Chapter Ten

Hermione's Birthday

Olivia Granger arrived at her sister's party on the rooftop of the Bewitchery just after eight o'clock. To her surprise Harry was there, dressed in what could be considered his own version of the 'nines': dress pants and matching jacket with a white t-shirt underneath. They smiled at each other, exchanging polite hellos. Harry carried a good bottle of wine and a pack of Stellas. As they waited for the old iron lift to come down they could already hear the dance pop music that played in full volume, the chorus of Madonna's Hung Up floating down making Olivia start humming along.

"What have you been up to these days, Olivia?"

"Oh, I'm just out of university actually. I'm working on my debut novel."

"Really?" Harry's reaction was one of pleasant surprise. "What's it about?"

"It's a love story but it's not just that. The characters orbit around one another throughout the years, it's friendship, it's love, but then they have terrible communication issues so it doesn't work out… They're never able to completely cut ties, and they're only completely themselves and completely happy when together."

"I'd read the hell out of that…" Harry complimented. Before he could say more the lift finally arrived and they entered.

The doors to the lift opened onto the well-lit rooftop with its many plants, hanging ferns, fuchsias and ivy. It was filled with people already, drinking and mingling, others were already dancing and having a good time on the dance floor area. Olivia looked around spotting her Mum and Dad by the bar conversing with one of the older Weasley sons, she still wasn't good at telling them apart. And then she saw Hermione laughing loudly and unabashedly at something likely preposterous that Ron Weasley had said, Luna, his partner, pinching the bridge of her nose, her cheeks red and a tell-tale smile on her face.

"Anthropological experience right here right now." Olivia told Harry with a chuckle, pointing her chin towards Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley who were making eyes at each other across the food table and exchanging what seemed like charged words.

Harry's first impression was that Ginny had changed for the better in the past fifteen years. Her ginger hair was still straight and long but her features had matured. Her gray eyes seemed more intense and mysterious with the dark eyeliner she wore and the smokey make-up around them. Ginny carried herself with both elegance and the well-deserved confidence of a young woman who had carried their national quidditch team into a legendary world cup victory just weeks ago.

"Harry!" Both he and Olivia nearly jumped out of surprise as Seamus Finnegan's voice reverberated, catching the attention of several other guests. "My God, mate, we thought you'd never grace us with your presence again!" He exclaimed happily, a bottle of Guinness in his hand.

As Seamus gave him several hard pats on his back Harry saw Hermione, Ron and Luna approaching them through the corner of his eyes.

"What have you been up to, mate?" Harry returned, "Heard your pub is Dublin's biggest success." Seamus smiled proudly, raising his bottle to Harry.

"My pride and joy. You should visit us up in Ireland someday, mate. I'd be glad to welcome you into my home."

"One of these days I'll take you up on that." Harry patted his shoulder enthusiastically before he finally came face to face with the birthday woman and their mutual closest friends.

Hermione wore a rose-gold sequined dress that went down past her knees, 1920s-style fringes elegantly swaying as she moved. Her curls were held back in an updo, golden-brown ringlets framing her beautiful face. She'd done something to her eyes though, something smokey that highlighted her dark irises and made her look mysterious and absolutely heart-stopping. Or maybe that was just the effect she had on him. Harry gulped, not feeling entirely himself in his dressed-up attire.

"Hello 'Mione…" He greeted her, handing her the bottle of wine.

All eyes were on them as both their hearts beat madly in their chests, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that couldn't be blamed on make up. She stood there as he leaned into her, placing a kiss on each cheek, inhaling the sweet vanilla scent of her perfume, the tip of his nose brushing against her cheek by accident. It was barely noticeable but he was certain her breath hitched.

He took a wide step back as she tucked a curl behind her ear, not knowing quite what to say.

"Happy birthday is in order, I reckon…" He said with a sheepish smile.

"Thank you, Harry. I'm glad you came." She was about to say something else when a tall, handsome man appeared, his blonde hair impeccable, as was his outfit, down to his designer wizarding watch and Italian leather shoes. His hand wound around Hermione's waist and he kissed her cheek, turning towards Harry with a smile that seemed a bit too wide.

"Harry Potter, out of the grave!" He exclaimed, extending his hand in a show of good spirits. "I'm Eric, Eric Fletcher."

Harry shook his hand firmly, smiling politely. The last thing he wanted was to cause a scene or upset Hermione on her special day. There was something about this Eric that was off-putting to him, starting by the possessive way with which he held her to his side by the waist.

"Pleasure to meet you, mate." Harry returned.

Harry and Hermione both couldn't be more relieved when Ron Weasley pulled Harry in for a hug and handed him a newly-opened bottle of beer. Harry watched from the corner of his eyes as Eric whisked Hermione away to the dance floor, while he, in turn, joined much of his fellow schoolmates in another corner, near the bar. Luna and Ginny were there already conversing with Fleur, Bill, Dean Thomas and the Patil twins. Most of them Harry hadn't seen since his wedding over a decade ago.

