DISCLAIMER!!! I am not the fabulously fabulous JKR and, therefore, do not own these characters. I am merely using them and their world to play around in for a bit.
"Missing you is the definition of hope."
Magic is everywhere, whether you know it or not. It hides in the tiniest, deepest, darkest places and comes out when you least expect it, showing you things about the world and yourself that you never noticed before. It makes life anything but ordinary.
But, then again, maybe there never was such a thing as ordinary. Sure, people might try, even pretend to be ordinary, but life always has a way of adding a little extra something to everything that makes a plain little ordinary, EXTRAordinary. And it's in the little moments of extraordinary that you see the magic coming out of the corners and turning your life into something that you didn't expect.
But the truth is this: the magic that is all around you, the one that almost no one ever sees, the magic that can be the most powerful of all, is magic that doesn't come from a wand. It's the magic that adds that extra little something to life that completely turns your world upside down.
And it's that extra little something that makes all the difference.
Hermione Granger groaned and rolled over in her bed before opening her eyes and blinking into the blinding sunlight. 'Merlin, I hate sunshine,' she thought as she quickly closed her eyes again and tried desperately to go back to sleep. But the sun persisted in glaring into her face, and after several minutes, she gave up and sat up in her bed.
"One day, I'm actually going to get curtains for that window," she muttered as she stood up and pulled her dressing gown about her. She slowly got up and walked out of her bedroom into the kitchen of her modest flat, grabbing her appointment book as she passed by her nightstand.
Hermione threw the appointment book on the kitchen counter, and then began to make her morning tea. Humming idly to herself, she picked up her wand from off the kitchen table and swished it in the direction of her cupboard. A moment later, a mug, followed by a tea bag, flew out of the cupboard and landed gently on the counter in front of her. She grabbed her plan book from near her and dragged it towards her before she flicked her wand at it, causing it to open to today's date. Sticking her wand into the mug, a gentle stream of steaming water poured out of the tip as she began to read about her plans for the day. Hermione's eyes locked in on the date: August 24th.
An alarm quickly sounded in the back of Hermione's head and she felt a familiar feeling of dread tug at her stomach. Chewing her bottom lip, she scanned over the page to see if anything was planned. The words 'back to school shopping' were printed in her neat hand across the top of the page.
"Ow!" she cried, boiling water slopping out of her cup and onto her hand, causing her to jerk back her hand and wand in surprise. Hermione walked over to the sink and began to pour cool water on her burned hand, silently cursing for allowing herself to become so distracted. Her mind soon moved onto a much more pressing subject: the matter of her back to school shopping. Of course she would need more supplies; an Arithmancy teacher, after all, can't survive on only a few rolls of parchment and broken quills. She needed to get more supplies and quickly, seeing as she was going back to Hogwarts on the 27th, she told herself as she dried her hands and walked into her living room, her cup of tea forgotten.
Hogwarts………undoubtedly, the most wonderfully terrible place in the world, the name itself, being able to evoke such memories of happiness and sadness that not even Hermione knew where to begin, let alone how to sort them. But she was not one to dwell on memories. Today especially, she needed-- and longed for-- the ability to move on and forget.
Hermione mulled over her plans for the day once again. Could she brave Diagon Alley today of all days? Could she risk seeing someone she knew when they obviously knew what today was? Even worse, could she brave the scores of celebrating strangers that would undoubtedly have something to say about the day? She sat down on one side of the beige loveseat and looked at the neat desk in the corner and the shelves of organized books that lined one side of the living room and the framed landscape photographs that hung on the drab walls. The only signs of life in the flat were the small blinking lights on the Muggle telephone answering machine and the television, relics of her muggle childhood that she was reluctant to let go. Hermione let out a shivering sigh and drew her legs up to her chest, placing her chin between her knees. She had made up her mind. She couldn't stay here alone. Not today. "Diagon Alley, here I come."
Ron Weasley had been up for an hour already. He had attempted to make himself breakfast, but after the 7th piece of black toast, he decided to give it up and settle for a cup of tea and a bowl of cold cereal. Grabbing them both, he made his way to his office.
