Chapter: #1—Aftermath
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, any of the characters in the book, or anything else related to the book.
WARNING: POST DH……as in…..many references to what happened, so do not, DO NOT….read if you haven't read DH, I wouldn't want to ruin any part of the book for you, because that would be plain wrong, and mean of me to not warn you ahead of my story.
Description: What happened over a fraction of the 19 years, before the written epilogue.
A/N: I was truly an H/Hr shipper, even though I knew it could never happen based on the anvils dropped by JKR. And I do think that R/Hr make a cute couple, but not as cute as H/Hr could have been. I hope you enjoy the story. The chapter after this jumps ahead about, hmmm, five years.
-------
Hermione stood over Ron at the burrow, looking down at him, he was crying still, over the loss of his brother. She wanted to comfort him and assure him she was empathetic to his pain, but she just stood there, hovering, hoping he could be strong and snap out of the depression for a little bit. She saw how Harry reacted to all the other deaths, of course they weren't his brother, but he still was strong, and showed no one that he was worse off than he seemed. And the tears just kept coming, the more Ron cried the more she cried, until she realized the other day, her eyes were puffy, her heart was swollen, and she didn't have the heart to waste another day. Though the greatest evil had been destroyed, it didn't mean another one wouldn't conquer the safety they thought was wrapped securely around them. She left him, to morn, understanding that he needed too, and headed down the stairs, towards an unusually chipper Mrs. Weasly. It had been two weeks since the battle, none of the days had she seen her so happy. Hermione had chosen to let her parents be, to never visit them again, she felt ashamed that she took all those memories from them, and she felt a glint of self pity, that she was to never have a home again. But she remembered the battle and those nights in the woods where her safety depended on the doubt filled idea that someday the world would be Voldemort ridden.
Harry had left the other day, only God knows where he was going, but no one questioned him and no one even bothered to wonder where he was off to as they were certain that he could protect himself from whatever minor danger could possible arouse. Hermione figured he went back to Hogwarts for a bit, maybe to look at the building, the only real home he had seen, the only place he found comfort. It was taken from beneath him with the death of Dumbledore and destroyed with the battle, thanks to the Death Eaters and Voldemort himself. Being seventeen seemed to liberate Harry in an unusual way. He used his magic more than he had at Hogwarts, almost constantly. But it's understandable, that a wizard with such a craving for the defeating of evil would find himself useless after the most threatening evil was gone. He made excuses to use the magic, so many times he had wished there was something to live for, perhaps someone.
He strolled into the burrow, noticing Hermione without Ron holding her or talking to her. She ran to him and they embraced, a sign that she had been worrying, a sign he had occupied her mind for the last couple of days. He held her close, wondering just what was on her mind. He knew she wouldn't ask him where he had gone, there was an understanding between the two, a knowing it didn't matter if they were gone before, as long as they were there now. Harry had spent much time over the last couple of weeks thinking heavily about little Ted Tonks and how both his parents were gone, killed by the wrath of evil. The poor child, who's Godfather he was to be named, would grow up parentless, would grow up alone, even though the Weasly's had taken him in, he still would never know his parents. He would be left with those uncomfortable thoughts, of what it might be like if they hadn't died, the thoughts Harry always seemed to think. But his thoughts were pushed away feverishly as he realized everything was meant to happen the way it did.
He felt the tears slowly begin to stain his shoulders. Hermione had told him the other day she was done crying, but he wasn't the least bit surprised she had started again, after all of this drama, after all of this tragedy there was nothing else to do but think. And the more you think the more guilt weighs heavily on every action of yours. Sniffles and gasps was all he could hear, but he didn't mind, tears needed to be shed as they symbolized more than sadness. As they pulled away, he saw her eyes puffy again, he had forgotten what they looked like before he had walked in. Mrs. Weasly was cooking dinner, and Harry assumed he could stay, the more people in the house, the more it felt like a home. He was tempted to help her with dinner, but she might bite his head off, adding to the tension there had been over the days, the loss was too much for her, everyone could tell. Obviously George had taken it the worst, he had lost his other half, he disappeared into his room, only coming out for meals and leaving the running of his shop for the employees. Ron had generously taken a spot at the shop as manager, hoping it would ease the pain on his brother, maybe even ease the work load too, but he had been sadly mistaken. Ron didn't really like the business of numbers and ordering, always confiding in George to check his work, and more often than not finding it was completely wrong.
