Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters.
A/N: Happy Friday! Hope you enjoy chapter two, my friends!
Thanks as always to the most wonderful beta team.
The Holiday Prophecy
Chapter Two
Maybe We Are
Hermione
The timeless tradition of the holidays is simply enchanting.
Hermione Granger plans to take full advantage of the wintery weather as she pulls on her favorite olive green fleece earband — she finds it wise to dress warmly — before departing her flat, preparing herself to be a part of the city masses. She may even grab a cup of hot cocoa to keep herself warm.
It's a holiday haven in New York City this time of year, and she finds herself transfixed by the illuminating lights that are framed by the twinkling skyline. A part of her wonders just how many people are out there looking at the same view, completing their holiday shopping at nearby markets, and eating seasonal treats from food stalls.
Well, she knows of at least one person.
When she saw the pair of olive green gloves in the window display that perfectly matched her earband, she knew she had to have them. Even if it meant giving a gift to herself in a season meant for gifting others, it couldn't hurt to treat herself every once in a while, could it?
What she didn't expect to happen next was to meet a handsome stranger who sends an instant flutter of electricity through her body as their hands touch, both happening to reach for the same pair of gloves.
She honestly didn't know it was possible to feel so giddy, nervous, excited, and confused all at the same time. It takes only a matter of minutes for the mysterious man to make her realize that she hasn't smiled or laughed this much in years. The thought alone makes her light-headed and unsure of what's happening, or if the feeling is actually real.
Did she just jump right in as the main character of one of her favorite Muggle romance films? The fact that she's read countless romance novels is not counterintuitive, although she'd rather get through the evening without falling into a romantic cliché.
Sure, he's physically attractive, has an amazing sense of humor, and gorgeous blue eyes that — no, Hermione. Calm down.
Instead of listening to her inner voice, she finds herself captivated by the little white specs in his flaming red hair from the falling snow, causing her heart to beat faster than normal.
It was that initial attraction that drove Hermione to suggest going ice skating, preferring in that moment to enjoy the activity with someone else even though she's usually perfectly content going alone. She'll count it as the most impulsive invitation she's ever made.
Hermione hasn't had much luck in the romance department. While in school at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, she had a strong desire to learn more about French culture after having spent many summers growing up vacationing in the south of France. Most of her time at school was spent in the library instead of mingling with her peers, thus not leaving much time for romantic relationships. In hindsight, it was naive thinking to not immerse herself, as she could have learned so much more than a book ever had the capacity to teach her.
With her inexperience at the forefront of her mind, she's decided she'd rather wait longer in life for a perfect mate, rather than rush into an incompatible relationship without first determining whether or not the infatuation has the potential to turn into something more — something real.
This ginger-haired man has the potential to completely obliterate all of those plans, and when she discovers that he, too, is magical — well, she's as delighted as a niffler with a pouch full of treasure.
And he's an Auror, no doubt! Hermione prides herself on having good instincts, and she already felt safe with him before she discovered that he was a wizard — it is the small things, really, like the way he insisted that she should take the last pair of gloves and how he tended to her arm on the bench after their fall.
The next step is obvious, the question remaining at the tip of her tongue each time she sneaks another glance at his handsome face.
She could ask him for his name — and she knows he's likely itching to learn hers — but there's something about the mystery of it all that appeals to her. And she'd like to live in this mystery for as long as possible.
The intense bubble of happiness around her lingers as they leave the ice rink and make their way to the next destination on Hermione's mental list.
The Union Square Holiday Market can be considered Hermione's second favorite Christmas Muggle tradition in New York City, with a unique assortment of gifts that always catch her eye. Each year seems to have a bigger and brighter display. She's not exactly sure why she feels compelled to share all of her treasured traditions with the man that she's traveling around the city with, but he doesn't seem to mind tagging along.
The focal point of the market is a bejeweled tree that towers over all of the festive shops and eager people. What Hermione loves most about the shops is that all of the gifting items are made by local artists, ranging from whimsical jewelry, stylish plant hangers, handcrafted leather goods, artisan soaps and candles, and ceramic sculptures.
They pass a group of singing carolers as they walk through the entrance to the market, doing their best rendition of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." The wizard makes a comment about how great the performance was, almost on par with the Frog Choir, which reveals to Hermione that he did indeed attend Hogwarts.
"More shopping?" The ginger-haired man twists to face her, raising his eyebrows.
"Shopping for the perfect gift doesn't have to be stressful, like those Muggle department stores make us feel. Let's make it fun!"
An incredulous look appears on his face. "Shopping in Diagon Alley is loads more fun — or even Hogsmeade."
