Falling Snow

There was no denying that it was a cold evening, she thought, as she watched the lustrous snow drift aimlessly to the ground. The image of the wintry London street outside her flat slipped in and out of focus as she tried to concentrate on the scene before her eyes. It had been years since the holiday season had meant anything to Hermione Granger.

She ran her hand through her bushy brown hair and sighed. With each lingering second that she spent sitting there, absentmindedly gazing out the window, she felt the guilt rise steadily. She knew that she should be finding something to do with her life. Anything. Anything more than staring out the window and surveying the falling snow. It wasn’t that she resented her current job; she had a reasonable salary and a fine position at the local wizarding bank. There were times when this was enough, and then times �“ such as that night �“ when she was sure that there was something more she could be doing. The trouble was, she didn’t know what she wanted. She had thought that with time this feeling of insecurity would ebb away, but she found that her guilt and frustration only mounted each day.

She rested her temple against the cool glass of the window, trying to empty her mind of these thoughts. She was only thankful that she had next weekend’s meeting to look forward to. It gave her a chance to occupy herself with thoughts of seeing an old friend for the first time in years. In part, she was excited, but she couldn’t help but notice that this feeling was mingled with dread and anticipation. Susan had gone on to be someone. And what have I done? I’m not any different than I was this day three years ago.

The sound of something scratching at her window mere inches from her ear made her sit upright. Catching sight of the snow-white owl, she let out an audible gasp, all thoughts of Susan abandoned. She hadn’t seen that owl for years… Surely it couldn’t be the same…

Her hands shaking slightly and her breath short, she slid open the window, allowing admittance to a rather surly looking owl; apparently discouraged by the frigid air. Shutting the window behind the owl, Hermione untied the letter. Recognising the handwriting at once, she began to read.

Dear Hermione,

I know you’re probably wondering why I’m contacting you, and to tell you the truth so am I. I suppose that all it comes down to is that I miss you. How long has it been?

“Seven years, three months, fourteen days,” she whispered, the sound of her own voice startling her. It had hardly registered that she had been unconsciously counting the figure. Taking a stabilising breath, she continued reading.

It seems like just yesterday that we were back at Hogwarts, doesn’t it? I think about Hogwarts all the time. And how abnormal my life seems right now, compared to how it used to be �“ brewing secret potions, helping escaped prisoners to freedom, sneaking around the castle late at night with you and Ron.

I know that you have a job and must be really busy, and I’m sorry for taking up your time, as there’s a chance that you want nothing to do with me. I know that things with Ron didn’t end as well as either of you would have hoped, and I’m sorry for that. Back at school, I was so sure that you two would end up together. But things can take an unsettling turn, as I’ve come to realise. Anyway, I’m sorry again for bothering you, but it’d be great if you could find a minute to respond to this letter. It doesn’t feel right not talking to you, you know? I want to hear about your life and your job and everything that’s new since we last spoke. I’ve realised that just because you and Ron fell apart, that doesn’t mean we have to, right? I just hope I’m not seven years too late in sending this.

Yours,
Harry

After she finished reading, Hermione set down the letter slowly, her gaze fixed on the parchment and her expression blank. Only the sound of Hedwig hooting softly in the background made her remember that she was still in her flat. It was more strange than she could have imagined, seeing his handwriting once more. And even after all the years, she noted, it looked exactly the same.

She felt a solitary tear slide down her cheek. Of all things that she hadn’t expected, it was this. She hadn’t had contact with Harry for seven years. She had never intended for that to happen. She wasn’t even sure how it had happened, come to think of it. Regardless, you can’t change it, a small voice reminded her.

Eight years ago, she had left Hogwarts with the intent of fighting; of staying beside Harry. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact day that things had fallen apart, exactly. She only knew that with each passing day, she had found herself with more and more doubts. She had always known that she had wanted to fight alongside Harry and Ron, but did that make it the right thing to do? Day after day she sat quietly, allowing the sight of her friends and family dying to eat away at her inside; allowing her steadily rising insecurities to consume her, until she could no longer bear it. She had done the only thing that had seemed right at the time �“ she left. She hadn’t intended for it to be permanent �“ perhaps only for a few months while she worked things out.

But far from settling on anything, Hermione had only become gradually more confused. She still didn’t know what was right; nor did she know how to determine that anymore. She had found a job alright, and worked ceaselessly to prevent herself from thinking about her current situation. From thinking about her friends that she had left behind. From thinking about Ron. Ron Weasley. The name wasn’t something that she would consciously dwell upon, but it would echo through her mind every now and then. She wasn’t sure what had happened between the two of them, exactly. She only knew that they had fallen apart, and Ron hadn’t attempted to contact her since she left.