"Hello, Mr. Weasley!" said a merrily plump little woman with ruddy red cheeks, as he passed her straightening the pictures in the hall as he walked by.
"Morning Hannah," he answered through a mouthful of cereal, winking at her. "Lovely morning!"
"Most definitely," she answered, her cheeks turning even redder. "Do you want me to clean your office today, sir?"
"Nah, don't bother," he answered. "It'll only be dirty again by the end of the day. But would you mind taking Gus for a walk?"
"Not at all, Mr. Weasley," Hannah answered, her smile wide and eager.
"Thanks, Hannah," Ron answered as he continued down the hall. "And it's Ron, Hannah. Not Mr. Weasley."
"Yes, Mr. Weasley."
He turned around and shot her one last smile before he entered his office, plopping down in his chair and grabbing at the calendar that he kept on his desk that Ginny had given him for Christmas in the hopes that he might actually get organized. Taking a spoonful of cereal, he stared down over it, checking to see if he had miraculously written any part of his schedule down. The date, August 24th, stared back at him. Ron froze.
It was the 24th already. He pushed back a bit in his chair and ran his hands roughly through his hair. "Five years," he muttered to himself before he shook his head, deciding that the last thing he wanted and needed to do today was think about what had happened five years ago. He glanced back down at his calendar and saw the words 'lunch with Harry and Ginny' scrawled across the top in a neat script that was not his own. Ron groaned, cursing himself for promising to join them out for lunch, cursing them for their ability to talk him into it on today of all days, and cursing Ginny for writing it down on his calendar, making him incapable of using the "I forgot" excuse again. He ran through possible excuses in his head, each less believable and less likely to work than the one before. Ron took another bite of cereal, chewing slowly. It had gotten soggy, but it didn't matter anyways; he had lost his appetite.
"Damn you, Potter," Ron muttered, setting his bowl down on his desk. Everyone knew what day it was, probably Harry most of all, and had planned it so that they were all together today.
"Ron?" came a voice from behind him. Ron turned around, wiping at his eyes. He didn't see anyone in the room or at the door, so his eyes shifted automatically went to the fireplace.
"Hullo, Ginny," Ron said to the face of his baby sister, which was engulfed in tongues of green flames. He knelt down on the hearth and smiled. Anyone that got a glimpse of his sister couldn't help but smile at her still girlish features peaking out from under a feathery, red-haired fringe and a countless number of freckles.
"Hi, Ron! You're still coming today, aren't you?" Ginny asked her brother.
"Well, I'm just fine, Gin! Thanks for asking!"
Ginny eyed Ron carefully. She paused briefly before continuing. "So, are you?"
Ron paused and looked down at the tiled hearth. "I don't know."
"Ron!"
"Don't 'Ron' me, Ginny," Ron answered looking up at Ginny, who was eyeing him, clearing frustrated.
"We were all there, Ron."
"I know, Gin-,"
"You can't go into hiding just because it's the 24th. You need to be with people," Ginny's brown eyes, so unlike Ron's own blue ones, got slightly cloudy. "I know how horrible that day was and understand what you're going through--more than you know. I know what it feels like not wanting to see anyone, I know the guilt, and I definitely know the regret."
Ron sighed. "I know you do," he replied.
"But I also know what it's like to move on, Ron." Ginny's expression lightened a bit, growing slightly sympathetic. "I know you can't completely forget it, but you've got to move past it. You need to accept that it's over and that she's not coming back and move on."
Ginny paused, hoping that her brother would listen to her. "Just come out to lunch with us. Think of Harry, Ron. He needs to be with people. He needs to be with US. We won't talk about it at all. We can talk all about me………or even you for that matter. Pointing out the flaws in your life always manages to cheer me up." Ginny held her breath, hoping for the best.
Ron looked up and smiled. "Alright. Where are we meeting?"
Ginny beamed, her previously dark expression gone from her face, relieved that her brother was coming. "Leaky Cauldron. I sent Harry a message that we would meet at around 1:30 but he seems to be so busy, what with standing up yet another one of my friends and all, that he hasn't answered yet."
Ron smiled ruefully. "1:30. I'll see you then, Gin."