"I've been there."
"Really?"
"Yes, really!" she scoffs. "I am a…" Looking around to gauge her surroundings, she lowers her voice and leans in closer. "I am a witch, you know."
"I've managed to work that out, thanks." The man flashes her a coy smile. "It's just, well, I've never seen you around there."
"So many people flood those streets! It's not like you would've noticed me anyway."
"I would've." The twinkle in his eyes almost takes her breath away.
"Wh-what?"
"I, erm..." He clears his throat, and the way the tips of his ears burn red is so innocent and adorable. "I would've noticed you."
His reaffirmation conjures up a bundle of flobberworms in her stomach as Hermione tries to hide the blush creeping up on her cheeks. She's confused as to why her body is suddenly reacting to him beyond willful control, without even really having to think about it.
But she does what she does best, and pushes all the less-than-proper thoughts out of her mind. Pressing on, she nods her head in the direction of the shops.
"The craftsmanship here is exquisite. This really is the best place to get unique, handmade gifts."
"My mum's a sucker for anything handmade."
Hermione smiles at the thought before adding, "Well, you'll find all that and more here. The highest quality handmade items at extremely affordable prices."
The man barks out a laugh. "Are you sure you're not being paid to advertise the market? Because if not, I'm willing to bet they'd like to hire you."
"You tease me, but I just happen to know my way around, that's all."
They spend what feels like several hours perusing the shops together, coming away with locally made wool-knitted jumpers, hand-carved ornaments, and another pair of gloves that the man insists are for his sister, not his girlfriend. Hermione decides to take his word for it.
Without ever really addressing where to go next, they find themselves exiting the market along with a herd of people, strolling again down the snow-covered streets.
Hermione giggles when the Auror leans his head back, allowing tiny snowflakes to dissolve on his protruded tongue. Sighing, he chuckles to himself as he scuffs his boots into the snowy ground.
"It's hard not to feel like a kid again."
Agreeing with his sentiment, she expresses, "Even I have to admit that the city stirs up the holiday spirit that I never really had growing up."
"Really?" He turns to her, cocking his head to one side. "You weren't big on Christmas?"
"We celebrated it, don't get me wrong, it just wasn't a significant part of my life. My family approached the holidays in a very…" Hermione hums, trying her best to choose the right word to describe her childhood. "Simplistic manner."
"Well, we're going to have to fix that, aren't we?"
The mischievous glint in his eyes makes her lose all focus — sweet Merlin, her thoughts have never been so disorganized in her life. A shiver rolls down her spine as a gust of chilly wind whistles through the streets.
"You okay?"
He must have seen her visible tremor. Shaking her head, she insists, "Oh yes, I'm fine. I'm just not used to spending longer stretches of time outside in colder temperatures."
Well, why'd you say that, Hermione? Now he's going to think that you're not having a good time.
"You're joking, right? Don't you live in New York City?"
He is quite clever, Hermione realizes, with his many attempts to pry information out of her.
"New York isn't cold all year around, you know," she argues with a raised brow.
"I know that." He playfully bumps his shoulder with hers.
"I prefer the indoors."
"Ah, yes." The man grins as if recalling a fond memory they share. "The library."
Hermione pauses in her stride, choosing instead to fold her arms over her chest. "Anything wrong with that?"
"Not at all." He jerks his head towards a row of buildings. "Let's duck inside somewhere for a bit to warm up."
"Well, I have just the place for you two."
The soft, hoarse voice of a peculiar older woman forces them both out of their conversation. The eccentric-looking lady is dressed in a gauzy, deep red shawl and chunky green beads around her neck, all decked out for the holidays. She has on large, thick glasses with frizzy brown hair.
"You look strangely familiar. Do I know you?" The man beside her murmurs.
"Why would you?" She responds in a soft, ethereal voice. "But I know you."
Before Hermione can open her mouth to question the statement as such, the lady digs a dusty glass ball out of the inside of her shawl, cradling it between her two hands to shield it from view of prying eyes.
"You're a Seer!" The man exclaims as quietly as he can manage around the hustle and bustle of the city streets.
"Indeed." The woman readjusts the glasses framing her face before gesturing her finger between the other two. "And your energy tells me that I am in the presence of pure magic."
Hermione wants to roll her eyes at the statement made by the self-proclaimed Seer, finding it hard not to immediately dismiss her as a fraud.
"What a lovely couple you are!" The woman declares.
