Harry's POV
"I don't care!" Ginny said, furiously throwing a pillow onto the bed. "How dare he? How fucking dare he?"
"I'm sorry, Gin," Harry said tiredly. All day he had tried to find some way around leaving his fiance, but Dipple had held firm. It was to be Harry, and Harry alone, who went to Australia to investigate a dark wizard group known only as the Shadowend.
"I ought to– ooo, I ought to go to the Ministry and hex him until he recants!" She continued, ignoring Harry. "This has to be illegal, or something–"
Harry snaked two arms around her waist and pulled her close to him. "Hey, hey," he murmured into her ear. His calloused hands slipped under her shirt, feeling her taut stomach.
"Don't do that!" Ginny snapped, batting his hands away.
"Do what?"
"The sexy thing! You know I can't stand the sexy thing! How am I supposed to be mad at you when you–" Harry's hands moved up further, his fingers making contact with her bra. "Oh, Harry–!"
"Shh..." He whispered, his voice husky and low.
"Mmm–" she moaned as he chewed playfully on her ear.
"I'll only be gone for a few weeks..." Harry murmured into her ear, and she shuddered against him. He moved his left hand to her hip, fingering her jeans playfully. "You won't even miss me..." Harry grinned as one finger, then two, snuck under Ginny's waistband. Palming her breast and between her legs simultaneously, he pulled his fiance back onto the bed.
"You liar," she breathed heavily.
And just as Harry had predicted, the day ended with Ginny nestled in his arms.
But somehow Harry knew that once he went to Australia, everything would change.
Hermione's POV
Hermione saw Harry everyday.
Not all of him, naturally– but his messy hair in the crowd, his slightly crooked nose at the bakery, and of course, his piercing eyes in–
There was a soft ding– Hermione's phone was ringing. She hated the device; it seemed like a poor excuse for magic, but it helped her fit in.
"Yes, this is Hermione Granger."
"G'day Granga, how ya goin'? I's Pete." The severely affected Australian accent rocketed through the speaker.
"Fine, Pete."
"Ah don' suppose ya could come in today?" Her co-worker asked hopefully.
Hermione sighed, and she glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's my day off," she reminded him.
"Ah know you're busy," Pete interjected quickly. "But Barclay isn' comin' in."
"Of course she isn't," she groaned. Cara Barclay was her closest friend in Australia, but she was unreliable. Begrudgingly, she promised Pete she would come in and hung up the phone.
"Mum," Hermione called through the sunroom door. "I'm going to work." There was no response,her parents were probably out... no wonder the house was so quiet.
Hermione grabbed her bag from the hook near the doorway and immediately had a flashback to the Hunt. Merlin, why was she still using this bag? All it brought to her was pain. Pain and a very good place to store things, that was.
Shoving flats onto her narrow feet, Hermione tucked the beaded purse under her arm and headed down the quiet street. Although she could easily apparate the mile and half distance to The Wizarding Commonwealth of Australia (WICA) headquarters, she had discovered that she actually liked walking. It gave her time to think. Mostly about the past– the future, and particularly an upcoming wedding, was too painful to think about.
Her past fantasies, of course, all centered around a certain, jet-black haired boy.
And him with a certain brown-haired girl with bright green eyes.