5

A life without compromise.

She was wearing a nice, plain red dress and black heels; a gold necklace as her only accessory, in addition to her conspicuous but natural makeup.

Her friend Ron's wedding was moving and Lavender, his now wife, was beaming with happiness. The first thing she, Ginny, and Harry said when they saw them, was that Ron looked more gentlemanly and graceful than ever. Hermione wondered if he would still be like this once he was back in his normal clothes.

Harry and Ginny were dancing, but not with each other. Harry with Lavender, and Ginny with Ron. The two brothers were chatting while they did so. Then they switched partners. Harry went back to Ginny, and the newlyweds got together again. The only one Hermione was holding was little Albus. His large eyes seemed to shine from the reflection of the lights, and they were so focused on Hermione that he seemed unaware of everything: from the noise, from the continuous movement around her... Albus was more interested in tangling his little hands in her (although she had done a lot of combing for this special occasion) unruly hair. She smiled at the baby, keeping a steady gaze on him, which he did not ignore even though his fingers were in a tight spot. She rocked his little body with a softness and laziness that managed to fool everyone, as if she was only looking and not rocking the baby.

What would Albus be like when he grew up? His brother James was running around under the tables right now, tapping the sitting adults on the feet to scare them. A restless and mischievous child. And the baby? The only certainty sheI had about his existence was his lovable and calm personality.

How do you come to love something like that, a child? Hermione had nothing to compare to the boy other than her fruit trees. She took care of those lives responsibly, but she did not love them, and she would not be so ridiculous as to cry for a cherry tree.

"Wow," someone sighed, "it looks like someone here has a crush on Hermione."

Ginny had arrived and Harry was hugging her around the waist, chuckling at his wife's comment.

"Maybe he's just stunned by so much noise," Hermione said, as the music was so loud that any murmur was consumed by it.

"That's why we thought we'd come and get him out for a bit," Harry replied. "Once he falls asleep the music won't bother him. When Ginny sweeps the house, she plays loud music, and James is a little imp. Albus is immune to noise."

"How lucky you are," Hermione said.

"Sure," Ginny snapped. "Albus is our blessing and James our other angel, who blows the seven trumpets of the apocalypse."

The three adults laughed, and then Harry helped Hermione retrieve her hair from the baby's clutches. When she was alone, she looked at the table and grabbed her glass. She had a drink of champagne. Acidity hit her palate and tempted her to reach for another sip. She should join everyone, leave the table, but decided to wait to finish the glass.

Ron spun Lavender around before continuing to sway together, giggling as they danced, keeping their gazes locked with smiles so wide that the creases at the edges of their eyes stood out. They would grow old and be happy. They would have a family, Ron always wanted many children.

The music reverberated slightly from the echo of the room. It didn't matter, anyway, they were all too drunk with happiness, and alcohol, to notice. Hermione was really happy as well. She was used to feeling that warmth in her chest when she saw others get what they wanted most. Her friend Ron was in love. Her friends Harry and Ginny were having fun with the adventures that their two children gave them.

Luna also attended the party, with her boyfriend. They were sitting on the floor in one corner of the room, using the wall as a backrest. Rolf waved his hands enthusiastically as he related something to his girlfriend, and she laughed. From here she could see his rosy cheeks, heated by alcohol, from dancing, the room full of people and from forcing his lungs to laugh so much. Those two never stopped talking and seemed lost in a world that Hermione did not understand, full of questions and curiosity, of excitement for things that any adult would ignore. There was a connection there, in which both hearts beat the same, because they loved the same thing and they were as childlike as little James.

But maybe today, she understood them a little more. Narcissa made her wonder things, which she had ignored without knowing they existed. But now that they had been pointed out to her, how could she avoid them? She always knew that she did not love like the others, but now she went beyond the certainty of a reality, Narcissa forced her to do more, to ask herself: What do I want then?

Saying it wasn't easy: "I don't feel the same way about you," "We should stop," "I don't want children," "I don't want to go out today," or "I don't like Narcissa." Now, to say yes... And when it went against so many things! Difficult. Getting out of the norm was difficult.