"Bye Ron!" Ginny cried and with a POP! her head disappeared from the fireplace. Ron walked back over to the window, overlooking his backyard. The sun had risen bright and glorious, almost as though it was promising Ron that today would be a good day. He smiled and found himself actually looking forward to seeing Ginny and his best friend, but was still able to shake that unmistakable feeling of dread in his stomach. Ron turned away from the window and ran into the small table next to it, knocking over a picture frame.
He reached down and brought it up to his face, peering at the picture. He smiled sadly and set the picture back down before walking away from the picture to his room to get changed, as the girl in the picture with the bushy brown hair, smiled and waved after him.
Hermione walked into her bathroom, turned on the shower, then walked into her adjoining bedroom to make her bed as the shower warmed up. Her mind began to wander as she smoothed the sheet down and placed the crisp white comforter over them, thinking about what she needed to buy. Her mind went over the essentials: parchment, ink, and quills—perhaps a new bag for her books and possibly some new robes. She had also heard about a new book on Arithmancy written by her old Arithmancy professor, Professor Vector, which had recently come out. 'Might as well pick one up,' she thought as she lay the pillows down and fluffed them up a bit.
Hermione walked back into the steamy bathroom, took off her pajamas and got inside the shower, the hot water warming her chilled flesh. Her mind, already having completed a mental shopping list, began to wander of its own accord as to what else could be accomplished at Diagon Alley as her lip once again found itself being chewed. There would undoubtedly be celebrations all over all day, celebrating the incredibly horrible but necessary ordeal that had taken place five years ago—not that she would be taking part in any of them. She had read what the papers had been saying about her and her behavior, particularly her rather hermit-like behavior that she always exhibited on the 24th of August and knew exactly how they expected her to act.
A workaholic, that's what they called her. And yes, perhaps in some cases they were a little right, but with the most convenient definitions, Hermione simply was her job. She couldn't really help it if she was a workaholic. When it had come down to it and she had had to choose, she had chosen the peaceful and stable future that working as an Arithmancy teacher promised, as opposed to the unpredictable life that she had first chosen for herself. The choice seemed to have suited her just fine and success quickly followed her foray into the teaching world, making her become a well-known expert on the subject of Arithmancy and allowing her to still claim the same title that she had had as a girl at Hogwarts: the cleverest witch of her age—and now, quite possibly—the world. And Hermione, never being one to conform or condescend to the opinions and expectations of others, knew exactly what she had to do.
'What about lunch?' she asked herself. 'I'll undoubtedly be hungry and I could always stop at the Leaky Cauldron. I'm sure Marianne wouldn't mind meeting me.' Her mind went back and forth about this for several minutes, weighing the pros and cons of each situation, until she finally made her decision. She had to go. 'I probably won't see anyone I know there anyway.'
Hermione smiled and got out of the shower, drying herself off with a white towel. She looked around at her stark white, clean bathroom and found herself feeling cold again. She wrapped the towel around herself and grabbed a brush out a cabinet, brushing her hair out in front of the mirror. Even though her hair was wet, the frizzy curls of her hair were already beginning to take shape. She'd given up trying to tame them years ago. She had no one to impress anymore and didn't find it necessary to waste all that time in the morning straightening her hair if only her students and the other professors were going to see it.
Hermione walked out of her bathroom and over to her closet, grabbing a pair of jeans, and a light brown shirt and putting them on before walking back to her bathroom. She gathered her hair into a bun in the back of her head. She fixed it there, but soon found that it did not stay too well; little strands of hair had already begun to fall out of place. She gave up attempting to fix it and just left it alone.
Hermione stepped back and gazed at herself in the mirror. Reaching up, she pinched her cheeks, trying to add some color to her pale cheeks. She smiled uncertainly and walked out of her bathroom, grabbing her purse, shopping list and wand. And with a POP, she apparated to Diagon Alley.
Ron apparated to Diagon Alley early in hopes of being able to walk around for a bit. Since his work kept him pretty busy, he had not been back to Diagon Alley in months and was looking forward to being able to look around before he met Harry and Ginny for lunch. His sudden appearance on the street did more than attract a few glances from passers-by—and for more reasons than one. But whether it was because of his role in the events of five years ago or the fact that he was Ron Weasley, World Class Auror, he did not know. He shoved his hands into his pockets and began to slowly walk down the street, attempting to ignore the stares from the other people on the street.
