Around the World in a Year by cosmopolitan411

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 19/12/2008
Last Updated: 19/12/2008
Status: Completed

They had experienced things that most could never even dream of and others would write about,
but, ultimately, they found themselves floundering at the end, grasping to ties those loose strings
and find rationale in what should have been so simple: the happy ending.




1. one-shot
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**Disclaimer:** *I do not own anyhtuing Harry Potter related, nor the lyrics used from the
carol “Let it Snow”*

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**Around the World in a Year**

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**Summary***:* *They had experienced things that most could never even dream of and
others would write about, but, ultimately, they found themselves floundering at the end, grasping
to ties those loose strings and find rationale in what should have been so simple: the happy
ending.*

--

**UNKNOWABLE Fic X-Change Request:**

**Rating(s) of the fic you want:** Any

**For:** currently, unknown
**Ships**: Ron/Luna, Harry/Hermione, Helga/Salazar, James/Lily, Remus/Sirius, Dumbledore/Doge or
Dumbledore/Grindelwald.**
Genres**: Adventure, Romance, Humour, Drama, Angst or drabbles.**
Plot**: For Harry/Hermione and Ron/Luna, as close to (pre-epilogue) canon as possible and
post-end, in the aftermath year of the war, trying to get back to normal and find some happiness.
The epilogue doesn't happen, basically.

--

--

**January.**

“Hey,” she morosely greeted him, falling into the chair with a pout, even going so far as to
slump in her seat—a far cry from the good manners that she always berated Harry and Ron about in a
futile attempt to instill some proper manners into them.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows as he eyed her curiously, putting down the menu he'd been
reading to give her his full attention. “What's wrong?” he asked, albeit a bit hesitantly as he
wasn't too sure if he really even wanted to know given that if it had anything to do with Ron a
long and odious tirade would surely begin.

“Nothing,” she vaguely waved him off, letting out a deep sigh before collecting herself,
straitening out both her posture and the expression that had been marring her face. “Just a bit
tired, I suppose,” she told him with a weak smile, one so fake that it killed him to have to
witness it—and even more so later when, in retrospect, he noted how he didn't say anything in
regards to it.

“Okay,” he nodded, shrugging off her mood with an embarrassing ease. “Any clue what you're
going to eat?”

She sighed. “Lasagna, maybe...”

He hummed lightly. “That sounds good.”

And that was that, those were the last words spoken throughout the entire meal.

--

**February.**

“You don't talk to me anymore,” he suddenly announced, and though he had no idea where the
compulsion to make the proclamation came from he couldn't quite say that he regretted saying
it.

She choked on her coffee, gasping and hacking slightly in a way that really made her wish that
life *was* like a movie where she'd *never* embarrass herself by doing something
absolutely ridiculous like *hacking*. But, alas, her life wasn't as perfect as the realm
of cinematography, a thought that made her scowl.

“Pardon?”

“We don't talk anymore,” he reiterated.

“Well that's a two way street, Harry,” she warned him, her voice laced with an underlying
edge to it that gave him chills. She was blood scary, no doubt about that.

“I know, but…” he trailed off.

“Yes?”

“Well… I just—I miss you.”

She smiled softly upon hearing that, and brought a hand to his cheek, caressing it softly.
“I've missed you, too,” she admitted after a rather drawn out pause. “I've *really*
missed you.”

He grinned at her, shyly and bashfully. “Yeah?”

She nodded vigorously. “Yeah.”

“Well… well, good.”

She laughed, she didn't know why, but she did and she was thankful for it… it felt good to
laugh again after having gone so long without it, the relief was overwhelming even.

--

**March**.

“You—you said you wanted me to talk to you… to be more open about how I'm feeling and… and
stuff…”she stumbled awkwardly, her level of coherency on a caliber so far lower than her usual
standard that she couldn't help but feel anger towards herself for it.

He couldn't deny that he was surprised by that sudden announcement; she'd been avoiding
mentioning that conversation for so long that he'd begun to think it was a lost cause, but
having her come and say that… well, he didn't known what to make of the feelings that that
brought on, so he chose to do what was only natural. He sent her a crooked grin, dragging a hand
through his hair before he kicked he chair across from him out, motioning her to take a seat in the
proffered stop.

She smiled shyly; blushing a bit as she quickly plopped down onto the chair. “I have to warn
you, Harry… it—it's not all pretty, Harry… and… well, given your relationship with Ron as
well-”

“I don't care,” he stopped her immediately, shaking his head adamantly. “I—I don't care…
you…” he sighed, suddenly frustrated with himself and how he was grappling with words, this
awkwardness just shouldn't exist, not with them. “You—you have to know that, at the end of the
day, *you're* my best mate, and, despite my being a prat and not showing it nearly enough,
it is always you first in my mind.”

