Farewell...and Hello by MattD12027

Rating: G
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 21/06/2008
Last Updated: 21/06/2008
Status: Completed

A simple love story in a very domestic setting. Harry parts from his wife briefly one morning,
and while waiting for her to rejoin him, reflects on his life. Oneshot.




1. Farewell...and Hello
-----------------------



A/N: After having no time to write fanfiction and also losing my interest in the Potter
Universe, I have recently had time to reevaluate my thoughts about fanfiction. My time constraints
still exist, but I realized that I missed writing fanfiction and the wonderful community to which
my stories belong. At some point during this summer, slow updates to *Growing Up Granger* and
*Bearings* should begin. Sorry for my long absence!

**Farewell…and Hello**

*Harry Potter was flying on his broomstick. He was high above the fields and forests below,
streaking across the clear blue sky with the warm sun on his face and the wind whipping through his
clothes. His shaggy black hair twirl**ed and leapt as he increased his* *speed, leaning
forward and squinting to avoid the crush of air. He wanted to shout with exhilaration, but the wind
would suck any noise he made relentlessly away and out of his lungs. So he was content to grin. The
raw power and speed of his broomstick always amazed him. The pure visceral joy* *of*
*flying unrestrained through the summer sky was something very few people got to experience, and
those that were fortunate enough never went quite as fast.*

*He circled around the edge of a wide, dark lake below him,* *blinking* *his
eyes* *several times* *as the sun glinted brightly off the calm waters.* *He
descended toward the lake, and as he drew nearly level with it, he could smell the fresh water. His
speed was such that directly behind him a small wake expanded outward across the deep blue. The
tree line was quickly approaching so he pulled up, bending in an arc toward the other deep blue,
the infinite sky above him. He turned all the way over into a large loop, hanging upside down for
slightly longer than was necessary; eventually he turned over and resumed his normal flight over
the scenery below. He could fly like this all day—*

*The scene suddenly shifted. Instead of flying he was riding the Hogwarts Express through an
endless meadow of high grass. It took Harry several moments to regain his bearings, and when he did
he realized he was sitting in one of the many compartments; it might have even been the one Ron,
Hermione, and he frequented during their Hogwarts' years. The field beyond the windows of the
train literally stretched to the horizon in every direction he could see, and the grass waving in
the breeze almost looked like the sea, with waves of green instead of blue.*

*Harry exited the compartment t**o find someone else and ask what he was doing on the
train, but he quickly saw he was the only person. Every other compartment was empty, and the layer
of dust on many of the seats hinted that the train had been empty for an extended period of time.
He strode forward through the train to the conductor's compartment, which was also
conspicuously empty; he went through the final door and found himself in the engine. There was no
engineer—just an empty driver**'s* *seat. Harry ran his fingers through his thick
hair, trying to figure out what to do next. Before he could think of anything, though, he*
*abruptly**—*

—woke up in his bed, in his house at Godric's Hollow. Blue sky, the deep blue lake, and
fields of green forever flashed in front of his eyes for just a second, and then the dreams faded,
leaving him staring into the darkness above his bed. There was a warm weight thrown across his
chest, and because he was on his back he only had to turn his head slightly to the left to brush
his face against his wife's beautiful brown hair. He could feel her breathing gently against
his side, and as he inhaled, the scent of her shampoo invaded his nose. It was something with
strawberries and another thing he could never quite place, but he loved it because it was so
perfectly *her*. He'd heard somewhere that the sense of smell elicits the strongest
memories, and he agreed with that statement because whenever he smelled strawberries he immediately
thought of his lovely and magnificent spouse.

As he let her closeness and warmth pervade his being for several minutes, his mind slowly
returned to the dreams he'd just experienced, one of which was exciting and fun and the other
of which was odd and unsettling. He could vividly recall what the sensation of flying low over that
lake had felt like, and also see just as clearly that very empty train. He instinctively rubbed his
fingertip against the sheet, wanting to get off the dust from one of the train's seats, before
he realized he'd only dreamt the dust. The other odd thing about the second half of the dream
was that the Hogwarts Express was no longer in use—the students simply Flooed to Hogsmeade, instead
of wasting hours on the train. The two dreams were so incongruous that eventually he gave up on
making sense of them.

However, he was wide awake now. One glance at the bedside clock told him it was 4:10 in the
morning; he had to get up for work in a little under an hour anyway, so he just decided to start
the day a little earlier than normal. Carefully, with the utmost gentleness, he eased her arm off
his chest. She mumbled something in her sleep that sounded suspiciously like `you prat' and
then turned slightly, snuggling deeper into his side. He almost gave up and laid there for fifty
minutes just to have her warmth and softness against him, but his suddenly insistent bladder
overrode that pleasant notion.

“Farewell for a little while, my love,” Harry whispered, placing a feather-light kiss on her
forehead.

Trying not to jostle the bed too much, he slowly rose from under the covers and moved silently
into the loo. After doing his business, he padded on bare feet through the upstairs of the modestly
sized house; he passed three bedrooms on his way toward the stairs, and he smiled internally at
their sleeping occupants.

Harry descended into the foyer, turned left, and headed into the kitchen and dining area. *The
Wizarding Times* already lay on the back porch, so he exited through the sliding glass door at
the rear of the house to retrieve the paper. He stopped for a moment, looking around at his predawn
backyard, and saw the faintest light of the new day in the east. Otherwise everything was dark and
absolutely still. In fact, it was so quiet he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. *Thump…
thump… thump.* It would have been eerie if it wasn't so peaceful.

He returned to the kitchen and put a cuppa on, knowing that he could use the kick start and sure
that his wife would appreciate the same whenever she shuffled into the kitchen. They both normally
started their day at five, so he expected her around then; in the meantime, he would read the paper
and watch out the back door as the beautiful dawn broke across the sky.