I didn’t contact him either, a voice whispered.

She hadn’t wanted to think that their separation was to be permanent, nor had she understood that her abandonment of the Order was to last longer than a mere few months. All she knew was that she had time to work everything out �“ time that she now looked back on with rueful eyes.

Through these times, she had come to find a solitary friend to rely on. Susan Bones. Hermione had first begun her job at Gringotts four years ago with the intent of starting anew without reminders of her past to distract her. It was only two days later that her past had managed to find her, but in a form that she never would have guessed.

“Hermione?” a small voice called, and upon approaching the tall white building situated in Diagon Alley, Hermione stopped in her tracks and turned around.

The sight of the round-faced girl with red-brown hair worn in a long plait down her back caught Hermione off guard. “S-Susan!” she choked, when the name finally came to her. “Hi, how are you?” she said.

At Hogwarts, she hadn’t known Susan all that well. She had been paired up with her to practice spells from time to time and Susan had been in the DA, but other than that, she had only ever known her as a face. Susan’s sudden friendly demeanour was admittedly a bit unsettling to Hermione, but she attempted a smile and replied untruthfully, “I’ve been alright. And yourself?”

“Pretty good. It’s been rough with so many deaths in the family and all… but I cope. What have you been doing with your time since we left school?”

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but found no words. In the end she merely shrugged. “This and that,” she finally replied. Susan didn’t press the issue, which perhaps was why Hermione had been so taken with her from the start.

“So what are you doing here?” Susan asked affably.

“I work here,” Hermione said quietly.

“Oh, do you? I work here as well! Started last week.”

“Two days ago,” Hermione explained.

“Shall we head in?” Susan asked in her warm tone.

Hermione nodded, heading forward into the marble building.

She hadn’t expected Susan to become a long-term friend; perhaps just an acquaintance that she would see from time to time. But as the days went on, she found that the two of them would often talk �“ usually of nothing in particular. This, if anything else, was why Hermione had been so drawn to Susan. She would never talk about real life issues if Hermione didn’t wish, she never asked more than what was told to her, and always had a kind word to make Hermione smile.

It shouldn’t have come as that big of a shock, really, when Susan had happily announced that she would be leaving Gringotts for Auror training a year and a half after the two had first met in front of the building, as Hermione had known that this had been an ambition of Susan’s for years. And yet she was shocked by the force with which this information had struck her. She smiled and pretended to be happy for her, though she wasn’t at all assured by Susan’s constant refrain of, “we’ll see each other soon!” That was what she had thought about Harry and Ron four years ago.

As she soon found out, she was right to be sceptical. After three years had passed, Hermione had received an owl from Susan, expressing her regret that they hadn’t spoken, and asking to meet up. Hermione had replied confirming that she had received the letter, and yes, she would love to meet Susan for coffee in a few weeks. She was mostly grateful for this upcoming meeting, but she couldn’t help feeling reproachful. I can’t believe three years have passed. What have I done with my life since then?

Hedwig hooted dolefully in the background, reminding Hermione of Harry’s letter. After a moment, she picked up a quill and parchment, scribbled “Harry” and sat back, eyeing the paper without the slightest inclination as to what she was going to say. What could she say after all those years?

She twirled her quill in her hand for a moment until a sudden noise outside her window saved her the necessity of saying anything. Hermione looked up in time to see an unfamiliar tawny owl collide with her window. Hastily opening it, the disgruntled owl hopped inside, sticking out its leg which had a short notice attached to it. Thankful for the excuse to discontinue Harry’s letter, Hermione untied it and began to read, her expression becoming more and more stoic with each word she took in. Finally with a small sob, she released the letter from her tight grip, where it drifted slowly to the ground.

To Miss Hermione Granger,

My name is Matthew Redford, and as you may or may not know, I married Susan Bones four years ago.

It is with the greatest sorrow that I inform you of Susan’s death. Two nights ago her body was found. They don’t know which Death Eater murdered her; only that she was killed by the Avada Kedavra curse. They’re still looking into the specifics. Looking through her calendar, I saw your name come up, which is why you’re receiving this letter, though I don’t know your relationship with Susan. In any case, I’m sorry for the loss of your friend.

A funeral procession will be held a week from this Saturday, if you wish to attend.