She bit her lip, the corners of her lips raising lightly as a flush crept up her face. “It's
ugly…”

“And I don't care,” he simply told her.

She smiled, fully, nodding slowly. “I—I'm not happy anymore.”

--

**April.**

“Hey,” he greeted her, walking into his library at Grimmauld Place only to see her sitting on
the chesterfield and starting out the window, her book lying forgotten on her lap.

“Hi,” she muttered distractedly.

He smiled as he watched her, quietly moving across the large room towards her, moving her legs
up off the chesterfield once there before sitting down and placing them across his lap instead. He
rubbed her legs softly before asking: “what's wrong?”

“Nothing… just tired.”

He shook his head. “That's not it and you know it.”

She smiled weakly, but couldn't help wish that he didn't know her so well, that he could
let her live in a world of deliria, no matter how wrong it was. “I… I just want to be happy…”

“Then be happy.”

She shook her head, frowning. “It's not that easy.”

“Of course it is,” he retorted with a scoff.

She scowled, raising an eyebrow and sending him a sharp look. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Bull shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Harry. *Bull shit*,” she repeated, putting extra emphasis on the last
phrase. “You can go off on how easy it is all you want, but, in truth, you're just as unhappy
as I am. You and Ginny are just as fake and Ron and I are, but you're just more adamant about
not admitting it, about maintaining the façade, and you know it… deep down, you know I'm right,
and you're in just as much pain over how terrible *fake* it all is,” she told him,
slamming her book and disapparating in the blink of an eye, before he could even move to retort
after she sent him into a stunned silence.

--

**May.**

“We broke up,” she announced as she dropped into a seat across from him at his usual table, the
booth by the windows where he could do some people watching if ever at a loss as what to do while
eating.

He immediately looked away from the streets, turning to her. “What?”

“Well… I suppose you can't say we, since I did the breaking up and he tried to fight me on
it every step of the way,” she rationalized, awkwardly rambling as she so often did. She truly was
far too verbose, something that often came to bit her in the arse when she went off on tangents
like that.

“Wow… so it's over?”

She shrugged helplessly. “It was time, he knew it as well as I did… we've both just been so
desperate to hold onto what seemed like the only good thing in our lives that we ignored the pain.
I think this is good for us, though… we ended on good terms, and—and he means the world to me,
I'd hate to lose him just because he isn't the one.”

Harry nodded understandingly. “Yeah, I get it.”

--

**June**.

“So I take it that it was ugly then…” Hermione ventured.

Ron guffawed from the chesterfield, rolling his eyes at her—an action that she quickly returned
his way. “Do you not see the black eye, Mione?”

“I told you not to call me that… and how did you get the black eye anyway, Harry?”

Harry shook his head tiredly, throwing himself onto the chesterfield, next to Ron, as Hermione
took a seat in the chair across from them. “She threw a book at me… it was *Hogwarts: a
History*, come to think of it.”

She eyed him warily. “And why did she throw a book at you…?”

Harry shrugged, throwing his head back as he let out a groan. “I may have admitted that you and
Ron knew I was going to dump her… *and* that you two may have known it for a while now…”

Hermione's eyes widened and Ron choked on the biscuit he'd just stuffed into his mouth.
“What?!” Hermione screeched.

“I wanted to be honest,” Harry defended.

“By screwing the two of us over? Do you know my sister's temper and the extent of her
vengefulness?”

“I think I've sort of been experiencing it for the last four hours or so,” Harry dryly
pointed out.

“Oh you think you got off hard?!” Ron scoffed. “She went easy on you because she thinks
you'll come back; try being the one to truly receive the brunt of her anger. You've just
black listed your two best mates, you prat!”

“I—I'll talk to her then…”

Hermione scoffed, shaking her head angrily. “I don't know what the hell was going through
your mind when you told her this, but it was just downright selfish that you felt this compulsion
to shift part of the blame onto someone else… cowardly and pathetic,” she spat at him, walking away
angrily and ignoring any of his calls to return.

“You really just bollixed everything up, mate… especially with Hermione just now… even I've
never disappointed her that much,” he shook his head, stuffing another biscuit into his mouth
before hopping off the couch and going after Hermione to try and calm her down. He did, after all,
have much practice in that over the yeas—it's just that usually it was him she was angry at,
never Harry. “I—I'll try to get her to see your side, realize you're just an idiot, not the
prat she thinks you are, yeah?”

