A/N: Okay, a few of you asked me to continue this, so I am. There are going to be two more chapters after this one. This one is about how Hermione decided to leave with Harry, the next one will be about their life in Australia, and the fourth will be about the two of them coming back to London. So everyone should be appeased.
Okay, most of their speaking will be in italics, this is because it's in the past. Any talking that is not italicized is for present, so at the end where you will see non-italicized speech is supposed to be happening presently. I'm a hopper when it comes to some of my stories and it appears this one is my worst by far when it comes to hopping. You'll get a great idea when it comes near the end.
Anywho…onwards.
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"Hermione? What is it? What's wrong?"
"I was just making sure you really were alive." She reached out from his trunk, which Kreacher had packed up with clothes, shoes, a book or two on quidditch, and an ever-cool jug of pumpkin juice before he came to rally up the house elves, and which she had sat herself upon to watch him sleep. She touched his calf, still covered by his jeans he had been too exhausted to exchange for pajama bottoms, fleetingly pressing there as if she were afraid he was only a hologram. "I was so afraid that I had fainted and dreamed you came back from the dead." She whispered, turning her head away, though he still noticed her eyes fill with water.
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She climbed the stairs to her bedroom, with an emotionless heart, not letting anything in the house penetrate her carefully set up resolve. She had been waiting for this day for two years; she couldn't break down. She couldn't let the better part of her conscience win hold of her mind. Counting gingerly as she tread up every twenty-two creaky steps, she kept her hands from shaking, reminding herself that it was not she alone who had helped her come to this decision, but also the redhead she had chosen to live with all that time ago. Looking at the plain walls, painted a dull white that seemed to scream insanity at her, to the plain almost not-walked-on look of the carpet she stepped on, she heaved a sigh, wondering what on earth had made her stay here so long.
Silently, though she knew there was no one else in the place besides herself, she turned her door handle to the right, guiding it gently to rest against the wall…
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"What are you doing our here?" She asked, quietly, watching as he jerked from his solitary world, and back into reality. She shut the door, which she had only poked her head out of to see if Harry was even out here—he had become very good at hiding in the last week or so. He shuffled, nervously, on the old wooden planks of the Weasley clan porch, moving over so she could sidle up beside him between the railings around the deck.
It had been two weeks, since the war had been won. Two days ago, they had buried Fred, and an entire week and a half ago, Lupin and Tonks had been lowered into the ground. That was the first time Harry had seen Teddy. Andromeda had helped him adjust the baby in his arms, telling him that if he wanted, he could babysit Teddy anytime he wanted, and that he could take Teddy with him every Tuesday for the entire day. Harry had been nervous, but also determined to begin Teddy's and his relationship eons better than that of Harry's and Sirius'. Ever since then, however, Harry had been…off.
He took to himself, often ditching any group that happened to be around him so he could find solitude in nothing but his mind. She wondered if it was them, or if it was him, but it never seemed to be either. He would seamlessly drift away from crowds, and disappear into the scenery. Most of the time Hermione couldn't even find him, but today she was lucky; he had only ventured as far as the Weasley front porch.
He sighed, scratching his head, still covered in shoulder length hair that he had refused to cut, though he had willingly shaved his beard. "I'm only thinking."
"Of what?"
"I'm jealous of them." He told her quietly, folding his hands and resting them at his chin. "Lupin, Tonks, Fred…" Hermione thought he had been talking about Teddy for a moment, after he mentioned Remus and Tonks, but when Fred came in the only pattern she saw was the terrible fact they were all gone. "It's so peaceful where they are. I kind of…" He snapped his eyelids closed suddenly, taking a deep breath in, and exhaling it slowly. "I kind of wish I had died after Voldemort and his Horcruxes. That way, when I was given the choice of returning, I could have turned it down."
He knew that she was broken up at the thought of his death by the shocked gasp the echoed off of her lips, but he couldn't help it. He hadn't told anyone of the choice Albus had given him at King's Cross, or that he had almost declined his return to the land of the living. But within the last week, he had thought about where these people were going, his family that he had chosen not to seek eternal happiness with because of a madman who threatened the lives of those he had loved in life. He shook his head, remorsefully, chewing at his bottom lip till he was sure he must have no skin left on it.
"You were given a choice to come back?" She asked quietly, and he could see from peripheral vision that her hand covered her mouth in awe.
