Oh, and for those of you who read the R/Hr fic I uploaded the other day, "Back For Good", you've heard me mention this already, but - did everyone catch Oprah last Tuesday, featuring the Ace Gang? I still can't get over it. Rupert is just so adorable!! well, anyways, enjoy the chapter ;-)
***
Return To Hogsmeade
Chapter Five
-dutchtulips-
***
Carefully unrolling the divorce papers and sliding them inside an envelope, Hermione walked over to the long line of owls sitting on their wide perches at the Hogsmeade Post Office, reading each sign as she attempted to select the right owl for the job. At she did, attaching the envelope to the legs of an eagle owl, Hermione spotted the postmaster slipping out of the side door.
"Um, excuse me? Can you tell me where Neville Longbottom lives?" She asked him nicely.
"Twenty-two Lancelot," the elderly man replied simply. "But on Fridays he visits his uncle at the old Clarke Mansion. His uncle owns it and lives there now."
"Oh, okay, thank you," Hermione smiled, and then rushed hurriedly out of the post office.
***
Clarke Mansion, where the first founders of Hogsmeade lived, was indeed a sight to see. With its elegant Monticello-style windows and large white pillars in the front, there couldn't have been a lovelier looking house anywhere. Hermione slowly mounted the front steps, tapping sharply on the door. Almost immediately, it snapped open.
"How is I helping you, miss?" A tiny, falsetto voice squeaked.
She looked down at the tiny house-elf, still half-annoyed deep down that S.P.E.W. hadn't accomplished anything near what she had wanted it to. Nevertheless, Hermione made an effort to act normally with the house-elf. "Yes, I was wondering if I might find Neville around here somewhere?"
"Oh, yes, he is being out with his uncle in the backyard! I is showing you, miss!" The house-elf replied cheerily, tugging Hermione's hand and pulling her inside.
After leading her through the house and showing her to the back doors, the house-elf quickly bowed and, with a pop, disappeared. Hermione hesitantly turned to the French doors and pushed them open, which brought a magnificent plantation of a backyard into view. Stepping out into the lush green grass and peering upwards, she saw three gigantic golden hoops, and also two figures on broomsticks hovering near them.
"Neville?" She called out.
From above, a large red ball, the Quaffle no doubt, came tumbling through the air and straight at Hermione. "Hermione! Watch out!" He yelled out to her.
Seeing the ball hurtling towards her, she yelped and hopped out of the way, just as it thunked to the ground and bounced into the bushes. A moment later, Neville appeared next to her, holding the broomstick.
"I wasn't exactly aiming for you - you just startled me," he told her. "But if it had hit you I'm not fully sure that I'd come visit you in the hospital."
Hermione sort of dropped her shoulders, saying softly, "I suppose I wouldn't blame you." Glancing back up at the hoops, and then back at Neville, she remarked, "I can't believe how you've changed. You're so much more coordinated now."
"Well, I reckon it's easy to forget people can do that," he replied shortly.
She looked woefully at him. "Neville. . .I'm - I'm really, very sorry about all of those terrible things I said, practically accusing you of being a Squib and all. I - I guess I thought that if I had everyone laughing at someone else, they'd forget to laugh at me."
Neville gave her a sympathetic look. "Yeah. . ." He paused. "But, just so you know. . .Ron's not the only one you ran out on back then. You ran out on all of us."
"Hey, Neville! You gonna grab the Quaffle or stand there flapping your gums all day long?"
He glanced upwards at his uncle, shouting, "Yeah, I'll be there in a minute, Uncle Louis!" Turning back to Hermione, Neville said, "Well, I'd better be off before gets himself a concussion." He smiled.
"Yeah, I'll see you later on, Neville." She waved as he got back on his broom again, and then she turned and went back through the house.
Hermione had just walked through the front door of the mansion and closed it, when she heard a continuous clicking noise and looked up to see a witch with lots of curly dark hair holding a camera and aiming it directly at the house and at Hermione.
Immediately her nerves went all apart, and nervously approaching the woman, said, "Can I help you?"
"Oh, yes, of course. Rowena Edwards." She held out her hand to shake that of Hermione's. "Witch Weekly reporter. I'm here for an article about you and your family. Tell me, what was it like growing up here?"
"Like - like a fantasy," Hermione stammered.
"Then you wouldn't mind if I came inside and talked to your parents, had a look round the house?" Rowena asked.
"Well, you could, but. . ." She searched for an excuse. "They're not home right now."
"Oh, well, that's just fine. I can come back later."
"No!" Hermione exclaimed, grabbing Rowena's arm and pulling her up the front steps. "All right, but just one quick look!"
