The Years Between Us

chapter two

After scanning, mapping, testing, poking, and prodding have yielded exactly zero results, Ron seems considerably less confident they'll make it out of the house in time for lunch. He's frustrated, which is clear, and Hermione can see there's a part of him that wants to shut down and resume his Hogwarts status of leave-it-for-tomorrow.

"Any luck?" she asks, for maybe the hundredth time in a row. She feels like a child, playing some silly game in which she repeated everything her parents said.

"Nope," he responds, leaning back in his chair and heaving a long sigh. His wand slides out of his hand and lands on the ground. "I have absolutely no idea why this is happening, and I'll be damned it I don't figure it out."

Hermione closes her eyes. "Shit."

"Shit?" Harry says hopefully, coming into the room carrying three steaming mugs. "Is that a good shit?"

"No," Ron says before she can open her mouth, rubbing his chin. "Just the same shit your wife's been uttering every five seconds."

"Can you not call me that?" Hermione snaps. Both of them turn to look at her, startled.

There's not a word for what she wants to say. It's too weird isn't quite right, and neither is too awkward. But as far as she remembers, she's no one's wife. For heaven's sake, as far as she remembers she's seventeen years old. Hearing it in reference to Harry — it's too something and she doesn't have the capacity right now to put a point on whatever it is. It's just too.

"Alright," Ron says smoothly.

Hermione can't look at Harry and face the blow she knows she just landed, and yet she couldn't have bitten it back. He hands her the mug he's carrying and doesn't meet her eyes. "Tea," he clarifies.

She takes a sip. It's warm sliding down her throat, and she's grateful. "Thank you."

"'Course."

Hermione swirls the tea around, watching the steam rise and curl above the mug. "What now?"

"I don't know. Which I know I've said a lot, but I don't know," Ron says. "Mate, you're sure nothing unusual happened yesterday? At all?"

"Ron, we didn't even leave our property yesterday," Harry says. "Lily's preschool was closed and we both had off work. We did a bunch of laundry, cleaned out the attic, taught her how to play wizard's chess, chased her around on her broom outside — she didn't eat or drink anything weird, either. She skipped breakfast, all three of us had squash soup and bread for lunch, and dinner was leftovers from the night before."

"Work," Hermione interrupts. "I can't believe we didn't think to — what about the Order? Remus, Tonks — Oh, I suppose Teddy keeps them busy — what about the rest of your family, Ron? What about the twins, Charlie, Percy? Someone must have the same thing as me — someone —"

It's a relief to think it; surely someone else in their family has her same symptoms, and surely even if she and Harry are living miles from London, they're all still a team. Friends; family. That should have been her very first move. She supposes she can forgive herself for being a little slow to get there with all the other information to process, but still, she makes a mental note to apologize to them.

The girl threw me off will be a pretty good excuse, though, and they'll make disbelieving noises for Hermione Granger forgetting something, but they'll say something reassuring. She already feels better, thinking that there's a chance — a good chance — she won't be alone in her confusion.

When she turns to ask Harry how they can contact any of them, it's written all over his face.

It's strange that she doesn't feel it.