"Yeah." He said just as quietly, but his tone was lack of anything but the lament he felt at not having had the chance to stay and take the train to the other land. "Hermione, I almost didn't come back." He told her, in a voice so quiet he barely heard himself; he was so ashamed to admit that to her. She didn't say anything to him either, proving to make him feel even worse, even more spineless. "Life is…is so hard here. When I was in King's Cross, I-I felt free, free of everything. It took so much…so much to convince myself to even say 'yes'. I…" He was cut off when she grabbed his hand, giving it a light squeeze.
"You had a choice." She said, awestruck. "It takes a lot of strength to live the life you've lived, and see the things you've seen, and still have the courage to say, 'yes'."
"But I almost didn't!" He snapped, trying to get her to understand.
She looked at him sternly, bringing her palm to Harry's cheek, pulling his face to look towards her. "'Almost' only counts in horseshoes and hand-grenades. I'm so proud you chose to come back!" He looked at her, whereas seconds ago he had been staring at the weeds from the corner of his eyes, resolutely, his eyes painfully open to her. She smiled at him, happily, leaning forward, without thought, and pressing a chaste kiss to his left cheek. "I'm so happy!" She reinstated, when she pulled back.
She stood, dusting off her jeans, and looking at him one more time, genially, before she sighed and said, "Dinner soon."
"Okay." He said, with a slight nod of his head, turning suddenly around to look at her. "Hey. Don't tell anyone about that, kay? Not even Ginny?" He asked, gently, pleading to her with his eyes.
She nodded her understanding, her eyes lingering on him even after he turned back around to stare over the garden, and a light breeze caught his hair and lifted it to make it dance in the summer wind.
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…She strolled into the room with a controlled detachment from the place that had not changed in the passed two years she had lived there. The bed was still under the window, with bedside tables to keep there effects on, her side on the left the only side that had a lamp as she normally read before she fell asleep. The vanity was still against the southern wall, where she kept her brush, a little jar of lotion, and normally her black headband. There was still a desk on the wall opposite her vanity, which collected nothing but mail, change, and quills. There was nothing in between. The walls were as bare as the hallway. The floor only had one errant sock that she had missed on her way to the laundry room before she had left for Harry's house, though she still told Ron she went to University classes.
And in the corner of the room was her suitcase…
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She sat down in the new flat which Ron had begun renting for the two of them. It already came furnished, as was accustomed in the Wizarding world. Thus, she took her rest on the used, lumpy couch, where Ron was sitting watching a show on the television she had brought for them. They were on completely different ends of the couch, which didn't bother her. It had begun to suffocate her, the way he always had his hands on her, touching her, demanding they sit so close together.
She rubbed his leg to get his attention, not having joined him to watch the telly, but to tell him something important. He grunted at her watching old reruns of some '70's cop show, but it was enough to prove she had his attention. "I'm going to Australia to unlock my parents' memories. Do you want to come with me?"
"Can't you do that from here?" He grunted at her again, his hand coming up to chew his nails, the television having captured all of his attention with rapt.
"I could." She said, patiently. "But I really would like to see them."
"Oh." He said, taking his eyes away from the television for just a second to glance at her. "How long will you be gone?"
Her brows creased, and she looked away from him, hurt by the fact that he wouldn't go with her. She stared at the floor, taking shuddering breaths, but he noticed none of it. So typical of him! "A month." She huffed, coldly at him. "Maybe more if they want to come home with me."
He smiled at the television, and then turned to her, his grin fading. "That won't be too bad. I'm sure you can live that long without me. Besides," He said, with a shrug. "Your parents will probably want quality time with you. You've been gone from them for more than a year." He then turned back to the television, whooping with awe when a commercial for Kenmore electronics came on.
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…She pulled a small key from around her neck, pulling her suitcase away from the wall, and laying it on the ground with a gentle, 'thud'. She unlocked to bolt she had bought specifically to keep everyone but herself out of the suitcase. She unsealed the silver zipper, throwing the lid of it over onto the floor, and standing again to collect her possessions…
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She took her seat across from Harry in the kitchen of Grimmauld place, which he and Kreacher, and every once in a while, Ginny, had been cleaning and redecorating. He had, unfortunately, bargained with Kreacher, and told him that if he could promise that Mrs. Black's portrait wouldn't scream and yell, he would keep her on the wall, and even remove to curtains, but the moment she began yelling and screaming, Harry would tear the entire wall down if it meant she would come down too. Since then, Kreacher had coerced the painting to not utter a syllable that wasn't kind and curteous. She hadn't even said a thing to Hermione about being a filthy mudblood. Not that Hermione was thankful. She told Harry that it was cruel of him to bribe a house-elf into helping him destroy the memories of his house. But mostly, she left the fact that Harry kept Kreacher alone.