Mounting the stoop and swinging open the old-fashioned Windsor door, the curly-haired witch quickly slammed it closed again, merely giving Rowena only a few seconds' view. "There you are, home sweet home."
But being persistent as she was, Rowena went straight through as Hermione attempted to shut the door, saying, "Stars, look at that ash and teak staircase. I'll bet you slid down those banisters a time or two, huh?"
"Oh, oh, yes, all of time," Hermione assured her, pulling the Witch Weekly reporter right along, and into the front corridor. "Right here, we have the kitchen. . ." Peering through the circular window in the door, she saw the house-elf that greeted her at the front door along with a few others, toting a large tea tray underneath them. " - But who hasn't seen one of those?"
Hermione led Rowena right along, right to the back of the house where the French doors were propped open now. Hearing a noise from behind her, the curly-haired witch turned and saw the house-elves and tray scurrying straight at them, and so she quickly grabbed Rowena and pushed into the nearest room, which happened to be the broom closet.
"Now, er, this was my favorite place," she whispered. "My - my great-great-great grandfather built a secret passage through our house, leading from the master bedroom down to here. The tunnel was where my ancestors hid out during the old Death Eater night raids."
"Why are we whispering?" Rowena inquired.
"Er. . .it's haunted. Ghosts of old Quidditch players from my great-grandfather's team. They hid out with my relatives all through here," Hermione answered quickly, peering out through a crack in the door and, seeing no one, then said, "Okay, come on."
She and the Witch Weekly reporter had just clambered out of the closet when Neville's uncle Louis came ambling down the back staircase, pulling at the collar of his faded old Quidditch robes as he dragged his broom with him out through the back doors, mumbling to himself. "Cripes, no wonder we lost that damned cup back in 'seventy-three."
Rowena gave Hermione a strange glance as Uncle Louis disappeared out into the backyard. "Was, er, was that one of them?"
Before she could answer, Neville suddenly appeared out of the kitchen door, saying, "Hermione? What're you still doing here?"
"Oh! Uh, er, Neville, this is, um. . .this is Rowena Edwards, from Witch Weekly, she's doing, er, an article on the, uh, the. . .family. . ." She emphasized, hoping Neville would understand.
As a smile suddenly appeared on his face, she breathed an inward sigh of relief, knowing that Neville had gotten the point. He held out his hand to Rowena, saying, "Well, I do believe Hermione here has forgotten her manners. I'm Neville. . .her cousin."
Minutes later, he was walking alongside Hermione, leading Rowena up the front staircase. "Well, the Clarke mansion, as you might know, has held a long history of professional Quidditch players," he lectured. "Not just from England, but many of the Clarkes have been members of both Ireland and Scotland's national teams. So, in honor of such a great Quidditch history right here in Hogsmeade, we have a big celebration, a festival, every year uptown. The entire of High Street all night long is just lit up with activity."
At that point they reached the balcony, and Neville jarred the doors open, allowing the three of them step outside onto the elegant old structure. They still had to look up, however, to see the gold scoring hoops overhead, and just as they did so, a large, black, and rambunctious ball - a Bludger, no question - smacked hard into the Monticello balcony balustrade, creating an earsplitting racket. Hermione and Neville barely flinched, but Rowena fearfully ducked behind the two of them, yelping, "What in the name of Merlin was that?"
"Oh, just, er. . .pre-party party, you know," Neville replied casually, waving up at his uncle. "Nice shot, there, Uncle Louis!" He called at him. "Hey, why don't you come down here for a moment and have a word with Rowena, here! She's a reporter for Witch Weekly!"
"Who?" The older man shouted back.
Neville cupped his hands around his mouth to project his voice. "Rowena Edwards!"
"Never heard of her!" Uncle Louis replied, putting a burst of speed on his broomstick and disappearing. Neville and Hermione laughed, but Rowena merely looked on, confused.
***
The Clarke Mansion kitchen fireplace's flames roared high, turning an emerald green as Rowena walked over the hearth and into the fire, disappearing as it turned back to yellow and orange once more, with the house-elves scurrying around, brushing up the loose ashes. Neville, whom with Hermione had stood nearby as Rowena left, turned her with a funny smile on his face, saying, "Why you big fat liar!"
She turned to him, saw him laugh, and then chased after him through the back doors, shouting after him and laughing herself at the same time.
***
A large colorful banner stretched across High Street, uptown Hogsmeade, proudly displaying, with the words flashing in all different Quidditch team colors - WELCOME TO THE ANNUAL HOGSMEADE QUIDDITCH FESTIVAL! COME OUT AND SUPPORT YOUR FAVORITE TEAM, AND DON'T FORGET TO POP OPEN A TASTY BUTTERBEER WHILE YOU'RE AT IT - PREFERRED DRINK OF THE BRITISH NATIONAL QUIDDITCH TEAM!
