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Chapter Eleven: Journey

I snatched Ron's hand luggage and delved through it frantically, most of its contents spilling out onto the floor.

"It has to be here," I cried. "How on earth could you have forgotten your passport Ronald Weasley? Don't you understand how important it is? After I reminded you over one hundred times last night -"

I pulled out a shabby looking booklet, exhaled, and thrust it to him.

"Thanks," he muttered sheepishly, handing it to the security guard who glanced briefly at it then allowed us onto the shuttle bus.

I picked myself up off the ground, people groaning at the small hold up we had caused. Trust Ron to be so unprepared.

We found three vacant seats on the shuttle and slouched down into them gratefully. We had been queuing in Heathrow Airport, London, for over three hours and the clock had barely tolled ten in the morning. I hoped that was the worst part of our journey over and done with. It would be all worth it, I thought, once I get to see Matthew again. It had been too long.

"I don't understand why we can't just fly to Forks, our way, or use a portkey or something," Ron complained quietly, conscious of the Muggles, as the shuttle started moving towards the plane. "The Muggle way is so long and frustrating and come on – why make me take off my belt? I just don't get it."

"Firstly, if we flew to Forks, our way," Harry added, surreptitiously. "We would probably die along the way. I'm pretty sure it's impossible to fly from England to the U.S.A. – the distance is just too large. Secondly, I don't even think I'd like to flyto the U.S.A. – the Muggle way is much more relaxing, even if it does involve endless queues and overpriced food. Planes are good, Ronald, hold onto that."

Ron, nevertheless, continued moaning. "And really, out of the three of us, I'm the only one who has never even been acquainted with the whole ordeal of flying and plane's before, so you can't really blame me if I forget my passport or get lost in all of that madness back there. Hermione's flown hundreds of times and even though you haven't, Harry, you still grew up with Muggles so you know what to expect."

A man moving from the back of the shuttle to the front elbowed Ron in the ribs, accidentally, as he passed by us.

Ron grimaced. "This plane better be nothing less than luxury. I'm warning you, Hermione; I'm this close to evaporating into thin air here-"

"Keep your voice down," I whispered. "This parts almost over. Look -" I pointed, "- there's our plane."

Ron gaped at the size of the plane for at least thirty seconds – it was an American jumbo jet. Really – what was he expecting? A flying Mini?

We boarded the plane quite fast. I took extra care to help Ron with things such as finding our seats and placed his luggage in the overhead compartment for him. He was still in awe of the Muggle way of travelling.

"What's this?" he asked, fiddling with the buttons on his armrest. We were seated halfway down the plane, the only three in our aisle.

"Don't touch it now," I said, filling the basket in front of my seat with jellybeans and chocolate for the journey, and also a copy of Wuthering Heights, my latest read. "It's for adjusting your seat after the plane has taken off."

"Oh…" he said, scratching his head."Best relax then, hadn't we? The others have probably arrived by now. I want to see Alexa again! You said the flight is going to take eight hours -"

"At least eight hours – it depends on the speed the pilot travels at and the wind too… Are you okay Harry?"

Harry was staring out onto the vast runway through his side window. He looked dismal.

"It's just…" he began, taking in his surroundings like a child standing in a candy store for the first time."When I was smaller I always wanted to go on a plane. The Dursley's were always jetting off on foreign holidays, leaving me with Mrs Figg. When I was about eight I remember thinking, 'someday I'll leave this place, someday I'll fly'… and well, now it's happening. It feels… good."

Tears brimmed the edges of my eyelids, leaving me feeling rather stupid and pathetic. "You're going to love it. I promise," I smiled. "Once we take off… nothing's stopping us. We'll have such a wonderful Christmas with Matthew, Renesmee, Alexa and their family. It will be our best Christmas yet, I'm sure of it."

I couldn't help but think about my vampire friends; being on a plane meant that I was one step closer to seeing my true love, my vice, my soul mate. The way he smelt, his gorgeous body, his passion, his traits – I craved for them now more than ever.

There was an overhead announcement about safety and other general travelling instructions, also including a short speech from the pilot.

The plane took off only five minutes later than scheduled, Ron gripping my arm so hard it felt like it was severely bruised. He looked utterly petrified, his face framed with horror, shock pulsing through his body.

"Ron – it's okay," I soothed, "That's how a plane takes off. It's supposed to be like that." You'd swear he was a five-year-old child, clinging to his mummy.

"It-it c-can't fall, can it?" he whimpered pathetically. Honestly, what was he expecting?

Being as insensitive as we were, Harry and I couldn't help but laugh loudly at poor Ron. He didn't have a clue.

"Of course not, Ron. Who'd of thought you'd be scared of planes," Harry laughed, savouring the images of his horrified friend. It was pretty funny.

Ron laughed nervously and refrained from talking. He concentrated on the small screen playing a children's movie over our heads, obviously trying not to show how scared he was.

I flicked through the aeroplane gift shop brochure freely, until I remembered that I still hadn't bought a Christmas present for Matthew yet.