That day, three days after she had mention the same thing to Ron; she sat drinking her tea, two teaspoons of sugar, no milk, sitting amicably in the presence of her dearest friend. "I'm leaving for Australia. I'm going to unlock my parents' memories." She told him when the silence began to bore her, and she figured she should tell him too, since she still talked to him damn near daily.
He nodded, the fact that he heard her, taking a sip of his coffee, even though it was two in the afternoon. He caught the look on her face, something telling him she was disappointed in something. He didn't know what it was, but he felt the need to do something that would help her, just a little. "Do you need any help?" He asked, carefully, pulling on some errant strands of hair that wouldn't fit into the little ponytail at the nape of his neck, watching her perk up at the mention of someone helping her.
"I would love it." She breathed, so happy she wouldn't have to be there on her own, though she knew her parents would want it that way. She couldn't' bare being in the presence of her despaired parents on her own, knowing she was the cause of it, and that she couldn't fully explain the intensity of the situation without someone to guide her way.
'Thank god for Harry.'
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…Her brush, her toothbrush, her head band…all of it went into her suitcase. Following them, went her robe, her favorite sweater, which she had never noticed, but she stole from Harry while they were alone together, hunting for a way to kill the Horcrux. Then the book she had picked up from Athena's Library in Eccentric Alley.
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She entered into the Ministry of Magic, where Harry had told her to meet him after her classes and after his visit with Kingsley, now the permanent Minister of Magic. He said it had to do directly with Australia, so naturally she had come apparated to the telephone booth that would take her inside. She climbed into the elevator that would take her up to the Minister's office, hoping to catch him right as he exited the room, so that maybe she could appeal to him with lunch at a little Muggle place she had found one day. Just her luck, he was coming out of Kingsley's office, waving his good-bye, and having a quick chuckle at something the man said, just as she exited the elevator.
He turned around, and upon seeing her, his smile grew, and he jogged towards her. "Hey! 'Mione? When are we going to Australia?" He asked before she could even say, 'Hello'.
She thought for a quick moment, not really having set a date, only having decided that soon she would go. So resolute with this flimsy plan she had packed her suitcase, and she knew from being in his room while he cleaned—he always seemed to be cleaning these days—that he too had a bag prepared to leave at a moments notice. She shrugged at him apologetically. "Soon-ish?"
"Would you mind…?" He began, rubbing the back of his neck, nervously, and giving a small laugh. "That is to say, do you think we can wait until after most of the Death Eaters are obtained…until England is safe?" He looked at her pleadingly, his overly-green eyes, begging her from behind his glasses.
She tried to keep against his stare, but in the end she crumpled with a kind smile. "Yeah. I guess so. Shouldn't take too long right?" They began walking together down the hall, back towards the elevator she had just exited.
"No. Not long at all." He affirmed, pressing the button that would lead to the floor with the exit.
"Good. Now," She began, grabbing his arm and linking hers through it contently. "You have to try this little Muggle place I found. It is simply delicious!"
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…Anything Ron had bought for her she left in its place, even going as far enough as to leave her engagement ring on his pillow, with a sad frown. Her birthday presents from him for the last two years lay in her jewelry box, which she almost never opened, and most definitely wouldn't open now. Not now that she was leaving. She would have no use for any such things. She felt a bit of remorse for doing this to her fiancé…but really…
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"I want to cut my hair…" She told Ron one night, running her fingers through her hair, holding it behind her to where it looked something resembling a bob-cut. They had been in their bedroom preparing for bed when she had begun playing with her hair, imagining it without the bulk, and frizz. She rather thought she would look stunning. She thought that a bob-cut would accentuate her cheek-bones her father had always commented on.
"Don't do that." Ron said, without even looking away from the suitcase he had become entranced with."You won't look good with short hair."
Hermione looked at her reflection in the vanity mirror, letting her hair fall heavily behind her with a heavy heart. He was absolutely useless sometimes.
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…what had he done to convince her she needed to stay?...
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"How would you think I would look with short hair?" She asked Harry a few weeks later, while resting on his bed with him. He had read a book that Kreacher had left on the kitchen table for him which taught him how to spell his ceiling to look like the sky, as it did in Hogwarts, and was simply so proud of himself that she had to come over immediately to look at it.
