AN: Here I am again! My story got three reviews within a half hour of being posted, but it has even more now, of course. I'm impressed. Of course, that's not at all up to my, well, usual standard, but hey, it's a new story that has yet to be discovered. I'm not complaining. Enough jibber jabber, let's get to the story!
Disclaimer: See chapter one
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Chapter 1
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Friday, September 20th
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I hate cocktail parties, Hermione though wryly, wondering why she always felt like an alien when she attended one. Actually, I'm being too harsh, she thought. The truth is I only hate cocktail parties where the only person I know is my supposed date, and he abandons me the minute we walk in the door.
She looked around the large room and sighed. When Liam Moore Payne had invited her to this reunion of the Moore family, she should have guessed that he would be more interested in visiting with his relatives that paying any attention to her. Liam, an occasional but normally thoughtful date was displaying a boundless faith in her ability to fend for herself. Well, it was a large gathering, surely she could find someone to talk to.
The Moores certainly come in all shapes and sizes, Hermione thought as she looked around the room. She watched two people, a man and a woman, in animated conversation, seeing them through the lens of her camera, which she wished she had brought with her. The pleasure they were taking in each other's company would have been the perfect picture. Liam suddenly appeared beside Hermione.
"Having a good time?" he asked, but then, without waiting for an answer, introduced her to yet another cousin, Earl Bateman, who, Hermione was amused to note, studied her with obvious and unhurried interest. She judged the newcomer to be, like Liam, in his late-thirties. Sandy haired with a sallow complexion, along with pale blue eyes, he didn't have Liam's rugged good looks. Liam's eyes were green, and his hair attractively flecked with gray. Hermione waited while Earl continued to look her over.
Then, after a long moment, with a raised eyebrow, she asked, "Do I pass inspection?"
He looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I'm not good at remembering names, and I was trying to place you. You are one of the family, right?"
"No, but it doesn't look as though you need any more cousins anyhow," said Hermione, fighting a laugh.
"You couldn't be any more right about that. Too bad, though, most of them aren't nearly as attractive as you," he said. Hermione felt herself blushing.
"Liam! Earl! Oh, for the love of God, I guess I'm glad I came after all." Forgetting Hermione, both men turned to enthusiastically greet the florid-faced man who came up behind them. Hermione shrugged. So much for that, she thought, as she retreated to a corner. Then she remembered an article she had read recently in Witch Weekly that urged people who felt isolated in a social situation to find someone who seemed even more desperate and start up conversation. Chuckling to herself, she decided to give that a try. If that didn't work, she would go back to her flat. Right now, the prospect of her luxurious flat was very inviting. She knew she should have stayed in tonight. After all, she'd only been back a few days from a two-week-long photo shoot on a Dragon clan in Romania, and she longed for a quiet, relaxing evening.
But, looking around, there didn't seem to be a single person who wasn't fighting to be heard. Countdown to exit, she thought. The she heard a voice nearby—a melodic, familiar voice, one that spurred sudden, pleasant memories. She spun around. The voice belonged to a woman who was ascending a short staircase to the balcony area of the restaurant. Hermione stared, and gasped. Was she crazy? Could it possibly be Nuala? It had been so long ago, yet she sounded just like the woman who had once been her aunt, from the time she was five until she was ten. Her Uncle Robert, who was her father's brother, and his wife Nuala had lived with her and her parents. After Uncle Robert and Nuala had divorced, her uncle had forbidden even the mention of Nuala's name. They had gotten into a large argument on the day she had gotten her Hogwarts letter. Her uncle had been extremely angry about it, saying it was mortally wrong to be learning about magic and witchcraft. Nuala hadn't seen anything wrong with it. Hence, they got so angry with each other that Nuala walked out on Uncle Robert, her only regret being that she was leaving Hermione behind. Hermione snapped out of her reverie and grabbed Liam, who was passing.
"Liam, that woman on the balcony stairs, do you know her?"