Harry smiled weakly. “Thanks, Ron.”

--

**July**.

“Wh—what are you doing here?” Harry yawned as he walked into the kitchen, glad that he'd at
least put on a shirt before leaving his room, albeit haphazardly, but at least he had enough
decency to be a proper host by covering up when hearing the odd clanking sound coming from his
kitchen.

“I decided to make you breakfast,” she announced.

“Why?”

She shrugged. “It's what mates do, right?—I mean, you come over and do it for me all the
time, I figured I'd return the favor.”

He yawned again, throwing himself into a chair as he watched her prepare an omelet. “I do it
because I hate having breakfast alone.”

“Okay, here we go,” she announced proudly as she brought the pan, two forks, and toast to the
table, sitting it between the two of them.

He grinned, immediately moving to take a large bite of her veggie omelet, an act that he
sincerely regretted as soon as it was in his mouth. “Bloody hell,” he gasped, mouth full as he
spoke, “what is that?”

She sent him a sheepish smile as she took a tiny morsel of it herself. “That bad?”

His eyes widened. “How can you eat this?” he asked as soon as he managed to swallow the blasted
food.

She shrugged. “Got used to it, I suppose… forgot how bad others find it, really.”

He stared at her, stunned, absolutely dumbstruck. “Please tell me you're joking!”

“No.”

“Is there anything you *can* properly prepare?”

She pointed to the toast which she'd even buttered for them.

“Bloody hell.”

--

**August**.

“You know, I still remember the first time I realized you were a girl,” Harry announced as the
two lay on a beautiful sandy beach in Sardinia, sunning after having just left the water.

“Gee… thanks,” she sarcastically quipped.

Harry laughed. “No, I'm just bringing it up because it was a time like this… back in school,
just after finishing fourth year, we were at the Weasleys and we all went swimming-”

“Wait a minute,” she stopped him, honestly angered. “It took you over four *blasted* years
to realize I was a girl?!”

“No,” Harry rolled his eyes at her audacity and stupidity—always so quick to jump to
conclusions, that one. “Watching you in this sexy little bikini with cherries on it—one that really
did much to enhance your… your,” he coughed, suddenly nervous.

“Yes?” she goaded with a teasing smile.

“Your eyes,” he covered. “and… well, it was then that I realized that you were not only a girl,
but one that a bloke could have a *very* fulfilling wet dream over… it was pretty hot,
actually.”

She cocked her head to the side slightly, rather baffled as to how to respond to that. “Thanks…”
she slowly said.

He smiled widely, pulling off his Andy Warhol glasses to look her straight in the eyes. “No
problem.”

She laughed, clueless as to how he could make something so pervy somehow so… well, charming.

--

**September**.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” she asked, sighing as she looked at all the colors, a
blissful look overtaking her face.

He shrugged, not too fond of just sitting there and doing nothing but staring at some blasted
changing leaves. It happened every year; he didn't quite understand why she was so fascinated
by the rather regular occurrence. “I guess,” he grumbled, his leg bobbing up and down from
impatience, he really wasn't good at the whole just sitting and watching thing. Not like her,
but he'd do it for her, that much he knew.

“Don't automatically classify it as boring, Harry,” she told him, immediately realizing his
discomfort and boredom. “it may happen every year, but this moment… this perfect moment where the
world is orange, red, purple… it's beautiful, it's natural… it's amazing,” she bit her
lip lightly, the smile gracing her lips widening as she grabbed his arm and hugged it tightly.
“It's *so* amazing.”

He laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closely to his side. “It is
rather nice, that much I'll admit,” he begrudgingly said, more so to appease her than from any
outstanding emotion that the sight brought him.

She smiled, leaning her head on his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You didn't have to
say that, but thank you.”

He shrugged, looking down at her and admiring the wistful look on her face as she watched yet
another leaf fall. “You're welcome.”

--

**October**.

“Peter Pan in girl form?” he cocked an eyebrow at her unorthodox choice in costume.

“Hey! It's better than Ron over there who suddenly decided that he needed to pay the cannons
ever *more* homage by dressing up in their uniform for Halloween. *And* it's far more
creative than yours, that's for sure.”

Harry shrugged. “I figured if everyone else is going as me then I may as well too.”

She rolled her eyes, clearly trying to ignore the urge to berate him.

“Come on, you're my date for the evening, don't get mad at me just because I was too
busy with work to come up with a decent costume, please,” he pleaded, even throwing in a pout for
extra measure.

She groaned, rolling her yes. “I hate that I can never stay mad at you… you really are far too
charming for my good. *Ugh*, let's go meet up with Ron, I want him to finally introduce me
to this new girl of his as it is.”