"Call the boys for dinner," Mrs. Weasly muttered, as she looked up and saw Harry, "Oh, Harry, you're back. Everyone will be happy to see you again," She added before grinning and hugging Harry tightly. He saw Ginny hurry into the room out of the corner of his eye. She sat down more gracefully than ever, but Harry saw through the nonchalant attitude, he saw her sadness, and her incredible bearing of loss. He wanted to comfort her, maybe place his arm around her shoulder, maybe stroke her cheek, or kiss her forehead. But he didn't, he knew that she had pulled away in almost a cold way, not talking to him at all since the battle, not even muttering a word. But he hadn't made an effort to get her talking, so he shouldn't be worried that she hadn't spoke. Before he could stop his train of thought from crashing right into the wall, the Weasly boys came in, accompanied by their father. He seemed rather uninterested in muggle contraptions these days, but more captivated by the jokes of George's shop.
Harry hurried over to the table and sat down, thinking of nothing other than the food sitting before them. Hermione didn't bother to get Ron, she knew he would come down in time, something they had the privilege of having. Finally they could live without the claws of time wrapped around them so tightly. They would get to live until the Prophet came out of its corner to ask questions, the media started finding out the facts and the wizarding community found out exactly what occurred. Then there would be hell, utter hell. When the ministry attempted to undo all the damage to mudbloods, would they get rid of Umbrige, would they get rid of the Voldemort supporters? Harry couldn't stop the thoughts from multiplying at every mention of that fatal night where he claimed victory. The turning of events would surely send the world into chaos. But he stuffed those thoughts aside as he began to eat, concentrating heavily on the chewing of each ounce of food, making sure not one chance at flavor was left behind.
-------
Ron hadn't come down for dinner; he had only left his room to use the bathroom. He didn't utter a 'hello' to Harry, he didn't hug a sorrowful Hermione, and he most definitely did not look at his worried family. He strolled back up to his room, unaware at how rude he was. But rude didn't matter to him anymore. Rude was just another word with just another meaning, it was nothing special. Nothing was special anymore. Ron thought he deserved pain; he deserved suffering, for leaving that battle alive, whereas almost fifty others hadn't. Who was he, why was he someone who got to live? He rested on his bed tracing the creases in the comforter across the room that sat perfectly on Harry's bed. It seemed so unlike Harry, to be so calm. He was usually so irrational. Ron couldn't help but wonder why. He also thought heavily about Hermione. What had happened, they had kissed, (yes, page… 625) But had it meant anything to Hermione? Had she even thought it could progress? Obviously not, he thought to himself. "Sure I've been clinging to her like a leech, never leaving her side." He whispered into the silence, as if to make it official. He glanced to the window. What had he missed in this life, what was wrong with him? Sleep offered a different option; he couldn't control his thoughts there, so he fell, almost instantly, into slumber.
He woke up later to the sound of his mother talking loudly. He decided to go down there to make a much needed appearance. It was dark outside; he could tell the night was nice. His mom smiled when she saw him. Her happiness was a comfort he had been craving for a while. He sat down on the couch next to Harry. There were many laughs and much joy. It was a feeling that had escaped them in the previous months, but now, though evil still existed, they could say they were a step closer to happiness. Mr. Weasly began to tell stories and they listened intently, not wanting to miss a word. But Hermione was focusing on the Daily Prophet, who had obviously started with their news, courtesy of Rita:
Harry Potter: The Chosen One was victorious with the help of many, including his best friend; Ronald Weasly, and girlfriend; Hermione Granger.
The article went on to describe what their version of the events was. She was displeased with the article; it offered no one a true understanding of what happened. There was an unhealthy lunging of her stomach when she reread it. They had no right to assume anything about that night. But how had they concluded she was Harry's girlfriend? She felt like going to the paper and demanding they find the facts from someone who actually was there; a true primary source. But she would do no such thing. An outburst of that would only bring attention to her, attention that the Weaslys didn't need. When Arthur had finished his story she stood up abruptly and walked out the back door. Harry and Ron looked at each other, as if to decide whose turn it was to follow.