Hermione's eyes widen as she exchanges a look of uncertainty with the ginger-haired man that is nothing short of awkward. At the same time, they both blurt out,
"Oh, we're not-"
"Oh, he's not-"
Hermione turns her head away in hopes of hiding the heat that she's sure must be coloring her cheeks.
"I see." The woman tsks in a way that indicates their declaration was unconvincing as she taps the glass ball in her hands. "Perhaps you'd like a glimpse into what your future could be?"
Hermione is shaking her head before the Seer can even finish her suggestion. "I don't think so."
"I'm curious." The Auror shrugs, tilting his head at Hermione with a smirk on his face. "Where's your spontaneity?"
"I can be spontaneous!"
Leveling her with an unwavering stare, he challenges, "Prove it."
"Shall we?" The Seer suggests before making a brisk disappearance into the dark shop without waiting for a confirmation.
"After you." The man steps aside to allow Hermione room to pass by, and her feet are moving of their own accord before she can fully comprehend it, following the Seer's trail.
The inside of the shop is just as dark as the outside, encapsulating a mystic air about the cramped room. It smells faintly of old sherry and such an unusual mixture of scented vapors that would overwhelm even the least sensitive of noses.
Although the vibe of the room has all the makings of a true Seer, Hermione's outlook on whether or not she will be given a genuine vision of the future remains bleak. Which leads her to inquire,
"How often do your predictions come true?"
"Oh, my dear, that is up to you as the beholder."
Pursing her lips, Hermione states, "Enlighten me, please."
"Please be seated." The Seer gestures towards the two empty chairs in the room before placing the spun-glass sphere on the table between them.
Hermione leans forward to get a closer look at the ball, which contains a swirling blueish-grey mist with words coming out of it that look to be rendered in a cryptic language that isn't easy to decipher. The ball itself is glowing bright as it fills her with unexpected happiness — like a string of Christmas lights in the evening sky.
She doesn't know how she feels about a Seer reading her a prediction, someone with the ability to see into the future. She harbors a general distrust for the subject of Divination, but recognizes that there are true prophecies out there.
The woman allows her elbows to rest on the table, jingling the bangles around her wrists like bells on a chime, before falling into a deep trance that is just as fascinating as it is unsettling.
One single continuous hum leaves the Seer's lips in a low voice — distinctly different from her own — which is a far cry from the spirit of the season. Perhaps Hermione should try to convince this Seer that her practices would be best suited for a different holiday instead.
"You will have the power that many know not. When time is turned, you shall find what most people have sought."
As soon as the bone-chilling words are uttered, the Seer slumps back into her chair out of exhaustion before blinking as if trying to recover from being obliviated, leaving Hermione to wonder if the woman even remembers making the prophecy.
"What the bloody hell was that?" The man demands to know, taking the words — apart from the crude manner in which they were spoken — straight out of her mouth.
The Seer rubs the top of the ball with the palm of her hand. "In here, I hold something of great importance to you both."
"And what is that?" Hermione questions, eager to hear more despite her initial apprehension.
"A power."
"Oh, bloody hell, here we go." The man leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
"The power you two possess is love."
Hermione's heart leaps to her throat. Love? LOVE? She can't even bear to look over at the person sitting next to her, although she hopes the expression on his face is just as incredulous as she feels.
"Yes…" The Seer murmurs to herself, palming the glass ball. "A very strong, very powerful love that has the potential for greatness."
A snort of indignation leaves Hermione's lips, prompting her to clamp a hand over her mouth, embarrassed by the unbecoming sound. The man is staring at her now, surprising her with the way the corners of his lips twitch like he's holding back a smile.
Now is not the time to be looking at his lips, Hermione.
"The potential for — what, sorry?" The man inquires, blinking.
Wriggling in her seat, Hermione insists, "With all due respect, Seer, I've only just met this man a few hours ago."
"Ah, but all great things have to start somewhere, don't they?" A wry grin lights up the woman's face, doing nothing to quell those pesky flobberworms in Hermione's stomach that seem to be very active this evening.
The Auror waggles a finger towards the ball while still gazing into its crystalline depths. "Go on."
The Seer's dark eyes brighten at his request. "As the true subjects of this prophecy, it's fairly simple. You two are destined to be together."
An audible gasp leaves Hermione's lips, filling the otherwise silent room. The Auror is quiet — almost too quiet — leaving her to wonder if he's reconsidering the entire evening.
Honestly though, who wouldn't reconsider after hearing something so barmy? Is Hermione really expected to believe that a supposed Seer with a dusty glass ball is actually predicting her future with this man? Are they really the true subjects of the prophecy?
