Chapter 1: New Lives
Soon you will be sitting on top of the world.
Ron sighed as he scrunched up the piece of paper and threw it on the floor. He didn't understand these 'fortune cookies.' Harry had explained that Muggles used them for a bit of fun, but Ron, personally, couldn't see the fun in reading that your life would soon be looking up. Especially if it wasn't true.
Being told that things would turn out great was almost worse than the constant warnings of peril he and his classmates had endured from old Professor Trelawney back in their Hogwarts days. He had hated her then for being depressing and repetitive, now he hated the stale fortune cookie for lying to him.
"We're closing up in a few minutes, Mate." Neil, the bartender, called to him. Ron lifted his head to look at him, and a searing pain ran through his skull.
"Ugh" he groaned, gripping his head in pain and trying not to imagine what Hermione would be doing right now.
"You look like you've got a hang over. Bit early for that isn't it?" Neil laughed harshly.
"Not when you've been drinking all day." Ron dropped his head again and stared at the floor. It was worn, filthy and covered in spilled alcohol. He'd never realised he could have so much in common with the floor.
As we go on, we remember, all the times we had together
Ginny was fast asleep on the couch. Her parents had gone out for the night, and she had been left alone in the house, watching the television Harry had given her in her seventh year.
She had come home for Christmas and Harry had presented her with a little box of pictures, which he had explained to her was used by Muggles for entertainment. Unfortunately when he had tried to teach her how to get it working, they had discovered there was no electricity at the Burrow. After several hours of trying and some help from Hermione, they had managed to bewitch it to run by magic. Unluckily, they were unable to find a way to turn it off, so Ginny had to leave it on all day. She didn't really mind; she liked the background noise, especially lately with the house so empty.
The television was one of her most treasured possessions; not only had Harry given it to her, but it had actually belonged to him. He had decided to buy a new one, so had given his old one to her. Her father had immediately begun eyeing it off, and she hadn't been about to go back to Hogwarts and leave it unprotected. She kept it well away from her father with a protection charm; only she could touch it, and she never really needed to anyway, except to change the volume occasionally.
Tonight she had fallen asleep watching an odd Muggle show called "The Bill." In her opinion one of the most boring shows around (she had observed many since she had received the television) it had quite a following, and she had thought that perhaps she would give it another go. Unfortunately, five minutes into the show she had fallen into a deep sleep, only to miss the entire episode.
She still found it strange whenever she had the burrow to herself. All of her brothers had moved out long ago, except for Ron, who was never around anyway. Her parents had taken advantage of this and had lately been spending romantic evenings either at the house or at some new Muggle restaurant. She suspected her father liked these restaurants because of the opportunity to observe Muggles; he had complained about the food several times, so that couldn't be why he had been so eager to head back to one they had visited a few days ago. Ginny couldn't really complain; thanks to Ron's absence, she was left alone for several hours almost every night. She would take this time to look back on her life and pick through it, trying to find something worthwhile. The only things she ever found were her friends… and Harry.
It was another story entirely when Molly decided on a night in. She would cook Mr Weasley a brilliant meal, spending the whole day preparing it. During that day she would either enlist Ginny's help or kick her out of the house; she said she needed to 'concentrate' while she cooked; she couldn't have her husband going hungry, could she? So Ginny spent those days at Hermione's house, stuffing herself with food while Hermione was at work.
It really annoyed Ginny how much time Hermione spent at work. She knew that Hermione was the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (recently renamed the Department for the Welfare and Protection of Magical Creatures) and that she was very busy, but she was spending all of her time at the ministry, and not enough with her friends. She often thought sadly of Ron as she watched Hermione rush about, and wished that Hermione would put her life before her job, for once.
And as our lives change, from whatever, we will still be friends forever.
The house looked hard done by, and somehow very tired. Its weather-beaten roof was missing several shingles; the ones that were left were faded and scratched. The high fence around it had large holes in it, big enough for her to step through without having to bow her head. The few scattered windows she could see were empty of glass, other than a shattered pane here or there. The front door hung loosely off its hinges, flapping about in the harsh wind. As she observed it, she noticed that the house looked as though it was on a slant, and she realised that half of it had sunken into the ground.