As soon as he came near, the topic of conversation shifted and Harry had a strong feeling that the tense little scene that had just unfolded was the subject of their whispers.

"So, Dean, I heard you finally came around to opening that art gallery..." Dean blushed profusely and nodded. Dean Thomas had become the top painter and portraitist in Wizarding England in the past years and Harry remembered attending an art show of his in Toronto a good three or four years ago. The two had even gone out for drinks afterward.

Just like that, everyone in their little group eased into conversation and after a few minutes Harry didn't feel so out of place. Padma Patil filled him in on news and changes at Hogwarts and Parvati added in good doses of humor and gossip which allowed them all to laugh together, reminiscing.

From the other side of the rooftop Hermione could barely manage calming her racing heart as she swayed to the music in Eric's arms. She rested her cheek on his shoulder to try and settle down her nerves under the pretense of being romantic. Harry's presence had disconcerted her in such a way… This effect Harry had on her would always be utterly infuriating. He was her Achilles' heel, there was no other way to put it.

Neville Longbottom sat on a chair overlooking the castle, the yellow lights cast its way showing the details sculpted in stones and giving its towers a fairytale quality like no other. He thought about the towers, the prisoners that once might've been locked up in them, prevented from escaping from the height and the soldiers guarding the exits with their swords and knives. He felt as though it was a fitting analogy to the feelings for Ginevra he kept locked up in his chest. They'd been running circles around each other for years now. He loved her, desired her like he never desired anything else in the world. Yet she was the height, the bars, the soldiers and the swords that kept him in place. Loving her was sheer torture.

"Nev…"

Upon hearing her voice from behind he felt the anger and resentment begin to bubble in his chest. He didn't acknowledge her. He was sick and tired of running after a person who played him like a cat played with a ball of yarn.

"It's hard for me to open up, you know that, and it's such a hard, overwhelming decision. You live at Hogwarts, I live and work in Dublin…"

He could tell the anger from earlier in the party when they had shared a series of thorny words had dissipated.

"Excuses and more excuses, Ginevra. I'm sick and tired of them. I've tried and tried to get over you, to fall for someone else but I'm unable to. We both know you feel the same for me, I feel it each time we kiss, each time we make love. When I'm with you it's the most excruciating, blissful time… I'm not asking you to give up your career or your life. Merlin knows I'd gladly give up mine if it meant having even the slightest bit of chance with you. It's ridiculous…" He scoffed, taking a long swig out of his beer, never looking at her, just staring stubbornly at the castle.

His words, so filled with upset and strangely enough devotion, struck a chord. Ginny felt the familiar butterflies in her stomach, the ones she felt each time she was with him and suddenly a giant, desperating fear overcame her. That she would lose him, that he would give up on her and their love or this fucked up obsession they had for one another.

Suddenly, it was as though she had lost control of her own arms and legs. She found herself standing in front of him, blocking Neville's view of the castle and her hands lifting his gaze up to her. There were tears threatening to spill from his eyes. So much love emanated from them that she gasped, her throat constricting and her heart nearly stopping in her chest.

"I love you Neville Longbottom and I hate what we've become almost in equal measure. I don't understand why there has to be so much suffering, so many obstacles. I just know that there are and I don't know how to get rid of them… I…"

She was interrupted by his swift movement of pulling her down onto his lap and kissing all sense out of her. It was just them in the entire world in that moment and her lips, tongue, teeth and fingers reciprocated with the same reckless desire.

From opposite ends of the rooftop Hermione Granger and Harry Potter watched the scene unfold. On Hermione's part she was shocked Ginny and Neville were even showing intimacy in public. Their romantic ties were something kept hidden and locked up with seven keys. She only knew because he'd confided in her through the years. For all this time she'd been the sole guardian of their secret.

She hoped with all her heart that this was them finally setting things right, finally giving their love and relationship a proper chance.

For some idiotic reason she felt the urge to look away, as if her watching them, even if from afar was a horrible intrusion. She glanced towards the bar and her eyes met with Harry's. Had he been staring at her all this time?

When Harry turned around and began walking towards the old iron elevator, Hermione went after him, as though a powerful, invisible force was pushing her to go.

She caught him just as he was entering the old contraption, pulling him by the jacket, her dark eyes wild and pupils dark.

"You can't leave now, I'm about to blow the candles." Her voice seemed breathless, as if she'd just ran a marathon. "Why is it that you always leave?"

All of a sudden, the half-drunken cheers and the pop music coming from the party, as well as the chatter of the many guests seemed worlds away.

"I just… I don't see where I fit anymore." Harry's tone was one of defeat, "You seem to have made your decision. Eric appears to be the right sort of guy…"

"I think that's for me to decide, Harry."