-------
Hermione headed outside breathing in the air, one gulp at a time. It flooded her lungs with a fresh notion of life. She looked around. Like always, she had been followed. The darkness swallowed her and this figure, walking hastily over to her. By his stance, by his walk, she could tell who it was. He stood next to her, gazing aimlessly at the sky. He could tell she was searching for something, as if it were written in the sky. He longed to tell her that the sky wasn't like a book, it was never the same as before, whether noticed or ignored, it never stays the same. It was a refreshing summer night, the mosquitoes didn't hover around, the wind wasn't blowing heavily, but it was cool. 'Cooler than it had been for a while' she determined in her thoughts. She turned to him so she could make out his figure. His hair was a mess, she was sure you could lose something in those locks, but she didn't dare try.
He fidgeted with his shirt, losing himself in the darkness. She watched his hands, slightly tilting her head to the side. He exhaled loudly and she directed her attention towards his face. He moved closer to her, noticing how she shivered from the cool breeze that wasn't there before. He wanted so much to comfort her, to tell her that everything was going to be alright; that everything was already alright. But he was afraid to come that close to her right now. She seemed so distant, so alone. Was he supposed to disturb her train of thought? Was he allowed to? He didn't seem to care. He extended his arms and drew Hermione close, diminishing the space between them drastically. It didn't seem to faze her as she rested her head on his chest, still staring absently at the stars. He stroked her back and smelled her hair, wishing so much to kiss her. She looked up at him, as though reading his mind. She stared directly into his eyes and smiled, tucking her head back into his warmth. He couldn't help but smile as his eyes wandered back to the sky and how vastly open it was.
She broke apart from their embrace and sat gently on the ground and he followed. The grass scraped against her thighs as she laid back, her head sitting in the little prickles; not caring of the dirt and not caring of the grass. He lay back with her, still staring upwards. She still felt his closeness, but it wasn't a bother to her. The night air seeped easily into her lungs and she sighed loud enough so he could hear. She turned her face to him, alarmed at how close he was. Their noses were almost touching. Their noses were almost touchingHe ran his hand across her cheek, letting it fall to the ground. With one push his lips grazed hers. As if she had been craving this forever, she flew on top of him, kissing him roughly. He didn't back away, he couldn't back away, and the ground was behind him. He was useless, but he didn't mind. His hands skated down her back, then holding her waist. Her hands wrestled with the ground, tugging on the grass, pushing on his shoulders until he broke away, staring intently at her.
"What?" She asked.
"I just—"
"Don't think."
And there was no more thinking. He pushed her onto the grass, kissing her some more as her hands pushed against his back. He didn't know what he was doing, he didn't know why. But he kept kissing her and she kept kissing him. Then they stopped. It was sudden and he hadn't expected it. She stood up and walked to the back of the yard, he followed instinctively. Her hands were stuffed into her pockets now as she headed farther into the darkness. When he finally caught up to her he was tempted to ask why she had gotten up so quickly. But he knew there was no reply; there was no answer. She leaned against a nearby tree, back facing the Burrow and he walked over to her. He took her hand and she squeezed it once. He saw the slight shiver run through her veins. He removed his jacket, astounded at how cold it was during the summer. He handed it to her silently and she gladly accepted.
"What are you looking for?" He whispered.
"An answer I guess," She shrugged off the question and pulled him in closer.
Once again they began to kiss, leaning heavily on the tree. And he felt the scraping of the bark on him hands. She slowed down, looking at him in a way he had never seen. Such hurt filled her eyes; such pain lived in her heart. Tears began to fall, once again, and he comforted her in the only way that seemed right. Holding her tightly he ran his hands down her spine. He wanted her to stay in his arms forever. Staring out into the distance, his thoughts traveled to unthinkable places. She tugged him out of his daydreams by pushing her hands through his hair. Tugging at her side with a one armed hug, they walked slowly back to the burrow.
When inside, they walked up the stairs and before they went their separate ways they shared one last goodnight kiss.