I considered the options I had: Cologne, a model aeroplane, a key ring… nothing special enough.

"Excuse me," I said to the airhostess with the trolley as she past. "You don't have any… travel vouchers, do you?"

Harry stifled a laugh. It wasn't as if I had any better options. I had to get him something. Ron continued staring at the screen, growing continuously paler as he battled against his willpower.

"Yes, ma'am, we do," the lady smiled. "To what value?"

"Erm… two hundred dollars worth, please, so that they can be spent in America," I said, in a low voice.

Harry gaped at me. "Since when do you have that kind of money?"

"College fund," I mumbled. I still had plenty left.

The lady handed me the vouchers in return for my cash.

"Is-is he okay?" she asked, looking nervously at Ron.

Ron had gone unbelievably pale, sweat on his brow.

"He-he doesn't like planes," I replied, looking anxiously at Harry.

The airhostess fumbled in a drawer in her cart. "Give him this," she said, handing me a sick bag. "Plane sickness affect's the best of us."

She bid us a pleasant journey and continued on her stops down the aisle.

"Travel vouchers?" Harry repeated, tucking into a full English breakfast he had just received. "What's the point in that? If Ginny got me plane vouchers…"

I looked sheepishly at the floor. "I just thought… you know, over the summer, he'll be in America and I'll be in England. I thought if I got him travel vouchers he'd be able to come and visit me for free. We could spend weeks together and he'd be able to kiss me, cuddle me… surely that's the best possible present I could have gotten him."

"Hmm…" Harry muttered, chewing on some bacon. "Maybe…when you put it like that. Still pretty lame though."

Ron eyes widened and he placed a hand on his stomach. He stood up abruptly and made a dash for the nearest toilet. I was sure the outcome wouldn't be pretty.

I sighed deeply and indulged myself in a chocolate muffin. Boys.

***

"Miss, miss," a voice said as I opened my eyes.

It was the airhostess. "We've arrived," she smiled sympathetically.

I sat up straight. I hadn't even realised that I'd dozed off.

"Where are my friends?" I wondered, still disoriented.

"They're in the lavatory. The one with the red hair hasn't been well at all…" She sighed and continued waking other passengers.

I looked out the window. It was bright outside.

I was in America. I had arrived. Matthew was close by.

Adrenaline pulsed through me veins as I jumped up excitedly, grabbed my hand luggage, and sped to the bathrooms.

"Harry? Ron?" I called, knocking on the door.

Harry opened the door, looking rather pale himself.

"Ron's… not in a very good state," he sighed, looking defeated.

He appeared by Harry's side, clutching a fresh barf bag.

"Never…" he whispered, trying to form a sentence, clutching the door frame."Never – bring – me – on – a – plane – again."

"You look awful!" I cried. He was still extremely pale, his once terrified face now deathly looking. "Harry - why didn't you wake me? He looks like he needs a doctor!"

"I'd say it's just plane sickness, fear of flying, that sort of thing," Harry said, concerned for his friends well being but being logical at the same time. "He should be fine in a few minutes. Can you imagine the journey home now?"

Ron turned away and puked again in the toilet.

"I have a feeling we will never be able to say 'aeroplane' again," I sighed, Ron retching violently in the background.

It took us another half an hour to get Ron in a fit position to get off the plane and into the tunnel which joined us to the airport. A doctor was waiting.

"If he's not feeling better in an hour, call me," he smiled, in a very strong American accent. "It just looks like regular travel sickness though."

We walked very slowly into the airport where we were to collect our baggage.

"I'll carry yours, Ron," Harry offered, lifting it off the conveyor belt.

"I'm… fine," Ron grunted, everything but.

We wandered into arrivals, greeted by a crowd of people waiting for their loved ones.

I scanned the crowd. "I don't see them!" I gasped. Where were they?

Just then, someone tapped me on the shoulder.

I spun round to find myself looking at my irresistible boyfriend.

"MATTHEW!" I screamed, dropping my cases and wrapping myself around his body.

He sniffed my hair. "I've missed you so much," he smiled, holding me tightly.

He hadn't changed one bit. He was as beautiful as ever. But then again – vampires don't age, do they?

"I never want to be away from you again," I whispered, tears overflowing in my eyes.

His lips crushed against mine.

We kissed passionately, ignoring the jeers from onlookers.

We were reunited at last.

His hands were entwined in my hair. I held him so closely, feeling his body frantically, making sure he was real. Making sure he was my Matthew, the one I adored, my most treasured possession. I suddenly realised how miserable my life was without him.

This was the best moment of my life.

It was the best feeling ever.

"I love you, Hermione," he gasped, as we broke apart from our embrace.

"I love you so much," I replied. "You seriously have no idea."

He hugged me tightly again as if our bodies couldn't bear to be separated. His eyes shined like diamonds.

"Welcome to Washington," he whispered in my ear.

I kissed him again; I couldn't refrain myself. It was like some cheesy love story, where the girl finds her prince.

If my life ended right now I would be immensely happy. It was pure bliss.