Neville Longbottom was another close friend from college, another bridge between Hermione and Luna. He was a biology teacher at Albus Dumbledore's college. His wife Hannah was sitting next to him. They were holding hands, taking turns approaching each other's ear and talking. Hermione knew that they were not secrets, but that they had soft and quiet voices, and they would not be heard otherwise. She always wondered if discipline would have been a problem at the Longbottoms, who had a twelve-year-old daughter who had been left with her great-grandmother to attend the party. Harry and Ginny would have followed their lead if it weren't for the fact that Albus and James's grandparents were at this party too: Arthur and Molly Weasley; The older couple also danced, but very slowly, since they had no intention of getting tired, just being present on the dance floor, accompanying another of their children in this great moment that they lived in their youth and they knew was special.

Hermione felt a pang of guilt. Would her parents want to be in the place of Molly and Arthur? They were proud of their daughter, that was well known, but love was not a thing to brag about, as most people saw it as a private enjoyment. What would her parents think now, if they saw her? While they were far away, perhaps already in bed, she was alone sitting at a table with a glass of alcohol. She knew that her father, like her, enjoyed books. He sat in bed, the nightstand lamp lit while he read, sometimes with a glass of whiskey and ice. When he finished drinking it, he would close the book and turn off the little lamp next to it. Hermione saw it possible that from time to time her mother, who used to sleep with her back to her husband so as not to be kept awake by the light, would have turned around and with a soft but worried voice, would have expressed: Hermione has no one in her house, not in her bed or any other room. And the worst thing is that the reason for her anguish would be justified, since the only thing alive that Hermione had were her plants, that cherry tree for which she did not worry. Inside her home there was only Hermione, her dreams, her thoughts, books, and Narcissa, occasionally. She drank the rest of her champagne greedily. The gentle stinging, which increased as air was expelled from her mouth, calmed her.

There were some colored lights playing with the warm lighting of the place. Hermione grabbed her hair and pulled it to the side, being aware of her own body temperature. The decorations saturated her vision: with the centerpieces with flowers of different colors and animal figurines on orange tablecloths; Hermione didn't like the texture of the fabric when her arms brushed against it when eating, very synthetic, so she felt its roughness. The floor was a light wood, shiny, a little slippery, but no one had slipped on it in what they wore to party. The honeyed music was alien to her, sometimes she even forgot that it was still playing.

Harry and Ginny walked back inside, with Albus in his mother's arms. From one of the tables, a head of tousled hair poked out. James ran to his father and hugged his leg, resting his cheek on his knee. Hermione felt her cheeks ache, she wasn't sure how long she had been smiling. Her chest felt small, between the warm air in her lungs and the affection in her heart. She was happy.

Her friends were getting what they wanted. But then... what did she want?

. . .

There was a possibility that thinking of her parents at yesterday's wedding had invoked them.

"Your dad got his vacation for Christmas," her mother said.

"That's excellent news," Hermione cheered.

She was sitting on the couch. Looking down, she noticed that the cord had become tangled. She pulled the earpiece away from her ear to stretch the wire. Once that was fixed, she continued listening to her mother:

"...problems with our stay."

"What?" she said, confused.

"Dear," she scolded her for being distracted. "We will spend a week at your house. Are you sure you don't mind? We can go to a hotel."

"We hardly ever see each other, it's impossible for me to let you stay in a hotel."

"But your privacy…"

"Mom," she complained.

"Well," she laughed, "your father said if you have a hidden boyfriend, not spending so much time with you for a week won't kill him."

Hermione laughed and kept listening to her mother speak.

When she hung up the phone call, she got up from the chair. She was glad to know that she would see her parents after almost a year. Too bad that, as she thought during the wedding, she knew she was not doing what was expected of her. To her shame, rather than a hidden boyfriend... she had Narcissa. Who, according to the clock, would soon arrive, just like most Saturdays.

When Narcissa finally arrived and went to open the door for her, she remembered her great dilemma. Her neighbor had the tip of her nose slightly pink from the cold. Hermione, on the contrary, felt nothing but heat standing in front of her. She let her in, watching the coat slide off her shoulders, revealing a warm sweater that fitted her body. She preferred not to keep looking down, so as not to be coaxed by her legs again.

Today the coffee was accompanied by some vanilla cookies. After nibbling on her fourth cookie, Hermione opened up:

"I'm happy."

"Yes?" Narcissa tilted her head slightly, at the same time that one end of her smile tugged upward. "I'm glad for you. Why?"