-------
Ron woke up that morning with happiness spread gleefully across his face. Last night had been great for him, he heard old stories, talked with his family and he got out of comforting Hermione. Her tears had become too much for him to bear. Across the room, Harry was just opening his eyes. He stretched slightly and remembered last night, him and Hermione. But the splitting image of Hermione and Ron during the battle entered almost instantly into his head. But he felt his feelings for Hermione, they were real, he wanted her. He wanted her right now. But she wanted Ron. It was him she kissed during the battle, it was him that it was now or never with. Not Harry, Ron. He wanted to go back to sleep, he wanted all of it to be a dream, one big dream. He thought with the end of Voldemort there would be more happiness, not more drama; not more confusion.
As the day went on Harry continuously saw Ron and Hermione, hugging, holding hands, but not kissing. He wondered if she would tell Ron.
Hermione sat, snuggled in Ron's arms, happy where she was; she loved what was happening, when she remembered Harry. What was Harry to think? He would surely hate her. But if they were to never speak of it again, it would probably go away. They would never talk about it. They wouldn't even recognize that it happened. She hurried into the house to help Mrs. Weasly with lunch as Ron walked over to Harry.
"So how bad was it last night?"
"Loads of crying," He snapped quickly.
"Sorry, mate, I'll do it next time," he chuckled and smiled. "Ginny wanted me to tell you, she hopes you will talk to her again."
"What? She's the one who hasn't been talking to me," He added hastily.
"Well, that's what she said, I dunno what it means."
"Thanks, I guess, it just added to all the confusion anyway."
"I don't see any confusion," Ron shrugged, and went inside, followed quickly by Harry.
Lunch was the normal routine that they had been following for weeks, every day they would do the same thing. Harry was ready to branch off, to be busy, to make himself useful again. "Say, Mrs. Weasly," Harry began, "Where would I find work around the magic world?"
"Well, I don't know dear. Perhaps Diagon Alley, Hogsmade?"
- - - - - - - - -
Harry headed out the door and straight to Diagon Alley. He loved the bustle of the crowd and the ads in the shop windows. It was a happy place now that Voldemort was gone. He hurried through the streets, trying hard to fit in, but no one noticed his scar, his hair had long surpassed it. He noticed people laughing and smiling. He hurried into George's shop.
On the shelf sat a new line of pranks: action figures with apparent catch phrases. There was a Harry Potter doll. Its catchphrase: "I am the true master of the Elder Wand." A phase Harry remembered screaming out to Voldemort after the battle. He exited the store quickly, not feeling as humorous as before.
And there it was, a 'Help Wanted' sign hanging in a bookstore window. Books and Bells was the name of it. He walked in slowly and heard a short whistle of a bell go off.
"Hello, how may I help you?" A squat man asked.
"I saw the help wanted sign, I had hoped that maybe I could work here."
"Oh, yes, we are in desperate need of employees lately, it's only me and the new girl these days." He grinned, "Name?"
"Erm—Harry Potter,"
"Harry Potter? In that case, there's no need for an interview, you can start right away." Harry hated special treatment, especially if it was because of his scar and all that chosen one business, but he gladly accepted, he needed something to busy himself with, plus, he clarified with the man ahead of time, it could only be short time.
The shop was dusty and smelled of old books. 'Hermione would love it here' he thought. As he shuffled through the books, placing them in order on a shelf someone came up behind him. "Harry? I didn't know you worked here,"
"Oh, yeah," he smiled, "I just started today. When did you start Ginny?"
"About a week ago," She grinned and walked away with a full stack of books in her hand.
- - - - - - - - -
After he was done at the shop he headed back the burrow, waiting for Ginny to catch up. "I heard you wanted me to talk to you," He said as they walked through the streets.
"Yeah, I just wanted to make sure we were okay, because I remember back last summer before you left,"
"I know," He cut her off, "But it is different now."
"Yeah, it is." She smiled as they headed back to the burrow. The lights were on as they opened the door. Everyone sat together again. He noticed Hermione next to Ron, his arm wrapped tenderly around her. Harry sat next to her on the couch.
"Harry," she whispered into his ear so only he could hear, "Forget about it please, I'm with Ron," She backed away. Such displeasure lined the inside of his heart. All his thoughts concentrated on what tomorrow wasn't going to be, not its potential.
- - - - - - - - -
A/N: I'm adding the next chapter shortly, and it's almost finished. It jumps ahead about five years. Thanks for reading :)