"Hermione, you're drop dead gorgeous no matter what you do." He said without a moment's hesitation, though a look of shock passed his face as soon as it left his mouth.
She smiled at him, turning over to her side to face his profile. "You think so?" She asked pulling his mismatched pillows up under her head for more comfort.
He nodded, slowly, as if making sure he thought so before he admitted it. But, after he turned his head to look her in the eye. "I think so." He said, assuring her to where there was not one shadow of a doubt that he meant what he said.
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…She rezipped her luggage, pulling it up to its wheels so she could roll it out of the room. Pausing only at the door, she doused the light in the room with a flick of her wand, doing the same with the bathroom light, which Ron always forgot to turn off in the mornings.
She had prepared herself for leaving. She had been telling herself about it for the past eight months, but it seemed so surreal, almost as if time had slowed around her, making her remember every detail of her old home, which she was leaving without a shadow of regret in her heart…
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"I love you, Hermione." He told her, as he watched her read the Daily Prophet from the stove he was cooking on top of. He stared at her, waiting for her to put down her paper so she could look at him while she returned his sentiments. That's what she used to do. She used to smile at him all the time, but lately, he had only now begun to notice, she did none of this anymore.
She didn't look up from her paper, though, and with a heavy heart, said to him, "I know you do," in a flat tone containing no feeling other than boredom.
He went back to his cooking, nodding his head, while she choked on tears at how absolutely terrible she felt. How bad she felt that she was planning to leave for a month, maybe more, with Harry. How miserable for wanting him to suffer her cold shoulder for not offering to go with her in Harry's stead. How horrible she wanted him to feel for never wanting to do anything with her. She felt sick, knowing that she didn't love him at all, and knowing that she didn't want to come home for him when, and if ever she left for Australia—it had been damn near a year since they had decided they would go together, for Christ's sake!
She felt terrible for almost wanting someone with long black hair, and green eyes, obscured by circular glasses to be the one who said, 'I love you.'
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…Guilt, yes. Regret, no…
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Kreacher was setting the table for lunch when she looked up from her pumpkin juice, into Harry's eyes, which were watching her with guarded emotions. She looked down again when he raised his eyebrows in silent question to her, wondering why she was so quiet, this afternoon. She didn't want to say anything, for fear he would scold her for being so spineless, but she had to get it off her chest. She felt restless here in London and was ready to leave with the southern wind as soon as it blew again. "I think when we go to Australia, we, err… shouldn't come back." She said nervously, her heart heavy, and her chest heaving with the effort it took to admit that small little detail to him.
He nodded, his unruly long hair falling over his glasses. His face was as grim as she knew hers must look, and he seemed to be having the very same problem as she did with his breathing as his chest was also heaving, with the deep steady breaths he seemed to be forcing himself to take. He took a sip of his tea—a dribbling of milk, one spoon of sugar—looking down at Kreacher, who was serving them steak and kidney pie, two slices of French bread, and two stocks of celery. When he put his tea down, he nodded again, looking back into her eyes. "I've kind of been thinking the same thing."
"Why have you been thinking that?" She asked Harry, her jaw hanging open with his admission of thinking the same thing as she was. She was so sure that Harry was happy with Ginny; he never seemed to struggle to say that he loved her, as she did with Ron. He never seemed to hate to be around her, and, in fact lately, Ginny had been gushing to her about how she thought it was only a matter of time before Harry proposed to her.
But her thoughts were interrupted and proven wrong when Harry said in a weak voice, "I don't think I love Ginny anymore."
She stabbed at her pie, gently sticking two kidney beans, crust, and a slice of meat onto the prongs, and as she did so, she admitted to him with an empty feeling heart, "I know I don't love Ron."
"Should we tell them?" Harry asked, cautiously, taking a bite just like she did, and giving Kreacher a smile telling the house-elf that his work was well done; that the food was delicious.
Hermione sighed after swallowing her bite, running her tongue along her teeth thoughtfully. She shook her head, putting her elbow on the table so she could rest in her hand, though Kreacher glared at her poor table manners. "I told Ron I would marry him ages ago…" She said with a grievous face, covering her eyes with her hand. "I want to…I-I really…don't know." She sighed having no idea what she was trying to relay to him, rubbing her temples, sullenly. "Maybe it would be best if we just left?" She let her hands fall at the sheer brilliance of her simple plan. Yes! Leave! Why not? They could just leave and never come back. It wasn't the bravest plan, and she felt rather spineless that she couldn't tell Ron she was ending it to his face, but why not? He was spineless; it was her turn now!
