Old age crept up on you. Or perhaps, it had given you warnings, but you hadn’t paid enough attention?

Harry mused about this over a mug of hot tea. He was old now, and as terribly cliché as it sounded, he hadn’t been fully aware of age claiming his life. His sons and daughter had married; his grandchildren had left Hogwarts. His wife and a few of his friends had already died. The world had become less relevant to him, and vice versa.

Yes, he was old.

There were things to remind him of that on a regular basis, now that he’d become aware. The wear and tear of objects he was familiar with. Painful joints. Grey, thinning hair. Wrinkled skin. An elusive memory. His children’s behaviour, constantly swinging between patronization and overt indulgence like a persistent pendulum. His irritation at the smallest of things. A slow growing disdain for the struggle of everyday existence.

That moment, for instance.

His gold watch, the one which Molly and Arthur had gifted him on his seventeenth birthday, was still working. Not once in his life had he thought of getting another one, and Fabian’s old watch had been his right wrist’s faithful companion for decades.

He didn’t notice it too often, because people hardly pay more than a second’s attention to their watch. But when he observed closely, he could see it: there was greenish mould growing under the glass surface. His heart would drop, and he’d sometimes get teary-eyed.

He was old. And he missed them.

He missed his wife. Ginny had been a lively, strong, funny and smart partner.

He missed Ron, who had been his best mate.

He missed Hermione, who…

That was where he usually stopped. As he did now. He sipped the tea and found that it had got cold.

Sighing heavily, he picked up his wand and cast a Reheating Charm on the mug. Soon enough, steam could be seen rising again from the creamy liquid.

How should he define Hermione?

She had been his greatest friend, someone he’d always been able to rely on; she’d been like his…

He halted his thoughts before they could go there. There may have been a point in his life when he easily told others and himself that Hermione was like his sister; Ron had fidgeted over him and Hermione, and though she had spent months with him in a tent without the boy she loved, Harry hadn’t felt any attraction towards her. When Ron had asked, he’d replied without a second thought: “She’s like my sister.�

Who knew what time could do with one’s feelings? Your feelings could stay intact; your feelings could be eroded. However, now that he was thinking back, maybe he’d never understood how he really thought of her. Maybe, it had always been platonic. But it was just as possible that his thick head had been too preoccupied with a lot of other things to discern the shifts in the workings of his own mind.

The memory burst into his consciousness much too abruptly, much too vividly, and the mug of tea attached to his fingers trembled. He put it down on the table and closed his eyes.

He wasn’t hundred per cent sure if he wanted to reminisce the events of that night. Suppression had seemed to him the best decision, if only because it had been a doomed experiment from the start.

He flinched.

He’d just used the word “experiment� to describe it, whatever it had been. Was that good? Fair? Bad? Heavy-handed? He swallowed, letting it unfold.


“He’s a prat, that’s what!�

“Hermione – �

“You are not going to side with him, are you?�

“No, I just…�

“When is he going to learn, Harry?�

At this point, her hands were grabbing his shirt, beseeching for his sympathy.

“I love him. I really do, but these fights over mundane things…I am tired of them.�

Not knowing what else to do, he hugged her awkwardly.

“What did happen?�

She was sobbing now. “Nothing important,� she managed to mumble. “I think the stress of work is getting too much for both him and me.�

He understood that far too well. “Ginny left me,� he told her.

She stopped sobbing and looked up. “What?�

He let go of her and walked to a sofa. Flinging himself down upon it, he nodded.

“Oh…Harry,� she said, not moving from the spot. Her arms were, however, hanging limp.

He made a brave attempt to smile. Didn’t work. “My…Auror schedule got to her…And she’s a professional Quidditch player now, so…she’s busy as well.�

She came to his side immediately. “When did this happen?�

“Last week.�

He had tried to say the words in an indifferent voice, but he could judge from her expression that she was upset for him as well. He figured she was so used to being upset for him she couldn’t change.

“It’s okay, Hermione.�

It only made her bite her lips.

“Tell you what,� he suggested, “I’ll fix us a drink.�

He Summoned a bottle of wine from the cabinet and two glasses. “Here,� he said, offering her a glass.

“Toast?� she inquired.

“To…� he started.

She giggled when he couldn’t finish. They steadily and quietly drank their way through the first bottle, and as soon as he had got the second, she spoke. “Mmmm…things aren’t going as planned, Harry.�

“What do you mean?�

“We were supposed to get a –� she hiccoughed – “happily ever after when that bloody war got over.�

He drank some more wine to avoid commenting.

“We...� she continued, “struggled for a better world…And now, I am fighting with my boyfriend and…how is that fair?�

“Hermione…�

She leaned closer towards him. “Harry…I am tired.�

“Maybe, you should stop drinking,� he said.

“No.�

With a sigh, he watched her as she poured more drink into her glass. “I’m fine, Harry Potter. I can handle this.�

“Sure you can.�

He surmised it would be best to let her do as she wished. He needed the drunkenness himself, if truth be told.