Hermione smiled up at it as she remembered the old Quidditch festivals of the past, the ones she'd shared with all of her old friends here in Hogsmeade as they'd celebrated all night long, even after they'd gotten home. But what had been best of all, she remembered, was having Ron next to her the whole night, as they drank butterbeers and danced until the sun came up.
High Street was already crowded, although it was barely dusk. The Weird Sisters were perched atop the stage at the end of the street, jamming on their instruments as the vast throng of witches and wizards circled the stage, dancing to the lively music. On the sidewalks, various food and drink stalls were set up, along with many stands selling various memorabilia of all different Quidditch teams. Tables were lined up as well, many people enjoying all sorts of candies and foods. The Quidditch festival was a widely celebrated event, and people not even from Hogsmeade came and spent all day and night at the party.
Hermione, stopping at a stall to buy a cool bottle of pumpkin juice and some Honeydukes chocolate. Unwrapping the bar and taking a bite out of it, the curly-haired witch noticed Ginny sitting with Angelina over at a nearby table. Angelina was toting her young baby daughter, Chloe, with her.
They spotted her but hesitated, saying nothing. Slowly Hermione approached them, standing awkwardly next to the table. As Ginny glanced up at her, she suddenly burst out with, "Ginny, Angelina, I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about that other night -"
Ginny waved it off dismissedly, smiling softly. "Oh, forget it, Herm. I understand."
"Yeah, me as well, Hermione," Angelina put in, also giving her a friendly smile. She paused for a moment, and then said, "Oh, stars, I've got to run and get Chloe's bottle. See you later on," and slipped off.
The sun was making its smooth settle to the west, sending bands of pink and gold across the purpling sky. As Hermione watched it slide underneath the horizon, Ginny slowly got up from her chair and joined her. After a moment of silence, the redhead said softly, "You know, he went up there."
Hermione turned sharply towards her. "Who? Ron?"
"Yeah, he doesn't know that I know, though. Harry accidentally let it slip once," Ginny replied.
"Ron came back to London? When?" She exclaimed.
"Oh, about two years after you'd left. Said he'd forgotten about what a grand place it was, and he knew he needed more than an apology to win you back," she explained. "He needed to conquer the world. He's been trying ever since."
Slowly it dawned on Hermione. "So that's why he kept sending the papers back!"
"Yeah. He still cares for you a lot, you know," Ginny said softly. She was quiet for a minute or two, and then said, "It's funny how things don't turn out sometimes."
But Hermione smiled. "It's funny how they do."
***
Nighttime. The Weird Sisters had kicked into high gear, and now most witches and wizards had abandoned their tables and were out in the street, enthusiastically dancing to the loud music. Hermione, however, was still sitting at the same table as earlier, with not only Ginny and Angelina but now Harry, Fred, and George had joined them, all gathered around and sipping on bottles of butterbeer.
Not too much later, after the Weird Sisters had taken a break between sets, Hermione saw Ron approaching them, accompanied by Neville. Ron was, to nobody's surprise, wearing a set of Chudley Cannon Quidditch robes and finishing off a Chocolate Frog. "So how's everyone enjoying the party?"
No one answered in words; Harry, Fred, and George cheered appreciatively. Ron and Neville lowered themselves into seats as Harry slid a bottle of butterbeer each over to them. As he did so, Hermione leaned forward to pick up the vase sitting in the center of the table, which was filled with purple roses. She lifted it to stare at the bottom, looking for a company mark.
"Er, Herm, what're you doing?" Ginny asked.
"I was looking to see who grows these. I was hoping we could get purple roses for the wedding," Hermione replied.
"Well, Ron should be able to tell you where -" Harry started to say, but was cut off by Ron.
"Why would I be the one to know that?" The redhead inquired.
"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you -" Angelina started in, but Fred bumped her and she stopped talking.
Hermione's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Am I missing something here?"
Before anyone could respond, however, the Weird Sisters, were now back from their break and on stage again. They struck up a new tune, filling the air with music once more. A cheering from the crowd burst out, and everyone was back in the street, dancing excitedly with their partners.
At that moment, Harry jumped up from the table, grabbed Ginny's hand, and said, "Let's all cut a rug, shall we?" With that, he pulled a beaming Ginny into the throng of dancing witches and wizards and he began dancing exuberantly with her.
Ron stepped over to Angelina, holding out his hand and saying, "Why, I do believe there's a trick or two I haven't missed. Would you mind sharing the pleasure?"