He squinted. "Oh, that's Nuala. She was married to my dad before he died. She's a bit of a character, but a lot of fun. Why?"
Hermione didn't answer but made her way through the crowd of people to the stairs. By the time she reached her destination, Nuala was already on the balcony, chatting with a small group of people.
When Nuala had left, so abruptly, Hermione had prayed that she would write. She never did, though, and Hermione had found her silence especially painful. She had come to feel so close to her in the five years the marriage had lasted. It was only after her uncle's death that Hermione learned from a family friend that Robert had destroyed all the letters and returned all the gifts Nuala had sent to her.
Hermione now stared at the tiny figure with lively blue eyes and soft honey-blond hair. She could see the wrinkles that detracted not a bit from her lovely complexion. And as she stared, memories flooded her heart: childhood memories, perhaps her happiest. Nuala always took her part in arguments, protesting to Hermione's uncle, "Robert, for the love of heaven, she's just a child. Stop correcting her every minute" . . . "Robert, all the kids her age wear jeans and tee shirts" . . . "Robert, so what if she used up three rolls of film? She likes taking pictures, and she's good at it." Nuala, always so pretty, so fun, always so patient with Hermione's questions. Typically, Nuala was dressed tonight in a pale blue satin cocktail suit and matching high-heels. Hermione's memories of her were always pastel tinted. Nuala had been in her late forties when she married Uncle Robert, Hermione thought, trying to figure her age now. She made it through five years with him. She left twenty-two years ago. It was a shock to realize that Nuala must now be in her mid-seventies. She certainly didn't look it.
Their eyes met. Nuala frowned, the looked puzzled. Nuala had told me that her name was actually Finnuala, Hermione thought. She remembered how as a little girl she had delighted in trying to pronounce Finn-u-ala.
"Finn-u-ala?" she said now, her voice tentative. A look of total astonishment crossed the older woman's face. Then she emitted a whoop of delight that stopped the buzz of conversations around them, and Hermione found herself once again wrapped up in Nuala's loving arms. Nuala was wearing the faint scent that all these years had lingered in Hermione's memory. When she was eighteen, she had discovered the scent was called Joy. How appropriate for tonight.
"Let me look at you," Nuala exclaimed, releasing her and stepping back but still holding Hermione's arms with both hands as though afraid she would run away. Her eyes searched Hermione's face. "I never thought I'd see you again! Oh Hermione! How is that dreadful man, your uncle?"
"He died three years ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry darling. But he was totally impossible to the end, I'm sure."
"Never too easy," Hermione admitted.
"Hermione, I was married to him! I know! He could have posed for a medieval stained-glass window, he was so old-fashioned and stiff . . ." Aware suddenly that others were openly listening in, Nuala slid her arm around Hermione's waist and announced, "This is my child! I didn't give birth to her, of course, but that's totally unimportant."
Hermione realized that Nuala was also blinking back tears.
Anxious to both talk and escape the crush of the crowd, they both slipped out to go to a smaller restaurant. Hermione couldn't find Liam to say good-bye, but was quite sure she would not be missed.
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Arm in arm, Hermione and Nuala walked up the street through the deepening September twilight to an Italian restaurant. Over salad and breadsticks, they caught up on each other's lives.
For Hermione, it was simple. "I ended up going to Hogwarts, then when I graduated from there I tried to become an Auror, which is a dark-wizard fighter, found it too trying, unlike my two best friends, so I dropped out of the training and attempted to get a job at the Daily Prophet, the wizard newspaper. I'm making an excellent living there now as their top photographer."
"That's wonderful. I always knew you'd go into photography, although I suppose it's a bit different with wizards."
"Just a little. With wizards, the pictures move."
"They move?" said Nuala.
"Well, yes. Here, look," said Hermione, and she pulled a picture out of her purse. It showed her, Harry, and Ron on their graduating day of Hogwarts. They were all smiling and waving, wearing white robes instead of black.