He looked at her, incredulously, "Left?" He asked his voice a little higher than it normally should be. He shook his head, disbelieving that this was his Hermione sitting in front of him. "Are you sure you're feeling okay, Hermione?"
"Yeah." She breathed, nodding at him encouraging."We'll pack up, and then one day, when it's convenient...we-we'll just go!" She exclaimed, so desperate to get away, so desperate to have him agree with her idea, desperate for anything that would give her happiness again.
But, dismally he shot her down as he said, "It'll never be convenient."
She sighed, stabbing at her pie again, a little more violently this time. "I know."
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…As she descended down the steps to her apartment, listening to them all squeak, wail, and groan as she put not only her weight but also the weight of her luggage fully upon them, she flicked the hallway light off…
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She had just exited her morning classes, when she had a miniature heart attack on the campus steps of the biology building as Harry jumped over the banister and fell in step beside her with all the energy any nineteen—almost twenty year old—should. "I've been thinking of this, of your plan" He told her casting a sheepish grin when she glared at him for scaring her half to death and back."What if we stayed, became aloof, maybe even a bit cold, made them think they were in a loveless relationship for us, and not the other way around…we could stay for a bit, I could save up a bit of money, buy a house in Australia. When we left we wouldn't have to worry. We'll just stay here until we're ready!"He said with a victorious lilt in his voice.
She sighed, and gave him a slight push with her shoulder, unknowingly going towards the little café that she had dragged Harry too all those months ago. "Harry, you have plenty of money." She told him with a small smile, happy that he was agreeing with her, happy that he was still leaving with her.
"Whatever!" He proclaimed as she laced her fingers through his, feeling her heart flutter a bit when he didn't pull away. She looked up to him, her eyes glowing she was sure, and he smiled down at her as he continued,"But I at least need to look for a house in Australia. Where do your parents live?"
"In Sydney, why?"
"I'll look for a place near there" He told her, seriously happier than she had seen him in eons."Maybe there'll be a Wizarding community."
"Harry, are-are you sure?" She asked with a hopeful laugh, looking up at him, with his glasses, and longish hair, and overly-green eyes.
He smiled down at her, his smile never leaving his face as he pulled her closer to him, right as they stopped outside the little café. He leaned down to her, wrapping the hand that wasn't currently laced with hers in around her neck, moving it up to weave threw her long, curly locks, which she so desperately wanted to cut. Kissing her gently, in the afternoon autumn wind, they forgot that soon they would both have to part ways for one more day, to pretend that they were in love with someone else. They were together, and soon, very soon, they would never have to do this again. It was as if by kissing her, Harry was promising this and the entire world to her. She knew that she would never ever feel this way with anyone else anymore. And he proved it to her when he pulled away, just far enough to whisper above her lips, "Positive."
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…She heard a light 'pop' as she walked to the door, and when she opened it she saw her runaway partner waiting for her with his rucksack thrown over his shoulder. He looked at her with worried eyes, skimming over her schooled features. He had never seen anything like that on her face before, but she smiled to him and nodded, telling him silently not to worry about her. She shut the door behind her, lugging her bag into the trunk of the car he had rented to take them away from her home.
Listening to the click of her shoes against the sidewalk, she turned to look at her old home, before she seated herself in the passenger side of the vehicle, shaking her head at her own cruelty…
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Some months later, they sat in his room, yet again, watching the sky roll by, and glancing at the rucksack that sat in the corner of his room, not dusty like her suitcase, because he cleaned every day, but begging for their leave. It was Tuesday, so Harry had Teddy for the day, and the little yellow haired boy ran around in his playroom, Kreacher keeping a weather eye on it, while Harry and Hermione took a brief break from the bundle of energy.
Harry had made very secretive arrangements with Andromeda, still allowing him to take Teddy every Tuesday, or entire weekends, whichever Harry liked. He had told her that he would take Teddy on Tuesdays, until he made it to Australia, at which time, he would pick up Teddy at two in the afternoon on Friday, and bring him back at five in the evening on Sunday. It had taken a bit of effort, but Andromeda had almost come to accept Harry as her own, but it had all been worth it now that Harry was granted almost anytime he wanted with his Godson.