*

Racey days
Help me through the hopeless haze
But my oh my
Tragic eyes
I can't even recognise myself behind
So if the answer is no
Can I change your mind

Melt Away

The snow was lingering, covering the landscape in a soft sheen of white, like icing, transforming the vista utterly into something she had no longer believed existed. A world of beauty, without flaw. It was astonishing really, when she stopped to consider, how something so natural could change entirely one’s entire perception. Hermione could dimly recall a time - a time long past, stolen from her as so many other things had been - when the white-capped houses had enchanted her. Somehow this distant memory went hand in hand with the moments she had been happiest. The days she had spent so many years ago with Harry. With Ron.

Hermione was under no illusions. The snow was not magical. Beautiful, undeniably, but it had long been apparent to her that winter’s majesty concealed something deeper - a biting cold, a cruelty that would not be denied. But for all this, she appreciated its want of warmth, for it suited her mood. And the bitter wind did something for her she could not do herself. It numbed her to physical pain, just as she had closed her heart to emotional. Repressing herself she might be, but she knew she was not yet ready to grieve. Not ready to deal with that pain. Once again Hermione was dragging her heels, but it seemed to her the only thing to do when unsure. There was no way to move forward without certainty.

Guilt gnawed at her as her feet pounded the rough cobbles. But guilt she could handle. It was a familiar feeling, and one she knew she deserved. Pulling her black robes tighter around her, she reflected briefly on what might have been, had she chosen that path. After all, it had once been a possibility. When things had been simpler there had been times when she had looked to the future and seen herself standing with Ron and Harry; Aurors, the three of them. If she’d chosen that road, would she be standing here? Would others be grieving for her, rather than for Susan? That seemed right, somehow. Perhaps it should have been me.

Susan had had a husband, children, and Hermione had nothing. Her friend had everything to offer, where she had so little. Susan had been the brave one - she hadn’t been afraid, or doubted and so she had been able to move forward. And it was this more than anything that whispered to Hermione, a lingering thought brought about by shame. It should have been me. Not her.

Even with the war finally ended, good people met fates they did not deserve. It seemed a terrible prospect that after so much fighting, so many other needless deaths, they still did not have control of their own destinies.

Hermione stopped, almost hesitantly, as she reached the gathering. Everything seemed out of place. Her windswept hair, the flowers she carried, but most of all herself. So many figures clad in black, all of whom she regarded with a sense of shame, because they had all loved Susan deeply, and her own presence seemed pittance in comparison.

“Hermione.”

That one word immediately brought with it an overwhelming sense of relief, because her name spoken in such a warm, familiar voice meant more to her than she would readily admit. It meant she wasn’t alone.

Hermione turned expectantly, and with the barest smile she couldn’t quite prevent upon her lips, to see bright green eyes and tousled black hair. For a moment she simply stood and took in her friend as he was in that moment. The same Harry she had always known. Some things don’t change.

Slowly, hesitatingly, she allowed a small smile, and it seemed that this more than anything broke the barrier between them. Harry moved forward and hugged her, uncertainly, awkwardly, it was true, but that embrace meant more to her than she could ever have imagined. Perhaps she hadn’t severed all ties. Perhaps she still had something of her past.

That was when she saw him. Pulling away slowly from Harry, Hermione’s eyes fell upon the one thing she had hoped they wouldn’t. The one thing that she didn’t think she could handle, this day of all days. It seemed almost cruel that she should feel completely hollow at the thought of Susan - at the thought of her friend, whom she had allowed to slip away - and yet she could still look at Ron Weasley and feel her heart shatter, a deep, wrenching pain she had tried so hard to force away.

He was standing a little apart from Harry and herself, holding himself stiffly as though with restraint. This wasn’t the Ron she knew, the one who had been so utterly at ease whatever the situation. But then, she hadn’t seen him for so long. Hadn’t heard from him since those angry, bitter words had been spoken so many years ago. Hermione could look at Harry and see her friend; see a part of her she could embrace once more. But looking at Ron, all she could see was what they had been once, and what had fallen apart. Ron and Hermione. Perhaps it had fallen apart, or perhaps they themselves had torn it in half as their paths both stretched in different directions.

There was a strained silence as they simply looked at one another, and she realised that neither of them knew what to say, or what to do. It was true that some things didn’t change. But some do. Hermione could see him, could see what they had been together, but she couldn’t see their futures intertwining. All she could see was the great distance that was now between them - the dark hollow that the years apart had created.
People were taking their seats, signalling the start of the service, and once again Hermione wavered. Once again, Harry sprang to her aid.

“There’s a table for flowers over there,” he said quietly, nodding towards it. “I’ll take them for you.”

She wordlessly handed him the lilies and moved slowly, as if through water, towards the rows of chairs. She couldn’t quite bring herself to meet anyone’s eyes, and so took a seat at the very back row, keeping her eyes fixed steadily on her lap. Her eyes weren’t necessary anyway - she only needed to listen, and to remember.

