Not Yet (A Hermione Granger fanfic)

Chapter 4

A/N: So I know I promised that Chapter Three would be a two-parter, but this morning I realized that the second half I had planned really wasn't necessary to move things along. So... I've updated the titles and this is Chapter 4! So if you think you missed Part 2 of Chapter 3, you didn't. It just ended up being shorter than I'd originally planned. (And if you're new to the story, you can disregard this comment altogether!)

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*********Chapter FOUR*********

(6 months later...)

Hermione sits at a center table at the Three Broomsticks, eyeing the door. Madam Rosmerta squeezes between empty tables, toward her.

"Another Butterbeer, love? Something stronger?"

Hermione shakes her head.

"Don't remember seeing you here before. Where yeh from?" she says conversationally.

"London." Hermione looks up at her, giving Rosmerta a full view of her face. But she's not recognized. Excellent.

When Hermione doesn't offer any more information, Rosmerta takes her cue and checks on the two other customers sitting in a booth on the other side of the Inn. Then she moves behind the counter into the back room.

The place looks like it always has. Same dusty, cozy atmosphere. Same dark corners. Not as a dark as the Hogs Head, though. Good. A real test this time. Hermione never knew Rosmerta very well, but she's encouraged the woman didn't recognize her.

The front door bangs open, bringing with it warm summer sunshine. The two guests in the booth start a little and look up. Then they give silent squees of delight when they recognize the man who stands in the doorway. But Harry Potter only pauses long enough to scan the inside. He sees the three patrons, none of whom he recognizes, and strides through the door. He makes his way to the bar, passing Hermione without a glance. He's tired, Hermione thinks, and thinner than last she saw him.

But Harry would have spoken to her if he'd recognized her. She smiles. Mission accomplished. Well, almost. Never one to do anything halfway, Hermione won't be satisfied until she's actually spoken to Harry without being recognized.

"Harry!" Rosmerta shrieks when she comes out front. She rushes around the bar to squeeze him in a tight hug. Hermione snorts into her Butterbeer. Harry doesn't try too hard to fight her off—he doesn't want to hurt her feelings. But Hermione sees that his patience is already running thin today.

"Firewhiskey," Harry says when Rosmerta finally lets go.

A very rough day, then. (But then, that's to be expected, on the anniversary of his best mate's death). Harry's not much of a drinker—leaves him feeling too exposed. A pang of regret shoots into Hermione's stomach, and once again she feels like a traitor for abandoning him. He's alone. Well, no, he has Ginny. But his best friends are gone. First Ron, then Hermione. Maybe she should pull him aside and tell him.

Don't give in now. He'll forgive you one day. A sob rises up through her throat before she can stop it. She quickly grabs her bottle of Butterbeer to hide it, even though it's empty. Harry turns from the bar with his drink, his eyes landing on Hermione.

He's making his way over.

Hermione steels herself, pushing away her thoughts. If she can pass this test, she's really done it.

"Everything alright, miss?" Harry asks.

"Yes, thank you. Just choked on my drink." She maintains eye contact. "You're Harry Potter."

Harry nods.

"I thought you were an Auror now."

"I am."