The first thing he noticed upon unfolding the paper was the unusually large headline, declaring
that the Hogwarts Express had been found, abandoned in some large open tracts of land just north of
Dover. Apparently, when the train was decommissioned by the Hogwarts staff, the powers that be had
sent the train to a terminus in some large field; and then, as the story went, the train was
forgotten about. Harry had a powerful feeling of deja vu when the reporter described finding the
seats of the train covered in dust, and how disquieting the empty train was in the middle of the
vast field. It took him several moments to realize he'd dreamt just minutes before about a very
similar experience, because the dream was already slipping from his mind.

The article concluded that the train would most likely be shrunk, magically of course, and
transported to the British Museum, where it would be exhibited in the magical side of the large
building. The journalist mentioned plans for an exhibit featuring Hogwarts, which was the most
likely destination for the defunct train.

Harry slowly turned to the next page after finishing that article, but his mind was returning to
his eleventh year rather than focusing on the stories. The first time he saw Platform 9 3/4 played
out in his mind, though it was faded and spotty with the intervening decades. The two things he
*did* clearly remember were squeezing his eyes very tightly shut for fear of crashing into the
barrier and the deep scarlet color of the giant Express engine. That was when he had met many of
the Weasleys, all of whom he still loved like his own family. That day, when his first year of
Hogwarts had started, put into motion the series of events that led to his eventual defeat of
Voldemort and, after, his finding of true happiness in his wife, family, and career.

“Dad?” a male voice asked, breaking into his thoughts. He blinked and focused on the present.
His son, William James Potter, stood across the table from him. The clock over the
fifteen-year-old's shoulder said 4:35.

“Yeah, Will?”

“What are you doing up so early?” Will asked.

“I could ask the same of you,” Harry responded, noticing the broomstick in his son's hands.
His eyes flicked back to the emerald eyes opposite him. “And why do you have that broom?”

Will laughed and tossed his head back, throwing around hair that was very similar to
Harry's. “I can answer both questions at the same time: to go for a morning fly. There's
nothing quite like watching the sun rise while on a broom.”

Harry nodded. “I know. I've done that a few times myself. Do you do this often?”

Will shrugged his shoulders. “Nah. Only when I can't sleep, or when Anna and Sophia wake me
up wanting to fly.”

Harry couldn't resist smiling at that information. Anna Rose Potter and Sophia Jane Potter
were his six- and nine-year-old daughters, respectively, and the mental image of them flying with
their older brother in the morning light was very precious. And if William looked very similar to
Harry, both Anna and Sophia resembled their mother, with the exception of their emerald eyes. All
of his children had received his arresting eyes, and all of them by either him or his wife had
slightly crazy hair.

“Well, the next time the three of you go for one of these early morning jaunts, wake me up and
I'll join you. Maybe I can teach you all some tricky Seeker moves—ones your mother would never
let me show you if she knew.”

Will smiled brightly. “Sounds good! But you never answered my question: why are you up?
Don't you and mum usually get up at five?”

“Yes, we do,” Harry nodded. “But I woke up and wasn't tired, so rather than disturb your mum
I got up.”

“Oh, ok,” Will said, and then turned toward the back door. “I'll see you in a bit,” his son
commented, waving over his shoulder.

“Have fun,” Harry said. He watched Will mount the broom in the back yard and then rise out of
sight very quickly. A sudden and gratifying feeling of love for his family swelled within his
chest; if someone had told him when he was fifteen he would eventually be this happy, he
wouldn't have believed them. He probably would have thought that person completely crazy. But
here he was, in his mid-forties with a comfortable life, and a loving family, and an exquisite
wife. He loved Will, who reminded Harry very much of himself at that age, with the exception of
Voldemort and the Boy Who Lived rubbish. He loved Sophia, who was smart like her mother and more
athletic than either of them had ever been. He loved Anna, who, although she was still only six
years old, was quite magically advanced. Apparently Anna had received both parents' power,
because Harry's lowest shield charm would buckle and ultimately fail against Anna's most
powerful Stunner.

And he absolutely loved his wife. She had kept him alive during their younger years, and had
been there for him during the tough times after Voldemort had been sent into the night, and
ultimately had turned into the love of his life. He couldn't imagine the last thirty-five years
without her constant presence, because she kept him sane and grounded. He wanted to live forever,
if only he could spend eternity with her.

His thoughts drifted for several minutes, accompanied only by the silent house, the breaking
dawn, and the occasional hint of Will flying somewhere high overhead. Somewhere upstairs something
creaked, and his eyes sought the clock, which read 4:58. Undoubtedly his wife was stirring and
would join him shortly. He smiled at how his heart sped up in anticipation of seeing her awake this
morning: after twenty years of marriage, he was still excited to see her every morning. As long as
that never faded, he knew he would be a happy man.

His ears tracked her slow progress from their bedroom, through the upstairs hall, down the
stairs, and into the foyer. She paused outside the kitchen for a moment, and then the door opened
and there she was. Her shoulder-length brown hair was mussed from the pillow and she still looked
half-asleep, but she was incredibly gorgeous anyway. Harry's face lit up with a grin as soon as
he saw her. She paused in the doorway; one eyebrow slowly crept up her forehead, and a wry smile
soon lifted the corners of her lips.

“Good morning, Harry,” she said, her voice still airy with sleep. He stood from the table and
moved toward her, opening his arms for his wife. They folded each other in a strong, welcoming
embrace.

“Hello,” Harry whispered, into her hair. Strawberries wafted into his nose once again, and he
pressed her against him just a little tighter.

“Love you, Harry,” she said, returning the squeeze.

“Love you too, Hermione.”

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