Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters.

A/N: Happy Wednesday! Chapter four is here. The song featured at the beginning of this chapter was in the move, Serendipity, and I hope it brings back as much nostalgia for you as it did for me. Cheers!

The Holiday Prophecy

Chapter Four

The sky has lost its color

The sun has turned to grey

At least that's how it feels to me

Whenever you're away

I crawl up in the corner

As I watch the minutes pass

Each one brings me closer to

The time you're comin' back

I can't take the distance

I can't take the miles

I can't take the time until I next see you smile

I can't take the distance

And I'm not ashamed

That with every breath I take I'm callin' your name

Evan and Jaron - The Distance

Almost a year later

Hermione

The Magical Congress of the United States headquarters, located on Broadway in Manhattan, is swarming with witches and wizards on magical business. The Woolworth Building is known for its high-level security, said to rival Gringotts Bank in Diagon Alley.

Hermione waves her wand at the carving of an owl to gain access into the building. She enters the grand lobby through an ultra-fast spinning revolving door, revealing a stunning atrium that is as vast as it is colorful, showcasing an array of golds, emeralds, maroons, and blacks. Headquarters boasts an ominous grandeur, but somehow stands several hundred feet tall while still maintaining the secrecy of the magical world.

She strides past the giant dial floating high in the air on her way to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the office in which she's worked since moving to New York City.

Although she anticipates the day being as ordinary as any other, it turns out it's not. Opening the door to her office with the flick of her wrist, she doesn't expect to find-

"Fleur? What are you doing here?"

Hermione's closest friend from Beauxbatons faces the window overlooking the view to the city down below. Fleur rotates around as she hears her entering the room, her long silvery blonde hair swishing with the movement in perfect waves.

The quarter-Veela's deep blue eyes sparkle in her direction, emanating a certain glow that captures everyone in her presence. "Hermione! Finally! How wonderful it is to see you!"

Fleur's gorgeous French accent echoes through the reverberating room as she rushes forward to kiss Hermione on both of her cheeks.

"This is a surprise!" Hermione pulls back from the crushing embrace, but still maintains a friendly grasp on Fleur's elbows. "I'm so pleased to see you, of course, but why are you here?"

"I have news."

"News?"

"I'm in love!" Fleur squeals, bouncing up and down while gripping both of Hermione's hands.

"That's…great."

She's not surprised by Fleur's declaration, who has the uncanny ability to attract men with her breathtaking beauty.

A silent ache throbs through Hermione's heart. The more she's tried to avoid thoughts of the man she crossed paths with nearly a year ago, the more he happens to pop into her head. They were connected for such a brief moment in time, but he's managed to leave a big gaping hole in her life. Her happiness has been sacrificed for the idea of one day. One day they will meet again. Well, that one day is seeming less likely by each passing minute.

For months, she searched and searched the streets of New York. She even went to visit her parents on an impromptu trip back to England, hoping that she'd find him in one of the shops in Diagon Alley. The worst part about the distance is knowing that he is out there, somewhere, and she has to face the absurd truth that she hasn't a clue where he could truly be.

When she closes her eyes, she still sees his face in front of her — his heart-clenching lopsided grin, fiery red hair, and piercing blue eyes that make her weak inside. After spending sleepless nights thinking about him, she's baffled by his lack of presence draining all of her energy.

A pair of fingers snap in front of Hermione's eyes, bringing her attention back to the present and to her friend who studies her with genuine concern. "Hermione, are you okay?"

"Yes, yes, of course." She squeezes Fleur's hand. "Tell me more about this man you've met."

"Oh, Hermione, he's fantastic. His name is Bill. He's a Curse-Breaker at Gringotts and so handsome-"

At least Fleur had the good sense to actually get the name of the man she's interested in.

Fleur goes on about her exciting new relationship as Hermione gets lost in her head again. She compares herself to a sitting gnome in a garden, remaining stagnant as life passes her by and as others find the happiness that she so recklessly gave away.

So badly she wants to search for the Auror's information, to use the initials she found on the inside of his wool glove.

RBW.

She could manipulate the situation — look him up, stage a run-in, and pretend like it all happened by chance, that it was just another 'fortunate accident'.

A voice deep inside of her denies this plan. No. She can't. She promised.

Even her favorite pastimes can't satisfy her these days. Taking a stroll through the city seems so boring, so lonely, when before she didn't really mind being alone. Every single venture to the public library near Bryant Park allows an endless loop of memories from her time at the ice rink with the handsome stranger to continuously flood through her brain. She'd withstand the cold for hours just to be close to him again.

With the holidays fast approaching, and no sign of her mystery man, she's starting to wonder if she had dreamed the entire evening. Really, how silly of her to think that this little experiment would work? Even if he were interested in keeping to their arrangement to meet again in New York City in a matter of weeks, he probably believes she didn't. Honestly, she won't blame him if he chooses not to show up. What's the likelihood that he even thought of her at all beyond their night together?

