold feelings, but he plastered on as much as a smile as he could in light of those words.
"I've got to go you guys. My plane is leaving soon," said Harry. He needed to get out of there before he decided on something he'd probably live to regret.
After another long exchange of well wishes and farewells, hugs and more tears (on Hermione's part), he was waving at the couple from the end of their walkway.
With a crack, Harry Potter disappeared from the lives of his two best friends.
"So I take it everything is in order?" asked Harry.
"Just a few more papers to sign, and then your will is up to date, Mr. Potter," grumbled the gravely voiced goblin.
He finished signing the last page with flourish. Harry was so glad to be done with all the paper work that went into updating his will. It was time consuming, but worth it. His mind would be at ease knowing that his family would be taken care of for the rest of their lives.
Honestly, why everyone who seemed to die left him their money and/or Wizengamot seats, Harry would never know, but as it stood, Harry was very wealthy. He was taking a sizeable sum of money with him, but it barely made a dent in his mammoth sized fortune.
Once he had cleared the goblin security and was once again standing in the bustling Diagon Alley, Harry whipped his wand and apparated away. He could have very well walked to the entrance, but that would mean pushing his way through the alley. The last thing he wanted, besides dealing with the heavy crowds, was being recognized and hounded for autographs or marriage proposals, or – and this only happened one time – a randy round in the sack with a witch old enough to be his great grandmother for a promised five hundred galleons and a "nice, hot meal." He shuddered at the memory.
Once he was in the alley next to the Leaky Cauldron, he shouldered his way through the late morning crowd of muggles and hailed a taxi.
"'Ello, bub. Where to?" asked the driver. Harry wrinkled his nose briefly. The cab smelled like sourkraut.
"Heathrow Airport, please."
"No problem, bub."
Harry tipped the man once they'd arrived. The outside of the airport was very crowded, much as everywhere he seemed to go today was. He didn't mind. Crowds gave him a feeling of anonymity.
Contrary to what he'd told Ron and Hermione, he really didn't have a plane to catch. Granted, he was planning on catching one, but first he needed to pick out where he wanted to go. He scanned the rows of benches, trying to find an empty one. When it became obvious that there weren't any, he chose the next best thing. He reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a well worn folded up piece of parchment before sitting next to a rather large, but nice looking woman in a faux leopard fur coat.
He unfolded the paper, his eyes travelling over the worn writing – the familiar words and wishes.
Harry wasn't sure how long he sat there, staring at the words without really comprehending, lost in the memories that each word gave, but then a voice broke him from his revere.
"I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but look. That's a very nice bucket list you have there," said the woman next to him.
"Oh, ah, thank you. Bucket list, did you say?" asked Harry, embarrassed and just a little upset that a stranger had seen the list. Better her than his friends, though.
The woman scrunched her brow together. "You mean you don't know what you've got? It's a bucket list! A list of everything you want to do before you die."
"Well, then I suppose it is, but I had no idea there was a name for this sort of thing," said Harry, gesturing to the list in his hand.
"Oh, not many people call them bucket lists anymore, but my mother always did. I remember sneaking peaks at hers when I was a little girl. I'm afraid it's a very bad habit of mine I've just never been able to break," said the woman, smiling ruefully.
Somehow, she reminded him of a blonder, older, and less smothering Molly Weasley. Harry couldn't help but smile back.
"Then I guess that's what I'll call it then. The bucket list," said Harry, holding the list up slightly in emphasis.
The woman giggled. "I'm glad I gave you a name for your list then. So where are you headed? Surely having your bucket list out means that you're planning on scratching something off, eh?"
Harry didn't bother to correct her, but answered the woman all the same. "I'm not sure. That's what I'm trying to figure out, but I'm afraid I haven't gotten anywhere with it."
"Hmm, may I?" asked the woman, holding out her hand. He eyed her hand warily before reluctantly handing the woman the list. If it wasn't for the manners that had been beaten into him, he wouldn't have let it go, but damn the British and their manners.
The woman took a moment to look through the list. Harry felt like she was judging the worth of his soul, but the torture didn't last long. She gave him back the list.
"Brazil," she said.
"Brazil?" asked Harry.
"I've been to Brazil many times. It's best to travel there this time of the year. The rainy season doesn't come for a few more months yet, you know. It's perfect just now! You'll love it," she said, patting his shoulder before standing up. She gathered her bags.
"Well, I'm off for China. I have my own bucket list and a few things that need scratching off. Good luck, dear. I hope you find what you're looking for," said the woman, before slowly making her way through the automatic doors of the airport.
"Goodbye," called Harry, although he didn't think it carried to the woman through the noise of the crowds. He looked down at the list, quickly locating the one wish that the woman must have zeroed in on.
Sit on the head of that huge statue in Rio de Janeiro right at sunset. Bet the view is beautiful.
A/N: Ahh. That feels better.
So I wanted to write a story that didn't have Harry showing up at Forks High School, as he is wont to do. I'm aiming for mature and original here folks. So, if you have it in your heart, lemme hear something back from you readers.
My dad is coming up from Jackson to Knoxville (TN) tonight to help me pack and move my apartment back to Jackson for the summer. Damn, he's a nice dad. We're getting started tomorrow, so hopefully after that blows over, I'll get the second chapter up. But, ya know, reviews are very encouraging to fast updates, and the old man isn't going to be here for another six hours, so . . .