A/N: Wow, guys and gals; I'm on a bit of a story roll today! Whew... Well I'm sorry if this chapter seems a bit strange(and trust me it was NOT my plan to well ship a certain pair. But I must warn you- it is dramione so although there may or may not be moments in the story you doubt it is a dramione fic, I needed ,well, a certain said character to be in love with a certain someone, so that there will be a noticeable difference between the person he/she used to know and the one he's/she's yet to meet. Sorry if my story seems a tad gloomy at the moment (I promise that I won't make all the characters downhearted or douches!) Confused, much? Anyway thanks for all you who have been reading my story and favouriting etc. Pumpkin pastries to all you lovelies! Enjoy... P.s I'm editing this sometime tomorrow to check for mistakes etc. so if you see any I'll try remove them soon.
Harry Potter was feeling hopeless. He'd defeated Voldemort- heck he'd even died- at least the Voldemort part of him which was bred due to after-effects of the scar- partway through the process. Most people, like himself, were feeling somber. Joyous and relieved, at the final death of the most evil wizard to ever walk the Earth, yet quietened by their losses and the masses who had died in the fight for good to triumph over evil. It was six days now since the death of Voldemort, and six days since Hermione had vanished. People told him they were truly sorry for the loss; they all believed her to be dead, although no one dared say it outright. Instead they'd share mournful and pitying glances behind his back or whisper about his genius best friend in the past tense, as though already used to her death. It- it hurt him. It made his stomach lurch whenever he thought of her inquisitive hazel gazen, and ,the smiles she might share, blissful and untroubled, showing no hints of her rocky youth. He had confided in her, whispered his darkest fears of not making his parents proud, his guilt at living when they couldn't, his secret hatred for being in the spotlight. And in exchange she'd admitted her true past, the one not many knew about- or could even dream of- the Golden Girl having. She'd told him once, ashamedly, how she sometimes longed for the spotlight. But not for her intelligence to be broadcast, or some petty, cheap fame. No, Hermione Granger wanted people to like her, if not love her, for her character. Not her status or grades. But her personality.
He admired that about her. How she was so truthful with him and had entrusted him in her rather closed circle of trustees. He knew that her mum used to be a member also, but she'd told him of wiping her parents memory for the sake of keeping them both safe. He'd met Caroline Granger- only once without her husband present- and she was a stunningly caring woman, true at heart and empathetic, not just the polite dentist muggle most knew her as. He also knew, that Caroline Granger would rather die, than let her only daughter come to any harm. He'd vividly recollected how when he was about to leave Hermione's respective, muggle home Caroline had been insistent, almost frantic, that he take care of her daughter. The wide-pleading look had been rather astonishing; yes, he'd known normal parents love their children, but Caroline… She almost had an aura of desperation in that surreal moment. As though she knew something that noone else did that would happen to her girl. He'd agreed, whole-heartedly, knowing in that moment there was no way he could take away this woman's only daughter and not protect her from harm. Yet where had he been when she'd vanished?
The guilt stabbed at him, making him wince and rake a hand restlessly through his already thoroughly tousled hair. His bright green eyes look up, into the worried expression of the barmaid, and he sighs wearily. Tired and upset and-
Oh my fucking Merlin! Was that ginger-haired boy snogging Lavender what's-her-name, Ron?Harry was dismayed and actually rather annoyed at his best friend having the audacity to snog another girl only six bloody days after Hermione's disappearance. His eyes narrow on the fire-redhead and he briefly considers storming over their and calling him out on it. But them he remembers the hospitality the Weasley clan had shown him after the Final Battle (that's what the paparazzi vultures were calling it right now) and merely shrugs off the resentment. He stares longingly down to his empty glass of butterbeer, craving something stronger- something with enough of a hit- to leave him buzzed and forgetful. He liked that. He liked the temporary high which was set off and it reminded him of a stronger high, which he'd felt when he was around Hermione. When she laughed at one of his rather cringey jokes or lectured passionately on the mistreatment of house-elves; the whole S.P.E.W triggering a reminiscent smile to lurk on his face. He believed, deep down, that Hermione was not dead nor dying. He was certain, with that Potter arrogance (or intuition as he, like his father, preferred to call it) that he would have felt it if she had died. And therefore, due to his heart not spazzing out or doing particularly anything beyond the constant heart-ache, that she was irrevocably NOT dead. Plus, it had only been six days. He remembered the first three days, where he'd gather search parties, or recklessly meander off on his own, to find her. He'd apparated to all the places he would have assumed she might've hid out in- maybe to recover from war injuries?- and she'd been disappointingly absent. Paris- the place she's told him she always wanted to travel to- had not given him a clue. And after hours upon hours of looking through libraries, inns, towns, forests, seaside retreats and visiting the acquaintances and friends houses they shared, his mind had grown strained and his heart hollowed. Heck- he'd even checked in at her mother's house- where Caroline had muttered about not having a clue whom the strange, wild-eyed boy was babbling on about, and giving him the reserved smile adults tend to give, when they don't particularly welcome your presence.