He watches as she shakes her head, her hands on her hips in annoyance. All he can do is nod and in the end he stays to join in the 'Happy Birthday' chants and to see her blow out the bloody candles.

It seems that even surrounded by so many people their eyes always find a way to meet. Olivia graciously prepares him a plate with several slices of the cake to take home to the girls. Neville and Ginny are long gone, having said their quick goodbyes to Hermione and some of the other Weasleys, gone to his cottage on the Hogwarts grounds for the night.

They all find their way home until only Hermione lingers, pulling on a black velvet jacket to protect herself from the cool night wind.

Eric is at the door, holding the door open for her so they can leave in his fancy muggle car.

"Mine or yours?" He asks her, as he opens the passenger door for her like a perfect gentleman.

Hermione is quiet for a whole minute. On any given day she would have no qualms being with him, sleeping with him. Sex with him is good, sex has always been good. She doesn't want it tonight, however, and nor does she want the scent of his expensive French perfume on her pillow.

She longs to take these high heels off, to slip out of this dress and wash off this heavy make up and finally be herself again.

"Actually, I'm terribly tired, Eric. Could you just drive me home?"

"I could always sleep over…" He suggests, eyes turning from the road to her. His warm hand tries to take hers but she swiftly moves her hand away.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning for our trip, Eric. I want to sleep in my bed tonight, and make sure Bea is all right."

She doesn't even need to look at him to detect the utter disappointment he feels.

"Whatever you want." Soon he makes his stop in front of her cottage, the soft yellow light shining from over the entrance, illuminating the path. She wasabout to open the wooden gate when she saw the piece of parchment stuck to it, suddenly falling. She picked it up from the ground knowing very well that Eric's eyes were on her. She waved back at him and entered, closing the gate behind her. An unexpected relief washed over Hermione's entire being when her ears caught the sound of his car speeding away.

She entered and immediately slipped off her jacket and shoes. Her home was warm and smelled of books, vanilla and wood, the best smell in the world. She dragged her feet up the stairs with the paper still in her hands. She was about to check for Beatrice in her room when she remembered her daughter was at the Burrow for the night, along with plenty of the other Weasley grandchildren and for the first time ever, Lily and May Potter as well. She smiled thinking how Molly and Arthur must be over the moon to have the old place filled with children and laughter again, and also dead tired.

Minutes later Hermione stepped into the shower, washing the invisible weight of her makeup and the stress away. When she finally entered her bedroom wrapped in her favorite robe, the unopened parchment was sitting on her side table. She reckoned it could be something if a birthday message and couldn't quite believe her eyes when she read the familiar scrawl.

Come to my house. Now.

-HP

She barely had time to dwell on his lack of manners, and words. Her curiosity and above that, anticipation, were all too great. Hermione slipped on her softer pair of mum jeans and pulled a light-blue jumper over her head, racing down the stairs. She slipped on her favorite leather loafers and disapparated.

Harry was just about nodding off on the sofa, the fireplace lit and casting blue and orange flames around the room. He hadn't been completely alone at home since his wife was still alive, when she'd sometimes take the girls out to the park or to run errands and he had the rare moment of quiet solitude to do whatever he pleased.

He knew Hermione was due to go to Bath for a romantic weekend. It was all everyone talked about at the party, before the Ginny and Neville ordeal that was. Their Hogwarts mates were certain Eric would ask for her hand in marriage during the weekend, they said he was madly in love with Hermione, that he was the perfect match for her.

It was this talk Harry couldn't stand, that made him want to leave the party. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her to him or watching them as they smiled and danced to the music. Hermione was beautiful and glowing like a bright star in that gold sequined dress.

He walked in the dark from Arundel all the way to Amberley, traipsing along the sinuous curves of the road, the cold wind hitting his face. If this were Canada he might've feared being eaten by a bear, but the only obstacle was the occasional car that passed in high speed, on the verge of running him over. Upon finally arriving home he could barely feel his legs. The tips of his fingers, as well as his cheeks had gone numb.

He glanced at his watch marking a quarter past three. He stared at the fire trying to decide if he had enough strength and willpower to go up the stairs to his bed or just pass out on this very cozy green sofa.

The sofa was winning by a long shot by the time three resounding knocks could be heard. For a second there Harry thought he might be hallucinating. Walking five or six miles as he'd just done was no joke. Gone were his young, athletic days.

"Harry!"

He heard her shout out, followed by impatient bangs on the door.

When the door swung open Hermione's eyes widened. All the words that had been swarming in her brain suddenly disappeared.

"You came…" The way he said it was so tender, so endearingly Harry…

Hermione pushed past him, entering the warmth of Turtledove Cottage.

"1999 Harry, will we talk about it or not?"

"We'll talk about all of it."

Wishing all my readers a Happy and Healthy 2021.

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