The Seer opens her mouth to presumably say more, but Hermione's heard enough. Standing, she manages a goodbye before turning to her date. "Thank you for your time. Shall we head out? It's getting late."
"Yeah, alright." The man says the words so flippantly that Hermione isn't sure he's heard what she actually asked him.
The Seer bows her head in acceptance, pressing both of her palms together. "I will leave you with a parting thought, my dears. Never forget that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of a busy life may cloud your ability to see or think clearly. Don't allow yourself to suffer in order to be happy."
The unusual manner in which the advice is given elicits a blank stare from Hermione while the man mutters, "Er, thanks, I guess."
"Who am I to refuse the prompting of fate?" Grinning, the Seer ushers them out of the shop. "Good evening to you both!"
Soon they are hit with a rush of cold air, causing Hermione to burrow her nose into the warmth of her scarf, and for a moment she's grateful for winter and the opportunity to hide the blush on her face.
How is she supposed to unpack all of what the Seer just spewed at them?
She doesn't even know his name, for Merlin's sake.
"So..." A forced laugh escapes his lips as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Knut for your thoughts?"
Hermione squeezes her eyes shut, looking away. "I probably shouldn't go there."
"Why not?"
Blowing out an impatient breath, she hisses, "Do you realize this prophecy could cause significant harm if interpreted incorrectly?"
"How hard is it to interpret, really? She simply said that we are meant to be."
Hermione scoffs. "Rubbish. I've only known you for a few hours."
The man flashes her a crooked grin. "So then what are the odds that, out of all of the people in the world — magical and non-magical — we happen to meet here? Call it what you want, but I call it fate. Like, what's the word?" He snaps his fingers as a thought comes to his mind. "Serendipity."
"Serendipity?" Hermione reiterates in an unconvincing tone. "Like a fortunate accident?"
"Yeah, exactly."
She wraps her arms around herself, nibbling on her bottom lip as she contemplates what he's saying. "Are you sure that we are the true subjects of this so-called prophecy?"
"It's not the most far-fetched prediction I've ever heard. I had Professor Trelawney for Divination in school." He furrows his brows before sharing an afterthought. "Although I'm not quite sure how suitable she was for the post. She was batty, that one."
"This isn't like Divination class. I don't listen to fortune-tellers."
"Prophecies are not fortunes," he argues. "They have to hold some level of importance. What if that importance is to bring us together?"
"And do what?"
"I don't know." The man lets out an airy laugh as he waves his arms through the air. "Be happy! Why does it have to be complicated?"
"Just because she says so," Hermione retorts, glaring towards the shop window, "doesn't mean we have to do anything about it!"
"What are you saying?" The hurt in his eyes makes her reconsider her brazen approach.
Fumbling over her words, she explains, "I-I only mean that a prophecy is a prophecy. We are still free to choose our own way."
The man nods, staring with an unreadable expression at a spot just over her head.
Great. Now you've offended him.
Perhaps she's writing him off too soon. Hermione crosses her arms, letting out a loud exhale. "Do you really think you could be happy with me?"
He stares brazenly into her eyes, radiating an unwavering determination that makes her weak in the knees. "Yeah, I do."
"You don't even know me."
"I want to. Isn't that all that matters right now?"
"I thought so too, until you started discussing the future as if we're going to, oh I don't know, get married!"
"Maybe we are."
Thump thump. Thump thump.
Who knew that three little words that aren't the most commonly spoken could trigger such a heart pounding, skin tingling, mind boggling reaction? She's so dizzy in her thoughts that she may have to sit down, barely aware of what seems like the tenth group of singing carolers shoving their merry way past her frozen body on the street.
"And what if-" Hermione pauses to suck in a heavy, cold breath. "What if it's not as obvious as that?"
His eyes dart around her face, as conspiratorial as a wink. "I'm beginning to believe you think too much."
"I'm realistic!" She insists with a huff. "That doesn't mean I think too much."
"What I think is that we should try to enjoy the rest of our evening, and sort out this prophecy business later. Assuming you'd like to continue, or was the line you fed to the Seer about it getting late not just a line?"
Pressing her lips together, she fights the urge to continue the debate. Why is it so easy for her to engage in an argumentative discussion with him?
"I'm prepared to extend our evening."
Prepared to extend your evening? The ridiculous formality of her words almost makes her roll her eyes.
Just as the wizard appears satisfied by her answer, his stomach growls on cue, prompting them both to chuckle. "I reckon I've worked up an appetite. Care for a bite?"
Hermione can't help but smile as her eyes land on a single word branding the entrance to a small restaurant next to the spiritual shop.
"Actually, I am, and I think I have found the perfect spot."