Moonrise || Harry Potter Twilight Crossover || FanFiction

Chapter Five: Bella's POV

"I'm that obvious?" He asks.

"Well-" I mime running my hand through my hair, "kind of." He sighs, again.

"I think... I think you should ask Dr. Cullen to give Hermione a quick check up." He says, in a quiet voice. I jolt, startled that Charlie noticed the differences in Hermione. Maybe I don't give him enough credit, I muse.

"Believe me, dad, I'd love to get her to," I admit, "but you know how stubborn she is." He chuckles.

"Even worse then you," he remembers, fondly, "I remember that time when you two were ten, and I was up visiting you all in California. She had her nose stuck in a book and tripped down a flight of stairs. Claimed nothing was wrong, and we didn't realize until that night that her foot was swollen the size of a golf-ball. Fractured metatarsal, she was on crutches for weeks."

I laugh, remembering the time well. Hermione was, as usual, spending her summer with me, and Charlie had come up to spend time with me over the summer, when the incident happened. When the doctor had asked her, incredulously, in the ER, why on earth would she walk around on a broken foot all day, she had sheepishly admitted she didn't want to ruin the day we had planned.

"She's a force of nature." I smile.

"I'm assuming you're talking about me." I hear someone with a thick British accent comment. I spin around, a chagrined expression on my face, but Hermione doesn't seem bothered- by the way her lips are twitching, I'd guess she was amused. But... instead of looking better rested, after the night's sleep, she looks even more exhausted. I recall Edward's comment about her sneaking out, and vow to confront her about it.

"Looking back over some memories." Is all I say, for now, and she laughs, softly at my answer.

"Oh dear. Which ones in particular?" She leans against the corridor, much like Charlie is, and I'm struck by how alike they are in their mannerisms. Hermione is fully dressed, already, her bushy curls somewhat tamed and forced into a single braid, fastened with a small black ribbon, and she's dressed in the same casual outfit as yesterday- jeans, pale blue sweater and boots.

"When you took over eight hours to mention you might have broken your foot." Charlie says and Hermione laughs.

"I remember that. I wasn't worried, I self-diagnosed. A broken metatarsal is one of the most common bones to break, and it didn't even hurt that much after the first few hours. Besides, I knew that there'd be no permanent damage."

"That's not what that ER doctor said." Charlie remarks, sternly. Hermione shrugs.

"He said overusing a broken bone could last in permanent damage. I didn't. I was very careful about not overusing it."

"Give up, dad- it's Hermione! You can't win." I advise with a grin as Charlie opens his mouth to keep arguing his point. Hermione mock-glares.

"I'm not that bad!"

"Yes you are." Charlie and I say, at the same time, before looking at each other and laughing. Hermione joins in, and I can't help the overwhelming feeling of rightness, that washes over me, as well as longing. This is how I wish I'd grown up, in a house with a parent I could rely on, rather have them rely on me, and my sister by my side. I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to forgive Renée for what she did.

"Oh Merlin!" Hermione says, suddenly, her tone the same as one might use when saying 'crap' or 'shit'. We both look at her, confused, and she realizes what we're so confused about. "Sorry, er 'Merlin' is just a phrase in England," she explains, her brain working so hard I can just about hear the gears whizzing. "Kind of like... blimey. And sod it." Her explanation is weak and I try not to frown. It isn't like Hermione to slip up like that.

"So what are you 'sod-ing'?" I ask, using my fingers as inverted commas.

"I was supposed to, er, ring Harry yesterday, to tell him I was settling in fine." She explains, "I just realized I forgot, and that he's probably going to be in a bit of a state."

Harry Potter, her best friend, the Chosen One. A prophecy ended up in him being set in the crosshairs of the wizard-version of Hitler, and orphaned at the age of two. To make matters worse, the rest of the Wizarding world couldn't decide whether they loved him or hated him, yet constantly turned to him to save the day.

"You better go, um, ring him." I suggest, fully aware that neither Hermione or Harry own a phone. Hermione shoots me a smile and turns, hurrying off, the heels of her boots click-clacking against the wooden floorboards. Charlie watches her retreat, a nostalgic look on his face.

"I wish I'd seen her grow up." He said, quietly. "I wish I'd seen both of you grow up." I transfer my bundle of clothes for the day into my left hand, and reach out to Charlie with my right hand. I gently interlace my fingers with his, and smile at him, warmly.

"You've always been here for me when it matters." I tell him, before my cheeks go bright red. So do his- we both struggle with the outward expression of affection, and I'm quite proud of myself, even as I try to turn the flames in my cheeks from flaming tomato to light pink.

This is going to be a good year, I think to myself (it would also be my last one spent human).