--

**November**.

“So what do you want for Christmas?” she asked as they walked around the Christmas market, which
always started just before December rolled in, Hermione stopping to admire every inane trinket she
came across.

“Your adulation for handmade crafts is borderline ridiculous right about now,” he muttered as
she was distracted by carved, wooden frog prince figurine that immediately brought a smile to her
face.

She laughed lightly. “Don't be an arse, get into the Christmas spirit, Harry!” she chastised
him with a playful smack on the arm.

He laughed, plucking the frog from her hands, ignoring her angry cries as he did so, before
moving towards the vendor and buying the piece.

“I could have bought it for myself,” she huffed.

Harry shrugged. “I was just getting into the Christmas spirit, like you told me to.”

She rolled her eyes at his cheeky answer before taking the frog out of the bag he handed it to
her in, moving to admire it yet again. “So, once again, what do you want for Christmas?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah,” she nodded.

“I… all I want is to have the honor of spending Christmas morning with you… *just*
you.”

She turned to him, confused. “No Weasleys?”

He shook his head, grimacing despite himself. “I have to admit that I'm not too fond of the
meddling ways of one Molly Weasley as it is, rather not have that mar my holidays, you know?”

She laughed, nodding her head. “Okay then, I'd like that… it'd be a special little
tradition, just ours.”

He nodded, swinging an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to his side. “Just ours.”

--

**December.**

”Harry,” she gasped when she opened the door to see him freezing his arse off at the doorway of
her townhouse, blowing into his hands in a futile attempt to warm them. “Harry, I thought you left…
and why are you just standing there?! Get your bloody arse in here this instant, it's freezing
outside, you dolt!”

”No,” he shook his head adamantly. “I—I need to this... I need to this here or I think I'll
lose my nerve if I get inside.”

She squinted bit at him, looking at him as if he was the world's greatest idiot, and maybe
he was. “What are you on about?”

“Well, it... it's Christmas, you know? And I figure if... if there's ever a time for
honesty... for giving *true* happiness a go, then it's now, isn't it?” he nervously
stumbled, running a hand through his hair as he awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the
other. “Or, well if it isn't, then that's what I'm going to tell myself, that's
what I *need* to tell myself to get through this…”

“Through what, Harry?” Hermione asked, utterly befuddled.

“I—I want to be honest… and happy, if it's a possibility,” he told her, well aware of the
fact that she didn't seem to be able to make anything of his nonsensical rambling, but he was
just thankful to finally be talking—to finally start being honest. “And... and I just think that
you—you should know that... well, I love you... I always have, and that won't be changing any
time soon, never I imagine, actually.”

“Harry,” she gasped, wide eyed.

“No,” he stopped her. “Just let me do this, let me say this... I need... I need you to—to know
that I love you, I'm *in* love with you... you're the one for me, Hermione,
you're—you're the one for me and the only thing that's missing in my life, this
*Christmas*, is the sight of you under my Christmas tree in nothing but a bow and a smile. I—I
don't care about anything else, it's just you… just you…”

She stared at him, mouth slightly agape, clearly stunned, but he couldn't help but notice
the way the corners of her lips were slightly quirked upwards, and he couldn't help but hope
that it was because she reciprocated his feelings, that she wasn't silently mocking him for
making a bleeding fool of himself.

She swallowed the growing lump in her throat, trying to catch her breath. “I—I… why don't
you come in, Harry.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

She smiled, biting her lip lightly as he entered her townhouse. “I'll make you a cup of
cocoa for us and we can talk about who gets which side of the bed, yeah?”

He spun around to face her, not caring that one shoe, which he'd been in the process of
taking off, flew across the hallway from the abrupt motion. “W—what?” he croaked.

Her smile widened. “Let's just say that you're not the only one who owes Christmas the
respect of some honesty this year.”

He stood there, silenced by her statement, eyes wide and jaw practically dropping to the floor.
He stood like that for what felt like ages before he finally let out a loud laugh, immediately
drawing her into his arms and kissing the crown of her head, holding her to him tightly. “Thank
Merlin,” he whispered.

“No, Harry,” she chastised him, voice muffled by his chest. “Thank, Nick.”

**Oh the weather outside is frightful,
But the fire is so delightful,
And since we've no place to go,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!**

*Fin.*

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**author's note:** *so this took me ages to write for some reason, I've been
struggling with this terrible bout of writers block and have gone through about ten different plot
lines for this one shot, but hopefully whoever is supposed to receive this “fic gift” will enjoy
it.*

*Merry Christmas and please review**!*

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