Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, et cetera, et cetera. Fill in the blanks for yourselves.
Author's Note: The updates from now on will be erratic and infrequent, thanks to my mum banning me from using my laptop after Sunday until next year. Kindly refrain from wanting to kill me for leaving this story hanging.
On a happier note, I'd like to thank my loyal reviewers SwishAndFlick31, MiKaYGiRl, ProperT, pstibbons and last but not least, harry'n'hermione4ever for their constant support. You guys rock my world and make it all worthwhile.
Warning! This chapter contains very cliché stuff! Due to the fact I want to wrap up this story in a few chapters (to avoid keeping you readers in suspense), I had to pile on the gooey life lessons to cut to the chase. Sorry for the cotton-candy sweetness, I'm a cynic at heart.
By the way, SwishAndFlick31, I'm taking your advice about the quotation marks for this chapter. Thanks for the feedback!
Harry was rudely awoken early the next day by a loud, insistent hooting and what felt like a warm, feathery tennis ball colliding with the side of his head.
"Ouch! Pig?!"
The tiny owl hooted madly upon hearing its name and fluttered onto his bed. Harry hastily untied the parchment tied to Pig's leg before it decided to brain him again.
The letter, written in a strange ink and damp with melted frost, was obviously from Ron. He unrolled it and settled down to read it.
Dear Harry (and Hermione, if you're there) Harry read,
How're you doing, mate? Catching up with Jessie and Hermione? Mum's thrilled, she can't wait to see Hermione again and meet her 'adopted' granddaughter.
I'm afraid Luna and I won't be coming back to England for quite a while. Apparently, she's discovered more evidence of those bloody Crumple-horned Snorkacks and is staking out some deserted caves off the coast. I'm telling you, Harry, even I think Luna's getting battier by the minute.
But enough of Crumple-horned Snorkacks, how's Hermione? I hope she understood what really happened that night, but I think she will anyway. After all, no one understands you as well as she does.
Ginny writes to me weekly and she tells me that London has been very quiet all this while. No one has yet realised your disappearance. For once, you aren't in the spotlight and I guess you must be enjoying it. Mind you, once you go back with Hermione and Jessie, all hell will break loose and Rita Skeeter will be leading them. On the other hand, Hermione will be more than eager to have an excuse to do Skeeter.
I'll have to wrap up here, I'm running out of ink. It freezes solid in practically no time and I have to spend ages defrosting it. Take care and hope to see you soon (away from this bloody icecave), Harry!
Ron (and Luna)
Harry rolled up the parchment, smiling slightly. Crossing the room to his suitcase, he tucked the letter into a side pocket and went into the bathroom to take a shower.
When he came out about ten minutes later, he was amused by the sight of Pig poking around his room curiously.
"You can go back, Pig. I don't have a reply for Ron," he said cheerfully, pulling a T-shirt over his head.
The tiny owl twittered on reply and circled his head like a furry planet.
Pig continued to orbit around Harry's head, hooting shrilly, even when he was about to go downstairs for breakfast. In the end, he was forced to catch the little owl, tie a ribbon around its beak and wings and stuff it into his pocket.
There were already more than a few guests at the table, even at that early hour. Harry's Scottish friend was there too, wolfing a generous plate piled high with bacon and fried eggs.
"You're up early this morning," he commented in between mouthfuls. "Got somewhere you need to be?"
"Yeah,' Harry heaped kippers onto his own plate. "Stuff in the village."
"Fine morning for it. By the way, was that an owl I heard in your room earlier?"
Harry almost choked on his food at those words. "What owl?"
"You know, those loud hooting sounds. I'm pretty sure that was an owl. This place's old enough to have one of those owls nesting somewhere."
Harry stuffed his face with bacon to give himself some time to think.
"No, there's no owl around here. You must have been mistaken," Harry mumbled, then winced as Pig pecked his leg hard.
The burly Scot scratched his head, finally giving up just as Harry stood up to leave.
"Hey," he called after Harry's retreating back, "are you sure there was no owl?"
"Absolutely," replied Harry in his most deadpan voice.
He waited until he was safely out of the guesthouse before he dissolved into helpless laughter, earning himself strange looks from the dignified villagers.
Wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, Harry collapsed onto a bench in the park beside an elderly gent feeding the pigeons.
"Good day," murmured the man, engrossed in the antics of the birds.
"Good day," said a surprised Harry, unfamiliar with the formal greeting.
They sat in companionable silence, watching the pigeons fight for the breadcrumbs. The main draw was the drama unfolding in the centre of the flock between two large males.
"I come here to feed the pigeons everyday, without missing a beat," said the old gent proudly, jolting Harry out of his train of thoughts.
"Oh – ?"
"Yep. All the same pigeons come to be fed regularly. They know I'll always be there, so they're totally dependent on me now. Don't even bother searching for food elsewhere."
Harry took a closer look at the flock, now noticing the plumpness of each bird and the relative slowness of their pecking compared to their leaner city cousins.
"How long have you been feeding them?"
A bittersweet smile flashed across the elderly man's countenance. "Ten years, ever since my wife died."
Harry glanced over, a newly sympathetic look in his eyes. "I'm sorry."
"We were childhood sweethearts, married when we turned eighteen. Our romance cooled over the years and I began spending more time at the local pub."
Harry leaned forward, engrossed in the narrative in spite of himself.
The elderly gent broke off to light a pipe which he had produced from his jacket pocket. The tobacco took a few matches to catch fire and he leaned back, puffing contentedly.
"I'd always loved her, but I never told her that," His face grew more withdrawn and introspective. "Everyday, I would mean to tell her but once I got home, I'd take one look at her and think, she'll still be there tomorrow. I can put off telling her."
"One day, I came home to find a policeman waiting for me. My wife had suffered a stroke. The doctor said it was over in less than five minutes and she hadn't suffered."
"I'm so sorry," offered Harry again, placing a hand on the older man's shoulder.
He inclined his head slightly, looking straight into Harry's eyes. "I learned that important lesson that day far too late. Everyday, I regret not telling her how much I loved her when I could. In the end, I never got the chance."
The elderly gent passed a hand over his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose thoughtfully.
"Son, do you know why I never got round to telling her?"
Even though Harry knew the answer, he shook his head.
"I thought she would always be there beside me. I should have known nothing lasts forever."
The truth of his words sunk into Harry and he ran his hand through his hair, frowning in deep contemplation.
What if Hermione found someone else? Where would that leave me? I can't keep living in my own selfish fantasy world, thinking that everything would stay the same. I have to do something, and fast.
He stood up suddenly, startling the flock of pigeons and shook the old gent's hand heartily.
"Thank you, sir, for your insight," he said earnestly, turning and running down the street.
The older man watched his retreating back with a wearied, patient gaze, smiling to himself.
Harry didn't stop running until he reached the cosy little cottage and he leaned against the fence to catch his breath.
Once he'd calmed down sufficiently, he knocked on the door smartly, heart pounding.
"Hermione, we need to talk."
Author's Note: Hehe, evil author's cliffie. The last two chapters will be posted real soon, once I balance my life. Thanks for all the support you guys have given me over these past months, especially the people mentioned above.