After toying with the glass for a few seconds, she put it down. “I think I’ve had enough, actually.�

The sober voice brought him out of his own reverie. When he looked at her, she was leaning back on the sofa. Her brown eyes were considering the ceiling thoughtfully, and her hair had fanned out below her head. A few strands, however, traveled down her neck and disappeared into her shirt. With a jolt, Harry remembered Ron’s words from ages ago, “Hermione. You’re a girl.�

Pushing the thought aside, he Vanished the wine bottle and the glasses. “Think I’ve had enough, too,� he said, more to himself.

“Harry,� she whispered.

He felt her sitting up and moving closer towards him; suddenly, the world outside went mute, and her movements on the sofa were the only thing he could hear. It made him somewhat uncomfortable. He didn’t dare turn to look at her.

“You miss her, don’t you?� she asked, and her cool breath tickled against his neck.

But it didn’t take a genius to understand what she was really talking about. She missed Ron.

“I do,� he answered truthfully, facing her at last.

“Did you…do you…?�

She faltered, and rather than encourage her, he turned away.

“Sorry,� she said. “That is a personal matter.�

He was becoming edgier, so he got up. “I think you should get some rest,� he told her.

And then, the tears began to fall. He was unable to decide which course of action he should take: leave her and run away to the safety of his room, or comfort her and get his own feelings more muddled?

He couldn’t bear to see her in pain any longer, and so, he was back on the sofa; she cried unrestrainedly into his shoulder, while he patted her hair. And…smelt it.

Damn!

He instantly let her go. Mistaking his gesture as a cue for her to stop crying, she straightened up and wiped her tears on a handkerchief. “Sorry,� she said for the millionth time that night. “It’s not just that I miss him,� she continued. “I am really…exhausted.�

She looked it, too. Then, she caught his eye and held his gaze a while longer than necessary.

“Harry-�

“Hermione-�

They kissed.

And they kissed.

All the while, Harry knew it was wrong and didn’t make any sense. She was his friend, only his friend. Moreover, she was his best mate’s girl. She was Hermione! She loved Ron, and he loved Ginny. Yet why did it feel so normal?

When they pulled apart, the first thing she said was, “It’s all right!� in a very shrill voice.

Which made him laugh uncontrollably, and she joined in.

“You’ll be horrified tomorrow,� Harry said as soon as their laughter had ceased.

“As will you,� she replied, her expression once more sad.

He agreed, but felt a lot better. Now that he’d kissed her, his anxiety seemed to have faded, strangely enough.

“She’ll come back,� said Hermione after a while.

“As you’ll go back to Ron,� remarked Harry.

She sniffed.

On an impulse, he ran a finger over her left cheek, as though brushing off an invisible tear.

“Harry,� she said slowly, and he could see the sparkle of tears in her eyes. “I’m not good at dealing with guilt.�


He couldn’t recall how he’d replied to that, but he clearly remembered he’d returned to his room and slept alone, simultaneously dealing with confusion and contentment.

They had fallen back into their normal lives not long after that; Ginny returned, as Hermione had predicted, and she herself went back to Ron, as Harry had surmised without much speculation. The meanings and beginnings of his emotions were comprehensible again. Gradually, his mind got around to classifying the incident as an “isolated case�. Or, “a mistake that must not be repeated�. Or, “a once in a lifetime bittersweet experience�. The description changed according to his mood.

Hermione never mentioned it to him again, although, once when they found themselves alone, she blushed and flustered a little. That proved she was aware of what had occurred, and Harry found that that was adequate; they may not have done the right thing, but they had done nothing wrong. It reassured him, and saved him from labeling himself a bastard.

And yet, his feelings hadn’t been properly resolved. He couldn’t pinpoint what Hermione meant to him; exactly where had she stood in his scheme of things? The wife to a friend? The sister-in-law of his wife? A so-called aunt to his children? A part of his extended family? The friend of all?

“Secret lover� fit nowhere into this giant network of relationships; it stuck out like a Mandrake root in a field of roses. Frightfully ugly and malignant, yet the beginning of something like…a cure? What was it? Or, was he mixing up his metaphors?

He cursed under his breath and did something he occasionally did while left alone: he spoke to himself.

“Damn you! You’re going around in loops again. That was why you gave up thinking about her that way. You’ll only end up going mental. It’s a mystery which even the stuck up sods at the Department of Mysteries couldn’t unravel. It – �

He broke off, realising what he was doing.

“Oh, Hermione…� he whispered, and then added, “Ginny, Ron, I am sorry.�

His hand reached for the mug of tea. It had gone cold again. He calmly picked up his wand and Vanished the drab, thickening liquid. Then, he proceeded to tap the face of his watch. The mould disappeared.

He was getting on with age, and he didn’t want anything else to add to the burdens of his already beleaguered mind. He wasn’t The Chosen One anymore. If there was one good thing the passage of time had done, it had been the progressive disintegration of that generous, self-sacrificing youth. And the best part was that he hadn’t let life cheat him of that knowledge.

This was the last time he would mull over this, he promised himself.