Even though quite a few years had passed since he had left Hogwarts, Ron knew that he would forever be Harry Potter's sidekick from their school days. He had long ago given up on trying to escape this identity and had grudgingly accepted it as part of him. And although he had grown up quite a bit, he hadn't changed or grown enough to be able to stop people from recognizing him. He was taller than ever, though his body had lost its gangly and lanky appearance and had been replaced by the fit body that was required of an Auror. His hair remained as red as it was the day he was born and it seemed as though Ron's freckles, which he had thought he had enough of, seemed to have multiplied—not that he minded or anything. Freckles gave him character—or that's at least what his mum said. His blue eyes had still retained their mischievous gleam and while his face fit the man of 23 that he was, Ginny told him that if he smiled just right, he looked uncommonly like the boy she remembered at Hogwarts—despite the many scrapes and bumps that his chosen profession had given him. People recognizing him, especially in Diagon Alley on August the 24th, was inevitable.
It was definitely one of the downsides of being an Auror. Privacy was hard to come by—almost as hard as free time--, especially when you were as good an Auror as Ron was—or so he was told. But, after a particularly grueling case he had just returned from in China, he was getting some much deserved rest and relaxation that came in the form of a month-long vacation. He smiled ruefully to himself and continued to walk down the street towards Gringotts bank, where he had decided to make his first stop.
Twenty minutes later, he emerged from Gringotts bank, his pockets clinging cheerfully with the money he had just removed from the bank. He began to wander idly around Diagon Alley in search of a way to kill the half an hour that he had until lunch. His feet traveled of their own accord down the well beaten path that he had grown to know so well as he wound down the main street of Diagon Alley. Sticking his hands into his pockets, he jingled the money around a bit in his pocket, attempting to drown out the voice of a young witch pointing at him to her friend.
"There he is," the girl whispered in an annoyingly loud voice. "Everyone was wondering whether or not he'd show up here today."
Ron added a whistle to the jingling change.
The other girl soon piped in, "Didn't that Hermione girl leave-,"
Ron quickly cleared his throat and strode down the street in an attempt to escape the gossip, but as soon as he rounded the corner, he met another group, all staring openly at him. Rather than face them, he quickly turned and entered the first shop that he could. The smell of musty paper and dust filling his nostrils and the rows and rows of towering bookshelves that greeted him told him that he had entered Flourish and Blotts.
Not exactly a regular in such a store, he began to idly wander around, casually glancing at the titles of different books and avoiding the glances from the other customers until he reached a section in the back that made him pause. Walking down the aisle, he ran his hands down the line of books, following the names of each of the authors until he came to the one he had been looking for.
"The Art of Arithmancy" by Professor Hermione Granger. Ron picked the book up and turned it over to the back cover. Hermione's picture smiled up at him. A little biography was on the inside flap of the book cover.
It read: Professor Hermione Granger, born of Muggle parents, attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where she received the most O.W.L.S and N.E.W.T.S of any student to ever attend. Shortly after graduation, Professor Granger pursued her dream of being an Auror, but after a few short months, she gave it up for her greater love of Arithmancy. Professor Granger now lives in London and teaches Arithmancy at her Alma Mater.
Ron smiled, tucked the book under his arm and, after consulting his watch, began to start towards the front of the store. At the end of the aisle, Ron, who was not watching where he was going, ran straight into a short woman in a light brown shirt that had her nose buried in a book.
"Sorry," he mumbled, before continuing to walk up to the front of the store.
Upon reaching the front, he paid for his book and politely signed a piece of parchment for the clerk with his autograph, which the clerk asked to be addressed to his sister. At exactly 1:30, Ron walked into the Leaky Cauldron, his bag from the bookstore at his side.
"Ron!" cried Ginny as she ran up and threw her arms around her big brother.
"Wotcher, Ginny!" Ron answered as he staggered from the force of Ginny's hug, but returning it with equal vigor. "You're going to kill someone someday," he continued, though the caring in his voice clearly showed through.