"That's me, in the middle, I was the top of our year. Then, on the left is Harry, he's now a wizard lawyer, but an Auror on the side, and on the right is Ron. He's still going strong as an Auror, and he's one of the Ministry of Magic's best ones, besides Harry, but since he only comes in part time, they don't really count him. They were my best friends all through school."
"Well would you look at that. You'll have to show me some more of these wizard tricks some other time," said Nuala keenly.
"Well, you've heard enough about me, how about you, Nuala?" asked Hermione.
"No. Let's finish with you," the older woman interrupted. "You live in London. You've got a job you like. You've stuck to developing what is a natural talent. You're just as pretty as I knew you'd be. You were thirty-two your last birthday. What about a love interest or a significant other or whatever it is you young people call it these days?"
Hermione felt the familiar wrench as she said flatly, "I was married for three years. His name was Paul, and he graduated from Auror training as well. He was killed trying to defend a family from the Dark Lord's followers. It was five years ago. It's a shock that I may never get over. Anyway, it's still hard to talk about him."
"Oh, Hermione." There was a world of understanding in Nuala's voice. Hermione remembered that Nuala had been a widow when she married her uncle.
Shaking her head, Nuala murmured, "Why do things like that have to happen?" Then her tone brightened. "Shall we order?"
Over dinner they caught up on twenty-two years. After the divorce from Hermione's uncle, Nuala had moved to London, then visited a small town where she met Timothy Moore—someone she had actually dated as a teenager—and married him. "My third and last husband," she said, "and do I ever miss him! He wasn't one of the overly wealthy Moores, but I have a sweet house in Fairford, and an adequate income, plus I'm still dabbling at painting, so I'm all right."
But Hermione saw a brief flicker of uncertainty cross the woman's face and realized that without the brisk, cheerful expression, Nuala looked every day of her age.
"Really all right, Nuala?" she asked quietly. "You seem . . . worried."
"Oh, yes, I'm fine, it's just . . . well, you see, I turned seventy-five last month. Years ago, someone told me that when you get to your sixties, you start to say good-bye to some of your friends, or they say good-bye to you, but that's when you hit your seventies, it happens all the time. Believe me, it's true. I've lost a number of friends lately, and each loss hurts a little more than the last. It's getting a bit lonely here in London, but there's a wonderful residence—I hate the word nursing home—and I'm thinking of going to live there soon. The kind of apartment I want there has just become available."
Then, as the waiter poured espresso, she said urgently, "Hermione, come visit me, please. Fairford is only an hour drive from London."
"I'd love to," Hermione responded.
"You mean it?"
"Absolutely. Now that I've found you, I'm not going to let you get away again. Besides, it's been in the back of my mind to go to Fairford. I've heard it's a photographer's paradise. As a matter of fact—"
She was just about to tell Nuala that as of next week she had cleared her calendar to allow time to take a much needed vacation when she heard someone say, "I thought I'd find you here."
Startled, Hermione looked up. Standing over them were Liam and his cousin Earl Bateman. "You ran out on me," Liam said reprovingly.
Earl bent down to kiss Nuala. "You're in hot water for spiriting away his date. How do you two know each other?"
"It's a long story." Nuala smiled. "Earl lives in Fairfield, too," she explained to Hermione. "He teaches anthropology at a college near there.
I was right about the scholarly look, Hermione thought.
Liam pulled up a chair from a nearby table and sat down. "You have to let us have an after-dinner drink with you." He smiled at Earl. "And don't worry about Earl. He's strange, but he's harmless. His branch of the family has been in the funeral business for over a hundred years. They bury people, he digs them up! He's a ghoul. He even makes money talking about it."
Hermione raised her eyebrows as the others laughed.
"I lecture on funeral customs through the ages," Earl Bateman explained with a slight smile. "Some may find it macabre, but I love it."
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AN: And that's the end of the first chapter! Pretty long by my standards, if I do say so myself. Four full pages on size 10 Verdana font in Microsoft Word. But that's not important. The important thing is that you review! NOW!