Author's Note: This started off as somewhat of a short, mushy ficlet, but I decided to give it some substance. But sorry, I can't live without a little bit of mush here and there. It's my first real fic, so be gentle, please J constructive criticism is always appreciated! Happy reading!
~*Unexpected Song*~
And in your lonely flight,
Haven't you heard the music in the night?
Wonderful music, faint as a will o' the whisp,
Crazy as a loon, sad as a gypsy serenading the moon.
Harry Potter was nervous. Not shaking-in-his-skin nervous as he had been around the Dursleys', but nervous none the less. The 23 year-old stood in the middle of his kitchen, staring disbelievingly the oven. Somehow, the leg of lamb that he had spent hours marinating to perfection had turned black while he was showering. Now here he was, untidy hair half-combed and dripping on his new silk shirt, with no food to show for his culinary efforts. And she was arriving in an hour and 15 minutes.
Harry and Hermione had broken it off 2 years ago- their last year together had been too tumultuous. He was at the Ministry of Magic's defense facilities daily, finishing his Auror training. She commuted from their house each morning to Oxford University, where she was finishing a degree in arithmancy. They scarcely ever saw each other, although they shared a house in Cambridge.
Harry, struck by a last-minute inspiration, raided the fridge for eggs and began to make one of the only things he could cook well – a cheddar and backon quiche. Waving his wand at the oven, he muttered "disparo," effectively getting rid of the blackened lam and its acrid smell.
There had been no messy public scene when he and Hermione had broken up. There were tears, of course, when she had packed all her belongings and walked out the front door of their house. But the fights and dramatics that the Daily Prophet reported hadn't actually happened. She was still unattached, he knew, because immediately after their breakup, they had both reappeared on Witch Weekly's "Most Eligible Witches and Wizards" list. Neither of them had budged from that list in the two years since their breakup.
With 5 minutes to go until the quiche had cooked and 10 minutes until Hermione was due to arrive, Harry straightened his tie as he critically examined his reflection in the bedroom mirror. "Who are you going out with tonight, handsome?" The mirror asked disinterestedly. Harry rolled his eyes as he slid on his dinner jacket and headed downstairs to remove the quiche from the oven.
Downstairs, a crisp salad with homemade dressing sat on a table set for 2, along with chilled champagne. His quiche sat on the counter after he pulled it from the oven. It, unlike the unlucky lamb, had been cooked to perfection and smelled delicious. Suddenly remembering that he wasn't wearing cologne, Harry bolted upstairs and hurriedly splashed some on his face. He felt like a teen again, deathly afraid of his first date.
He seated himself on the red sofa in his living room and flipped distractedly through a copy of Witch Weekly. Startled to see his and Hermione's face by the a colourful pie chart, he sat back to read, forgetting his momentary fright.
HERMIONE GRANGER AND HARRY POTTER:
IS THEIR SPLIT FOR GOOD?
Will the wizarding world's most intelligent witch remain separated from hero Harry Potter forever? Readers of Witch Weekly, asked to take a poll, believed that the damsel and the hero would have gotten back together by now if they got back together at all. After all, the messy breakup scenes and fights didn't look promising for the wizarding world's golden couple. Still, the public wishes that their favourite witch and wizard would get back together…
Be that as it may, the odds are high that Harry Potter is still up for grabs. Interested, ladies? We thought you were.
We have contacted Miss Granger and Mr. Potter, but both of them declined an interview. Stay with us for next week's edition of the Potter/Granger saga.
Harry shook his head disbelievingly and chuckled nervously. After tonight, he hoped he still wouldn't be "up for grabs". He missed Hermione a lot, neither having seen nor heard from her over the last two years, aside from the annual Christmas party at the Weasleys'. Even at the party, it had always been a forced "hello". Neither of them deigned to meet the eyes of the other. Harry knew that if he had talked to her then, as he had been wont to do, he would've dropped to his knees and asked her, begged her to come back.
He missed her. Which was why, 2 weeks ago, he had called her up, asking her to come over for dinner. She hadn't answered the phone, and Harry, nervous with anticipation, had left a message, rambling slightly with his shaky voice.
…Hermione, it's me, Harry. I know we haven't spoken in a very long time, but I was wondering if you would like to come over for dinner next Friday. Of course, you don't have to, but I thought it would be nice… Well, please give me a call back, either way, you know the number… thanks, I hope to see you next Friday!
Hermione had been sitting at her desk when the phone rang. Feeling tired, she did not get up to answer it, but had waited for the answering machine to pick it up. She frowned when she realized who it was that had called, but listening to his voice, with all its little boy hopefulness, a smile crept onto her face. It would be nice to see him again, she mused, but I'm still not sure we can stay in the same room with each other for long. Seeing him will stir up all of those old emotions. I don't want him to see me cry. And I don't know if I want to fall in love with him again. But it's just dinner, so I suppose it might be ok…
She had called him back 3 breathless days later. Harry had spent the three days checking his voicemail constantly, feeling disappointed when it was empty. At around 10:00 PM on the third day, just as Harry walked in the door from his shift at the Auror's office, the phone rang. Wondering who was calling this late, he rushed to the phone and answered it.
"Harry?"
"Hermione!"
"I'm ever so glad you're home. I called earlier but I didn't leave a message."
"Oh… can you come for dinner?"
"Yes, of course. What time?"
"Um… is 8 ok?"
"It's fine, I'll see you next Friday, then."
"Sounds great! And Hermione…"
"Yes, Harry?"
"It'll be good to see you."
"You too."
The whole week had been a rush of activity. He remembered that her favourite salad dressing had been the one he made from scratch, so he had taken a trip to a muggle food shop to get all of the necessary ingredients. He had tried to clean the house the muggle way, and succeeded with only a few mishaps involving an exploding vacuum bag. Now he sat here, looking at the picture of himself and Hermione on their graduation day at Hogwarts. Suddenly there was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he put the magazine down.
The doorbell rang.
No longer making an effort to be nonchalant, Harry practically ran to the door like a little kid at Christmas. He opened the large walnut door quickly and the sight that met him there caused a slow smile to spread across his face. She was standing on the front porch with the appearance of someone who has not expected to be observed. She looked up at him, startled that he had opened the door so quickly.
She was gorgeous, far more so than he had remembered. Her slim body was wrapped in a confection of pale pink silk. It flowed around her body, almost alive, and ended at her calves in shimmering ribbons of fabric. It was short enough to showcase her shapely ankles and feet, and a cute pair of light pink strappy sandals. Her hair, formerly bushy and indescript brown – now a cascade of dark, shiny ringlets – was piled on top of her head. Tendrils had worked their way out of confinement and hung romantically around her face.
He extended his hand, and she took it, stepping inside. He closed the door behind her, still holding her hand. She looked up at it once more, and he was surprised to see that there were tears glittering in the corners of her eyes.
"Is everything all right, Mione?"
A few tears escaped her eyes at the use of his old nickname for her.
"Of course Harry, everything's all right, now… I just… missed you."
He drew her into his arms then, and she buried her face against his chest. They stayed like that for a long time. When she finally looked up at him, face tear-streaked and glossy lips slightly parted, he melted inside.
"Welcome home."
He whispered just before his lips touched hers once again. And it was like coming home.
Credits:
*The title of the story is from an Andrew Lloyd Weber song from the musical Song and Dance. The song Unexpected Song was performed by Bernadette Peters in the opening run of the show on Broadway.
*The quote at the beginning of the chapter is from the song Skylark, by Johnny Mercer and Hoagy Carmichael. It is a jazz standard from the 1940's.