He drooped his head low, staring at the remnants of froth, feeling downhearted and reserved. Ginny had not accepted his mournful state, exclaiming that while he 'mourns like Sydney Carter', she was going to grieve separately, in her own way. He knew she was still bitter over their temporary 'break-up', but recently Ginny had kind of… Fell off the wagon. She was parting without abandon now the war was over, and would traipse into the rebuilt Burrow at early hours of the morning, covered in glitter, stinking of cigarette smoke and losing her heels in the dancing. She'd look ruffled, too. Lips swollen, ginger hair ruffled, skirt slightly crooked. He frowned. It was his fault in part, he shouldn't have lead her on for so long, and he now knew he'd made a fatal mistake in dating her because she had once crushed on him in the way he wanted Hermione to. There, he'd finally said it. Or thought it. I'm in love with Hermione Granger.
It was liberating, in a way. A spring breeze on a muggy day. Or like the sip of lemonade when your mouth is parched. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, contemplatively. What was it about her? Was it her bravery? The way she knew her ethics like he did, and could tread the line when it came to it? Was it the beaming low she emitted? Or the fireball temper she had, the one which caused her to hit Malfoy right across his pure blooded, pretentious face, making him drop the smirk and run away like the snivelling baby he is? He unnoticeably, to him at least, grinned into his beer cup and the barmaid continued to watch the boy-who'd-lived with a server curiosity, one which sparked her to work at The Three Broomsticks. The curiosity which drove her, Rita Skeeta's youngest cousin- to become very,very good at wheedling information out of others. And he, the young hero crouched self-despairingly over his second empty beer-mug, was as intriguing to her as a flame was to a moth. Some part of her was whirring with questions over why he looked so upset? Why he was now grinning? Why he'd looked angry at spotting his supposed friend. However, unlike her famous, animagus cousin Rita, she knew it was best to keep whatever she learnt to herself and only help out if he so requested.
Meanwhile, Harry was wondering- rather unhappily- how the war had affected them all. It had only been six days, so it was not yet fully determined which people had changed and to what extent- as it was way too early to fully hypothesise. He grinned at the very complex-sounding word, musing whether or not Hermione would've hugged or smiled at him had he said t aloud in her presence. Knowing her, it'd probably be both. Staying on track he listed some of the main changes that had occurred while she'd been gone. Well, firstly, Ginny has turned to partying at muggle and wizarding clubs alike. Ron has- he glanced back over at Ron, noting with a bit of disquieted incredulity that he and Lavender were still latched onto one another's lips. He thought it had been around ten minutes or so since the last time he'd looked over, which was, wow, a long time to spend smooching- well Ron was becoming very player-ish. The other day I'd seen Parvarti and him kissing at one of Ginny's party events. Plus he seems to be soaking up the media attention like a sponge. Sometimes over-exaggerating the details, which usually wouldn't irritate him. But it did. Because Hermione wasn't around to reprimand him for it. George Weasley was, well rather subdued by the loss of his twin, but dealing much better than his younger siblings by grieving normally with his older siblings and even visiting Bill and Fleur in their seaside retreat to help come to terms and accept the loss of Fred. And me? Well, I'm sat here staring at an empty mug, feeling heartbroken , and realising way too late that the girl I love is probably-
"Find the meaning of life in there?" a voice stis him from his thoughts. It's the barmaid, a pleasant looking woman only a few years older than himself with blonde curly hair and pale green eyes. He looks down at the empty mug and nods wearily
"Something like that," he mutters, with a polite grin. The woman nods, looking sympathetic, and holding out a small tanned hand for him to shake. He does, noticing his rumpled white button-down shirt, jeans and sneakers pretty much make him look like some self-pitying a seventeen-year-old, hurt by his true love. He pondered, momentarily, how many of those she'd seen before. Probably too many to count.
"Want another one?" she offers, "It's on me." He shakes his head and politely declines.
"I probably shouldn't." he explains with a small smile "I wouldn't half mind a lemonade though with ice." The woman, who from her nametag (which only displays the first name of staff) says: Alyssa. She winks at him before she flaunts off, and he blushes slightly at the attention. His mind drifts, as she serves another customer, who's causing trouble further down the bar, and it returns to the rebuilding of Hogwarts which was a slow and tedious process, even with magic. The bell chimes and two girls arrive, giggling and whispering together as they seat themselves a little way from him at the bar. He knows, without turning, that there are quite a few empty booths and tables, so them moving there- near to his 'fame and glory'- was a deliberate, purposeful move. He huffs out an irritated sigh and thanks Alyssa kindly when she returns with his lemonade. He's about to stand up and leave to one of the more shadowed area of the pub, when something the raven-haired, native-american looking girl says something particularly interesting.