She smiled, taking his hand. "Over my dear Two Left-footed husband? Why, I would be glad to."
As Ron and Angelina started to cut a wide path across the street, Fred appeared next to Hermione, saying, "I'm not as bad a dancer as she says. Angelina just can't keep time, you know."
She looked over at him, grinning. "Well, you're just going to have to prove that to me." The curly-haired witch grabbed onto Fred's hands, and pulled him out into the crowd.
Ron looked over as he saw Hermione dancing with his brother, and then called out jubilantly, "All right there, you two?"
Angelina looked up as well, noticing Fred. To Hermione, she laughed, "Has he stepped on your foot yet?"
"No, actually! He's not so bad on his feet!" She called back.
Angelina grinned. "You don't say! Let me at him, then!" She exclaimed, grabbing onto her husband, leaving Hermione and Ron alone together. The redhead smiled and held his hand out to her, offering to dance, but she stepped back slightly, away from his offer.
"Maybe we could just talk," she suggested over the noise, but Ron's shoulders merely slumped and slipped off into the crowd.
***
A few hours later, the festival was beginning to calm down a little, and the Weird Sisters had began to play a few ballads now. Hermione, though, feeling a little tired from all of the commotion, slipped off for a little peace and quiet. As she walked further up High Street, a sign hanging on a gate, set back a little from the road, caught her eye. It said, Pet Cemetery.
Taking a deep breath of fresh air into her lungs, she stepped through the gate and walked around the small grave markers until she found the one she was looking for. Leaning over the little plot, she quickly read the marker. The words on it were, Crookshanks. Beloved pet and cat. May he rest in peace.
"Hey there, boy," Hermione said softly. "Sorry I didn't come sooner. I would've if I had known you were sick." She paused. "No, actually. . .that's not completely true. I've been so selfish lately, but I don't suppose pets know anything about that, do they?" She got down on her knees then. "I remember how you never left my side. You were always such a loyal cat. And I remember how you'd crawl up into my lap back in the dormitory when I was studying, you'd purr and make me smile when I really didn't feel like it. And then -" She started to sob. "- Then I just left you. You probably laid there for days wondering what you'd done wrong."
"He was a great cat, wasn't he?"
Hurriedly Hermione got to her feet and turned round, seeing Ron slowly coming towards her. She noticed a nearby bench and dropped down onto it, wiping her eyes as he joined her. "Why does everything have to be so complicated?"
"What?" He wanted to know.
"Life," she replied, sighing. "I mean, I'm happy in London, Ron. But then - then I come down here, and Hogsmeade fits, too."
He looked over at her. "Well, since when does it have to be one or the other?"
"I don't know," Hermione admitted, tucked a stray lock of her nutmeg hair behind her ear.
A silence overtook them for a moment, and then Ron brushed her gently. "Hey, look over there." He pointed.
"What?" She asked, turning to look, and then saw something flickering in the bushes bordering the graveyard. Smiling, Hermione said, "Fairy lights. Only you."
Slowly Ron rose from the bench, and turned around to look at her. "You know, sometimes I like to go out to Allegheny Hill, that one across the village, you know, and where all the plants and things grow. . .watch as the midnight glories bloom in the moonlight. . .see the purple roses that have grown there for decades, you know. It's amazing."
"Yeah. . ." Hermione murmured. "I had a dream about it the other night."
The redhead was quiet again for a moment, and then knelt on the grass in front of her, catching her eye. " 'Mione. . .do you ever wonder what would've happened if we hadn't gotten pregnant?"
She sighed wearily, inwardly, "Oh, Ron. . ."
"No, wait. Just let me say this while I can," he replied, resting his hand atop hers. "I thought that that baby would be an adventure. But then, I realized it would be your only adventure." Pause. "I guess nature has a way of working these things out."
Hermione glanced back at him. "I was so ashamed," she whispered. "Suddenly I just needed a new life."
Ron smiled. "Well, you've done really well for yourself. I, er, I only wished I'd gotten that chance to dance with you at our wedding."
She smiled back, a small laugh escaping her throat. "Yeah. . ."
"But I'm sure this one will be better for you."
They slowly rose together, and Hermione's eyes remained locked into his blue ones. "Quit being so nice," she whispered, and then couldn't help it; she reached up and gave him a long, warm kiss.
She hadn't meant for it to carry on as it soon did, and after they'd remained kissing for several minutes, Ron abruptly broke away. Both he and Hermione looked at each other for a minute or two, engulfed in quiet. "You've - no. You've got to get going."
She peered at him for a moment, and then sighed, starting up through the graveyard and the gate, leaving Ron by himself.
***
To Be Continued