Ginny released him and smiled, holding her brother away at arm's length. "You came," she said simply.
"I told you I would."
"You look tired."
"I feel tired."
"You came," she repeated, smiling warmly.
"All right there, Weasley?" came a deep voice from behind Ron.
Ron turned around and cast an appraising look at his best friend.
Harry Potter smirked casually back at Ron behind his messy black hair which had, over the years, adopted a look of much more control than he had ever been able to muster during his school years. His face was ruggedly handsome, having finally lost its boyish features from childhood. His deep green eyes, though they now shone out in happiness, communicated a sort of deep bitterness and hidden darkness to match his past. His forehead stood out, unusually smooth, void of his once famous scar. Harry, unable to break the habit from his school days, unconsciously flipped some of his hair around on his face to cover his forehead, still aware of the many stares he was receiving.
Ron shrugged. "All right. You?"
"I'm all right," Harry answered.
Harry extended his hand and shook Ron's firmly, neither communicating the years of friendship and loyalty between the two, but both knowing that such things were not necessary. Patting Harry on the back, Ron made his way towards the table that his sister had previously been sitting, desperately wanting to make it to the table before Ginny started in on Harry. He had just placed his bag from the bookstore on the seat next to him when he heard Ginny screech, "Oh, HARRY, how could you?" Ron smirked and grabbed a menu, just as Harry and Ginny took their seats across from him, Ginny looking upset and Harry just looking uncomfortable. Ron smirked. There was nothing in the world better than watching Harry get chewed out by Ginny.
"But Melinda is so NICE," Ginny continued.
"She just wasn't my type, Gin," Harry answered, taking a sip from the water glass in front of him.
"How would you know if she was your type or not?" Ginny retorted, absolutely bristling and adopting a look much like that Mrs. Weasley was often seen giving. "You didn't have the decency to at least show up for the date."
Harry shrugged.
"Melinda's one of the most promising reporters at the Daily Prophet," Ginny continued.
"Hang on," Ron interrupted. "Melinda? Melinda Baxter? Isn't she the one whose nos-,"
"They put her nose back where it belonged," Ginny snapped indignantly.
Ron snorted and caught Harry's eye.
Ginny folded her arms in front of her. Ever since she had become a reporter for the Daily Prophet, she had been trying to set Harry up with her numerous friends at the newspaper, though none of them seemed to fit.
"I don't really think journalists are my thing," Harry answered, eyeing a pretty blonde waitress over at the bar.
Ginny turned around, following Harry's line of sight. "What? And thick, blonde waitresses are?" Ginny sighed. "You're just too picky. And fickle. And flighty. And-,"
"Thanks, Gin," Harry answered, his voice thick with sarcasm.
"Don't worry, though. I've got plenty more coming your way," Ginny answered, picking up her menu.
Harry put on a rather forced smile and looked pleadingly over at Ron.
"What's new with you Ginny?" Ron asked, searching for another subject.
"Other than having to console my heartbroken friends, not all that much," she replied.
All three friends laughed and Ginny looked ruefully up at them, smirking. A few moments later the waiter arrived and took their orders. After he left, the three friends continued to talk, keeping the conversations light and airy and of things of no consequence, not wanting to touch or think about what had happened five years ago.
Hermione walked out of Flourish and Blotts, a book bag clutched in her hand, practically bursting from all the books she had stuffed in it. Most were on Arithmancy, however she had a few other odd books tucked in here and there. One book was concealed especially well between a thick volume on the history of the flobberworm and old Professor Vector's book on Arithmancy; the newest addition to Witch Weekly's Romance Reading List, "In Love With a Werewolf". Hermione walked towards the school supply store, skirting the occasional person that did a double take as she walked by. She had already been stopped by several people on the street as she walked around Diagon Alley and had signed a piece of parchment for a clerk's sister at Flourish and Blotts and was in no mood to put up with more. She walked into the store and quickly replenished her parchment supply before making her way over to the quill and ink section of the store. She was comparing the textures of two different eagle feather quills when she heard her name called.