"-apparently he's been missing since the day of the Battle, y'know?" Harry sits himself back down and cranes his head subtly to the side to listen in better. The other girl, a brunette with her light-brown hair scraped into a messy ponytail, makes an 'ooh' sound.
"So what do you think happened to him?" ponytail-girl says. Raven-haired girl's dark eyes light up with excitement at the gossiping-tale. She lowers her lone slightly, for dramatic effect, then says- "I dunno. But some people have been saying that he's up and ran now that he has his death mark and could be sent to Azkaban. I heard Daphne Greengrass- one of his old friends- tell Pansy Parkinson that something terrible happened to his parents so I suspect he's become one of those vigilante guys, seeking vengeance on the dark side… Ugh, but if he has I'm gonna miss his hot, smirking face once we all return to Hogwarts in a few weeks time."
The other girl nods, reverently, making the off curl come loose from the already precariously slackened hair band. "Uh-huh, no kidding. Slytherin wouldn't be the same without him…"
So, someone had gone missing on the same day as Hermione had? From Hogwarts, no less! Maybe, just maybe she was holed up with some- hopefully half-decent- Slytherin guy, fixing their injuries and that she's not dead. Harry thinks to himself. A spark of hope ignites in his chest and he turns to the two gossip girls, his heart picking up at the prospect of seeing Hermione, alive and safe, again.
"Excuse me?" he begins. Ponytail's jaw drops and even raven-haired looks star-struck that the Harry Potter was talking to her. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes or, the opposite and feel his pride swell at their obvious delight. He'd remembered when he was crushing on Cho and had teased how he was 'the Chosen One', and Hermione's outraged reaction to it. She'd hit him with a book, keeping his ego in check so he couldn't- thank Godric- become half as cocky as Cedric Diggory and Viktor Krum, both who'd lost something dear by the end of the TriWizard tournament. For Cedric, it was his life, for Krum- it was Hermione. And maybe a bit of his pride too (at losing).
Raven-haired recovers first, flashing a flirty smile (which he pointedly ignored- not to be rude, but just because, well, he didn't want to act like Ron. Plus it was extremely hard to fall for a girl now he was semi-obsessed with 'Mione.) He continues on, before they can introduce themselves and coerce him to take their numbers. "But I couldn't help but hear you said someone- from Slytherin?- ahd gone missing on the day of the war. I was wondering as to who that would be, if you don't mind?" he added a smile, to try soften up the girls who, out of all the Hogwarts houses had a reputation to be the most private and secretive. Rarely airing other's dirty laundry outside of the Slytherin house. It was like it's own separate world in a way, secretive and only loosely accepting (with Slytherin mentality) how everyone would only pass rumours and stuff between its own house unless it is part of some scheme for the rest of the school to know.
The girls exchange a long look, laden with imperceptible head nods, twitches and miming, which made Harry slightly uncomfortable around them. He wasn't used to Slytherins, and as a whole he damn well didn't trust them- not after all the school stuff with Malfoy. They eventually come to a conclusion and raven stares directly into his green eyes with a seriousness which clashes with her giggly personality. A frown dusts her face, making it serious and hardened.
"You did not hear this from us, okay? And as much as we- well, she-" she jerks a thumb at her friend, who snickers behind a french manicured hand-"- wants to, we can't give you our names or numbers-" he nods, seriously too wound up to look disappointed, "-because of Slytherin secrecy. But I heard that Draco Malfoy went missing on the day of the Grand Finale."she finished, conspiratorially. His mouth gaped open and both girls, excited by him being so floored, immediately start blabbering at once to him about it. Between the two voice he configures he was last seen helping some brunette from a killing curse and was glimpsed carrying her in her arms. She only briefly outline this- probably assuming he'd dropped said brunette off at some pit stop like the selfish jerk he was, then gone on to fulfill some amazing, yet rather unrealistic adventures.
Harry composed himself and let them speak until they had to stop and breathe. They sipped their cokes and peered at him, ecstatic that Harry Potter was listening on their gossip and had asked to be a part of their 'Slytherin secret'. Harry, however, had been compiling his thoughts and realising, despite the possible risks it was the biggest lead he'd gained os gar on Hermione, so was therefore his duty to protect the young woman he love from Malfoy, wherever he was keeping her. He sipped the last sip of his lemonade then thanked the girls kindly and left.
Alyssa, who'd been surreptitiously listening in, was curious as to the story of the missing students and wondered how Harry Potter was wound up in all this. But the only conclusion she drew for certain, bei th via her partly-seer blood or her knack at judging people and hunches. But she knew, she just knew that she'd see Harry Potter again at her bar, and that maybe next time she'd figure out exactly what was going on...