Carefully swinging open the squeaky gate, she wandered down the dark pathway that led to the front veranda; the click of her heels on the stones blowing away with the wind. Several Muggles living in the area had made complaints to the police about strange noises coming from the house, and the police were preparing themselves to make an investigation soon. Luckily for the poor creature inside, this morning an ill witch had stumbled into the house, seeking shelter, to find a house-elf.
As Hermione walked through the threshold, she thought yet again how lucky it was that this House-elf had been found; if the young woman had come by a few days later, the police would have searched the property and discovered the elf already. Not only would that have been disastrous for the elf, but she knew all too well what would have happened if the police had found him; the magical world may have all been uncovered.
"Hello?" Hermione's voice echoed in the still house, ringing in her ears. She waited silently for an answer, but received none. "Hello? It's okay, don't be scared. I'm here to help you." Her words fell on a cold and silent house, so she carefully approached the rickety staircase and began to climb. "My name is Hermione, and I am from the department for the protection and welfare of magical creatures. Please come out, let me help you." Little did she know that a house-elf with any decency knew her name; she had been fighting for their freedom for many years. Any self respecting elf would hide upon hearing the name "Hermione", but this one did not. Instead, when she reached the top of the staircase, she turned a corner to see the small creature bent over, muttering to itself.
"Hello? My name is Hermione. Who are you?" Hermione approached the creature slowly and calmly, but before she could reach it, the small, aged house-elf turned to face her.
"I is Kreacher."
As we go on, we remember, all the times we've lost forever…
Mathilda Francis made her way up the path to the door of the house. It was a small cottage; rather old and weather beaten, but still lovely in her opinion. It wasn't very big, and it hadn't been very expensive, but it was Harry's, so she loved it. As she reached the front door she was about to knock when she remembered her key. Fumbling around in her pocket she pulled out a shiny silver door key, and grinned to herself. When Harry had given her the key a week ago, she had been shocked, and a little scared. Now she felt happy, excited and proud to be his girlfriend.
Opening the door, she grinned as she saw him making his way down the hall, his unkempt hair messier than usual. Rubbing his eyes he squinted at her.
"I heard your car. What time is it?" he groaned, protecting his eyes with his hand as she switched on a light.
"It's only ten, Babe. I can't believe you're already in bed." Mathilda close the door and went over to him. Wrapping her arms around him she pressed her mouth to his. Harry let her kiss him but he didn't kiss her back; it was late, he was tired, and he still found it uncomfortable when she called him 'Babe'.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Mathilda's thick New York accent pushed through, even though she'd lived in England for five years. She tried to put on an English accent every so often, but she wasn't really any good at it.
"Nothing… Babe." He smiled at her and grinned; he knew that she spoke differently to him, and that she didn't understand why he hesitated sometimes when she spoke. She swore a lot more than him too, but he loved her for it. He loved everything about her, or so he told himself.
"Oh, Babe. Your accent is so cute!" she squealed and jumped on him, letting him catch her in his arms. The scent of her perfume drifted into his nostrils and he laughed.
"Yours is pretty cute too." He laughed, brilliant green eyes twinkling. Lately he had really been trying to talk like she did; he even took notes sometimes of what words meant and when he should use them. He knew she had been influencing him without him knowing; sometimes when he was talking with Ron there would be times when Ron wouldn't understand him. He'd just laugh it off and say "Matti" and they'd continue their conversation.
Harry breathed in her scent and stroked her hair. It was thick and blonde; not natural, he knew, and smelled strongly of expensive perfume. When they'd met her hair had been midnight black, but she had told him, as though it were obvious, that they couldn't both have black hair, and his looked too 'cute' to dye. So now she had bleached blonde hair down to her shoulders, impossibly straight and remarkably like straw when wet. It felt odd to be brushing his hand through straw, but he didn't mention it because he didn't want to hurt her; he loved her.
He hoped he did anyway.
And as our lives change, from whatever, will we still be, friends forever?