"Miss Granger?" came a voice from behind her.
Hermione sighed and turned around. "Look, I'm sorry, but I'm rather busy-oh!" She stopped talking as she came face to face with the deathly pale face of her former professor and current co-worker, Minerva McGonagall.
The sinking feeling she had experienced this morning appeared again.
"Professor, McGonagall," she answered, looking at her, from her still jet black bun to her starkly crisp robes.
"Hello, Miss. Granger," said the equally crisp voice of the professor.
"Afternoon, Professor," she answered, noticing how, despite all they had been through and the fact that they now worked together, Hermione and her former professor were still incapable of acknowledging each other as colleagues.
McGonagall looked over Hermione, her eyes betraying her by showing the slightest hint of surprise in them. "What are you doing out today?"
"I need to get my supplies. I'm returning to school shortly."
"Today?" McGonagall continued, slowly drawing the word out.
"Yes, today," Hermione answered, pushing out her chin a bit in indignation and false pride. "I don't have much time."
"I see," she responded, crossing her arms over her chest. "Today is-,"
"I know what today is," Hermione cut him off, mirroring her crossed arms.
McGonagall offered her a small smile of encouragement "Good day, Ms. Granger. I'll see you in a few days," she answered with a nod, before turning on her heel and stalking off, her black robes billowing out behind her.
Hermione turned around, frowning slightly before she selected several sets of eagle feather quills. She walked up to the front of the store to pay, but before she did, she grabbed a sugar quill from a display near the counter for good measure. Several minutes later, she walked out of the store, her two bags, made light by spells, hung unceremoniously by her side, as she decided what exactly it was she wanted to do next. Glancing down at her watch, she saw that it was 1:45 and felt her stomach rumble in response. Tugging on her brown shirt, she headed toward the Leaky Cauldron before returning home and headed off for the opposite end of the alley.
Several minutes later, Hermione spotted the sleek black hair of her friend Marianne standing outside the Leaky Cauldron, chatting animatedly to the person next to her. However, when she spotted Hermione, she quickly said good-bye to the person, stuck her hand up in the air, and shouted, "Hermione!" at the top of her lungs. Marianne was a teacher at Beauxbatons who Hermione had met at a teaching conference in France. The two had become fast friends, though they had two very different personality types, and spent most of their summers in each other's company while the school year was spent in many letters and fireplace visits.
Hermione blushed and rushed over to her friend, ignoring the stares of people who had looked her way. "Marianne, did you have to yell so loudly?"
Marianne smiled cheekily and kissed Hermione's cheek in greeting. "Of course I did. How're you doing?"
"All right," Hermione lied, shrugging. "I'm just starving."
"Then let's go get something to eat, silly," Marianne said, linking her arm with Hermione's and leading the other girl into the Leady Cauldron.
"Stop drooling, Potter," Ginny snapped as she sprinkled salt on top of her pile of chips. "She's a human being, not a piece of meat."
Ron smiled through his mouthful of food. For the last half hour, Harry had been giving the eye to the blonde waitress serving them and Ginny was beginning to get a bit fed up.
"I wasn't drooling," Harry responded. "I was merely admiring."
Ginny rolled her eyes and put a few chips into her mouth. Ron saw her eyes lock in on the seat next to him. "What've you got there?" Ginny asked, motioning towards the bag that occupied the empty seat.
"Nothing," Ron mumbled, shoving the chair under the table.
"Oh really?" Harry responded, jumping on the chance for the conversation to be turned away from him. "Nothing?" He grabbed at the bag and pulled it up towards him, ignoring Ron's futile attempts to retrieve it from his friend.
"Hey! Wait! Harry! Don't!" Ron cried, grabbing at Harry.
Harry's eyes shone with mirth. "Could Ronald Weasley actually be READING?" He took the book out of the bag. "Let's see what we've got here." He glanced down at the book and fell silent, his smile disappearing from his face. He looked up at Ron, his mouth open in surprise. "Wha-,"
But he was incapable of finishing his question, as Ginny's voice rang out, interrupting him. Her voice communicated as much shock as Harry's face was showing as her eyes widened in surprise.
"Hermione?"
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