"My parents are coming to visit me at Christmas. Ron is already married, now enjoying his honeymoon. Little Albus is growing up with a wonderful family. And your company is nice."

"Am I part of your happiness?" she said, surprised.

"Of course. You're a good friend."

"We just talk, I don't do much."

"My friends don't usually come to my house."

"Does that make me special?" A sly smile escaped her, it was sharp.

"You are," she whispered, before sipping some coffee. "And I am different."

"Sure. You are special, Hermione."

"No, I'm not more special or important than anyone else. I'm just different"

"I think I remember that you described yourself as ordinary."

"Did you know? My house is the only one on the street with a fruit tree. Yours has flowers, there are others too. Many have nothing but bushes. I never saw another cherry tree in all of Richmond."

Narcissa raised one of her eyebrows in response.

"I guess I never wanted what most people want," Hermione added.

"Have you been thinking a lot lately?"

"I didn't sleep when I got back from the wedding last night, I couldn't stop asking myself questions about everything we talked about."

"And are there answers?"

"I think that I love many things. I am interested in what surrounds me. I even celebrate love among others. I'm doing very well, really. I enjoy many activities, many people. I do not feel that I lack love, I feel it and I see it everywhere. I think that... I'm never going to find a person who gets over this. I'm different from the rest because of that, because I don't think there can be something even stronger than what I already feel for everyone."

"So... your answer is that? Suddenly you don't care about romantic love anymore?" Narcissa seemed really amused by all of this.

"It never mattered to me!" She laughed, a little hysterical. "I think I got it from watching the wedding. I didn't feel like I was missing something. It is the others who feel that. Their wishes and feelings are theirs, and maybe it's foolish to try to appropriate that, even if it hurts to disappoint them."

"Ginny said Albus seemed in love with me. But those weren't his feelings, just the ones Ginny projected onto him. I want to think that he does love me, but in his own way, Albus's way."

"And do you love Hermione's way?" Narcissa crossed her arms, and her legs as well. Like many other times, she looked at Hermione as if she were a strange and unintelligible being.

"Maybe it's not the smartest thing I've ever said. Should I use the 'I didn't sleep, don't make fun of my tired mind' card?"

Narcissa laughed, setting the already empty coffee cup on the small table in front of the chair.

"Love," Hermione said very quietly, stroking the word with her tongue. "I love you, I want you. I want another cookie, I wish time would stop."

"What are you saying?" The furrow between Narcissa's brows deepened.

"I didn't stop repeating it last night, until I yawned. Different ways to use those words. How ambiguous it is to want, to wish... to love."

"Your activities in bed are... showy."

Hermione almost laughed. Almost, but she didn't let it out.

"What do I want? You made me ask myself Narcissa. Most people love others, just like they want cookies."

"Do you want to grab a fifth?"

"Don't interrupt me," she complained. "There are people who do not like cookies and that is why they do not want them."

A tight "hmm" escaped Narcissa's lips.

"Ron wanted to get married, because he wants Lavender. I don't want to get married because I don't want anyone."

"But isn't that obvious?"

"Yes, but it is not easy. It is not easy to admit it. They never give me a chance to say it, actually. When they ask me what I want, I can't answer that, not without trying to correct me."

"Right, I get it."

"You know what I want?" She asked, and didn't wait for Narcissa to answer. "Nothing. I already have everything I want. Family, friends, work and a home that I like. I do not want anything else."

Narcissa moved her eyes across her view, almost resigned to the fact that the way the house was, Hermione liked it.

"So that's it?" She said without believing it. "Did accepting that you are satisfied with your life calm your concerns?"

"I spoke of what I want, what I love. Purer feelings. My biggest problem is with the things I desire."

"I'm intrigued," Narcissa murmured in a humorous tone.

"I wish I could have sex without worrying about anything or anyone."

Notes:

I think it's interesting to talk about translation, about the word "want/querer". In Spanish there are two ways to express love: "Te amo" and "Te quiero". And "querer (quiero)" also means possession or desire: "I want that." In Spanish, in those dialogues, there is a more interesting game between loving and wanting something, since the same word is used.

But you get the message anyway, so that's fine. I just wanted to comment on it because maybe Hermione's weird speech makes a little more sense in Spanish than in English hahaha. Maybe, I really don't know. *She takes a sip of coffee thinking that without a doubt one day she is going to have to learn to speak English*.