It takes everything in her to calm her frustration. She's gone on dates throughout the recent months, but there's been no point in getting attached to someone else when she's still so consumed by him. Hermione's stomach twists at the idea of him behaving in a similar way, and spending time with other women who aren't her.

Don't be ridiculous, Hermione. You have no claim over this man that YOU let go.

"...and when he asked me to marry him, I said YES!"

Blinking her eyes, Hermione reorients herself to the present, catching the end of her friend's gushing words. "Wait, what? You're getting married?"

"Can you believe it?" Fleur pulls Hermione in for another tight hug, almost to the point of suffocation, twirling their joined bodies around with glee. Coming to a stop, the blonde witch retrieves a moving photograph from her handbag and holds it up for Hermione to see. "Here's a picture of him."

An audible gasp leaves Hermione's lips as she takes in the portrait of a tall, thin man with long auburn hair. He even has the same color eyes, although she knows for certain by the shape of his face that it's not the same man that she's been dreaming about.

"Wow…the resemblance is striking."

"Huh?" Fleur's puzzlement reminds her that she's emotionally torturing herself again.

"Oh, nothing." Hermione blinks back the tears pricking her eyes, handing over the photograph. "Nothing at all. He's very handsome, Fleur."

"I know." Fleur clutches the photograph against her chest. "He's the one."

The one. All Hermione can think about is the possibility that she had let her one slip right through her fingers.

"Anyway, I'm going to meet his family in Ottery St. Catchpole to announce our engagement next week and I am dreadfully nervous." Fleur nibbles on her bottom lip, throwing a cautious glance Hermione's way. "I need my best friend with me. I know it is short notice, but please say you'll come."

Although the timing is not ideal, given the fact that Hermione has just accepted a prestigious position at the British Ministry for Magic and she is absolutely swamped with the workload she has before making the transition, she can't shake the feeling that this opportunity has presented itself for a reason.

Serendipity. She can't seem to get that word out of her head these days.

All she can do is hope that word stays true to its meaning and she'll be reunited with the Auror that stole her heart a year ago soon.

Soon.

"England, you say?"

Whitehall, London

Ron

Paperwork. There's too much bloody paperwork.

Really though, with magic at the tip of their wands, why is it so fucking difficult to get words down on a piece of parchment?

Because you can't stop thinking about HER, that's why.

Releasing an exasperated growl, Ron crumbles up the parchment in his hands before shredding it into tiny pieces with a single swish of his wand.

"Do I even want to know?"

Harry settles into the empty chair next to Ron in the Auror office, propping his feet up on the table as he leans back, waiting for his friend to explain why he's so boggled.

"I reckon not."

"Here." Harry unfolds a white slip and tosses it into Ron's lap. "We have a new department lead in Law Enforcement starting in a few weeks."

Ron takes one fleeting look at the memo before waving it back on the table. "Herman Granger. What kind of name is that? I bet he's a fucking tosser."

"Hermione."

"Huh?"

"Hermione Granger. And I don't think she would take kindly to you calling her a tosser."

Ron groans into his hand. "Oh, bloody hell."

"What's gotten into you lately?" Harry bumps his fist against Ron's shoulder.

"You know what," Ron mumbles against the cotton of his shirt, earning a heavy sigh from his best mate.

"Back to this again? I thought you were finally starting to move past this prophecy bullshit. Honestly, is this woman even real?"

"She's real!" Ron fights back with a forced edge around his voice. "I can't help how I feel, Harry. She's bloody out there somewhere and I can't shake the feeling that I've gotta find her before we plan on meeting. Maybe I could just sneak into the Hall of Prophecies and-"

"Ron, you can't. You know how guarded it is down there. And you could lose your position as an Auror, and I don't fancy having to find another wanker to replace you."

Harry always did have an air for the theatrics, but he's also right. Maybe Ron's driven himself mad over this woman, but no matter how hard he's tried, he can't seem to fill the void of her absence. He's spent months wishing to find a way to reconnect, but all communication channels are blocked because of one stupid prophecy.

HJG.

"Owl post, Ron."

Harry's voice breaks him from his reverie, as an owl comes sweeping down from the sky before landing on the nearest windowsill, holding a letter with the name Ron written in tiny scrawl across the envelope.

He stands to retrieve the letter, making sure to give the dutiful owl plenty of scratches and a treat before sending it off again. Unfolding the note, he reads the words on the parchment.

Ronnie,

I hope this letter finds you well. I'm writing to inform you that I've found someone and I think she's pretty brilliant. I will be bringing her home to introduce her to the family next weekend for Sunday dinner, and I would like for you to come. Say that you will?

I hope to see you at The Burrow, little brother.

Love,

Bill

"What's it say?" Harry tries to look over Ron's shoulder to snag a peek.

"Blimey, it's Bill. He's met someone. And he wants me there when he brings her home to meet Mum and Dad, most likely as a buffer, the smarmy git."

"So, are you gonna go?"

Trying hard to ignore the pang in his chest as an image of a woman with bushy brown curls and matching eyes clouds his vision, Ron makes his decision.

"Yeah, I'm going. And you and Gin are coming with me."