They heard a squeal of delight, and Harry smiled, looking at her over his glasses, reminding her deeply of Dumbledore just then. She smiled back at him, playing with her hair and imagining what it would be like when it was shorter; what it would feel like, and what she would do with it. She had vaguely been toying with an idea she had pondered when she was eleven, but her parents had never let her carry out. Leaning forward in her seat, she looked at Harry with an interrogating face, "I want to dye my hair black?" She told him, looking up at his questioning face.
He nodded, stiffly, looking at her as if she had just asked him what a raven had to do with a writing desk. He waited for her to say something else, as he almost always did when she pulled stunts like these—though it was few and far between. "And?"
She huffed, a small exasperated noise that showed her disapproval. "Well! What do you think?"
He smiled at her odd game. "Are you trying to go incognito while in Australia?"
"No. I've just always wanted to." She shrugged gently, leaning back in her seat to twirl her hair in her fingers.
"I never knew that about you." Harry told her with an amused smirk. "Why?"
"It was the excitement of being a witch." She told him with a coy smile. "I used to watch movies with witch craft and the women almost always had black or blonde hair. I wouldn't look good with blonde hair, but I reckon I'd make black hair look suitable on me." She said leaning forward again, and he followed her example, putting his elbows to his knees, and giving her that same demure grin.
"You'd look ravishing with short black hair…but I must warn you I'm not going to call you Morticia."
She smiled to his reference to The Adams Family, the television show she had fallen in love with as a little girl, though he had no idea. She was about to reply to him that he could comb his hair to the side, and she would call him, 'Gomez,' but Kreacher burst into the room yelling, "Master Potter, Miss Mudblood! Little Master has turned him head into a fish! Little Master is choking on the air!"
Ignoring his little slip of calling her 'mudblood,' though he did it often, and the both of them thought that it was a term of endearment rather than an actual insult, Harry and she sprang into action. Harry running to his Godson, to stop him from freaking out and hyperventilating, in doing so passing out with the chance of killing himself, while she ran into the bathroom to run a warm bath, so they could put him under until he could calm down enough to change back into a mammal or some sort.
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…she had left the kitchen light on for him. The kitchen where he always found her waiting for him, sipping her tea, reading the paper, waiting to give him her greetings from her stationary life as a two-faced fiancé. The kitchen she dreaded returning to after classes, and when she finally stopped going to those, the kitchen she dreaded coming to after being at Harry's all day. Where he tried to coerce her into loving him again. Where he laughed at the funnies she read to him from the paper. Where she would make up stories about what her professors had taught her.
Where he wouldn't find her anymore…
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"Hermione?" Harry called to her from his table, where he watch with fascination as she washed to potatoes for Kreacher, who would cut them up and threw them into boiling water, glaring at her the entire time for demanding that she let him help.
"Hmm?" She asked, not taking her eyes off her chore of scrubbing spuds.
"I…" He took a deep breath. "I love you."
She stood shocked for a moment, her potato hovering in her hand halfway to Kreacher, until he snatched it from her irately. She snapped back into her mind, her eyes leveling with his from across the room, where he looked at her guiltily with his overly expressive, overly green eyes. She wiped her hands off on her ruddy jeans, nervously, her heart hammering in sheer joy, though, at how happy it made her to finally have him say that, and how completely not-guilty she felt when she told him, "I love you, too."
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… "Are you sure this is the place you want to get your hair done at?" He asked her curiously, watching as a lady came out of the little shop on Diagon Alley with a blue afro, resembling, frighteningly enough, the cookie monster off of Sesame Street. He looked to Hermione worriedly, but she smiled at him.
"Yeah. I think this'll be good. You wanna come in with me…get your hair trimmed a little? I can hardly see your eyes." She asked him, grabbing his hand enticingly with a smile plastered on her face.
"No." He said with a forced smile, as he watched, from the corner of his eye, another girl come out with long flawless green hair to meet her cookie monster friend. "I think I'm fine until I see Andromeda again."
"Okay. Well, I'll see you when I'm done. You'll be…?" She looked around the street, trying to guess which one she would find him at after her hair was finished.
"I'll be in the quidditch shop." He told her as he bid her a quick kiss for parting. She nodded at him and waved him off, her heart hammering in anticipation for when she would board that plane to Australia with him.
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A/N: Okay, so this is the end of installment two. I hope those of you who begged for an explanation as to how they fell for each other and why Hermione changed her hair but Harry didn't change his appearance have been made happy. I'll try and get the next installment out soon, but my little gnomes are buzzing with ideas and I also have a few Kingdom Hearts stories that I should update pretty badly before I'm scalped, so I'll do what I can.
InnocentGuilt