Story: Where Are You
Now?
Author: J.E.A.R.K.Potter (Jackie)
Rating: PG or
K+
Disclaimer: I own the plot, Michaela Nelson and children that
will be coming up in future chapters. J.K. Rowling owns the rest of
it.
Chapter 1
Prologue
(Harry)
Harry looked around the room. He was now twenty-four-years-old, living in a flat by himself, and had a successful job as a Quidditch player... He was happy. Voldemort had been defeated after much struggle in his seventh year, with the help of his two best friends at the time -one who had been his girlfriend after a summer of Ron and her fighting too much. He couldn't even remember the details of how they got together, except when they had kissed. But things had... If he was happy, why was the memory of a certain bushy brown haired, chocolate-eyed witch plaguing his thoughts? He hadn't seen this girl since the night of graduation, now seven years in his past. No one had seen her since Harry had been snogging his old flame, Ginny Weasley, in a broom closet at the party. Rumour had it the woman on his mind had walked to Hogsmeade's in the middle of a stormy night just to apparate herself away. Maybe if Harry hadn't been so drunk, they could be happy together. Maybe if he had gone looking for her after what happened, he could be married with a wonderful family. He hadn't, though. He was too slammed to care about anything. His mind was occupied with what had been happening right then.
Harry stared at the ceiling, thinking, "Where are you now, Hermione Granger?"
(Hermione)
Over in America, a now cinnamon coloured haired Hermione laid in her bed. She looked at the piece of parchment in her hand. Why had her boss assigned her this bloody job? Of course, Michaela didn't know of what had happened to her over in England. Not one of her new friends would know. To them, she just came over to America to get out of a dramatic life style. They never knew how he, the Boy-Who-Lived, had crushed her. She still wouldn't go out with any man that even so much as resembled the one who hurt her. Each time she tried, he turned into a seventeen-year-old version of the guy who broke her. Why now, though, was she thinking of what could have, could have, been if he truly meant it when he said, "I love you"? She could, would, have little brown or black haired children running around in a wonderful house she could, would, have shared with the man she had loved more than anything in the entire world. She looked up at the ceiling, thinking, "Where are you now, Harry Potter?"
A/N: Please review!