Someone had already begun speaking when Hermione felt the warm weight of a hand upon her shoulder. She turned her head slightly, expecting to see Harry; expecting anything but him. There was an intensity in Ron’s gaze as he indicated silently that she should move over. This she did with a sense of confusion. Something weighed heavily upon her chest as she felt Harry slide into the seat on the other side of her, but it wasn’t like anything she had felt before. For Hermione had expected to be alone in this - she hadn’t imagined even for a moment that they would be here, though it was not in the slightest a ridiculous prospect, now that she considered - but with Harry and Ron by her side once again, it was almost as though she had never really been alone at all.

Hermione did not look up, but instead listened in silence, tears falling heavily down her cheeks, to the words spoken of her friend and the life she had lived to the full.

*

“Hermione!”

This time she did not want to turn around at his voice, for she had wanted to run; to leave as soon as was possible and to cause the least disturbance for those around her. Talking to Susan’s husband had been trial enough. But it was difficult to ignore him as he called the second time, closer behind her.

Hermione turned, aware that her cheeks were stained with tears, her hair out of control. Ron had come to a halt and was watching her intently.

“I was hoping we could, you know, talk,” he said.

She bit her lip. “I have to go. There’s somewhere I have to be.”

Ron shook his head, taking a step towards her. “Don’t leave. That’s all you ever did. It’s like nothing has changed.”

Hermione blinked, unsure as to how to respond. I didn’t leave them, though. They left me. You left me. We went off in different directions, and you didn’t look back. It was so strange, the way he had said it - as though nothing having changed was a bad thing.

“You’ve changed,” she told him.

Ron seemed so surprised at this that she almost smiled. “Like hell I have. I still wear odd socks, and eat too much mashed potato.”

Hermione bit back a laugh - the prospect of such a light-hearted emotion really didn’t appeal to her at the moment. Instead she frowned at him. “Ron. Don’t fool around.”

“Things move on. Some things change for the better. Some don’t.”

“I didn’t keep in contact,” she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. “I never made the effort to write to her. She sent me a letter - she wrote to me, not the other way around.”

“Hermione,” he replied slowly, “you didn’t stay in contact with a lot of people. It doesn’t mean that they don’t still… love you.”

She started slightly, and for the first time met his gaze without hesitance. This wasn’t the Ron she had known for so long - that Ron hadn’t had all the answers, hadn’t known so much more than she did. She wasn’t sure whether this change was for the better or the worse.

He was fumbling with something in his pocket - a small, flat box, which he handed to her. “I… I wanted to give you this.”

“You don’t buy presents,” she said. “What happened to you not having changed?”

“Well,” Ron paused momentarily, “this isn’t a present. This is a choice.”

Hermione lifted the lid of the box and breathlessly removed a long silver chain, upon which hung a small silver hourglass. She inhaled quickly. It glittered in the light as she held it up, beautiful as it was.

She hadn’t seen one, held one, since her third year at Hogwarts. Images flashed instantly through her mind, each one blurring into the next yet still holding so many memories. Memories of times when they had been together. She could see him, even now, standing beneath the beech tree, by the lake.

“Ron… how did you get this?”

“I work in the Department of Mysteries now,” he told her slowly. “Some were salvaged.” More images now, more memories. Rooms that glittered, heavy footsteps, blue torch-lined corridors. And time held in the palm of her hand.

“But that’s not what’s important here-”

“Not important?” Hermione looked up in disbelief. “It doesn’t matter that I barely know you any longer? That you don’t know me? That you’re walking back into my life without any warning or any thought as to the fact that we’ve both changed? Maybe too much so.”

Ron pressed her hand closed over the time turner. “That’s why I brought this. That space between us, I want it closed. I want to… know you again. To fill in the blanks. But only if that’s what you want too. So there’s your choice.” He let go of her hand. “We wasted too much time, Hermione,” he told her. “Too much time. We said we wanted different things, but the only thing I ever really wanted, was you.”

Their eyes met once more, and for just one moment it was as if the world melted away - the frost and bitter wind mattered no more, for she - for the first time in years - did not want to be numb. She hadn’t known what she wanted for so long, but seeing him, feeling the weight of the chain in her hand, she felt a world of possibility that no longer overwhelmed her. She knew now.

The only thing she knew was him. He was all she needed.

She stepped forward, taking his hand, knowing that with it she was taking her first steps into the light. And into the future that she would live to the full.

*

Why aren’t you shaking?
Step back in time
Graciously taking
Oh, you’re too kind

And if the answer is no
Can I change your mind?

We’re all the same
And love is blind
The sun is gone
Before it shines.